#reliability engineering training

[sapariba]

SRE Online Training | Site Reliability Engineering Training

The Concept of "Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker" patterns

Introduction:

Site Reliability engineering software systems, resilience and fault tolerance are crucial for ensuring smooth user experiences and optimal system performance. Among the key strategies for improving reliability, Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker patterns stand out as essential techniques for handling failures and improving system robustness. These patterns help prevent cascading failures, reduce downtime, and enhance the overall reliability of applications. By understanding how these patterns work, developers can design systems that can gracefully recover from errors and continue providing service to users. Site Reliability Engineering Online Training

What Are Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker Patterns?

At their core, Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker patterns aim to ensure that software systems remain operational even in the face of transient or unexpected failures. Each pattern has a distinct role and can be used independently or together depending on the complexity of the system being developed.

Retry Pattern: The Retry pattern is employed when a request fails due to temporary issues like network instability or service unavailability. The idea is simple—rather than immediately returning an error, the system attempts the request again after a brief delay. This pattern is particularly useful for addressing intermittent failures in remote services, APIs, or external dependencies.

Timeout Pattern: The Timeout pattern focuses on avoiding endless waits in case of service delays or failures. When a system makes a request, it sets a predefined period for the operation to complete. If the request doesn’t respond within the specified time, it is aborted and an error is returned. This pattern helps prevent the system from getting stuck and ensures that users aren't left waiting for an unreasonable amount of time.

Circuit Breaker Pattern: The Circuit Breaker pattern protects the system from being overwhelmed by continuous failures. When a certain threshold of consecutive failed attempts is reached, the circuit breaker trips and the system stops making calls to the failing service for a predefined "cool-off" period. This allows the service to recover, preventing it from being flooded with requests and improving overall system stability.

How Do Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker Patterns Improve System Resilience?

These three patterns work together to create a more resilient and fault-tolerant system. By implementing Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker patterns, developers can handle failures more effectively, resulting in a better user experience and a more reliable application.

1. Reducing the Impact of Temporary Failures with Retry

The Retry pattern is designed to address temporary failures that are often caused by external systems or services. When a request fails, such as during network timeouts or when a service is momentarily unavailable, the system does not immediately report an error to the user. Instead, it retries the operation after a brief pause, increasing the likelihood that the request will succeed if the failure is only transient.

In some cases, the system can implement exponential back off, where the time between retries gradually increases. This strategy helps avoid overwhelming the failing service with too many requests in a short period, giving the service time to recover.

2. Preventing Endless Waits with Timeout

While retries help with temporary failures, there are situations where an operation may take too long to complete due to persistent issues. The Timeout pattern ensures that the system doesn't waste resources waiting for an operation that isn't responding within a reasonable period.

For instance, if a request is made to an external service, but the service is down or experiencing heavy load, the Timeout pattern ensures that the system doesn't continue to wait indefinitely. By setting an appropriate timeout value, developers can avoid slow performance and ensure that users receive a response within an acceptable timeframe. SRE Course

3. Protecting Systems from Cascading Failures with Circuit Breaker

The Circuit Breaker pattern is especially critical when dealing with failures that could lead to cascading issues across the system. When one part of the system fails repeatedly, it can put excessive strain on other components that depend on it. This could lead to a complete system failure, which is where the Circuit Breaker comes into play.

Once the circuit breaker detects a certain number of consecutive failures, it "trips," halting further attempts to interact with the failing service. The system enters a "half-open" state where it periodically tests the health of the service. If the service is functioning properly, the circuit breaker is reset and normal operation resumes. However, if the service continues to fail, the system remains "closed", and no further requests are made.

By implementing this pattern, a system can avoid overloading a failing service and give it time to recover. This prevents a localized failure from escalating into a system-wide breakdown, improving overall resilience.

Key Benefits of Using Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker Patterns

Each of these patterns brings unique advantages to a software system. Here are some key benefits of implementing Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker patterns in your applications:

Increased Fault Tolerance: By incorporating these patterns, systems can better handle errors, ensuring that they continue functioning even when failures occur.

Improved User Experience: These patterns reduce downtime and ensure that users experience fewer interruptions, even in the event of service failures.

System Stability: With a combination of retries, timeouts, and circuit breakers, systems can maintain their stability by preventing cascading failures and overloading.

Faster Recovery: In the event of a failure, these patterns allow systems to recover more quickly, ensuring a more reliable and efficient service.

Best Practices for Implementing Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker Patterns

To effectively implement these patterns, there are several best practices to follow:

Tune Retry Settings: While retries can help with temporary issues, setting too many retries or insufficient wait times can cause further problems. It's crucial to find a balance between retry attempts and back-off times to prevent unnecessary strain on the system.

Set Appropriate Timeout Values: The timeout values should be set by the expected response time of the external services. Short timeouts may lead to premature failures, while long timeouts may cause delays in the system.

Monitor Circuit Breaker States: Regular monitoring of the circuit breaker states is essential to ensure that services are properly recovering after failures. Metrics and logs can help track the health of services and adjust the configuration as necessary.

Implement Fullback Strategies: In conjunction with the Circuit Breaker pattern, fall back mechanisms should be put in place. This could include providing default responses when the service is unavailable or offering a reduced level of functionality. SRE Certification Course

Conclusion

In conclusion, Retry, Timeout, and Circuit Breaker patterns are indispensable tools for building resilient software systems. These patterns work together to enhance the fault tolerance, stability, and user experience of modern applications. By carefully implementing these patterns, developers can create systems that gracefully handle failures, recover quickly, and ensure continuous service even in the face of errors. Their strategic use helps safeguard against cascading failures, prevents unnecessary delays, and ensures the long-term reliability of software systems.

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[agilebrains]

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Organizations must operate efficiently and stay agile to remain competitive in today's fast-paced business environment. Managing tasks, projects, and teams can be challenging, especially as businesses scale.

PDF: https://www.slideshare.net/slideshow/jira-administrator-projects-in-philadelphia-pdf/272650805

[gsdc0803]

Why SRE Certification is a must have for IT professionals

In order to guarantee the stability, performance, and dependability of IT systems, the position of SRE foundation certification has grown more and more important. In order to succeed in this ever changing area, IT workers must hold the SRE certification. Here are some reasons why everyone who is serious about an IT profession should get this certification, since it is not only helpful but also necessary.

Let's dive into the primary advantages of acquiring CSERF 

1. Understanding the Core Principles of SRE - The SRE Foundation certification offers a thorough comprehension of the fundamental ideas that underpin the SRE certificate field. Site reliability engineering certified professional is a methodology that combines software engineering with IT operations with an emphasis on creating scalable and dependable systems. 

2. Bridging the Gap Between Development and Operations - There has always been a major separation in IT between the development and operations teams. Through encouraging cooperation, automation, and shared duties, site reliability engineering certification methods seek to close this gap. IT workers may enhance communication, accelerate deployment cycles, and create more robust systems by learning how to use these principles successfully with the help of the site reliability engineering course. 

3. Contributing to Organizational Success -SRE course is about more than simply keeping systems operational; it's about making a positive impact on the company as a whole. The SRE training and certification  is a great advantage for both the individual and the business since it gives them the skills and frameworks they need to significantly improve the bottom line of the corporation.

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“POS Systems in Garland, TX: Enhancing Business Efficiency and Customer Experience”

[orphicsun]

thoughts on car mechanic sevika?

CAR MECHANIC SEVIKA HEADCANNONS. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT BELOW

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who went to school to become a mechanic and ended up being hired rather quickly by a garage two miles away from her apartment, a well known place named "Silco's Auto Haven." Yeah, she should've known her boss would be a prick. She doesn't get paid enough to put up with his bitching, you'd think she was a masochist the way she ended up working there for well over five years.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who sports a wife pleaser and the hottest cargo pants known to man. Tight around her thighs, hugging the curve of her ass, but the entire outfit, complete with a pair of dirty boots, gives off a more butch look. Tattoos litter her arms, and a piercing subtly fills the area just below her delicious bottom lip.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who is used to a rather solitary life besides babysitting her bosses' foster children Jinx and Isha. She'd say to anyone who asked that they were annoying brats, but she was secretly soft around children and was good with kids when she wanted to be. Those two were her favorite.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who swears she doesn't check out customers, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't brush off the discounts she offered you as "simple kindness." She'll approach your car, face spotted with tiny bits of oil that should be downright illegal to look so attractive adorning, and acts as if she's not soaked in her boxers just glancing your way.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who is nothing but shy; however, when it comes to a certain you who needs oil changes, something she handles quite frequently, she'll forget her train of thought.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who was on her way home after the usual long day at Silco's driving home in her truck, an old but reliable possession of hers in which she did work on herself, soon noticed a familiar car on the side of the road. Coming to a stop, her hand shifted gears into park and approached the front seat window, to which she was greeted with the sight of you, the most pitiful look on your face as you explained that your car, usually reliable and your most prized possession, broke down. Sevika was gruff, maybe came off as indifferent to many. Still, she was a good woman.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who luckily had the resources in the bed of her truck to get your car started back up. You thanked her so graciously, to which she warmed up to you. She gave you her number in case you needed any further assistance.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who has a bad case of what you'd call "crushing," a term she refuses to use and would scoff at. She can't help it; you text her so sweetly, even when you don't need the oil changed on your car or when your engine is running smoothly.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who eventually asks you out, and spoils you with a soft heart others may not get to see with her. Buys you roses, lets you sleep in her boxers, and even allows you to stop by the garage to bring her a home-cooked lunch.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who didn't mean to make out with you for the first time in the garage, but it just kind of happened. You stopped by for a legitimate reason this time, needing her to pop under the hood and make sure everything was all good and dandy with your car. She had some work to do, and she so sarcastically suggested that money wouldn't suffice as a proper payment. You didn't catch the joke.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who had you in the employee bathroom sitting with your legs parted on the sink as she kissed you desperately, lips slotted together to make delicious little smacking noises. Her tongue was all over yours, her lips suckling on your bottom one, making you whine into her mouth. She wasn't going to take things further in this filthy place, but she was surely tempted to. She swore that you tasted like candy, or maybe your lip gloss did. Either way, she didn't give a fuck. You were so pretty and tasty, practically edible and she couldn't get enough of you, of the way you tugged on her ponytail as she left hickies all over your neck that you'd be embarrassed of later.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who didn't charge you that day for the car check-up, instead putting it on her own tab. If Silco had anything to say about it, she'd happily apply to the auto shop a few miles away.

[chocodile]

Worldbuilding time! Let's talk about vehicular travel in modern day Amaranthine, using the snowmobiles from this recent comic as a jumping off point.

"Prowler" - Ironfrost patrol snowmobile - (year of manufacture: 1912)

These half-track all terrain vehicles are used by Ironfrost soldiers to travel long distances over the tundra. Originally adapted from older, four-wheeled automobiles, the half-track Prowler design became increasingly standardized over the years as eternal winter continued to creep southward. They are capable of operating in a wide variety of terrain conditions and are fairly modular. Common mods include removable skis, hardtop and softtop roofs, gun mounts, and towing attachments.

Like all vehicles, Prowlers are steam-powered. The external combustion engine runs on kerosene. In snowy conditions, feedwater can be obtained automatically through a scraper port on the underside of the vehicle, though manual feeding is required in muddy or dry conditions.

Though not as fast, reliable, or efficient as trains, their agile nature have made them an essential part of life in the far north… and, increasingly, in the middle country as well. The Rising Dawn have stolen several Prowlers for their own usage.

"Aspire" - Classic automobile (year of manufacture: 1890)

Four-wheeled vehicles are an unusual sight in the modern day. Ironfrost-made cars were in vogue among the southern rim upper class for many years, but the worsening climate has made them more and more niche as road conditions outside of major cities deteriorate. The majority of higher horsepower automobiles were converted directly into half tracks, while older, lower-end vehicles were generally scrapped for parts.

The Aspire was the last four-wheeled vehicle widely available to the public. Advertised as a stylish, powerful, modern vehicle for the elite on the go, it boasted a sleek, classy aesthetic, a removable softtop roof, and a powerful steam engine with a large kerosene tank suitable for travel between cities. Preorders were advertised to southern rim wealthy in local papers. However, a series of unusually bad winters soon after its debut scared off buyers, shutting down production early and ultimately spelling doom for the entire four-wheeled automobile industry.

One of those Aspire preorders went to Baroness Jocosa North. Though she has since passed away, her son, Theopolis North, still maintains the now wildly impractical car in near mint condition. It is almost never seen outside of its garage.

"'Icebreaker' Class E 250" - Northern cross-country train (year of manufacture: 1903)

The majority of modern-day overland travel is accomplished via train. Massive long-distance rail lines, laid before the world became quite so cold, connect the remaining cities, allowing (relatively) safe travel and trade across vast expanses of tundra.

Southerly locomotives typically operate with only a basic wedge plow attachment. However, trains that run further north must be fitted with gigantic rotary snowplows. These complex machines require significant maintenance. Though they can and will chew up most things that get in the train's way, encounters with particularly large and bony beasts have been known to jam them.

Ironfrost's line terminates in a massive, sprawling rail yard where Icebreakers are fitted and maintained. Those who have visited it tell of a dark, dreary wasteland of twisted scrap metal and ice where coal dust and smoke have turned both the sky and ground black. All northern trains must pass through that place eventually.

"Chariot of the Dawn" - One-of-a-kind luxury automobile (year of manufacture: 1920)

The only place where four-wheeled automobiles still thrive is the City of the Sun. The eternal summers and paved roads are well-suited to cars and trolleys, though they are, of course, still something of a luxury good. Licenses for ownership and operation are ultimately controlled by the church, with His Radiance having the final say. (His most devout followers, of course, tend to get preferential treatment here.)

The City of the Sun manufactures its own vehicles, adapted from Ironfrost designs in a sort of divergent evolution. Freed from the road and weather concerns of the outside world, their automobiles favor sleek, swoopy body shapes, ornamental trim, low-slung bodies with limited ground clearance, and pastel paintjobs. Additionally, the engines are far less powerful and far more finicky, requiring regular maintenance.

His Radiance himself owns several custom automobiles, all of which are egregiously bedazzled to a degree that would look grotesque to anyone who wasn't used to it. Some are open-top, allowing his loyal followers an audience with his beautiful face and glittering halo, while others feature tinted windows. You know, in case he wants subtlety.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Only The Lonely - Bucky | Oneshot

Summary: Late at night, the last train is Bucky’s escape from the chaos of his life—quiet and predictable. It’s his only peaceful moment. But when a stranger’s simple kindness interrupts his routine, what starts as an annoyance slowly turns into something unexpected.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, Action, Comedy, Slice Of Life

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

1:00 a.m.

The last train of the night. The final hour before the city sleeps, when the world quiets and only a few remain in motion. Most passengers at this hour are creatures of necessity—night-shift workers dragging their tired bodies home, partygoers sobering up after a wild night, travelers in transit, students cramming for exams, or employees finishing late.

And then, there are the unpredictable ones. The lost souls.

It’s the perfect way to describe him. Bucky.

His job makes his life unpredictable—demanding, stressful, suffocating. Every day feels like it’s crushing him, the weight of expectations pressing down on his chest until it’s hard to breathe. But this train ride, the one just before the clock strikes 1:00 a.m., is his sanctuary.

It’s the only time his mind is blissfully empty. The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels on the tracks is a comfort—steady, reliable, unlike the chaos of his day. He listens to the low hum of the engine, the occasional screech as the train rounds a curve. He likes the way the train sways, how it rocks him gently, as if coaxing him to let go of his thoughts.

Most importantly, he likes being alone.

But tonight is different.

When he steps into the nearly empty car and heads to his usual seat, someone is already sitting there.

Have you ever felt that irritation when someone rearranges your kitchen and you can’t find the salt? That’s how Bucky feels. A simmering annoyance, irrational but undeniable.

He grits his teeth but says nothing. It’s public transportation—he has no right to be mad. Instead, he silently takes the seat across from the stranger, determined to ignore them.

At first, you don’t notice him bristling across from you. You’re relieved to see another person, especially this late at night. You’ve never liked taking the last train—it’s eerie when you’re alone—but it’s cheaper than a taxi, and money is tight. Working as a hotel chef is exhausting, and every penny counts.

“Oh, thank goodness. I was starting to think I’d be the only one on this train,” you say, offering a polite smile, hoping to make conversation.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He barely glances at you, his eyes dark and tired, fixed on the window as if willing the world outside to distract him. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set in a silent refusal to engage.

You sense his exhaustion and decide not to push. He’s tired, you think. Maybe next time.

The Next Night. When Bucky steps onto the train, he immediately spots you. Sitting in the same seat as before.

He exhales sharply through his nose, rolling his eyes. Not again.

As if sensing his presence, you look up and wave. It’s a small, friendly gesture. Bucky doesn’t wave back—he just nods, a curt, obligatory acknowledgment. He doesn’t want to be rude, but he also doesn’t want to encourage conversation.

The train ride is quiet, but Bucky’s peace is shattered.

The Third Night. This time, you both arrive at the station at the same time.

You smile when you see him. “Hey! We’re train buddies now,” you say cheerfully as you walk side by side toward the platform.

Bucky scoffs, a quiet, dry sound, but there’s no real malice in it. He glances at you briefly and catches the faint scent of caramel. It clings to you, sweet and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, metallic smell of the train station.

You’re talking about something—your day at work, maybe—but he’s not really listening. He’s too focused on keeping his distance.

Then, it happens.

A loud, unmistakable growl from his stomach.

The sound cuts through the quiet, echoing in the empty station.

You stop mid-sentence, blinking in surprise. Bucky clears his throat, his ears burning with embarrassment. He tries to appear nonchalant, but the redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

You stifle a giggle. “Looks like someone needs a snack.”

Bucky shoots you a glare, but there’s no heat in it. Just the begrudging realization that, for better or worse, you’ve become part of his routine.

You didn’t make a big deal of it—you simply reached into your bag and pulled something out. Holding it out to him, you offered, “Here, you can have this. We made too much in the kitchen today.”

Bucky glanced at the box in your hand. Before he could refuse, you added, “It’s monkey bread.” His gaze softened. It had been a long time since he’d had monkey bread. Hesitating for a moment, he finally took it. “Thank you.”

The sound of his voice surprised you—low and slightly raspy from exhaustion. It made you light up, a warm smile spreading across your face. “You’re welcome.”

The next evening, you boarded the train with a small container of cookies and handed it to him without a word. He didn’t say much, but the quiet kindness in your gesture spoke louder than words.

A few nights later, you offered him a neatly packaged serving of beef Wellington. “I can’t eat all this myself,” you said with a casual shrug. Bucky took it, feeling the warmth of the box seep into his cold hands. He wanted to say something but found himself at a loss for words, so he simply nodded, offering you a faint smile.

Then came fish and chips. “You’ll like this one,” you said, placing the box in his hands before settling into your seat. “It’s fresh.” Bucky chuckled softly, the sound almost foreign to him. He wasn’t used to this—someone thinking of him, sharing without expecting anything in return.

Day after day, you brought something new. Each time, he accepted it, and each time, he found himself looking forward to the brief exchange. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him.

“Why do you give me food every time we meet?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he studied you from across the train.

You shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “I just like sharing. Aren’t we train buddies?”

Your simple response caught him off guard. For a moment, Bucky was stunned. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda. In your eyes, he was just a friend.

“I owe you,” he muttered, glancing away.

“It’s just extra food,” you said with a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

That was the longest conversation Bucky had with another person, aside from those at his job. He thought only silence could bring him peace, but he realized that having friends could bring him peace too.

Then one day, you weren’t there.

He convinced himself it didn’t matter. Maybe you found a better job. Good for you.

But the train rides felt emptier. No chatter about your coworkers. No light-hearted complaints about your boss. No extra food in hand, given with that easy smile.

Something didn’t feel right.

Bucky found himself standing in front of the five-star hotel where you worked. He recognized the logo from the packaging you used. After asking a kitchen staff member about you, he was met with a puzzled look.

“She’s on the night shift. I’ve never met her,” the staff member said, scratching his head. “But I can ask my manager.”

Bucky nodded. “Thank you.”

Minutes later, the staff member returned, his expression more serious.

“She quit two weeks ago,” he explained. “Apparently, some guy came in and caused a scene—flipped a table, yelled about debt or something. The next day, she quit.”

Bucky’s heart sank. His chest tightened, and breathing felt harder.

Debt?

All this time, he thought you were the bright, carefree soul who brought light into his monotonous life. But now, he realized—you were the one hurting. Hiding behind your kindness.

He swallowed hard. “Thank you… and I’m sorry for bothering you.”

The staff member gave him a sympathetic nod.

Bucky walked out of the hotel, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. I never even asked…

He clenched his fists. He didn’t know anything about you—not your struggles, not your pain. But one thing was clear: He needed to find you.

👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

Bucky walked into his office during the morning shift—a time when he was rarely seen. Heads turned, confusion spreading among his coworkers as they whispered to each other. Bucky Barnes, the man who thrived in the shadows, was suddenly here in broad daylight.

“Is he… actually here in the morning?” one agent murmured.

“Maybe he couldn’t sleep,” another offered, but their eyes widened when they saw Bucky heading straight for the weapons locker.

The boss, a tall man with graying hair and a perpetual frown, stepped into the room just in time to see Bucky zipping up a weapon bag. His expression shifted from confusion to concern.

“Uhhh… Barnes, where are you going?” the boss asked, his hand resting on the doorframe as if blocking Bucky’s path.

Bucky didn’t pause. He slung the bag over his shoulder, his face unreadable. “Helping a buddy.”

The boss blinked. “Oh…” He nodded slowly, then frowned. “Wait. Who’s your buddy?”

“A train buddy,” Bucky said without missing a beat, securing the bag and striding past him.

The boss opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, watching Bucky disappear down the hall with a perplexed expression. “A train buddy?”

👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

The basement was cold and damp, the air thick with the stench of mold and oil. The dim light from a single flickering bulb cast long shadows across the concrete floor.

In the center of the room, you sat tied to a chair, your wrists chafed from the rough rope binding you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the group of gangsters lounging around, their faces hardened with cruelty.

One of them—a tall man with a scar running down his cheek—stood before you, arms crossed. “Your brother owes us a lot of money,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And guess what? We don’t care where it comes from. You’re gonna pay it.”

Your voice trembled as you shook your head. “I don’t have the money. I told you, I don’t—”

The scarred man sighed, rubbing his temples as if dealing with a stubborn child. “Put her in liquid cement,” he said, his tone casual, like he was ordering a drink. “Then throw her into the sea.”

Your blood ran cold. Panic surged through you, and you pulled against the ropes, your breaths coming in short gasps. “No. No! God, please, no! Help!”

The men laughed, their footsteps echoing as they approached.

Then—darkness.

The flickering light went out, plunging the basement into complete blackness.

“What the hell?” one of the gangsters muttered.

Suddenly, the sound of a struggle erupted—thuds, grunts, the sharp crack of bones breaking. One by one, the gangsters fell. Some screamed in pain; others were silenced before they could make a sound.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your body trembling as the chaos unfolded around you. What’s happening?

Then—silence.

A familiar voice cut through the darkness, calm and steady. “You’re safe. Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flew open, heart racing. You blinked, adjusting to the faint light as the basement door creaked open, spilling in a sliver of light from the stairwell.

Standing in front of you, weapon in hand, was Bucky. His dark hair fell into his eyes, his jaw clenched in determination.

Your breath hitched. “Bucky?”

He moved quickly, crouching in front of you and cutting the ropes that bound your wrists and ankles. His hands were steady, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—concern.

As the ropes fell away, you flexed your stiff wrists, the lingering ache a reminder of how close you had come to disaster. “Why are you here? How did you find me?”

“Aren’t we train buddies?” he asked, his voice low and steady as if the answer mattered more than he let on.

You blinked, your chest tightening with a mix of relief and gratitude. Despite the chaos, despite the fear, here he was—your train buddy. Slowly, you nodded, a small, trembling smile forming on your lips.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “We are.”

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[theonottsbxtch]

THE OTHER GUY PT.6 | FC43

an: and we've reached the final part of the series! i hope you guys have enjoyed this as much as i have, it was very fun to write and i can't wait to write something soon :) remember my requests are always open!!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five |

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 30,382 others

spain, i'll miss you 🥲

*tap to load more comments*

userone: spain yn was my fav yn

usertwo: is that franco? 👀

userthree: it's probably oscar or logan

oscarpiastri: i have an idea, i pay you to stay in spain for the rest of your life and you never come to the track again

logansargeant: i need her there, you're not a reliable source of gossip

ynpiastri: if you don't invite me, i have other ways of being there

userfour: franco? 👀

userfive: your honour i love them

lilyznimer: can't wait to see you again

ynpiastri: @/oscarpiastri HA SHE LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU 😹🫵😹🫵

usersix: yn, we're all here for franco confirmation. give it to us.

twitter

francolapinto

liked by alex_albon, williamsracing, ynpiastri and 985,352 others

back to work, i hate this country 🌧️

*tap to load more comments*

alex_albon: next time take me to spain too

francolapinto: yes boss

userone: no yn confirmation ☹️☹️

williamsracing: franco...

francolapinto: no amount of media training will make me lie about this country

usertwo: where's yn?

userthree: we want to see FRANYN!

userfour: she's in his likes. im connecting dots.

userfive: stop being delusional, you ain't connecting shit.

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, francolapinto and 29,453 others

me when i remember that i actually have a big girl job and living off of oscar's money in his spare room isn't actually what i do with my life.

*tap to load more comments*

userone: wife

usertwo: she has a job?? i thought she just went to gp's with oscar

ynpiastri: SHE has a masters in engineering design and technology 💅

userthree: cleared

oscarpiastri: move out please

ynpiastri: no 😁

userfour: still no franco

userfive: girl they both have full time jobs

usersix: MOTHERRRRR

logansargeant: you're a psycho for bringing your laptop to the beach btw

ynpiastri: i don't think i asked for your opinion, hope that helps lo! 😘

interview with franco colapinto

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, mclarenracing and 31,439 others

supporting my favourite mclaren driver (not oscar)

*tap to load more comments*

userone: I WANT TO BE HER

usertwo: I WANT HER

oscarpiastri: funny joke

logansargeant: or is it..👀

userthree: imagine living her life

landonorris: i thought your favourite driver didn't race for mclaren [this comment has been deleted]

userfour: she's so pretty

userfive: still no sign of franyn

twitter

twitter

francolaptino

liked by williamsracing, alex_albon, ynpiastri and 924,235 others

the only women in my life btw (not that anyone asked)

*tap to load more comments*

userone: oh😀

usertwo: i don't believe it

alex_albon: this guy

userthree: he's so unintentionally funny

williamsracing: how cute

imessage between logan and yn

twitter

twitter

ynpiastri

argentina

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, francolapinto and 31,435 others

would rather date traffic cone (holiday dump coming soon x)

*comments have been turned off*

offseason 2024

The golden Argentinan sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, amber glow across the quiet, coastal villa. His family home sat nestled on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of sea. The scent of saltwater drifted in on the breeze, mingling with the fragrant citrus trees that lined the garden.

You and Franco sat on a cushioned wicker sofa in the sunroom, the wide-open windows framing the breathtaking view. The room had a rustic charm—whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, and soft, earth-toned furniture. His arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both idly scrolled through your phones, the sounds of crashing waves and distant seagulls filling the peaceful silence.

But neither of you were really focused on the phones. The fan speculations and social media drama had become a background hum—amusing, but distant. For months now, you’d both kept this secret relationship hidden, playing the game of cat-and-mouse with the public, teasing and trolling them into thinking you were still enemies.

“Do they really still think I hate you?” you muttered, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you glanced at a fan comment. “I’ve done too good a job convincing them.”

He chuckled, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in closer to peek at your screen. “Well, you have been pretty savage online. You didn’t hold back with that last post, hermosa.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, playful. “Says the guy who told the press I’d have to beg for a date. I never forgot that one.”

He grinned down at you, his light brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “I mean, to be fair, you did tweet that you wouldn’t date me if I were the last man on earth.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Touché.”

His laughter faded, replaced by a softer, more thoughtful expression. His fingers tracing slow, absent-minded circles on your arm, and his gaze shifts from the ocean outside back to you. The silence stretched out between you for a moment, and you could feel the weight of what’s unspoken.

“We can’t keep this up forever, you know,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, more serious.

You paused for a second, his words catching you off guard. You’d grown so used to the secrecy, to sneaking around and playing up the rivalry for the fans. It had become a game, but now, here in the warmth of his family’s sunroom, with the sea breeze gently ruffling your hair, the reality of your relationship felt different. Realer. More solid.

You sat up a little straighter, turning to face him fully. “What are you saying?”

He met your eyes, his lips curling into a small, meaningful smile. “Maybe it’s time we tell everyone. Stop pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The thought of going public, of finally letting the world see what’s been building between you, sent a thrill through you. But it was also terrifying. What would people say? How would the fans react? You’ve been holding onto this secret for so long, the thought of exposing it felt almost... vulnerable.

Still, as you sat there with him, in this secluded little bubble away from the world, the idea didn't seem so scary anymore. It felt exciting. Liberating.

A slow, playful grin spread across your face. “If we’re going to do this, we have to do it in the most ridiculous, out-of-pocket way possible.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”

You leaned back against the sofa, the sunlight warming your skin as the wheels in your head begin to turn. “Something so cheesy and over-the-top that people won’t even know if we’re serious or still trolling them.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, rubbing his chin as if considering it. “What, like one of those cringey TikTok couple challenges?”

You nodded eagerly. “Exactly. The kind of stuff that makes people cringe, but they can’t look away.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly warming up to the idea. “You mean the ones where people do those obnoxiously cute couple things, like finishing each other’s sentences?”

You grin. “Exactly. Go so hard that no one can tell if we’re serious.”

He leans forward, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “I like it. Let’s do it.”

You blink, a little surprised at how quickly he’s jumping on board. “Wait, right now?”

He shrugs, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why not? We’ve kept this quiet long enough. Let’s have some fun.”

Your pulse quickened with a mixture of excitement and nerves as you both adjusted your positions on the sofa, sitting up a little straighter, leaning in close to each other. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. The soft hum of the waves and the distant calls of seagulls faded into the background as the moment intensified.

“Alright,” you said, barely keeping a straight face, “let’s do this.”

He raised his phone, the camera pointed at both of you, and the screen lights up, casting a soft glow on your faces. “First question,” you began, doing your best over-the-top rom-com voice. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

He smirked, nudging you playfully. “Easy. You did.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “I did not! That was totally you.”

The playful banter flowed easily, the chemistry between you undeniable. The air between you crackled with tension, but the laughter kept things light. Each question grows sillier than the last, your teasing jabs masking the real emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As the game continued, the joking faded. The answers become more meaningful, more intimate. He reached out and takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and the teasing spark in his eyes shifted into something softer.

Then, as if the playful mood couldn’t hold any longer, he lowered his phone and set it down on the coffee table, turning to face you fully. His gaze was intense, his eyes locking with yours in the fading sunlight. “Maybe we should stop messing around and just... tell them.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “For real?”

He nodded, his voice a little quieter, a little rougher. “Yeah. I’m tired of hiding. I want people to know.”

You hesitated for a second, the weight of the official decision settling in. But then, a surge of boldness rose within you. “Okay. Let’s do it. But first—” You held up your phone, turning off notifications before tossing it onto the sofa. “I don’t want to deal with the chaos immediately.”

He chuckled, grabbing his phone, posting the video and then,following your lead and shutting off his phone. “Smart. We’ll get spammed for sure.”

Once the phones were off and forgotten, you exchanged a glance, and then both of you dissolved into laughter, the weight of secrecy lifting off your shoulders. The relief, the excitement—it was overwhelming in the best way.

As the laughter died down, the air between you shifted slightly, becoming heavier, charged with something far more intense than before. His eyes darkened as they traced the curve of your lips, and your breath hitches, feeling the pull between you like a magnetic force. Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken desire.

Without warning, he leaned in, his hand sliding up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation crackling in the air around you. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty sea air.

Your pulse quickened as his gaze locked with yours, and for a second, time seemed to stop. Then, he closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, yet filled with an undeniable hunger. His lips were soft but firm, moving against yours with a heat that left you breathless.

You responded immediately, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing more. His kiss deepened, and the intensity built. The taste of him is intoxicating, like you had both been waiting for this moment for far too long. His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, and you could feel the strength of his body against yours.

The kiss grew more urgent, your bodies pressed together as if the space between you was unbearable. His fingers threaded through your hair, holding you in place as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he couldn't get enough. You lost yourself in the sensation—the way his lips devoured yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the low, barely audible groan that escaped from deep in his chest.

As you kissed him back with equal fervor, your entire body tingled, your senses overwhelmed by him—the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his lips tease and explore yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes, dark and full of desire, met yours, and a slow, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Guess I can do that more often now,” he murmured, his voice husky and low.

You smiled back, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “With my brother in that same paddock? Not a chance?”

francolapinto and ynpiastri

liked by logansargeant, schecoperez, oscarpiastri and 984,348 others

it wasn't a joke btw

*limited comments only*

williamsracing: franco...

oscarpiastri: that's my sister pal

francolaptino: oops?

logansargeant: this hurt more than my replacement

ynpiastri: shut up?

logansargeant: yes ma'am

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @isaadore @iamred-iamyellow @justheretoreadthxxs @obxstiles @how-what-why-huh @raizelchrysanderoctavius @sainzzreputaticn @xxx-betty @dukeofjjune @dejavuontrack @littlegrapejuice @mxdi0 @st4rgirl-ellie @dullypully @cinderellawithashoe

[theresattrpgforthat]

Any recommendations for a rules-lite mecha game?

THEME: Rules-Lite Mechs.

Hello friend, I sure do! I had a really fun time putting this recommendation list together, so I hope you also find something fun in here!

Reactors & Romance, by JP Bergamo.

Reactors & Romance is a rules-light, narrative-focused, one-shot-oriented RPG featuring mechs and flirting.

Players take on the role of a hot-shot mech pilot with only two ways of problem solving: flirt your way through with your romantic charm, or fight your way out with your mech. Your ability to do either is measured with one stat, your HEAT. Your HEAT measures both how hot your mech’s reactor is getting, and how hot of a pilot you are. Your mech will get less and less reliable as it builds up heat and takes on damage. Fortunately, you have always done your best flirting under pressure.

Say hello to a beautiful, quick game that focuses on the emotions that sizzle inside the gigantic battle machines, as well as the fights that might make those relationships complicated. With a nod to Lasers & Feelings, Reactors & Romance has some additional bits and pieces to play with, such as heat, which both propels you into the danger zone and also makes you very attractive. You also have Keepsakes, which are meant to represent romantic connections that help you clear your Heat. The author references Thirsty Sword Lesbians, Promare, and Gurren Lagann, which all make me super excited about this game.

Mech and Kaiju, by Minbot.

You are the pilot and crew of the Dominator, an advanced bio-mechanical skyscraper sized battle suit designed and built to fight the Kaiju, gigantic leviathan creatures from beyond the depths of space.

Based on the popular Lasers and Feeling RPG by John Harper and created for the Minimalist TTRPG Jam 3.

Simple and descriptive, Mech & Kaiju asks you to determine a few traits of your characters, a few traits of the mech you pilot, and a few truths about the Alien Overlord and the Kaiju you're going up against. When it comes to rolling, it's typical Lasers & Feelings: roll under your target if the situation is related to logic, reason or technology, and roll over if your approach is related to emotion, reasoning, or biological understanding. If you want a contrast between flesh and metal, you might like this game.

Resonance, by Foolhardy Press.

You and your team are Pilots; called upon as a team to control a single Mech capable of defeating the Intelligence

With your skills combined, your party alone can pilot the mech via Resonance, a state of understanding acquired through intense training and compatibility.

Each of you has an individual role to be expressed through your control of the Mech; the Captain, the Gunner, the Engineer, the Hacker, or the Muscle.

You must defeat the enemy Intelligence within a constricted amount of rounds or fail your mission.

Resonance feels very much inspired by Pacific Rim, what with the idea that all of your team is responsible for piloting a single mech, and the fact that the game defines success as relative to a target called The Drift. I like the idea that success here is related to how aligned the crew is in regards to the goal; it's an excellent example of a game that tries to weave the themes of the story into the mechanics.

Mechers, by Jason Pickering.

Welcome to Odin Corp new employee. You get to start your exciting new career as a Mecher working with our resource gathering facilities on the planet Sif 11. Your exciting career will see you wearing an Odin Corp Mech Suit as you transport cargo and supplies between our many different planetary stations as well as light resource gathering duties. In your journey you will see the wondrous sights, flora, and fauna this planet has to offer. Yes! It’s dangerous work, but your hard work will allow the facilities to keep operating so we can supply Odin Corp products to families galaxy wide.

Mechers is a rules-lite ttrpg that uses a 2D6 system, to determine outcomes for player actions. Players pilot a mech equipped with gear and adventure across an alien planet dealing with wild flora and fauna and an overbearing corporation. So grab your Dice, Load your tools, and head out into danger.

If you love mechs but you want to do something other than fight, Mechers is probably where you'll feel most at home. Your players are using mechs as tools to help them explore planets, rather than fight battles, although I wouldn't be surprised if you have to get a little bit physical to get yourself out of some tricky situations. Getting past obstacles requires filling tracks to represent the effort it takes to work through difficult situations.

Attempting to overcome an obstacle involves rolling 2d6 and trying to get a 7 or higher, with results of 10 or higher being without any consequences. It feels very akin to PbtA in terms of result range, but I think the ethos is a little less about generating interesting results and more about using what resources you have to improve your rolls and reduce any damage you take.

Immortal Gambit, by TitanomachyRPG.

IMMORTAL GAMBIT is a pick up and play 1-page mecha TTRPG you can start as soon as everyone has arrived to the session. Every player picks a different role (Pilot//Pilot’s Mech//Battleship Captain// Faction Leader//Rival//Rival’s Mech) and their own goal. Try to accomplish your goal while deducing who you can trust--and who is working against you!

Immortal Gambit looks to be about pitting children against each-other in gigantic mechs, all for political gain. I think it's interesting that a character and a character's mech are two different roles that are played by different people. Each character has a personal goal, one that is hidden from the rest of the table. You take turns trying to turn the tides of battle in your direction, using a d20 and a coin. I think it's interesting that this game is very competitive, and encourages your characters to work against each-other. It's a little bit like a hidden role game, so if you like keeping secrets, I think you might like this.

Big Robots, Big Feelings, by RentAThug.

Prime your laser cannons, draw your energy sword, and pilot your mech to glorious victory the only way you know how: how by feeling more feelings than anyone has ever felt! Battle enemy mecha and your own raging emotions in BIG ROBOTS, BIG FEELINGS!

Big Robots, Big Feelings is a one page RPG designed for the 2024 One Page RPG Jam! The game uses a simplified version of the Powered by the Apocalypse system, with Action Rolls determining outcome. Inspired by mecha anime, these Action Rolls are influenced by your character's emotions and relationships with other characters, allowing you to literally use the power of friendship to destroy your enemies.

This game feels very in tune with the color-coded superhero genre, with bright colors and themes that really double down on tropes. Your character has a background, three emotions, and a Mech that's designed to reflect their personality. When you try to do something, you use 2d6, as per a typical PbtA game, with modifiers related to your emotions and your relationships. In Big Robots, Big Feelings, you truly do win fights with the power of friendship!

Sad Teen Mecha Pilots, by Unknown Dungeon.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION….

Over twenty years ago, the first Demon attacked. Humanity fought back, but suffered great losses in the process.

In the decades since, a secretive program was initiated to build monstrous bio-mechanical mechas to fight the Demons, and to train the young pilots who control them.

You are those pilots.

Sad Teen Mecha Pilots is a collaborative story-telling RPG about the lives of young people faced with the impossible task of saving the world, and the strain it puts on them and their relationships.

A simple one-page game, this is all about the motivations behind a war, and the strain of trying to hold off Doomsday. The lose state of the clock is represented in a Doomsday clock, which looks like it's already partially filled when you start to play the game, although I'm not entirely sure if that's the intention. When the clock hits the Eleventh Hour, your characters are pulled away from their teenage lives for a nearly-hopeless battle.

The bulk of the game is definitely focused on the daily lives of your characters; their family relationships, their struggles with school or friendships, and recovering from wounds. I'd be interested in seeing how this game might combine with a more mechanically complex mech game to provide a lot of pathos in between high-combat scenes - although you as a group would have to be OK with going up against pretty impossible odds.

Also Check Out…

Mechs Part 1 Recommendations

Mechs Part 2 Recommendations

Gundam TTRPG Recommedations.

Metal Sword, by Mousewife Games (simplified Beam Saber!)

If you like what I do and want to leave a tip, you can check out my Ko-Fi!

[agilebrains]

Advanced Terraform Training: Elevate Your Cloud Infrastructure Skills

Cloud infrastructure management has become a crucial skill in today’s technology-driven world. Whether managing a startup’s IT infrastructure or working in a large enterprise, having expertise in infrastructure such as Code (IaC) is essential.

Visit Our Blog: https://agilebrains.blogspot.com/2024/10/advanced-terraform-training-elevate.html

[levellyscorner]

Cowboy like Me (Outlaw!Bucky x F!Reader)

Summary: When Bucky Barnes and his gang derail a train expecting gold, they find a hidden heiress instead — sharp-tongued, silk-wrapped, and worth more than anything they came for. With orders to keep her close until a ransom can be arranged, Bucky is saddled with a woman who won’t beg, won’t yield, and turns captivity into a slow, dangerous game neither of them can win clean.

Tags: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes, Western AU, Enemies to Something Complicated, Forced Proximity, Hostage Situation, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Tension So Thick You Could Lasso It. Sharp-Tongued!Reader, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn (but not that slow), Dust, Gunpowder, and Glances, No One's Soft Here, Emotional Restraint (Literal and Figurative), She's Tied Up but Still in Charge, Rough Exterior, Worse Interior, One Horse, Two People, Too Much Heat. Reader Is Not a Damsel.

A/N: This story contains: one outlaw with more silence than sense, one heiress who doesn’t know how to shut up (and wouldn’t if she did), a horse that deserves a raise, and enough rope to make things interesting. Enjoy the ride and Yee-haw. PS: I Def got inspo from Red Dead Redemption 2

Word Count: 3,3272

Cowboy Like Me

"Forever is the sweetest con." 

Chapter 1: “This Is Why I Don’t Take Public Transit”

The sun hung low in the sky, a fiery orb that cast long, jagged shadows across the parched plains. The earth beneath was cracked and barren, like the skin of a dying beast, and the air shimmered with the heat of the day’s last breath. Dust swirled in the air like a golden haze caught in the dying light, clinging to everything in sight—rock, dirt, skin. The land stretched out in every direction, a sea of muted browns and yellows, broken only by the sharp silhouettes of cactus and scrub. Out here, nothing moved unless it had to—and even then, it was a struggle. 

Bucky knew this land like the back of his scrap metal arm. Every scar in the earth mirrored a scar on his body, every crack in the dirt a reminder of the world that had shaped him. He’d become a product of this unforgiving place, a living testament to its cruelty. His past a tangled mess of scars, both on his body and soul—was buried deep beneath a rough exterior. Hidden behind the cold stare of a man who had learned not to feel too much. His gang, his brothers in arms, were all that mattered. Loyalty to them was the only thing that kept him going. His loyalty was to the quick draw, the sharp shot, and the scent of gunpowder in the air. And for a man like him, there was nothing more reliable than the iron in his hand and the and the cold bite of steel over anything else.\ 

His eyes narrowed as he looked out over the horizon, watching the glint of metal growing larger in the distance as the smell of coal wafted through the air. The rhythmic chug of the train's engine was faint at first, but as it neared, the sound grew louder, more urgent as it snaked into view. He didn’t have to look behind him to know the gang was already moving into position.  

The train tore through the plain like a beast with steel bones and a fire-breathing heart, its smoke plume bleeding into the tangerine sky. Bucky pulled his horse around and signaled to the others with a sharp flick of his fingers. No words. None were needed. They knew the plan, had ridden it through a dozen times in the dead of night, across campfires and crumpled maps stained with sweat and whiskey. Tony let out a sharp whistle from down the ridge, and that was all it took. 

The gang moved as one—spurring their horses down the dusty slope, kicking up clouds that shimmered gold in the dying light. Bucky followed suit, crouched low in the saddle, metal hand gripping the reins tight as his horse pounded across the flats. They rode fast, drawing alongside the moving train, the roar of hooves and wheels colliding like a storm. 

As he neared the train he stood in the stirrups, crouched low, and launched himself onto the back of the train. Metal groaned beneath his boots, but he held steady. Behind him, the others followed—gripping handrails, hauling themselves up one by one like wolves climbing into the belly of a wounded beast. Bucky didn’t speak. He just nodded once to Steve, then slipped through the door into the first passenger car. 

The change in atmosphere was immediate. Inside, it was velvet curtains, soft lamplight, and the murmur of idle conversation—until the door slammed behind him. A woman screamed. A man cursed. Cards spilled across a velvet table. A bartender reached under the counter, and Bucky fired without hesitation. The shot rang out, sending patrons scrambling. 

“Down,” he barked. “Now.” 

They obeyed. He didn’t have to shout again. One look at the gleam of his metal arm and the revolver in his hand was enough. Torres moved past him, herding passengers into corners with a casual kind of menace. No one resisted. 

They swept the first car in under a minute. 

The second was louder—more crowded, packed with men in dust-covered suits and women clutching pearls like prayers. Sam disarmed a security guard with a twist of the wrist and a clean punch to the throat. Creed grabbed a man trying to sneak out the emergency door and tossed him back into the aisle like a sack of flour. 

Bucky kept moving. 

By the third car, the scent of perfume had faded into sweat and fear. The air felt tighter, more expectant. He could feel the heartbeat of the train now steady, pounding, alive. Each door he pushed through brought him closer to the last one. The one they were here for. 

The private car. 

Tony came up beside him, cocking his head, chewing a toothpick. “Private car?” he muttered. “Didn’t see that on the manifest.”  

“Neither did I,” Bucky said. He grabbed the handle and pushed. The door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak. Bucky stepped in first, revolver raised, breath steady. Gone was the stench of sweat and panic that clung to the rest of the train. The air in the private car was warm, perfumed faintly with rose oil and something sharper—like brandy soaked into wood. Afternoon light spilled in through half-drawn velvet curtains, washing the room in amber. Everything gleamed: brass fixtures, a crystal decanter, polished mahogany walls. A record spun lazily on the phonograph in the corner, its music soft and scratchy beneath the clack of wheels on the track. He was expecting the sharp bark of a guard or the startled shout of a tycoon. But in the center of it all sat you. 

You looked like you’d been carved from the stillness itself. Perched in a velvet armchair beside the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other, a book resting open in your lap. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise. You merely looked up with a slow, unhurried tilt of your chin, your gaze moving from Bucky’s revolver to his face with all the urgency of someone bored by theater. 

Bucky blinked once. 

Tony stepped in behind Bucky and came to a slow halt, boots falling silent against the velvet-lined floor. His eyes swept the room—over the glint of cut crystal, the curve of carved mahogany, the way the late sunlight spilled like liquid gold across your pale blue dress. You looked untouched by the chaos just three cars behind you. Serene. Still. Like something painted to be admired and never touched. His gaze lingered on your face, noting the calm in your eyes, the faint lift of your chin—the way you looked through them rather than at them. 

“Well, hell-” he murmured, a grin curling slow at the edge of his mouth. “Ain’t this a painting.” 

Bucky didn’t lower his gun. Didn’t raise it either. 

You looked up at him. Then Bucky. Then back to your book with a sigh so faint it felt like an insult. Without a word, you raised one gloved finger. 

Wait. 

You turned your gaze back to the page, reading — slowly, deliberately — as if the presence of two armed outlaws in your private railcar was no more urgent than a fly buzzing at the window. The train rumbled beneath you, but you didn’t so much as sway. Then, with a flick of your wrist, you snapped the book closed. Not in fear. Not in alarm. It was the sound of finality — of a woman deciding the scene could now proceed. “I take it this isn’t a coincidence,” you said, your voice smooth and slow, like honey trickling over a blade. 

Bucky opened his mouth, but Tony answered first. 

“She’s not part of the plan,” Bucky said, his voice low, edged in steel. 

He didn’t take his eyes off you. Didn’t need to. You sat like a statue cast in gold light—perfectly still, hands resting on the arms of your velvet chair, legs crossed with casual precision. The pale blue silk of your dress shimmered in the sunlight spilling through the half-drawn curtain. Not a single hair out of place. Not a single flicker of fear in your eyes. Tony’s footsteps slowed behind him. He stopped just inside the doorway, his posture shifting from swagger to scrutiny. The smirk that had been halfway to forming on his face never made it. His gaze swept the room, taking in the etched crystal on the sideboard, the lace trim on the window drapes, the distant murmur of a record still turning on the phonograph. 

“This car was supposed to be empty,” Tony muttered. “Cargo only. No staff. No passengers.” 

His eyes narrowed on you. 

“But look at this. Velvet chairs. Curtains tailored by hand. That dress.” He said the last word like it was a crime scene clue. “What the hell is this?”  

You didn’t answer. 

Didn’t rise to the question, or shrink beneath it. You stayed perfectly still in your seat, back straight, gloved hands resting lightly on the arms of your chair. Your ankles crossed neatly beneath layers of silk, not a single thread out of place.  

You blinked once. 

Slow. Measured. 

Then you looked up at him — not startled, not scornful. Just… bored. The kind of bored that weighed more than anger ever could. Like you’d been interrupted halfway through something more interesting, and couldn’t quite bring yourself to care enough to mask the inconvenience. 

It wasn’t disdain. 

It was worse. 

It was disinterest. 

Tony gave a short laugh under his breath, but it didn’t sound amused anymore. He stepped further into the car, boots quiet against the thick rug. “This car was listed as empty,” he said. “Freight only. No passengers, no staff. Just space.” He looked back at you, narrowing his eyes. “Which means whoever put her here didn’t want her seen.” 

Another beat passed. 

Tony’s smile returned, but this one was tight. Sharp at the edges. 

“Which means someone will miss her.” Tony turned toward him, his voice low. “She’s leverage, Buck. And I’m guessin’ she’s worth a lot more than whatever we came here for. We’ll take her with us- A girl like her? Tucked away in the back of a private car, no staff, no guards?” His mouth twitched into something crooked and cold. “That don’t happen unless she’s important. And when someone this expensive disappears… bells start ringin. ”  His jaw squared. His tone dropped. The air in the car went taut.  

“Tie her.” 

Bucky didn’t move — not at first. But his fingers twitched near his hip, just above the length of coarse rope looped through his belt. It wasn’t for show. It was the kind of rope used for drag-outs and battlefield improvisations — not velvet-skinned heiresses. 

But Tony didn’t care. 

“I said tie her. Hands behind her back. Tight.” He gestured with a curt nod toward the rear door. “She rides with you. You’re in charge of our lady now. She gets clever, or cute, or loose—that’s on you.” 

The silk of your dress caught against the velvet seat with a whisper, folding around your legs as you rose like a blade being drawn from its sheath. You stood tall — not like you were squaring off against them, but like you were already above them. You didn’t need height. You had presence. And suddenly, that sunlight behind you felt like a spotlight. Your voice was smooth, but the undercurrent in it was lethal. “You’re out of your damn mind.” 

Tony blinked. 

Even Bucky shifted slightly. 

The offense in your tone wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t panicked. It was the kind that lived deep — in your bones, your blood. The kind worn by women who had been raised not to be touched without permission. “You break into my railcar,” you said, voice crisp, cut-glass perfect — all vowels sharpened and smoothed in the same breath, the kind of tone bred in old-money parlors and perfected over champagne and backroom politics. 

You took a step forward, silk shifting like water around your legs. 

“—track dust across hand-loomed velvet, talk about me like I’m a shipment of sugar cane, and then decide I ought to be trussed up like a damn steer?” 

Tony didn’t answer your tirade — not with words. 

He just flicked his gaze to Bucky and jerked his chin. That was the only command he needed to give. 

Bucky didn’t speak. He just moved — quiet and reluctant, the way a man moves when he doesn’t like the thing he’s about to do. The rope came free from his belt with a low hiss, the fibers rough, worn, military-issue. Not meant for wrists like hers. Not meant for this. With one swift motion a gloved hand pressed flat against the small of your back, not violently, but with force — solid, unquestionable, final. His other arm caught your wrists before they even fully left your sides, pulling them behind you in one clean, ruthless motion. 

The rope followed — slipping around your skin in a single practiced loop, rough fibers dragging over silk and bare flesh alike, biting through the space where grace had reigned only seconds before. It was the kind of movement born from instinct, not intention — the reflex of a man who didn’t wait for yes or no when the stakes were high. 

You were bound before you had time to object. 

You turned your head slightly, lips parted as if to speak — but the knot was already halfway done. 

Efficient. Quick. Deliberate. 

It wasn’t a soldier’s knot. It was a warning. 

You inhaled sharply, chest rising against the stiff boning of your corset. Fury bloomed hot beneath your ribs — not just at the rope, but at the sheer audacity of being silenced by speed. Pinned down without a single word passing your lips. Your voice, when it came, was cold and smooth as glass. 

“I’ve seen livestock handled with more ceremony.” 

The rope paused mid-pull — just for a second. Enough for the silence to sting. Tony’s laugh cracked through the tension like a matchstrike from the door. “That one’s gonna be a real joy on the ride.”  

You held your spine straight, eyes forward, chin lifted with that practiced, noble poise — even now, even bound — as though the train still belonged to you. The sunlight behind you spilled gold across the satin of your sleeves, your silhouette like something carved from marble and fury. 

You shifted just slightly — enough for your voice to find him, smooth and knife-edged, cut for the kill. “No hesitation,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips like silk over steel. “How very charming. Do you tie up all your women this quickly, or am I just special?” 

Bucky didn’t reply. 

But the final tug on the rope slowed — just a hair. Enough for you to feel it. Your lips curled — the barest hint of satisfaction blooming there like something dangerous. 

“Mm. That’s what I thought.” 

Quick as a trigger pull. Without a word, his arm snaked behind your knees and, in one seamless, startling motion, he lifted you. You didn’t stumble. You didn’t even have time. The world tilted hard as your body was hoisted upward, silk skirts spilling over his arm like water pouring from a shattered vase. Your cheek pressed to the rough shoulder of his coat, the heavy scent of leather and sun-baked dust filling your lungs. 

The position was inelegant. Indelicate. Undeniably humiliating. 

Your hair slid over your shoulder in soft waves, brushing against the rough canvas of his coat as the motion jostled you. One satin strap slipped slightly, tugged askew by gravity and friction. The sunlight caught on the fine embroidery of your bodice, casting threads of silver and sea-glass blue across his back — a beautiful ruin. 

You were silk-wrapped, dust-drenched, and livid. 

The hem of your dress bunched at your hips where his forearm pinned your thighs, and your corset bit into your ribs with every sway of his stride. The rope at your wrists had no give — each step tugged it tighter. You could feel the heat of him through his shirt, the effortless power in his gait. The certainty in it. He carried you like you weren’t resisting, like your weight meant nothing — like your fury didn’t burn through your bones. 

But it did. 

Oh, it did. 

You narrowed your eyes, lashes brushing your cheekbone as you forced your breathing into something measured. Elegant. Controlled. 

If you couldn’t have dignity, you’d have defiance. 

And it radiated off you like perfume. 

Outside the railcar, the world erupted in color — golden light flaring across the plains, shadows stretching long and lean like scars across the earth. The sky had begun its descent into fire, stained with deep tangerine, bruised rose, and the molten edge of dusk. Bucky descended the steps with you slung over his shoulder, boots hitting iron and gravel with quiet finality. Each step jarred the breath in your lungs, rattled through your ribs, and pressed your cheek harder against the thick weave of his coat. The scent of sunbaked leather and gun oil clung to him — not unpleasant, but sharp, worn-in, unapologetically male. 

You didn’t struggle. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. But you held yourself rigid, like a board of lacquered oak, as if your posture alone could rewrite the scene — make it something less savage, less undignified. The hem of your dress fluttered in the wind, snagging on the butt of Bucky’s revolver, dragging in the dirt behind you. One slipper had been lost somewhere inside the train. The other swung helplessly with each step, a ridiculous echo of grace. 

It slapped softly against your foot, rhythmically — a final insult in a performance you hadn’t volunteered to give. Dust clung to your calf, to the trailing threads of your hem, to the edge of your dignity. And still, you didn’t break. 

You didn’t scream. 

Didn’t squirm. 

You burned. 

Every inch of you was locked with tension — not fear, but rage held steady. The kind that didn’t explode. The kind that sharpened. That waited. 

The sun clung to the horizon like a dying flame, catching in the glint of your earrings, the shimmer of ruined embroidery, the strands of your hair that had come loose and now whipped lazily in the wind. You were a painting half-destroyed and somehow more arresting for it. Bucky walked as if you were weightless. Like he didn’t feel the defiance simmering off you — or maybe he did, and he just didn’t flinch from it. 

The gang watched in stillness. 

A few leaned forward. One man shifted on his boots like he didn’t know whether to nod or kneel. But no one laughed. Because there was nothing funny about the way you looked — slung over his shoulder, silk and salt and sunlight, eyes that didn’t belong to the conquered. There was nothing funny about a woman who could be bound and still make the desert feel colder with a single glance. 

He reached the horse in silence. The animal snorted, hooves shifting in the dirt, sensing the tension in the air — or maybe just the weight of what Bucky was about to hoist into its saddle. 

He didn’t pause. 

Didn’t offer a word of warning. 

His arm adjusted beneath your knees, the other tightening against your back. And with one sharp, fluid movement — more strength than grace — he swung you up into the saddle like gear being packed for the ride.  

It wasn’t just ungentle. 

It was disrespectful. 

You sat still for a beat — breath caught, jaw clenched — willing your posture to hold when everything in you screamed to curse, to spit, to shove back. Your spine refused to slump. If anything, it straightened further. The train, the dirt, the rope — they could take the softness, but they would not take your bearing. 

Your voice, when it came, was velvet over razors. 

“Well,” you said, blinking dust from your lashes. “That was charming.” 

Bucky stepped around to the saddle’s near side, adjusting the cinch strap, not bothering to meet your eye. Your lips curled, not in a smile, but in something far older. Meaner. “You could’ve at least pretended I was breakable,” you added, voice high-society sharp, every consonant a dagger. “Or is throwing women around just part of your technique?” 

Still no answer. 

Not even a glance. 

He simply checked the weight of his satchel, then reached for the reins like you weren’t even there. 

Your legs had twisted awkwardly to one side, skirts bunched beneath you, the cinch of the rope across your spine making every small shift feel like a punishment. But you moved with purpose, carefully straightening your posture, lifting your chin — forcing your bound body to mimic control, authority, even if the raw skin at your wrists told another story. He climbed up in front of you a second later, settling into the saddle without so much as a glance over his shoulder. 

Still silent. 

Still avoiding you. 

And you weren’t having it. 

You leaned forward, just enough that your voice would carry — low, smooth, for him and only him. “You know,” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “if I wanted to be ignored by a man with nothing to say, I’d have stayed in town and gotten married.” 

Still no answer. 

He stared straight ahead — stone-jawed and stiff in the saddle, like the horizon was more interesting than the woman he’d manhandled onto his horse like a sack of sugar. 

You tilted your head slightly, lashes lowering in practiced irritation, and let the silence stretch. Your posture didn’t falter — no slumping, no giving in to the weight of the restraints or the ride. 

Only your voice moved. 

“Quiet and dull,” you added, letting the words slip out like perfume laced with poison. “How lucky for me.” 

You caught it — the smallest shift. The faint grind of his molars. A pulse in his jaw. 

Good. 

Your lips curved, barely. Satisfaction, not softness. You settled back against the saddle, rope taut across your back, spine still straight. The wind caught your hair, sweeping it across your shoulder like a flag of defiance. Even bound, even bruised, you looked like someone who hadn't lost yet. 

And then you twisted the knife — gently, of course. 

“I’m beginning to think the rope was the most interesting thing about you.” 

His hand tightened on the reins, leather groaning in his fist. Still silent. 

But that was all the reply you needed 

[sudriantraveler]

Passing Pacifics

An excerpt from an interview with Sir Charles Topham Hatt II in 1987:

Often I would accompany my father on walks down to Wellsworth Station. Around mid-day, if they were running to time, two trains – one going down the hill towards Tidmouth, the other going up – would pass each other by the road bridge over the mainline. The train coming from Vicarstown was usually hauled by Gordon, while the one heading for Vicarstown would be hauled by Henry.

As originally built, Henry gave my father endless trouble. The North Western’s first ‘Pacific’ type locomotive, his origins are shrouded in mystery, as he was purchased from a builder whose name my father stubbornly took to his grave, so badly slighted he felt he had been. Faults quickly emerged and Henry proved to be a very poor steamer, until he was eventually rebuilt at Crewe as a two-cylinder, 4-6-0. He has since provided continually good service.

In contrast, Gordon was, and still is, strong and reliable. If we failed to see the two trains pass, it was invariably because Gordon was on time and Henry was running late! Though Gordon still managed to test my father’s patience in other ways regardless. In fact, he and Henry could be said to have contributed almost entirely to my father’s general dislike of big engines overall!

……

Decided to try and draw a scene from the early days of the North Western Railway. Charles Hatt’s remarks are based on an excerpt from The Thomas the Tank Engine Man by Brian Sibley, of Wilbert Awdry recounting one of his own memories of living close to Box Tunnel on the Great Western’s mainline.

“We used to have lunch at about one o’clock. At about 12.40, if they were running to time, two trains – one going down the hill towards Bath and Bristol, the other coming up – would pass each other by the London side of the Middle Hill tunnel. The train coming down from Paddington would be hauled by ‘St Bartholomew’, while the one heading for Paddington would be hauled by ‘The Great Bear’.”

“Father had a low opinion of ‘The Great Bear’. The first ‘Pacific’ type locomotive, it was the largest engine to have been built in Britain and was designed simply to show what the Great Western could do. Faults quickly emerged and it was never really satisfactory – in fact, it was eventually rebuilt as a four-cylinder, 4-6-0."

"In contrast, Father was very fond of the free-running ‘Saint Class’ which was utterly reliable. If we failed to see the two trains pass, it was invariably because ‘St Bartholomew’ was on time and ‘The Great Bear’ was running late!”

[marlynnofmany]

Paws in a Circle

There’s a poster I saw once, back on Earth, that had a silhouette of a bear with deer antlers, and it was labeled “Beer.” I had forgotten about it completely until I met our newest client, who by that logic was definitely a beer.

I’d already done my part of the interaction by carrying out one of the heavier boxes, so while the captain went over the delivery fees with her, I was free to stare politely and decide which other Earth animals she resembled. (Fur coloring more like a red fox, and semi-upright posture that was less bear and more extinct giant ground sloth.)

I was so focused on watching the client handle the datapad with her giant paws that I completely missed it when the hovercar behind her sprung a fuel leak.

Paint saw it, though. “Oh! Your car!” she yelped, pointing. “I’ll get Mimi!” She was off in a flash of orange scales, back into the ship in search of our mechanic.

The client growled a swear word that didn’t translate, shoved the datapad back at Captain Sunlight, then galloped over to her car. While I expected her to throw open the hood in search of the part that was leaking, she instead made a beeline for the back seat.

When she threw open that door, I saw why.

“Kids! Out of the car! It’s not safe!”

A half dozen bundles of spotted yellow fur tumbled out, making distressed noises that didn’t need translating. They had tiny little antler buds and very big eyes.

Captain Sunlight was busy talking to someone through her communicator, probably Mimi. I stood there uselessly by the packages. What did I know about fuel leaks? Nothing helpful. I knew the puddle was growing by the second, and was probably flammable, but that was about it. And this backwater spaceport barely had an information booth, much less a local response team.

The client ushered her cubs over to where we stood just as Mimi and Paint returned. Blip and Blop followed with a big toolbox carried between them. Mimi was already taking charge and waving tentacles about, talking to the captain about the lack of reliable repair shops this far in the boonies, telling Blip and Blop how best to use their muscles in opening up the engine, and reassuring the customer that this was fine, actually, that model hovercar had a known issue with the fuel lines.

When the client dithered over minding her cubs and being present for the repairs, Captain Sunlight pointed a scaly yellow hand at me. “Our human can keep your little ones entertained. Bring them over here.”

“Uh,” I said.

Captain Sunlight looked up at me, still talking to the client. “She has extensive experience in tending to small furry creatures.”

I wanted to say that veterinarian training and childcare were two very different things, but I wasn’t about to make the captain look bad. And knowing Mimi, this would be quick.

The client said, “Thank you. Kids, you need to stay over here, okay? Next to these boxes, but don’t touch. Listen to the tall one. I’ll be right there helping fix the car.”

The tiny-voiced replies were recognizable words in the most common trade language, though their pronunciation made me clock them at around three or four years old in human years. They were very cute.

And they were suddenly my responsibility, all looking up at me like spotted teddy bears while the rest of the adults fretted about the car.

The questions were immediate.

“What are you?”

“Where’s your fur?”

“Did you lose it because you ate the wrong thing? Mommy says we have to eat our vi’mins so our fur doesn’t fall out.”

“Is this instead of fur?”

I freed the tiny paws tugging at my pants. “I’m not supposed to have fur. I’m a human. And yes, I wear clothes to keep me warm instead.”

“It looks funny.”

“Do you have to brush it?”

“Do you know any games?”

I brightened at that. “Games! Sure, I know some games.” I wracked my brain for something that would keep them entertained without causing new problems. “What kind of games do you like to play?”

They all answered at once in an avalanche of words, bouncing around in excitement, with a couple grabbing each other’s fur to keep from falling over. I couldn’t make out a thing they were saying. But I had the beginning of an idea.

“Do you like dancing in a circle?” I asked.

They had no idea what I was talking about, and possibly no understanding of basic shapes yet. Three of them spun in place while the others waved their arms.

“First you stand in a circle, like this,” I said, sketching out the shape in midair. “Here. You stand here, then you there…” With some gentle nudging — they were so soft — I soon had them arranged in something like a circle. “Now hold hands with the person next to you.”

I was a little concerned that their paws weren’t suited to this, since they had long blunt claws already and didn’t look very dexterous, but they managed. With lots of giggling and hopping in place.

“Now everybody step to the side, in this direction.” I ushered them into a clockwise rotation, nice and slow (and giggling), with no risk of any little fluffy heads bonking onto the spaceship landing pad. It took them a second, then they got the rhythm without tripping over their own feet.

Then they unanimously spun faster, hopping and laughing with squeals and barks that were probably making more than one adult turn to stare. I don’t know; I kept my eyes on the littles. My arms were out and ready in case somebody stumbled and brought the whole circle crashing down.

But no one did. The half dozen youngsters wheeled and spun, bouncing with glee and showing no sign of stopping.

“That’s new,” rumbled a voice behind me. I tried not to flinch when I looked up at the mama bear. Beer. Whatever. She asked, “Is that an activity from your planet?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty basic, and it seemed good for kids.”

The antlered head nodded. “Looks like valuable practice at coordination, as well as teamwork. There are a few adults I know who could benefit from that.”

Images flashed through my head of huge antlered bear aliens doing ring-around-the-rosie as a corporate teambuilding exercise. And professional athletes trying to improve their footwork. “Yeah, they probably could. And it’s a fun bit of community bonding time.”

Mama Bear nodded. “Okay children, the car is fixed,” she announced. “Time to go home.”

The cubs made the exact same disappointed noises as human kids. Even when their mother waded in and picked them up one by one to urge them towards the car, they didn’t want to stop playing. They grabbed hands in pairs and spun off that way, even faster than before. I did have to catch one fuzzy little teddy toddler, who just laughed about it and hopped around some more.

Peripheral vision told me the rest of the crew was helping move the packages into the hovercar’s storage space and mop up the last of the fuel. Overheard conversation told me that the good captain had tactfully gotten us a bonus payment for the mechanical assistance. I couldn’t tell if childcare was part of that, and I didn’t ask. I just focused on herding the excitable youngsters back to their car, where thankfully they all knew how to get into the safety harnesses without help.

Mama Bear closed the door. “Thank you for everything,” she said, directing that at me as well as Captain Sunlight. “I will recommend your services highly to anyone who asks. And we will probably need more deliveries soon, once we get the new house set up, so perhaps we will see you again!”

Captain Sunlight nodded. “Perhaps so. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

I waved goodbye to the kids, who had found the button to open the window and were just as excitable as ever. “See you later! Maybe next time I can teach you the Hokey Pokey. That’s big on my planet.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[physalian]

If you're still defending ChatGPT please condsider the following

I feel like the angle of “fuck ChatGPT” that isn’t given enough attention is the traffic it draws away from the websites it’s ripping information from.

Now Google does this already. If you google anything now, Google’s “Search Labs AI Overview” will give you what you’re looking for summarized without having to scroll and click on various links.

Google has been up to some shady shit for years redirecting traffic. It used to just be a search engine—you used it to find the non-Google-owned websites that you needed. Now, though, Google is doing everything it can to keep you on Google.

If you search up a product, Google fills half the page with ad-placement links, image search results, the AI overview, Google reviews, and other noise so you stay with them.

Less traffic to the websites it’s ripping information from means those websites don’t get any profit for the information they’re providing, through ad revenue and such.

You might not care whether XYZ website makes money off you, but hosting and maintaining a website costs money, and if there’s no return on investment because search engines are gobbling it up, it’s that much harder for these businesses to stay afloat and not either bury their info under ads, or stick it behind a paywall.

Enter ChatGPT.

Remember when your teacher slandered Wikipedia to kingdom come? “Don’t use Wikipedia! It’s not a reliable source of information!”

Wikipedia, at the very least, demands sources for all of its information, and scroll to the bottom of any article to find exactly where the people who wrote it are getting their evidence.

Google might show you the most relevant link, one out of the thousands of possible search results. It’s foggy here so I googled a question about fog, and beneath the AI overview was a link to NOAA, for example.

ChatGPT goes one step farther. ChatGPT does not fact-check. All it does is answer your questions, but where it’s getting those answers and how correct those answers are, are pulled from the Internet. And if the Internet’s most popular results are wrong, ChatGPT isn’t going to care, it’s just going to regurgitate what those results are saying.

You still have to check your sources, but the difference is, now you don’t know who those sources are, or how biased their information is.

If I want to know the morality of declawing my cats, and I google “should I declaw my cats” I might get two very different answers. The ASPCA will tell you it’s harmful to the cats and animal abuse. “SuburbanBoomerCatMoms.net” (hypothetical) might tell you you gotta do it for the sake of your furniture and that outcry from the other side is just leftwing snowflake libtards.

Wikipedia will cite both of those sources (actually Wikipedia won’t give the second one any credence at all but hypothetically speaking). Google will show you the URL before you click it to both of those sources. ChatGPT will steal from both of those sources, not tell you it’s doing it, and present it as if both carry equal authority on animal care. Do you see the issue here?

Saying all of this because I know somebody who’s putting their medical information into ChatGPT to “translate” it for them.

Anyone who googles any symptom finds out pretty quick that “you have cancer” is a very popular and overblown answer. At this point I have to brush them off because arguing with them won’t change their mind.

So even if you don’t care about information diversity, sustained by giving those smaller websites traffic and revenue, you should care about the smoke and mirrors being very quickly normalized around hiding where information is coming from and making it that much harder to sort fact from fiction.

The Robot cannot be an unbiased source of information, because it is trained on the biases of the information it is scalping. It is your job, your responsibility, and your right to know and understand the ulterior motives behind what any one source is telling you.

[animalsalvationassociation]

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

✨ Old Design ✨

Professor Emma (Em) Jade

Species: Maned Wolf

Accent: British (Born in South America, raised in Britain)

Role:

Zoologist

Animal/Forest Activist

Cofounder of Safari Solutions

Agent of A.S.A.

Relations:

Adopted Daughter of Captain/Professor Samara Jade & Professor Marin Kelp

Kwazii (Boyfriend)

Freya & Voyager (Best Friends)

Abby, Trench, Slye, Max, Cardamon, & Prof. Inkling (Samara’s Team, First Gen of the Octonauts, helped raise her)

Director Peggy Scratch (Old Friend of her Mom’s, Fellow A.S.A. member)

Professor Cornelius Chaplain (College Mates)

James (Jim) Lanagan (Kelp’s Assistant, Friend)

Captain Barnacles (Old Friend)

The Octonauts (Friends / Family)

Her Team Family:

Harley (Right Hand, Head Engineer)

Slye (Resident Getaway Driver/Dendrologist, Former member of the Octonauts)

Atticus (Wildlife Biologist/Medic)

Amarri (Environmental Biologist/Professional Diver)

Alannis (Tracker/Geologist)

Bandit (Apprentice/Medic in Training)

Personality:

Level Headed/Reliable

Follows her gut to get things done

Cares deeply about the environment and the people affected by it.

Mama Bear/Big Sister

“Touch them and you die.”

She seeks the thrills life

Sometimes that gets her in a bad spot.

She really needs to step on the breaks once in a while.

Kwazii’s Yang

They’re so alike yet completely different.

Natural Jokester

Pretty casual too

Not much bothers her

Always the one to say “jump”

Emma dedicates her love to the safety of others

Sometimes that means she sacrifices herself in the process.

Chaos Queen~

Emma’s “Feral” Side:

As of recently, it’s proving harder and harder to figure out what kind of Emma you’re going to get that day. Where before, you usually would get the silly, quick witted, older sister figure. The woman who was always making people smile, and lifting them off their feet. But nowadays you can only see glimpses of that past. Most of the time she’s agitated in some way, always on her toes as they’d say.

It’s getting more difficult for her to seize control of situations. Missions are growing more dangerous, there are more stakes involved. She’s no longer the laid back jokester, but now a control hungry conservationist. It’s not a win if the bad guy gets away.

This “feral” side I’m referring to, is a state of being of which Emma has begun to slip into during high intensities. As if she’s forgotten that she’s meant to be saving people, saving the forest, not hunting men and putting them behind bars. She’s forgotten her “humanity” (in a sense ofc).

The earliest we see of this side is in, “It was Emma all along”.

Her eyes are sharp, ears pinned back. She’s breathing heavily. Something painful has just happened to her yet she has no control of her body. All she’s focused on . . . is her victim. That’s not Emma behind those eyes . . . it’s something else. Something otherworldly. Something . . . carnal.

[ “Everyone has their days . . .” / “Kwazii Headcanons” / “For any of your Oc’s” / “Who was behind the assassin?” / “Who is the strongest member of the A.S.A.?” ]

(Emma is a very complicated character and it’s hard to explain just in words what she’s like without showing you through my drawings and context from the story. So above I listed a couple of posts where her portrayal shows through, if only a little.)

I think it's fitting that Emma was my 200th post. By complete accident mind you. I didn't notice until I was literally about to post this. Em has been with me for two years now which is honestly astonishing. I never imagined this blog growing as large as it is now in just the year and a half that it's existed.

At this point it's become a passion project. I've literally abandoned all of my novels, my other fandoms, just to see this story through to the end. It's an honor to have gotten this far, thank you. Really. And I mean all of you, because this wouldn't have happened without any of you supporting me along the way. You're all so amazing, I can't express how grateful I am to be here now.

200 Posts, 335 Followers, and a whole lot of love.

Thank you.

~ MR

Digital Illustration Time: 4hrs 39min

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]