#ship automation and control systems

[super-ion]

Oh, hello! Welcome!

I take it this is your first time out in the deep black?

Oh no, no need to get defensive about it, Everyone has to start somewhere. We get many travelers paying tribute at our little church here. You've got the look of someone who's never been beyond low orbit. I'm guessing one of the third wave colonies?

(It's the implants. Secondwave culture is a bit more uptight about them and you don't look like you're trying to rebel)

You're wondering why we have valuable real estate set aside for a shrine of all things?

You're wondering what sort of god spacers worship?

Do you know what a god is? I'll tell you. A god is an idea given life.

So what's the idea that keeps us flying?

Most folk born planetside might think the god of spaceflight is all fire and noise. Nah. Any moron with enough money and explosives can build a rocket.

No, the idea that keeps us going out here is faith that ask these tiny little pressure vessels will hold together and find their way through the black.

Back in the ancient days, back before thinking machines and all that, the very first leaps off the ground were guided by computers that were hand made. I shit you not, little old ladies hand sewed the memory together.

Huh…? No, I mean like, hard coded read only memory, literal ones and zeros locked into magnets and wire.

That's my point though. Our god began life as the god of seamstresses. She's the god of sewing and weaving. She's older than civilization and she's gone by many names in many cultures.

Yeah, no, of course we don't hand sew our computers, that lasted all of like a decade. Hell, textile work itself went totally automated not long after. Point is she took men into space and brought them home safely. That sorta thing leaves a mark on a god. It changes them.

A ship. A station. A fleet. They're all systems. People and life support and sensors and actuators and control loops. It's all a web, a giant fucking tapestry of connections and she's the master weaver at the center.

But of course the web is massive, and she isn't literally weaving shit. She's all of the maintenance. Corrective and preventive. So it falls on all of us, the pilots, the mechanics, the algae farmers, the sanitation workers, everyone. We're the sewers and weavers. We're the ones patching and mending the tapestry. We're the ones adding to it constantly.

So that's what the shrine is for. That's the religion in out here in the black. Deep space is a bitch, and all we have to count on is the ship and the crew. She reminds us of that.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Too stupid to be real

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

There once was a species known as the Ping that held control over several dozen star systems near the outer edges of the known universe.

Under their reign entire worlds were turned into nightmarish hellscapes the likes of which only the mad could dream of and only the dead escape from. The Ping feasted on suffering for nutrients in a process still not fully understood today despite several centuries of research, and so they tortured and mutilated all within their domain.

It took the combined efforts of half a dozen species to finally drive the Ping back to their original homeworld. Countless billions died in the struggle, and twice as many went mad from the horrific images and hallucinations; yet the death like grip of the Ping was broken.

When it came to decide the fate of the Ping there was a heated debate amongst the victors. Half felt that the Ping were too dangerous to be left free and needed to be exterminated, while the other half was hesitant to be swayed by such extreme measures as it would make them no better than those they had fought to overthrow. The debate raged on for several weeks after the final battle until the moderates emerged victorious.

A massive cryogenic vault was constructed on the Ping homeworld and every surviving member of the species was locked within. Inside their cryo tubes the Ping would serve out their sentences until such a time as the rest of the galaxy felt the Ping could be set free into the universe.

To ensure the vault was not breached several different layers of defenses were installed, each created by a different species to ensure that no one member species could enter into the vault unless each agreed. With the security features in place the Ping homeworld was vacated and orbital beacons were placed warning all who came within system that the planet was off limits.

Years turned into decades, decades to centuries, and then millennia passed without a single soul setting foot on the planet. The former victors of the war continued with their lives and managing their new found freedom amongst the stars without the threat of the Ping. Perhaps it was in this new found sense of freedom that they slowly began to forget about the Ping’s existence all together.

Had any of them given the Ping a thought for even a moment one of them could have warned Humanity to stay away; but none did.

When humanity began expanding into the stars they spread out in all directions like lightning in the sky. Their appetite for the new and wondrous universe around them was insatiable. For too long they had known only the confines of their own world and with the coming of space travel they finally saw their chance to explore the stars; which led them to stumbling upon the Ping homeworld.

Where other races would have seen the array of defenses and obstacles blocking the world and turned away, humanity saw a mystery in need of solving.

“A seemingly dead world protected by such wonders?” they thought. “What treasures are hidden here?”

So they dove head first with reckless abandon into the world, ignoring the numerous warning signals that were still being transmitted by the automated systems orbiting the planet in languages they could not understand.

The first expedition hadn’t made it through the first layer of outer atmosphere before colliding into energy barriers. Crengthi shields operated on wave lengths not detectible by human instruments and so the ships were damaged but still capable of space flight.

The second expedition was able to study the shielding and devised a jamming device that would open small holes within the shield to allow ships to pass through. They had just made it into the lower atmosphere when ground based Kentoc automated cannons targeted their vessels and obliterated them.

The third expedition was larger than the previous two by far as the military had seen the results of the ground based weaponry and wanted their scientists to reverse engineer them. A large military contingent was deployed alongside the science vessels and spear headed the landings on the surface.

Once more the Kentoc cannons roared into the heavens but the military ships were able to withstand the barrage. There were still losses and a few of the heavier landing craft were obliterated, but still many more troop carriers landed and dispersed their cargo of soldiers and scientists. It was here that they triggered the Julnu mind madness broadcaster.

Within minutes the humans who had survived to touch the surface of the Ping homeworld were driven mad by visions of such intense horror many gouged out their own eyes to make the nightmares stop. The military leaders still in orbit could only watch in horror as every human on the planet killed each other and then themselves until once more the planet lay silent.

And so it went on for decades on and off again.

Expedition after expedition would be sent to the Ping homeworld building atop the advances made by the previous until succumbing to the world themselves. Sometimes it was the military, other times private corporations, and then eventually even privateers and treasure hunter’s came drawn to the world by the ever growing legend.

The defenses of the world were extensive, but not infinite; and with each expedition they grew thinner and thinner until finally the humans had reached the cryo vault itself. It was here that the other surviving races of the universe who had once imprisoned the Ping received a final warning transmission that the vault was about to be breached.

Historical records were dusted off and it was with great horror that these races knew of what would be unleashed should they fail to keep the humans from the vault. Wars between them all but ceased as their military fleets were rerouted to the Ping homeworld.

When they arrived they were surprised to find there were no longer any humans on the world. In fact, there was not a single living human left in the entire system.

They quickly descended on the world and found that it had been stripped bare of all technology. Energy shields, automated weapons, broadcasting systems; anything of value had been taken by the humans in their relentless pursuit of the mysterious world was claimed as their prize.

Fearing the worst the races rushed deep into the confines of the world for the cryo vault , hoping beyond hope that the humans had not been so foolish as to unleash the most dangerous species the universe had ever known. Scorched and melted, they found the vault doors had been cut through and breached. With weapons drawn and at the ready they advanced into the vault but found something they had not expected.

Every single cryo pod was missing from the vault, but at the entrance of the vault casually tossed off to the side was a massive mound of dead Ping. Each body had a single hole in their forehead from what was most likely a close range human automatic weapon ensuring immediate death. While some of the races breathed a sigh of relief, others were outraged at the casual butchery carried out by the humans and sought answers.

A delegation was sent to the human homeworld to demand answers and answers they were given.

One of the pods had indeed been opened shortly after the vault had been breached and the humans interacted with the Ping for a brief time. It soon became quickly obvious that the Ping were a hostile race as they immediately attempted to kill all of the humans present and free either brethren.

After a two dozen killed soldiers and scientists it was finally brought down when an excavation bot rammed it through the chest and impaled it to the wall of the vault. It bled out screaming in its alien tongue for hours until finally it died.

The leader of the expedition was given instructions to bring back any usable technology, but nothing on what to do if encountering sentient life forms. It had been a general consensus that they had been dealing with the automated defenses of a long dead civilization so it had never been considered.

Taking into account the hostile nature of the Ping, the leader made a judgment call that they could not be safely released back into the universe. Upon the opening of each cryo pod the occupant was summarily executed before they could fully recover and tossed aside while the pod was removed from the chamber.

The gathered alien delegates were dumbfounded by the humans. They had breached one of the most secure locations in the known universe without fully understanding it and had slain the greatest evil of the universe held within, and had moved on to new endeavors as if what they had just done was as interesting as a casual walk in spring.

They worried what would happen the next time the humans became interested in something.

[thejojosanctuary]

Since it's mermay, what about a short fic where Y/N fishes up merman Joseph who then tries his infamous "Secret Joestar Technique" to get away but since he's on land he's just flopping around 😂

-The way this idea had me cackling imagining the scenario it's perfect!

This man's built like a brick house so I had to get creative with figuring out how he'd get reeled up without snapping that line like floss - I do hope I did a good job with your idea.

Thank you so much for the request!- 🧡

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆｡˚⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆｡˚⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆｡˚⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆｡˚⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆｡˚⋅˚.ଳ

You’re cursed.

You have to be - how else could you explain how you got into this damned mess?

You were relatively new to the whole boating thing, nowhere near committed to calling it a stable trade and more so using it as an excuse to get away from land. Inherited from a relative, the boat wasn’t commercial but it certainly wasn’t big enough for more than a couple of people. It was enough for you, though, while you were still trying to figure things out.

When the weather was decent enough you’d take to the sea. Just you, your ship, and the open ocean for a couple hours until the haul was enough to justify the trip back or the weather got too extreme. You mostly went out for the space though - if you happened to catch a couple of fish to sell in the process, who were you to complain?

Besides, the local stores always appreciated the fresh produce you brought back. The extra chore to your time off was a small price to pay for the discount you got at the stalls that used your fish.

So when you’d woken up that morning, greeted by the first sunny sky you’d seen in the last couple of weeks, blinding you through the crack in your curtains, you were out the door and on the sea without a second thought. It’s not like you’d be gone for long - what was the worst that could happen?

Famous last words - ones that were coming to bite you in the ass now.

Usually you’d just let the ship’s trawler do its work, dragging along the imperceivable depths below while you whiled away the time with other stuff. It was almost entirely automated at this point, so the most you had to do was wait for the thing to catch a handful of fish, flip the controls to reel it back, and check to make sure it hadn’t gotten snagged on debris or sediment.

You’d been in the middle of flipping through a comic a friend had lent you, tucked away in one of the many cozy nooks you’d made for yourself in the cabin. Humming, you thumb through the pages, working your way up to the big cliffhanger that you just know is coming up when an almighty screech rips you away from your reading. It’s a scratchy, grating noise that has you cringing, face scrunching up from the sheer volume thoroughly pissed at the interruption right as you’d been getting invested. 

That is until you realize exactly where the sound is coming from.

“Shit, shit, shit-!”

The rickety cabin door ricochets off of the wall with a solid crack as you boot it open, entire frame shuddering from the force. However it’s the least of your concerns as you scramble towards the back of the little boat, muttering obscenities under your breath with increasing desperation.

The trawler groans beneath the weight of its haul, the line whizzing rapidly in a bid to pull itself free from the ocean’s depths on behest of the automated timer. Another sharp hiss of mechanics, this one more strained than the last, and for a moment you fear that the whole system is going to go up in smoke. The noises rend from the machine’s inner workings is concerning, enough that you have no idea whether to get closer or keep a wide berth in case it snaps - the old thing isn’t worth losing a chunk of your fingers over. But you can’t make out what the problem is if you don’t get any closer, so slowly, cautiously, you begin circling around to the far side of the machine.

“Please, please, please, please don’t be broken.” The repeated pleas are whispered to yourself like a matra, as if silently hoping that if you say it enough then it will magically revert whatever is messing with the hunk of junk back to a functional state. No such luck.

Is the pulley on the fritz? You hadn’t bothered to change it when you’d inherited it, though you’d at least maintained the upkeep as you’d been told. The old fishers at the shore who had taught you how to use the ol’ gal had explained to you that whilst it was an older make, it wouldn’t need refurbishing or upgrading for a good couple months at least.. 

“Gahh, I really don’t wanna fork out on replacing this thing before payday.” you give a defeated groan, giving the hunk of junk a cautionary nudge with the heel of your boot. Maybe a good whack’ll kick it back into gear? Not the first time you’ve done it, and it's never strayed you wrong before, right?

But then the netting veers right, dragged by an unseen force as it careens into the side of the ship and you stumble backwards, recoiling at the deafening screech it rends from the pulley mechanism. For a moment you can only watch the line jerk around, as though fighting against the pulley trying to yank it back up; that it is not the machine messing up. Your stomach drops as realization dawns that the problem isn’t with the net or the pulley.

It’s reeling something in.

You’re not even far enough out to sea to have caught anything substantial - a few minutes from shore at most, just barely enough to not risk marooning the vessel. And yet as you watch the machinery struggling to pull something up the tension builds. The corded netting pulls tighter and tighter and tighter-

Then, with a final heave the netting breaks through the water’s surface. 

The resounding wet thud rocks the entirety of the boat, forming puddles of water on the wooden surface as the writhing mass is deposited in front of you. As you feared, upon completing its final job the pulley gives up the ghost. With a hoarse sputter, puffing out a few wisps of smoke for good measure the death rattle of metals gradually fades to a chilling silence, the noise still ringing in your ears as you take in the metallic husk with a withering sigh. 

You’d bemoan the loss later, however the wriggling, lively contents of its last haul currently demand your attention.

A huge mass squirms and thrashes about within the confines of the fishing net, though at first you can’t quite make out what it is. Amongst the large shape are a handful of fish  - or more accurately what’s left of them as they’ve obviously been half eaten, reduced to chunks somewhere between the ocean and your boat. For fucks sake; something’s been at your line again - probably those damned sea lions you’ve heard are making a home further up coast. But the offending culprit that’s trapped is far from a sea lion; though when you finally make out what exactly you’re looking at, maybe a sea lion would have been better.

There’s an honest to god man tangled up in your net, hulking bare chested frame struggling fiercley against the network of woven rope clinging to his form with little success. Any fear that you’ve hauled up a corpse flies out the window along with the barrage of curses the man spews out the second he hits solid land, words barely legible but shouted with enough vigor that you get the crystal clear picture that he’s pissed.

You’re beginning to think that you’ve accidentally scooped up a diver, but it’s while you’re in the middle of mentally debating the legalities of getting sued for picking a person up in your net (because seriously, how are you going to explain your way out of this one???) that the big mound of green he’s curled up with shifts. You swear to god, if that’s another goddamn person-! 

Oh.

That’s not a diver.

Iridescent scales glint in the sunlight like emeralds, catching in the sun as a green tail unfurling within the ratty old net. Those pretty glistening scales form intricate patterns all the way up the stranger's body, becoming sparser up along the hips until they meet skin and taper off to the very human torso of a decidedly not human man. 

A merfolk. There’s a merfolk in your trawler. Despite knowing what you’re looking at, your brain just can’t quite process what your eyes are seeing. It’s like something right out of a fairytale, coming across a mer out on the ocean. Except that mer is now swearing like a sailor and getting himself more and more wound up in what remains of your trawling net. He’s done a number on it, sure, but the ratty thing is clinging to the merman like it’s trying to get revenge for the pulley.

The hell are the chances that you’d yank up a mer of all things?! Godammit, you just wanted some fish, not this! 

Someone up there must be getting a real kick out of your suffering right now, because as if finally sensing your presence the mer goes rigid, tensing up with fingers still wound tight mid-yank into the criss-cross of ropes that won’t budge. His head snaps up, and you’re momentarily struck by the startling blue of the eyes that meet yours, pupils blown wide as they dart across your features.

Oh, damn. He’s actually kind of handsome - the defined cut of his jaw framed by a mop of dark hair, clinging to saltwater slick skin as droplets of water cling to his lashes.

Silence; for a moment not even the gulls overhead make a peep.

“OH NO!!”

Okay he is WAY too loud. The merman spins away from you (as well as he can while actively trapped), hunching over with a groan. With his back to you, you catch a flash of an odd star-shaped mark on his shoulder - a birthmark? - before he buries a hand in his hair, tail thrashing.

“Granny warned me about getting too close to the human ships. But how was I supposed to know they’d pull it up!? Aaaaah, she’s gonna kill me when she finds out!”

Aaand he’s speaking to himself. Great, just what you need; a mythical creature monologuing to himself like it’s normal. At least you can understand him, you guess. He mutters something under his breath and suddenly jolts up, immediately hissing when his back catches on the coarse entanglements.

“There’s no other option.” he declares with grave conviction. “It’s time for my secret technique.”

Instinctively, you take a cautionary step backwards apprehensive on what this ‘secret technique’ is. He looks so sure about it that you’re beginning to dread what he’s got up his non-existant sleeves. Are mers dangerous on land? Of course there’s old wives tales of them drowning sailors, as there are across any corner of the world that touches the ocean, but surely you’re safe on your ship...you hope. And yet the foreboding ‘what-if’ is enough to warrant another step away for good measure. 

The mer’s hands slap onto the deck, raising himself to as full a height as his predicament will allow. A deep breath - which only cements the lingering fear now that you know he seems just fine out of the sea- as his mouth opens with a bellow of-

“Run away!”

…You’re kidding.

If he was in the water, maybe this amazing technique would’ve worked wonders. As it stands though you can merely watch, utterly baffled, as the mer makes a poor attempt to flee back to the ocean he’d emerged from. Dropped smack-dab in the middle of your boat by the trawler however, there really wasn’t anywhere for him to go, He’s got plenty of muscle (which isn’t discerned bc you were staring at them too hard, definitely not) but progress is as slow going as you imagine it would be for a several foot tall sea creature weighed down by both a tail and a couple pounds of rope.

 As this strange man continues to flop about on your deck, the fear and panic which had once taken hold now dissolves into confusion. Your hands, initially braced to protect yourself drop to your sides and there’s no hiding the pinch in your brow as you tilt your head with silent judgment.

Wow, talk about anticlimactic.

Clearly, at some point this guy must realize that thrashing around on dry land isn’t getting him anywhere, because after what feels like far too long (but is likely just a minute or two) the merman abruptly stills, makes a drawn out, pained noise, and promptly drops down in a tangled, outstretched mess of limbs and tail to the deck.

Is he…dead? What if you were wrong, and merfolk could die if they’re pulled out of the water? This is getting weirder and weirder; however as the seconds pass and you find yourself straining more and more to gauge if he’s still breathing, you’re growing increasingly concerned with the notion that it’s not just another gimmick.

Well you aren’t going to be responsible for this guy dying on your watch - the universe would probably curse you twice over for letting some mythical half-naked fish man croak on your ship. Spurred on by that thought you spin around, leaving the too still figure in your peripherals and you stride over to your trunk. It’s haphazard, and as you wrench it open it’s still full of junk you’ve been putting off sorting, making your job even harder as you root through it.

“Come on, come on. Don’t tell me I left the goddamn thing back home again- AHA!”

A triumphant shout, followed by the hefty slam of your toolbox. It’s an amalgamation of tools and tiny knicknacks stuffed away and half-remembered, and you shove your hand into the uncoordinated mess in a bid to feel around for the tool you know you have in there somewhere.

Immersed in fishing through your kit, you’re only half paying attention when a low, drawn out squeak makes you freeze mid-pillage. Whipping your head round, your gaze falls back to the ‘dead’ merman splayed on on your deck - he’s in the exact same position, but there’s a drag in the drying splotches of water on deck, and you could almost swear that he’s a little further away from you than he was before.

You hesitate before turning your back again, slower this time as you return to searching. This time, you’re actively listening out for any further movement; so when it happens again you’re quicker on the uptake. Still not fast enough to catch him in the act, but the marks are longer and he’s definitely further from where he had been.

Suspicions confirmed; he’s playing dead. And getting impatient too, as this time it’s barely a second after you’ve turned away that you hear that same squeaky noise. A deep exhale, calmness only betrayed by the slam of your hands rattling the toolbox as you spin back to face the mer.

“Listen, I know you’re moving!”

Silence. He’s really trying to milk the whole playing dead thing.

“I can SEE the drag marks on the deck you know!”

The ruse is up - and seems to ‘miraculously’ spring the guy back to life. With an indignant huff, the mer rolls onto his back and pushes himself up onto his shoulders to glare at you as though you’re the problem. A glare that’s looking mighty pathetic from behind the cross-knitted ropes he’s still covered in.

“You could have at least pretended to be fooled!” his expression’s wound in a scowl, one that you mirror as you throw your hands up in the air.

“Pretended?!You fu-I thought you were dead!” 

“You were supposed to! Aren’t you humans dense or what?”

“Of all of the-ugh! That’s it!” You paw at the toolkit behind you, blindly grabbing till you feel a familiar weight in your hand and take long strides towards the mer.

Immediately he bristles, that cocksure attitude replaced by a reflection of the panic that you’d no doubt expressed just minutes before. He looks ready to bolt, if that was even an option, eyes flickering between your approaching form and the small safety cutter now brandished in your hand.

“O-Oi, hang on, don’t do anything stupid-” 

“Oh hush.” you snort, amused by the notion that for a second he actually thought you posed any danger. “Relax; I’m going to cut away the net, and all that thrashing is a good way to lose a fin.” 

The mer startles as you drop to your knees before him. His tail still thrashes, but it’s significantly slower than it once was - either he’s getting tired or you’re beginning to get through to him, but you don’t want to risk getting closer in case that tail hits you. Still, he makes his protest known, and this close it’s enough to make your ears ring.

“How about letting me go! Throw me overboard and we’ll pretend this never happened!” it’s more of a demand than a request, and a stupid one at that considering his current predicament.

“And what are you gonna do about the rope? Wait for it to just miraculously disappear; or let it drag you down to the bottom?”

That shuts him up. Smug satisfaction wells in your chest watching the mers mouth fly open with another witty remark, only to snap shut because you both know that you’re right. It takes effort to hide the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth as you shuffle closer, reaching out for

“Exactly. Now can it and hold still.”

His body’s wound up, visibly tense as your hand slips through the gaps in the net to pull a portion of it away from his skin. The rope itches in your grasp, coarse and soggy from its stint underwater much like present fishy company. No wonder he was trying so hard to get out - this thing is uncomfortable so torn and tattered. 

Once it becomes apparent that you aren’t actively causing him harm, you watch the mer’s form slowly ease, the twisting of his tail settling enough that it’s finally safe to dare getting closer for a better look. Surveying the state of it, you click your tongue at the state of your fishing net. He’s done enough damage tangling himself up that the netting has folded over itself in places and knotted at awkward angles. Perhaps you could have tried to save it, but it doesn’t take a genius to piece together that it’s clearly a lost cause.

You work in silence, for the most part. For how much of a chatterbox he was before he’s eerily silent now, attentively watching over you as you work at the netting around his tail. It’s tedious, long winded and your fingers are already feeling sore by the time you’re even halfway up the bright green appendage with so much more to go, and yet you don’t stop for a second.

A section pulls too sharp when you tug, and the mer hisses at the unpleasant friction when the rope catches. It’s the only thing to break the silence and you immediately still, a quick ‘sorry’ murmured as you ease up, taking more care not to be too rough.

A mutter catches your attention. For a second you fool yourself into thinking he’s talking to himself again when you catch him blatantly staring at your face. You glance up, pausing momentarily in your cutting.

“Huh?”

“What’s your name?” a blunt question posed by the mer you’re working to free. “You’re a human; you have one of those too, right?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not about the name thing. But with no better way to make time go faster, you decide to indulge him.

He repeats your name under his breath a few times, as though practicing how it sounds. Apparently he must like it, as you hear him do it twice more in the few seconds it takes for you to finally cave and chime in.

“I’m guessing you have a name too.”

“Of course! It’s Joseph.”

“Joseph, huh?” That’s…not the name you were expecting from a mythical sea beast, honestly. But then again, what did you expect? Your expression must paint a picture though, as Joseph’s expression sours in the wake of your response.

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just-” you choose your next words very carefully, pausing for a second too long before settling on, “It suits you.”

Joseph halts mid rebuttal, for a moment looking truly stunned till what you say sinks in. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone preen before, but the brunet mer looks positively chuffed, grinning like a fool at the compliment. He puffs up his chest, making a move to straighten up as if getting ready to boast about it. That idea is nipped in the bud with a firm reminder to stop squirming before he loses scales as you keep cutting away at his bindings. 

Your warnings don’t seem to curb his restlessness however, a slow, overly dramatic sigh making you regret saying anything in the first place as he huffs.

“Are you done yet?”

“Not yet. Getting there though.”

A pause.

“...How about now?”

“Still no, Joseph.”

“...Now?”

“No”

“...Now?”

“Yes.”

“Really?!”

“No.”

“Aaaah! This is taking forever!”

You can’t help it - Joseph falls for it hook, line and sinker, oblivious to your snickering in favor of flopping back onto the deck to complain more about his fate. While messing with him a little bit longer is a tempting idea, you decide for your own wellbeing to go easy on him.

“I’m kidding. Look-” A few more slices at the remains of the netting fall away between your fingers, joining the scattered pieces that once made up the merman’s confines. “Tada; you’re a free man.”

Without thinking you brush some stragglers off of his tail, the bits falling off with ease in the wake of your hand. Up close the green of his scales is somehow more stark, and though you expected them to be rough to the touch they’re instead pleasantly smooth against your open palm. Streaks of sunlight still catch on the iridescent tail, revealing faint yellow tones that pattern along the underside exposed to the sun. There’s no denying that they’re beautiful, if not unfortunately attached to such a cocky mer.

“Kinda pretty.” you muse aloud, quiet but not quiet enough.

Joseph makes a curious noise - somewhere between a whistle and a click. You’ve got no idea what it means but his smile spells bad news. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” is shot back too quickly. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, no you definitely said something.” He’s leaning closer, any hint of the fear or distrust a far cry from the smug grin he’s sporting. “What’s pretty-?” 

You reel back in response, making a grab for the tattered net at your feet. “I’ll throw this back on you-”

Joseph makes distance between you two immediately, hands thrown up in defense. “Okay, okay! Yeesh, are all humans this testy?” 

“That’s a funny way to say thanks for cutting me free, but you’re welcome.”

Satisfied that he’s not going to make another move, you push yourself upright. Your knees groan in protest, stiff from how long they’ve spent shoved against the deck for far too long. Joseph looks himself over, patting himself down as if to ensure that he’s not short of any of his extremities and letting out a sigh of relief to find out that, true to your word, you’ve left him in one piece.

Right on time too, it seems. He’s beginning to dry out in the sun now, no longer the wet mop of a mer you’d initially dragged up. Joseph’s hair is starting to curl a little at the ends, and the sheen on his skin has dried in favor of a pinkish hue in light of the sun. 

“Probably a good idea to get you back in the water.” you suggest, taking a step back and nodding your head towards the stern of the ship behind him. “You’re free to go; I gotta head back. Need to let the stalls know I’m empty handed this time.”

Joseph looks genuinely confused at that last remark, cocking his head. “Why’d you need to do that?”

“Well taking into consideration that my net is a loss, and the fish I did catch have been eaten.” The pointed glare in his direction is met with a sheepish hunch and glance away (because, honestly, how was he doing to explain the fish bits you’d hauled him up with?). Sighing, you shake your head, turning your gaze back out to sea in the direction of shore.

“I’m out of options. They won’t be mad, but I hate letting ‘em down when they’re expecting-”

“I can help.”

That…wasn’t what you expected. In fact, the offer genuinely takes you off guard.

“Joseph, I can’t take back the half-eaten ones.”

Joseph looks genuinely offended that you think that’s what he’s propositioning. “Not those, duh.” he snaps, broad hands gesturing to himself as though the answer is staring you in the face. “Merman, remember?”

In response you arch a brow, hands falling to your hips as you stare back at him. “You? Really? You’re going to catch me fish?”

“What do you mean, fish love me!” somehow you don’t entirely believe that, but Joseph isn’t deterred in the slightest.

“Give me some time - I’ll get you enough fish it’ll knock you off of those weird legs of yours!”

For the first time you look at him, really look at him. At that haughty overconfident smile and those bright blue eyes glinting as though he knows something you don’t. And you’re sure he does - you’ve just met the mer, afterall. But something pulls at you, a feeling that whispers that he means it - that you can trust him.

“Okay, fine.”

That smile breaks into a full on grin, the light in his eyes crinkling at the corners when you squat back down and offer a hand. “I can stay a couple more hours, but you’ve got yourself a deal, Joseph.”

“Great!” His hand clamps around yours, careful not to catch you on the sharp cut of his nails as he uses the momentum to prop himself up. 

“Now help me get off of this thing. I don’t have all day!.”

“...I’m throwing you in.”

[drnikolatesla]

🚢 Tesla's Remote Control Patent: The Birth of Modern Automation 🚢

On November 8, 1898, Nikola Tesla was granted U.S. Patent No. 613,809 for his "Method of and Apparatus for Controlling Mechanism of Moving Vessels or Vehicles." This invention wasn’t just the first practical remote control—it marked a revolutionary step toward the development of wireless communication and automation.

🔧 How Tesla’s System Worked 🔧

Tesla's system worked much like how we control drones today—only over a century ago!

1️⃣ Transmitter: Tesla used radio waves to send wireless commands to the vessel.

2️⃣ Receiver: The vessel had a sensitive device that decoded the radio signals into specific actions, such as steering or powering motors.

3️⃣ Control Circuits: Tesla designed a series of circuits that ensured each command executed reliably, preventing errors and interference.

⚙️ Key Features ⚙️

💡 Command Logic: Tesla's circuits functioned like a primitive decision-making system, linking specific signals to specific actions—a conceptual precursor to today’s logic gates.

🔋 Multi-Channel Design: Each circuit operated on a unique frequency, akin to modern multi-device networks, ensuring precise control without interference.

🛡️ Safety First: Tesla implemented mechanisms to prevent accidental or incorrect activations, prioritizing reliability.

🌍 Applications Then and Now 🌍

Tesla saw the potential for:

✔️ Military Use: Guiding unmanned ships or torpedoes.

✔️ Disaster Response: Sending unmanned vessels into dangerous areas.

✔️ Remote Automation: Introducing wireless precision to various industries.

Today, Tesla's vision echoes in:

🚁 Drones: Controlled remotely through radio signals.

🤖 Robots: Autonomous machines performing tasks with precision.

🏠 Smart Homes: Devices responding to commands over Wi-Fi.

🏭 Automated Factories: Machines operating through programmable controls Tesla helped inspire.

🌟 Why Tesla’s Invention Matters 🌟

Tesla didn’t just create a remote control—he pioneered a framework for wireless systems that continues to shape modern technology. What are your thoughts on Tesla's advancement in wireless technology?

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : V]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content waring: a lot of blood, mind manipulation, referenced violence and murder, mention of killing killing killing and also killing

tags/themes: Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Today is the last day of your life. That is what you have seen in your vision. You prepare yourself and accept the unchangeable fate, unaware that your destiny has already been altered. and you cannot predict what kind of fate awaits you ahead.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N: still bummed about The Acolyte being canceled and unsure if I should continue this fic. However, Thanks to everyone who’s followed along—this fandom is amazing, and I love you all.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 5] When you have lived with prophecy for so long, the moment of revelation is a shock.

Everything happens for a reason.

Your mother once taught you this, speaking of how fate works from the perspective of a seer.

The words suddenly come to mind again as you follow Qimir up onto the Fallon, the ship hidden in the darkness of Tatooine's vast desert—your home planet.

"The desert is your home and your tomb," you murmur absently. A sudden realization dawns in your consciousness. It’s happening, you think with dread, your pulse racing erratically. You’ve seen this scene a hundred times before, yet it still feels surreal as it unfolds before your eyes.

Four months—precisely. No more, no less. This is the exact time Qimir has to deliver you to his employer, as stipulated in the contract.

And it might just be the last stretch of your life, along with everyone else on this ship.

A new alertness grows rapidly within you as you step forward into the unfamiliar cargo ship.  Everything is pristine, modern, and expensive. The air inside is cool, courtesy of the automated climate control system, yet you feel anything but comfortable. Partly because of the thick, heavy metal cuffs clamping down on your wrists, and partly because of the piercing gazes of the three guards, who look identical in their matching gray uniforms. They follow close behind, laser guns in hand, watching your every step without blinking. If you make even the slightest suspicious move, they won't hesitate to shoot you down instantly.

For a brief moment, your mind retreats into a temporary calm—a sense of resigned acceptance of a fate that can no longer be altered.

You shift your focus to the figure ahead—the tall, familiar man walking a short distance away. Qimir’s expression is as unreadable as a statue, devoid of any emotion. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at this moment. Perhaps he’s relieved, finally rid of the burden that is you.

A soft, cynical laugh escapes your lips. You can’t help but pity yourself.

So this is your reward for saving his life. In the end, he still sells you out for the bounty.

Before you could take another step, Qimir suddenly halted, causing you to stop as well. He turns to face you as if he had known you were watching him all along. It seems like he wants to say something, but the words never come. So, you decide to speak first.

"I should have left you to rot there," you say. The words sound harsh, but your tone lacks any trace of resentment.

A part of you wants to be angry at Qimir, but you know you deserve to be angrier at yourself. Who else could you blame? You chose this path willingly. It was your own weakness, your own foolish attachment, that led you to this pitiful end.

You notice Qimir's brow furrow, a look of surprise on his face, but you have no chance to hear his response as the barrel of a gun presses hard into your back, forcing you to move in another direction. The guard behind you roughly pushes you forward, guiding you toward the ship's holding cells, where you will await whatever fate has in store for you next.

Before you are taken away, you glance back at Qimir one last time. That was when you caught sight of the person who had hired him. The other man stepped out from the opposite door of the ship and approached Qimir with an air of authority.

The man was an elderly Neimoidian, his skin mottled in shades of gray and green, as was typical of his species. Tall and thin to the point of looking like a matchstick, he was dressed in luxurious dark silk robes with the peculiar headdress common to the Trade Federation. His large, piercing red-gold eyes, sharp as a hawk's, met yours in return, studying your deep blue irises with a hint of satisfaction before nodding to Qimir.

You didn’t know the name of this old stranger, and you were certain he didn’t know yours either. But he knew who you were and what you were capable of. That’s why he had gone to such lengths to obtain you.

Death was drawing near. You could feel it in your bones—the malevolent intent of something hidden, something that would soon be revealed.

The dark metal box was opened, revealing a collection of rare and priceless materials neatly arranged inside, their surfaces gleaming as they caught the light. Qimir picked up a Nova Crystal, inspecting it briefly before setting it back down with little interest. He had no desire for it, but he was compelled to take it as part of the reward specified in the contract.

But in truth, there was only one thing he had ever truly sought—only one object that mattered to him.

At the bottom of the box, lay a large piece of Cortosis. It had been carefully concealed, meant to be seen only by the bag’s owner and those granted permission to open it. Qimir reached for it next, examining it closely, his fingers tracing the subtle lines of the dull gold metal. It was genuine, he thought, the finest quality he had ever encountered.

The Neimoidians hadn’t exaggerated when they claimed their people could find anything in the galaxy, no matter how rare or scarce it might be.

“Is this all you wanted?” Blex, the branch manager and captain of the Fallon, asked with a hint of uncertainty. He had worked for the Trade Federation for decades, and this was the first time someone had specifically requested Cortosis. Though rare, it wasn’t particularly valuable compared to other metals, minerals, or energy sources that fetched far higher prices.

“Yes, that’s all.” Qimir nodded, carefully placing the cortosis back into the chest and locking it securely. He was well aware of the Neimoidians' curiosity regarding his unusual request. To most, Cortosis seemed like a worthless scrap, its softness making it nearly impossible to forge into weapons or armor. But Qimir knew its value far exceeded what others might assume.

“You’ve done well.” The old man wasn’t stingy with his praise. He had a particular fondness for bounty hunters who weren’t foolish and didn’t greedily demand more than they deserved. “I expect we’ll be working together often in the future.”

Qimir responded with a broad grin. For a moment, Blex felt an odd discomfort at the sight of that grin, but the feeling quickly passed. In the next instant, the human’s face returned to its usual friendly demeanor.

"I have a small question," Qimir began, his voice casual and still smiling. "You’re not planning to kill that woman, are you?"

The elderly Neimoidian let out a snort, as if he was on the verge of laughing. "Kill her? What nonsense are you spouting? Why would I kill something so useful?"

"Useful?" Qimir echoed, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "What use could she possibly have?"

Blex hesitated, realizing he had let slip something he shouldn’t have. "Nothing," he waved dismissively. "You’ve got what you came for, so be on your way. Don’t waste my time with unnecessary questions. My time is money, boy."

Normally, Blex would be quite irritated by anyone prying into his business affairs. But this time, he was in too good a mood to bother with an ill-mannered bounty hunter. The old man could hardly wait to leave this place and present that woman as a gift to the head of the Trade Federation.

This is an incredibly worthwhile investment. Blex thought gleefully, considering what he stood to gain from his superior. That woman was worth more than a hundred Nova crystals or Aurodium ingots combined.

Qimir, however, remained still, even after being told to leave. His gaze drifted out the ship’s window, where nothing but the faint glimmer of distant stars, silent and desolate. The Neimoidians were a cautious and paranoid race. They had chosen the rendezvous point carefully to ensure there were no outside witnesses and minimize the risk of any unexpected dangers.

How ironic he mused with grim amusement. A race so paranoid, and yet not a single one of them realized that the real danger wasn’t outside the ship—it was inside.

"You don’t need to answer my question." Qimir's voice suddenly turned chillingly cold, the smile vanishing as quickly as his demeanor shifted, as if he were an entirely different person. "Because I can extract the answer from your mind anyway."

He raised his hand, and with a single flick, the Neimoidian’s body seemed to be constricted by some invisible force, lifted into the air, and violently yanked toward him. Within seconds, Blex's throat was clutched in Qimir’s grip. The Neimoidian’s greenish face darkened as the grip around his throat tightened.

In that instant, Blex felt a sharp intrusion of the force, penetrating his cerebrum and dissecting his memories piece by piece. The pain was excruciating, as if a real blade were slicing into his brain.

Blex's eyes widened even further as he stared at Qimir. The realization of truth in this moment between life and death brought a mixture of surprise and terror beyond words. "Y-you... You have the force. Are you a Jedi?"

"Not exactly, but close enough," Qimir shrugged, a mocking laugh escaping his lips—a laugh that could easily send chills down anyone's spine. "If I had more time, I'd let you guess again, but unfortunately, time is money."

Blex didn’t even get the chance to beg for his life. As soon as the mind-reading process was complete, the Neimoidian merchant’s neck was snapped with swift precision. Qimir discarded the lifeless body like a piece of trash, throwing it to the ground before glancing up at the ship’s ceiling. He noticed the lights abruptly turning red, followed by the shrill blare of the alarm echoing throughout the spaceship.

Qimir began calculating in his mind.

There were about three minutes before every guards on the ship would storm his position, and it would take at least another five minutes to kill anyone who stood in his way to reach his second target, who was now securely locked in the holding cell on the lowest level of the ship.

Eight minutes is too long he thought, quickening his pace, not wasting any more time.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to you—the somber expression on your face, your strange mannerisms and words, and those blue eyes that always seemed to carry a hidden burden, as if you were harboring a crucial secret.

Qimir had never understood you, not even a little. He always thought of you as a living enigma, a puzzle he would never be able to solve.

But now he finally understood everything.

Eight minutes.

You think as you peer through the bars, noticing the two guards stationed outside your cell—a surprisingly small number, likely because they see you as nothing more than an ordinary woman, harmless and lacking the strength to retaliate.

“I don’t see why I have to waste my time guarding her too. One of us is enough. What could she possibly do?” One of the guards, whom you’ve privately nicknamed 'Scarface' because of the large scar on his face, grumbles to his companion. Despite the distance between your cell and the guards’ station, you hear every condescending word with crystal clarity.

These men underestimated you, and it was likely that many here, except for the Neimoidian merchant, didn’t even know who you really are or what you’re capable of. Their negligence in handling your imprisonment was unforgivable—like locking your arms tightly but forgetting to gag you.

You know this is your chance, slim as it may be. But it’s better than sitting idly in your cell, awaiting death. You must seize every opportunity and struggle with every ounce of hope left.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep, controlled breath, following the calming techniques your mother taught you. You steady both your body and mind, preparing for what needs to be done.

You know what you need to do. You've trained for this situation before, but the results were often less than successful. It’s an ancient technique that's difficult to learn and even harder to execute. During your training, you failed countless times, leaving you uncertain if you could actually pull it off when it matters most.

In the brief moment of calm, you focus your thoughts, replaying memories of your mother’s teachings. Her voice played in your mind, reminding you of the details you had once studied so intently.

Words, tone, and thought must align as one. For it is the forceful will, distilled from the vocal cords and heart, that becomes a command no one can resist.

You suddenly open your eyes, your thoughts halting as your heightened senses catch the presence of death creeping in from above, gradually drawing nearer.

There's no time left.

The realization sends a tremor through your body. You quickly leap to the bars and shout, "Let me out, now!"

Both guards turn to look at you, puzzled at first, before breaking into loud laughter. “You must be crazy if you think you can command me,” Scarface sneers.

You grit your teeth, knowing you have failed. Your panic made you pitch your voice too high; those men would feel nothing.

You refocus, breathing in rhythm as you had practiced. Your blue eyes gleam with intensity as you fix them on Scarface. This time, your voice rings out clear and unwavering, reverberating through the air—a blend of sharpness and depth that fills the room.

“Take your gun and shoot your friend. Then, release me and kill yourself, you bastard.”

The scarface jolts, his expression suddenly turning to one of impassivity, his eyes empty and emotionless. At that moment, you know you've succeeded. 

You wait calmly for the outcome as the scarface turns his laser gun to shoot his own colleague, walks over to unlock the cell door and handcuffs, then lifts the gun to shoot himself in front of you.

It’s as difficult as it is easy you think. An inexplicable feeling takes shape inside you. You're unsure whether it's the sorrow of killing someone for the first time or the thrill of manipulating someone's mind for the first time.

You clench your fists, your palms sweaty, trying to suppress the strange feeling before stepping over the bodies with distaste and quickly moving on to find a way to escape.

However, as soon as you climb up to the top, everything in front of you turns into a nightmare you’ve seen before.

The ship is bathed in red from the emergency lights, and the blood is scattered across the floor and up the walls of the corridor. The more steps you take forward, the more you see corpses strewn across the floor. You smell the blood clearly and hear the moans and cries growing louder after the alarm has ceased. It indicates that some are still alive, but not for long. You've seen it in your dreams. These people will all die, and soon it will be you—the last one alive here.

For a moment, you consider retreating back to the cell, locking yourself away from the outside world, and hiding quietly behind bars until everything is over. But you know that the cell won't help. It will only make you an easy target. You need to get out of this ship before it finds you.

Suddenly, your determined thoughts abruptly stop as you feel a chill run through your entire body. 

It’s coming. You can feel it. 

Not from the front, but from behind.

Fearful instinct freezes your body like a deer in front of a lion, but curiosity compels you to slowly turn around, just to see it with your own eyes. 

What you see leaves you confused rather than scared.

"Qimir," 

You utter it in bewilderment, addressing the man standing there, the one you always thought you knew well. But today, everything is different. His face is cold, and blood was smeared all over his body and face, making it difficult to determine if it was from his own injuries or those of others.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you look at Qimir, both fearful and astonished.

It can’t be.

You remember the vision vividly. The one who should have appeared here and killed everyone, including you, was the mysterious Sith with the cracked metal helmet. But in reality, Qimir is here, and he is the one who has killed everyone instead of that Sith. This has never appeared in your visions before, not even once.

You and Qimir lock eyes, frozen as if time itself has paused. But finally, it's Qimir who makes the first move. He begins to take a step toward you, but suddenly, you shout, your voice firm and echoing through the air, "Stop. Don't move."

At first, Qimir thinks you’re speaking to him. But as he observes more closely, he notices that your gaze isn’t on him at all but focused somewhere behind him instead. When Qimir turns around, he sees one of the security guards aiming a laser gun at him at a distance close enough to be fatal. Yet, the guard doesn’t pull the trigger. He just stands there, motionless like a statue, except for his eyes, which dart back and forth in terror.

Qimir swiftly raises his knife and slashes the guard's throat, the blade cutting through the major artery with ease.

As the guard's body collapses, you also fall to the ground, blood gushing from your nose down to your chin. You can feel your strength ebbing away, replaced by a sharp pain. It’s the side effect of using your power so abruptly, damaging part of yourself in the process.

You wipe the blood from your face, smearing it across your skin, then slowly force yourself to stand just as Qimir reaches you. He grips your arm, helping you to your feet. You want to pull away, but you have no strength left. Standing on your own is a struggle in itself.

You look up at him, countless questions on the tip of your tongue, but the only words that escape your lips are a faint whisper, "Why?"

Qimir remains silent, and suddenly, he raises his hand. You flinch, the image of being choked by that Sith in your dream flashing through your mind.

But Qimir doesn’t do that. Instead, he gently places his hand on your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away tears you hadn't even realized were falling.

In that moment, something deep within you sends a warning, alerting you to the significance of what's happening—a twist in the thread of fate, altered by an unknown variable, changing the course of events at the last possible moment.

You’re unsure and unable to comprehend what is happening until Qimir leans in, so close that your foreheads touch, and answers all your unspoken questions with a kiss.

As your lips meet, breath merging with breath, tongue with tongue, and soul with soul, intertwining and becoming one, you understand. Qimir is everything to you—whether it be the beginning...or your inevitable end.

[morgan-va]

Chapter 1: Late to the Party (Serial Designation J x Reader)

Masterlist

The steady hum of the ship's engines reverberates through the cabin, a constant reminder of the delay that’s brought you to this point. You glance at the dashboard, the blinking lights a subdued mockery of your frustration. "Finally," you mutter under your breath as the ship’s voice announces, “Approaching Copper-9. Estimated arrival: two minutes.”

Late. You hate being late. You can practically hear J's biting remarks already, her sharp voice cutting through whatever excuse you might muster. Not that you'd get much sympathy—faulty engine or not, she’d find a way to make it your fault.

With a sigh, you lean back in your chair and peer out the viewport. Copper-9 looms ahead, its icy surface gleaming under the dim light of the sun. Once a thriving industrial hub, now a frozen graveyard. You’ve seen the photos in the briefings, but the reality is something else entirely. Endless sheets of ice, jagged peaks, and deep crevasses stretch as far as the eye can see.

Something catches your eye. You squint, leaning closer to the glass. The planet… has a ring around it? That’s new. And what’s that on the surface? A massive, dark symbol sprawled across the ice, its edges sharp and unnatural, as though carved with precision. You don’t recognize it. That definitely wasn’t in the briefing either.

“What the hell happened here?” you murmur. Your fingers hover over the controls, an instinctive urge to rerun the ship's scans and confirm what you’re seeing. But the engine’s whine shifts as the ship begins its descent, autopilot engaged. You don’t have time for curiosity right now—landing comes first.

And then? Then you face J.

You adjust your seat harness, ensuring it’s secure as the ship’s automated voice chimes again: “Landing coordinates updated. Rerouting guidance system.”

“Wait, what?” you say, blinking at the monitor. The map displays your updated trajectory, veering away from the original landing zone. You tap a few buttons to bring up the details. The new coordinates are… odd. You’d been briefed to land near the site of your comrades’ initial touchdown. This new location is a fair distance from that spot.

Frowning, you shake your head. “Doesn’t matter,” you mutter. Orders are orders, and you’re not about to start questioning them. Maybe there’s been a new development since your departure. Not like you can do much about it now.

The ship trembles slightly as it begins its descent into Copper-9’s atmosphere, the sound of thrusters shifting tone to counteract the pull of gravity. You grip the edges of the console as turbulence rocks the vessel, a familiar yet uncomfortable sensation. The flashes of fire and plasma outside the window obscure the icy surface below, but your mind stays focused.

“Brace for atmospheric entry,” the voice drones, a little too calm for the chaos rattling through the cabin. You lean back in your seat, tightening your hold. The airframe creaks and groans, but the ship holds steady.

Moments later, the shaking eases, and the flames outside die down, revealing the frozen expanse of Copper-9’s surface. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching as the ship banks toward the updated landing site.

“Alright, Copper-9,” you murmur, staring at the jagged horizon. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”

The ship jolts violently as the landing rockets fire, the sound of their roar filling the cabin. You grip the edges of your seat tightly, feeling the strain of the forces pressing against you. Outside, crumbling skyscrapers loom like silent sentinels, their icy surfaces reflecting the ship’s thrusters.

Then it happens. A sharp lurch throws you sideways as the ship clips the edge of a building. Alarms blare, and you barely have time to react as the vessel spirals into a chaotic roll. The world outside becomes a blur of jagged steel and ice, and you groan, the centrifugal force threatening to rip you from your seat.

“Stupid… engine!” you mutter through gritted teeth, bracing yourself as best you can. For a moment, it feels like everything might come apart.

Just as suddenly, the ship steadies. The thrusters scream as they fight to correct the descent, and the spinning slows. Your teeth clench as the craft begins a controlled descent, the ground rushing up to meet you.

With a deafening thud, the ship finally lands. The impact sends a jolt through the cabin, and for a moment, everything is still.

You sag against the harness, breathing heavily. The alarms have silenced, leaving only the faint hiss of the cooling systems and the distant groan of stressed metal. Your hands tremble slightly as you release the harness, taking a moment to collect yourself.

“That… could have gone better,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. You glance around the cabin, noting the disheveled state of your supplies and equipment. It’ll take time to get everything back in order, but first, you need to find the others.

With a deep breath, you sit up straight, forcing your body to shake off the remnants of the chaotic landing. “Alright,” you say, steadying your voice. “Let’s see what mess I’ve landed myself in this time.”

With a hiss, the ship’s door pops open, a rush of cold air spilling into the cabin. Snow drifts lazily through the opening, carried by a gentle breeze that contrasts sharply with the chaos of your landing. The biting chill is a stark reminder of Copper-9’s frozen desolation.

You pull yourself upright, peering out into the wintry expanse. A ruined cityscape stretches before you, skyscrapers jutting skyward like skeletal remains of a forgotten age. The silence is almost unnerving, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.

Stepping to the edge of the ship, you leap down, the wings on your back flaring briefly to slow your descent. You land softly in the snow, the crunch under your boots oddly satisfying.

Your optics adjust to the dim light, scanning the area for any signs of movement. The buildings are quiet, their shattered windows dark and lifeless. It feels like no one’s been here in ages.

Then, something catches your attention. A faint glow, flickering against the icy backdrop. It’s coming from a building a few hundred yards away, the light weak but unmistakable.

You narrow your eyes, instinctively unsheathing your claws as a sense of curiosity mingles with caution. “Well, someone’s still home,” you mutter, taking a few steps toward the light. The snow crunches underfoot, each step deliberate as you weigh your next move.

Whatever’s out there, it’s your first lead. And right now, it’s the only one you’ve got.

Taking off, you fly low toward the light, the icy wind biting at your chassis. As you approach, the source of the glow becomes clearer—a faint radiance spilling out from a window of a crumbling, decrepit building. Landing softly just outside, you carefully step toward the entrance.

The door creaks as you push it open, the sound echoing faintly in the still air. You step inside, your optics scanning the dimly lit interior.

The place is clearly lived in. A generator hums softly in the corner, powering a string of lights that cast uneven shadows across the room. A table sits near the center, covered in blueprints, scattered tools, and half-disassembled machinery. Off to one side is what looks like a makeshift sleeping area—a cot with a blanket neatly folded at its edge.

But there’s no one here.

You frown, your optics sweeping the room again. Whoever set this place up can’t have gone far… but there’s no sign of movement, no sound other than the low hum of the generator.

Deciding not to linger, you turn and head back outside, flying up to the roof for a better vantage point.

The rooftop is blanketed in snow, the thin layer crunching softly under your feet as you land. You glance around, scanning the frozen cityscape. The towering ruins of skyscrapers surround you, their skeletal frames stark against the dark sky.

Your gaze sweeps the area, searching for any signs of life. For a moment, there’s nothing—just the faint whistle of the wind and the eerie stillness of the frozen wasteland.

Then, a shadow flickers in the corner of your vision.

Your attention snaps to movement in the distance—a figure, flying rapidly in your direction. Relief floods you as you recognize the silhouette of a Disassembly Drone. Finally, someone familiar!

You smile, lifting a hand in greeting. “Hey—”

Before you can finish, the figure accelerates, closing the gap with terrifying speed. In the blink of an eye, you’re slammed to the ground, claws gripping your neck like a vice. The force of the impact sends a plume of snow into the air, your systems jolting under the pressure.

“Wait—!” you sputter, instinctively trying to raise your hands in surrender.

The shadowed figure looms above you, and for a moment, all you see are jagged teeth and a glowing yellow X staring down at you with deadly intent. Then recognition flickers across her face.

“…You,” she mutters, her voice dripping with equal parts surprise and annoyance.

You cough as the pressure on your neck lessens slightly, though her claws remain poised, ready to tighten again at a moment’s notice.

“Serial Designation J, we meet again” you croak, a mix of relief and wariness in your voice.

Her narrowed eyes bore into you as she tilts her head, a sneer creeping across her face. “Why are you late? Don’t tell me you’ve been slacking off. Corporate’s definitely going to love hearing about this.”

You wince, holding up your hands in a gesture of innocence. “It’s not my fault! The ship’s engine was faulty. I was knocked off course and barely made it through entry. I almost crashed, J. It’s a miracle I’m even here!”

She stares at you, her claws still at your throat, though her grip slackens further. Something flashes in her eyes, a fleeting shadow of emotion—concern, maybe? No, that can’t be right.

“Excuses,” she huffs, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. “JCJenson Employee Safety Guidelines don’t cover near-death experiences. They care about results, and that includes actually dying.”

You suppress a sigh, biting back a retort. The sharp edge of her tone is familiar, but there’s something… off about her. She’s all bark, sure, but her usual smug energy feels dulled, like she’s running on autopilot.

“Are you going to let me up?” you ask cautiously, keeping your tone respectful.

She seems to realize she’s still holding you down and abruptly pulls her claws back, standing upright with an air of forced composure.

“Fine. Get up,” she says curtly, crossing her arms. “You’re here now. Don’t make me regret it.”

As you push yourself to your feet, brushing the snow off your coat, she turns sharply and gestures toward the building. “Come on. You’re going to help me with something. If you’re lucky, I might not file a report about your tardiness.”

You fall into step behind her, glancing at her back as she leads the way. Something about this reunion feels wrong, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You follow J as she strides ahead, her feet crunching through the thin layer of snow. She doesn’t say much, her glowing visor casting faint light across the frozen landscape as she leads you to the edge of the roof. You keep pace, eager to make up for lost time—and to avoid giving her any more reason to berate you.

She flies up to an adjacent roof, motioning for you to follow. You soar up after her, landing softly as the wind bites through the air. On the roof sits a large, rusted air conditioning unit, covered in frost and leaning at an odd angle.

“Help me get this thing off the roof,” J says without preamble, pointing at it aimlessly.

You blink, glancing between her and the hefty piece of machinery. “Uh, sure. Any particular reason?”

“It’s in the way,” she replies curtly, as if that explanation should suffice. “And it’s useless. Unless you think Corporate wants me to file a requisition form for a replacement?”

“Nope, not at all,” you reply quickly, stepping toward the unit. “Let’s get rid of it.”

You plant your hands against the icy metal and start pushing. The machine groans as it scrapes against the roof, but it doesn’t budge much. J rolls her eyes, stepping in to help.

“Pathetic,” she mutters, planting her hands firmly on the other side. “On three. One… two… three!”

With a combined effort, the two of you shove the unit, which finally starts to slide. It screeches as it moves, sending a small avalanche of snow cascading off the roof’s edge.

“Almost there!” you call out, adjusting your grip as you lean into the push.

J doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Together, you shove it once more, and the unit tips over the edge. There’s a brief pause before it crashes to the ground below with a thunderous boom, sending a plume of snow and debris into the air.

You step back, brushing your hands off. “Well, that’s one way to clear space.”

J crosses her arms, looking down at the wreckage below. “About time. If you’d shown up when you were supposed to, this would’ve been done already.”

You bite your tongue, forcing a polite smile. “Happy to help, J.” Although you do wonder why she didn’t have either of the others help her.

She huffs, turning on her heel. “Come on. There’s more work to do.”

You follow her back down, still trying to gauge her mood. Something about the way she’s acting—brisk, detached, like she’s on autopilot—sits uneasily with you. Whatever’s going on here, it’s clear there’s more beneath the surface than she’s letting on.

You follow J back into the base, stepping through the door as she strides over to the workbench. Without a word, she pulls out a stool and takes a seat, picking up a screwdriver from the scattered tools. Her neon yellow eyes flicker slightly as she studies the piece of machinery in front of her.

It’s only when you get closer that you realize what she’s working on—a rocket engine, its outer casing already partially dismantled. She starts unscrewing a set of components, her fingers moving with precise efficiency.

“Is that a rocket engine?” you ask, tilting your head as you watch her work. “Why are you taking it apart?”

J pauses for a split second, her visor flickering again before she resumes. “Don’t question me,” she snaps, her tone as sharp as her claws. “Just grab the toolbox from the corner. Now.”

You nod quickly, backing off. “Got it.”

Turning away, you head to the far corner of the room. The toolbox is heavy, its metal sides worn and dented from use. As you lift it, the tools inside clatter together, breaking the tense silence of the room.

You carry it back over, setting it down beside her. “Here you go.”

J doesn’t look up, already switching to a different tool. “Good. Now stand there and be useful.”

You plant yourself nearby, watching as she works. The way her fingers move—quick, deliberate—suggests she’s done this a hundred times before. But there’s something about the way she’s focusing so intensely on the engine, as if trying to distract herself, that makes you curious.

Still, you decide to keep your questions to yourself. Whatever’s going on with her, it’s clear she’s not in the mood to talk about it. At least, not yet.

You stand quietly, watching J as she works, the soft clinking of the tools in her hands filling the space. After a few moments of silence, you can’t help but ask, “So, how’s everything been? Things going smoothly?”

J doesn’t look up from her work, but her voice remains steady and rehearsed, almost too perfect in its corporate tone. “Everything’s fine. Quotas have been met. Productivity is at an all-time high. No setbacks. Everything is in optimal condition.”

You nod, trying to hide your curiosity. Her words are comforting, but something about them doesn’t sit right with you. She sounds so… disconnected, almost like she’s giving a rehearsed report more than talking to you.

“Good to hear,” you say, though a part of you wonders if she’s really telling the whole truth. “And… you’re managing everything without problems, then?”

There’s a brief pause before she responds, her voice almost businesslike. “Yes. No issues here. I’m doing just fine.”

You watch her for a moment, fiddling with a tool as she continues dismantling the engine. It’s odd though. What about N and V? They would’ve been here, right? They’ve always worked alongside her, so where are they now?

You open your mouth to ask, but something holds you back. It’s not your place to question her like that—not yet, anyway. And so, you stay quiet, brushing the thoughts aside.

You know J well enough to know she doesn’t like to talk about personal matters. Her focus on the task at hand is as sharp as ever, and you choose not to push her further.

Instead, you watch her work in silence, knowing that anything more would only make her more distant. Whatever’s going on with her, you’ll find out in time…

But for now, you’re just happy to be here, doing what you were made to do.

J sets down the tool she’s using and glances over at you. “Hand me the flux calibrator,” she says, her voice sharp with authority.

You nod quickly and start rummaging through the toolbox. “Right away!” you reply, eager to follow her lead.

You grab what you think is the correct tool and hold it out to her. J takes one look at it and raises an eyebrow. “That’s a wrench, idiot” she says, her tone laced with exasperation.

“Oh! Uh, right. My bad,” you stammer, fumbling through the toolbox again. Your hands are moving quickly, but the tools seem to blur together in your rush.

J sighs, crossing her arms. “You’ve been here for all of five minutes, and you’re already testing my patience. Corporate really sent me this as backup?”

You finally pull out the correct tool and offer it to her with an apologetic grin. “Here! Flux calibrator!”

She snatches it from your hand and gets back to work, muttering under her breath. “About time. Honestly, you’d think they’d train Disassembly Drones to at least know tools before shipping them off to an active site.”

“Hey, in my defense, my ship nearly killed me on the way here,” you point out, bending down to pick up a screwdriver you accidentally knocked to the floor.

“You dropped the screwdriver too?” J spins in her chair, leveling you with a glare. “Bozo.”

You rub the back of your head sheepishly. “Fair enough. But I’m a bozo who’s ready to work!”

J rolls her eyes, but you swear you see the faintest hint of amusement on her face. “We’ll see how long that enthusiasm lasts,” she says, turning back to the rocket engine. “Now hand me the torque driver.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you reply enthusiastically, rummaging through the toolbox once more.

She continues barking orders as she works, and you’re more than happy to oblige. Despite her sharp tone and constant corrections, it feels good to have direction, to be part of her operations again.

Even if she does call you “bozo” every other minute.

J lets out a frustrated sigh, tossing the tool in her hand onto the workbench. “Missing the regulator,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “Figures. Of course, it’s the one part this stupid planet doesn’t have lying around.”

She stands up abruptly, brushing her hands off on her dress before turning to you. “Alright, that’s enough for tonight. Pick a spot and get some rest,” she orders, gesturing vaguely around the room.

You glance around the cluttered base of operations. It’s not exactly cozy—tools, parts, and blueprints are scattered across every surface, and the single cot in the corner is clearly hers. There’s no sign of any other sleeping arrangements.

“Uh, no spare cots or anything?” you ask hesitantly.

J gives you a flat look. “Do I look like I’m running a five-star hotel? Make do. You’re a Disassembly Drone, not a Worker Drone. You can handle a little discomfort.”

“Right,” you reply quickly, not wanting to test her patience further. You spot a relatively clear area near the wall and start clearing some tools out of the way to make a space for yourself.

As you settle in, you can’t help but glance toward J’s cot. It strikes you as odd—shouldn’t there be at least two more sleeping areas for N and V? Are they off on a mission or stationed somewhere else? You make a mental note to ask J about it when she’s in a better mood.

For now, you keep your questions to yourself, arranging a makeshift bed out of some spare fabric you find lying around. It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight.

J, meanwhile, takes a seat on her cot, her back to you as she flips through a worn-looking manual. The hum of the generator fills the silence, accompanied by the occasional creak of the decrepit building around you.

As you settle in, you glance at her once more. She seems… different. The J you worked with before was all business, but this version of her feels sharper, colder, like something has worn her down.

You sigh, lying back and staring at the ceiling. Whatever’s going on, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. For now, you just hope you don’t accidentally do something to violate corporate policy in your sleep.

You adjust your position on the cold, hard floor, trying to find a modicum of comfort. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than standing at attention all night. The faint hum of the generator and the distant howling wind outside are the only sounds, creating an oddly eerie atmosphere.

As you lie there, your gaze drifts to J’s cot. The faint yellow glow of her visor reflects off the wall she’s facing. She’s completely still, lying on her side, but it’s clear she’s not sleeping. She just… stares at the wall, unblinking.

It’s unsettling, to say the least. Even for a Disassembly Drone, that kind of stillness feels unnatural. Something about it tugs at the back of your mind.

What’s really going on here? you think to yourself. Her avoidance earlier, the absence of N and V, the way she carries herself—it all feels off. You make a mental note to dig deeper tomorrow, to try and figure out what’s wrong, even if it means risking another scolding.

For now, though, there’s little you can do. You allow yourself to power down, the dim glow of J’s visor lingering in your thoughts as the room fades to black.

[jourke-rourke]

we must acknowledge that, while three's gun-spinning is a visually compelling quirk, in the pantheon of 'instinctive special skills' he definitely drew the short straw. because you’ve got:

two: intimately familiar with the controls of the ship to the point that manipulating it is second nature, also capable of piloting it without any automated assistance four: one of the best swordsmen in the entire galaxy, also highly proficient with a wide variety of melee weapons and martial arts six: outstanding shuttle pilot, including complex evasive maneuvers, also trained in combat medicine five: hypercompetent at basically all hardware and software, can crack even the most secure systems available with ease and hack people's brains three: can spin a gun around his fingers. cool, right??

but at least he's still better off than One whose primary skill seems to be 'simp after Two' and 'terrify his traumatized crewmates by trying to show them physical affection'

[altaqwaelectric]

From Design to Deployment: How Switchgear Systems Are Built

In the modern world of electrical engineering, switchgear systems play a critical role in ensuring the safe distribution and control of electrical power. From substations and factories to commercial buildings and critical infrastructure, switchgear is the silent guardian that protects equipment, ensures safety, and minimizes power failures.

But have you ever wondered what goes on behind the scenes, from the idea to the actual installation? Let’s dive into the full journey — from design to deployment — of how a switchgear system is built.

Step 1: Requirement Analysis and Load Study

Every switchgear project begins with requirement analysis. This includes:

Understanding the electrical load requirements

Calculating voltage levels, short-circuit ratings, and operating current

Identifying environmental conditions: indoor, outdoor, temperature, humidity

Reviewing applicable industry standards like IEC, ANSI, or DEWA regulations (especially in UAE)

This stage helps engineers determine whether the project needs low voltage (LV), medium voltage (MV), or high voltage (HV) switchgear.

Step 2: Conceptual Design & Engineering

Once the requirements are clear, the conceptual design begins.

Selection of switchgear type (air insulated, gas insulated, metal-enclosed, metal-clad, etc.)

Deciding on protection devices: MCCBs, ACBs, relays, CTs, VTs, and fuses

Creating single-line diagrams (SLDs) and layout drawings

Choosing the busbar material (copper or aluminum), insulation type, and earthing arrangements

Software like AutoCAD, EPLAN, and ETAP are commonly used for precise engineering drawings and simulations.

Step 3: Manufacturing & Fabrication

This is where the physical structure comes to life.

Sheet metal is cut, punched, and bent to form the panel enclosures

Powder coating or galvanizing is done for corrosion protection

Assembly of circuit breakers, contactors, protection relays, meters, etc.

Internal wiring is installed according to the schematic

Every switchgear panel is built with precision and must undergo quality control checks at each stage.

Step 4: Factory Testing (FAT)

Before deployment, every switchgear unit undergoes Factory Acceptance Testing (FAT) to ensure it meets technical and safety standards.

Typical FAT includes:

High-voltage insulation testing

Continuity and phase sequence testing

Functionality check of all protection relays and interlocks

Mechanical operations of breakers and switches

Thermal imaging to detect hotspots

Only after passing FAT, the switchgear is cleared for shipping.

Step 5: Transportation & Site Installation

Transportation must be handled with care to avoid damage to components. At the site:

Panels are unloaded and moved to their final location

Cabling and bus duct connections are established

Earthing systems are connected

Environmental sealing is done if installed outdoors or in dusty environments

Step 6: Commissioning & Site Acceptance Testing (SAT)

This final stage ensures the switchgear is ready for live operation.

Final checks and Site Acceptance Tests (SAT) are performed

System integration is tested with other components like transformers, UPS, and generators

Load tests and trial runs are conducted

Commissioning report is generated, and documentation is handed over to the client

Conclusion

From idea to execution, the journey of building a switchgear system is highly technical, safety-driven, and precision-based. Whether you’re in power generation, industrial automation, or commercial construction, understanding this process ensures you choose the right system for your needs.

[pearls-and-vignettes]

Spaceway 70 - Pablo

The Marlin heaves out of the darkened dock, whining with unwarmed engines. A simple objective:

- Assess damages, neutralize threats.

I've done it a million times before. Come to think of it,—

Red lights blare outside and the station's distress call is picked up by the radio. I fly around the cylindrical body—perform a systematic scan. How would the incident report be written?

- Upper hull damaged in a hit-and-run bombing; station status unknown.

- Soldier casualties: ...

Soldiers. They never chose to lay down their lives—to fight for an uncaring ruler—not them.

- Assailant(s): Unknown vessel, presumed solitary. Heat signature detected, actively pursuing.

Ambiguous language. Open to litigation. Sarge would be sad.

- Disregard previous entry. Chasing assailant via engine heat; infrared reading with 0.87 certainty. Monitoring radar.

- Radar confirms a small ship. Moving at 75% of own velocity. Distance 2000 mi.

-

-

- 1500.

-

-

- Approaching civilian zone

-

-

- 1000.

-

-

- 500.

-

- 250.

-

- 175.

-

- 100.

- 50.

- 25.

- Contact.

They pull up and to the left, attempting to get above and behind me, though it's too little, too late.

- Assailant neutralized with ballistics. Assumed to have hit engine.

- Upon visual examination, there appears to have been no pilot. Control is either automated or remote. No outstanding radio frequency detected.

Darn...

Out and ahead of me are markers indicating a commercial route. Safe for traders.

A transponder on one of the markers pings my ship. Something about remaining in place, a unit arriving soon. I don't make it a good hundred miles before a squad comes in with weapons hot.

I dodge a few shots and they graze me with a laser. I'm not about to make war with a whole task force.

The Marlin is a ship of esoteric construction. It has a hull constructed for incredibly heavy salvos—granted you have enough sealant [1] aboard. It comes with a cloak [2], more a scrambler than anything, which uses up insane amounts of power, and an EM pulse [3] which likewise drains my batteries. It's a perfect ship for an early retirement [4], as long as my encounters are few and far between.

With the push of a fader I turn my radio into a tool of war, creating a streak of white along their IR imager and making their radar unusable. Similarly, with a press of a button the magnetron pulses on, disabling their steering and warming up their cabins.

- Three combatants neutralized; nonlethal means

Two more pull down and in front, shooting and missing. I pull up and turn around, hoping to hit them with more microwaves.

< -#- VACDETEC V1.4 -#- >

< ALARM >

<HULL BREACH | d.0s>

<HULL BREACH | d.1s>

<HULL BREACH | d.2s>

I begin to sweat as the laser weapon dissipates as heat into my cockpit.

< HULL SEALED >

< SEALANT AT 25% >

I need to leave.

I reach up to grab a solar compass [5] and scribble my heading onto the cockpit glass.

- Taking extratactical measures: Magnetron shielding angle set to 175.8 degrees

< ## Are you sure? Use of EMP with current settings may cause systems to misbehave. ## >

[ YES ]

Navigation goes dark as two more ships behind me lose steering. I launch a wide-range RF jammer [6] and a hot net [7]. I cut my engines and seal the exhaust [8].

This is a special dance they taught us in Academy; " . . . each ship has its own precise limits, though with them come potential," they had us memorize old literature, "that is why you must know yours more intimately than the body of your lover . . . " I positioned one hand over the exhaust control and another over the ignition. Two seconds, three seconds, and

< -#- SHELL -#- >

< ALARM >

<ENGINE OVERHEAT>

The ship rattles as I rocket dead ahead in the direction of home. Another alarm blares on my monitor,

<CHECK ENGINE>

A few milliseconds too late. I hear a faint whisper—a hiss—join the chorus of the Marlin's song. I'm sorry. I'll fix it soon. It'll be ok.

" . . . for each time you take up the helm, you partake in a romance far more real than any other, for no other can see the terror

of a deprivation so terrible, or a death so swift."

[1]: A chemical formulation which undergoes an extremely exothermic reaction when exposed to the vacuum of space. Akin to tire sealant from when vulcanized rubber was used for land vehicles.

[2]: A system consisting of telescoping antennae and an ultra-high amplitude RF generator. Hides a ship's exact location within a much broader, irregular radio signature.

[3]: A high-powered magnetron capable of producing strong microwaves with multiple miles of range. Temporarily scrambles navigation systems, causing affected ships to veer off-course.

[4]: I can't keep doing this

[5]: An indicator which points in the direction of the closest star, when properly calibrated. Detects the unique products of nuclear fusion.

[6]: Akin to the cloak, a disposable projectile which blanks out vast swathes of a ship's radio imager.

[7]: A large, mechanized retroreflector which concentrates heat from all directions, and shoots it back at the viewer, making infrared imaging of a ship nearly impossible.

[8]: In reference to a mechanism which seals the exhaust vents of the Marlin. This turns the entirety of the engine tract into a bomb. A stupid idea if held closed for more than a few seconds.

[plant-bioreactor-answers]

Nai seems to be a lovely little menace, what other gremlin activities he participates in?

Here is a set of photo-stills of me taken by the automated ship-systems while I was doing one of the routine freezer-checks. As you can see, Nai hacked into the system to change the name of one of the settlers to something INCREDIBLY juvenile. (The poor soul was a one Phillp J. Fry - of Earth, not to be confused with the Phillip J. Fry of Hovering Squid-World 97-A). As noted on the readout, he and Vash also stole half my socks and hid them in the Geoplant Room like Easter Eggs. I got most of them back, but I still find stray socks in the mud to this day. The last one had a ferret living in it, using it as a nesting material. I let him keep it.

Here I am, using his desired nickname (during his "edgy" phase) to scold him for doing something that almost lead to me having a straight-up heart attack. He decided to fiddle with the thruster controls for the fleet and it got out of hand. Curiosity is one thing, almost running the ships into each other because your curiosity got out of hand and you didn't know what you were doing is another. What's more is that this whole incident awakened the rest of the crew. I do not think these Independents are ready to meet regular human beings yet. Fortunately, I was able to resolve the situation (Nai must have heard the fear in my voice enough to take it seriously, he and Vash stayed in their rooms). I got the crew back "to bed" after an emergency meeting. I will love my children forever, but sometimes, I think they're going to be the death of me. _ R. S.

[lovelywingsart]

Louder Than Thunder

-- Saren Arterius X Commander Shepard/OC (Transmasc Enby, They/Them) --

Eventually I'll write the very beginning of the timeline, and I'll edit this out when I finally do lmao- This takes place after they've stablished some sort of relationship/bond, so definitely quite a bit after meeting again.

Anyway, first official written story for these two! uwu Ended up... ALOT longer than intended (and probably the longest thing I've written thus far???), but was really fun despite the content.

Turns out I have a talent for writing nightmares and the reactions to them.

Who knew?

//Inspired by this image I did for them, which is also used as the cover for this one. uwu It hurts, but I love it very much.//

**You can find the Masterlist here!

-----

*Warnings?: Nightmare scene- terror, death, injury; panic attack/sickness, hurt/comfort (kinda?), massive vulnerability, small fluff at the end because I didn't know how else to end it

Summary: An unfortunately common-- and worsening- occurrence for Cam leads to admittance of details to the one they really didn't want finding out.

The Citadel in ruins.

The wreckage of ships- far too many ships to be possible.

Their teammates strewn across the ground, dead or dying.

The deep gash at the back of their neck, cut through the spine, making their body lose strength.

Laying paralyzed, bleeding out…

Hopeless.

Defenseless.

In front of them, a thin, gangly creature approaching, moving how no living creature should be able to- perhaps because it wasn't fully alive.

Dead eyes and mangled skeletal body aglow with Sovereigns Reaper technology, charred elongated claws dripping with crimson. And even without a jaw- without vocal chords or anything resembling a throat other than thick wires and tubes- a familiar, rasping growl of a voice from the entity as it descended upon them with clear intent to sever any ties to the living, arm hauled back and bloody claws spread-

"SHEEEPAAARRDD..." 

~~~~~ 

"Shepard-" 

A short scream echoed through the captains cabin as Cam bolted upright on the bed, reacting to the gentle voice in their ear. They scrambled back against the headboard, nearly tearing the sheets away from their body. Their eyes were wide, looking around frantically as they sucked in whatever air they could- though really, it felt like their throat was closing.

Movement next to them made them jump with a small yelp, whirling around and scooting away from what turned out to be Saren shifting into a somewhat upright position. The albino turians eyes, still somewhat blurry from sleep, searched their face with concern etched onto his usually stoic features. 

"Shepard...?" He repeated. "What happened?" 

They stared at him, chest heaving. 

Those silvery, ice blue eyes that were now bright and full of life and hidden emotion only they could read, often in waking hours filled with a gentle affection and curiosity- suddenly flickering back to the cold, dead, reddish-white glow and mangled face in less than a second, the vision disappearing as quickly as the still tired haze had brought it. 

The vision forced a small, yipping whimper from their throat as they scuttled away from him just slightly, and he moved again. Now nearly sitting up fully, no semblance of sleep left in his features, he was instead overtaken by an even greater sense of concern- and now confusion. 

"Shepard??" 

His voice made him flinch, and they opened their mouth to respond- only to cover it as a sudden rush of bile rose to their throat, their body jerking in such a way that made him draw back. He jumped as they suddenly launched themself off of the bed, throwing the covers off and nearly tripping over their own feet as they ran to the bathroom, leaving him with a small, confused trill. 

They nearly broke the door, yanking it open faster than the automated system could, dropping to their knees and nearly sliding to the toilet before the control finally gave way. Their body heaved, expelling whatever had been eaten for dinner prior to heading to bed- not that they could remember what it had been, nor did they care to at this point- only stopping once there was nothing to bring up. 

Their body trembled as they gasped for breath, coughing and spitting what they could until they knew it was over. Tears streamed down their cheeks, both from fear and vomiting, and a shaky sob finally forced its way out of their throat. A quick smack to the handle cleared the toilet with fresh water, and they slumped over with heaving, wheezing sobs, not entirely unaware of the light clicking of talons against the cabin floor approaching the door. 

They spit once more as the door opened, attempting to control their breathing as the sound of a small, concerned trill broke the otherwise silent air. The sound made them flinch- and with that flinch came a sudden pain in the back of their neck, the scar over it feeling as if it had sparked with a superheated flame. 

A small warble was heard as they suddenly whimpered, one hand moving to cover the back of their neck as they curled in on themself and around the toilet how they could. Their turian watched, emitting a concern that they could feel from where he stood at the door. He didn't move for a few seconds before taking a breath, slipping into the bathroom quietly and reaching for a cup at the edge of the sink. He filled it with water without a word before carefully approaching, staying to their side and in view- just in case. 

He only paused as their head shifted, simply crouching where he was and holding out the cup for them to take. There was silence between them still as they shifted to glance at him, their breaths wavering- but they still reached forward with a shaky hand, gingerly taking the cup from his with a mere whimper as thanks. He tilted his head as they leaned up to take a sip, watching as they swished the water around their mouth for a moment before spitting it into the toilet. 

Saren remained crouched, his naked pale form almost ethereal among the gentle fluorescent light and darker steel color of the bathroom, the contrast of the solid black metal of the left arm prosthetic giving him an even more otherworldly look.

"... What happened..." he said finally, careful to keep his voice low, though there was a small deeper purring twang as he spoke- sub-vocals, they assumed, something they were still getting used to picking out. They were silent, swirling the water around the cup with a small sniffle. They seemed to think for a moment before opening their mouth- but closed it as they couldn't bring themself to speak.

He took a moment to observe them, eyes quickly drifting over their hunched form, clad in only a large tee-shirt three sizes too big. They looked… small like this, far smaller than he was used to, and the large shirt certainly didn’t help. He then turned his head to look at the bathroom door, and then back to them. Of course he had a general sense of what had happened- nightmares were common for him as well, and even he had nearly gotten physically ill when woken up- but they never had.

… Or, as long as he had known them personally, at least…

Which, admittedly, he knew wasn't long at all.

His nose twitched, mandibles lightly flaring for just a moment before he looked around the bathroom. He tilted his head once he had an idea, bringing one mandible up to his jaw thoughtfully.

“... Would a shower help?” He questioned lightly. If he had learned anything about humans, it was that showers somehow seemed to ease quite a few more issues than he had imagined possible- baths moreso, so they were called, as he had learned from listening to other crew members from the side. 

Cam glanced at him for a moment before sighing and nodding just slightly, and he nodded back. He stood up, his brow plates shifting just slightly at the flinch they gave, but he made no attempt to point it out given how they currently shied from him. Whatever the nightmare had been, it was enough to frighten them into being skittish.

He moved to the open shower, reaching for the handle.

“It will be sufficiently warm, I would suggest staying-”

“... cold…”

Their voice was but a whisper, hoarse from vomit and sobs- it didn't sound like them.

He froze. 

He didn't like that. Not at all.

He looked at them for a moment.

“I'm… sorry…?” He tried, wondering ever so slightly if he had heard them right. They took a wavering breath.

“Cold.” They repeated, slightly louder this time. “Cold water.”

He blinked.

“I… Shepard…” he tried, taking a step away from the shower in confusion as he wracked his brain thinking of any sane reason why anyone would want a cold shower after such an awful awakening. “I must advise against that… Cold water would be incredibly counter-productive in terms of relaxation, and could put you in danger of-”

“Please, Saren...” they nearly begged, the voice quieting once more. He visibly froze for a moment before looking at the handle. While he thought it insane, he knew he couldn't have even attempted to fight with them… he didn't want to. 

He contemplated for a moment before giving a defeated sigh.

“... alright…” 

He said nothing else, though was now hesitant about reaching for the handle at the mere thought of cold. He couldn't be stingy right now, it wasn't FOR him. It was for Shepard… as much as he would have liked to attempt to convince them otherwise.

A moment was what it took to finally grab and turn the thing towards the small blue symbol, resulting in him yanking his arm away immediately as soon as the water started. He took a few steps back once more, avoiding the cold liquid almost like the plague. Well, it was one way to signal they wanted to shower alone… Not that it exactly bothered him at this point in time.

Cam watched him for a moment before taking a breath.

“... Thank you…” they said quietly, just barely audible against the rush of water. The turian nodded, backing away to the door.

“If you need me…” he started, and they nodded.

“I'll let you know.”

Cam watched as he stood silent for a moment, almost awkwardly, before finally retreating with a soft huff. The door closed behind him with a small *click*, and they couldn't help but relax- though almost shamefully so.

It took a few moments for them to move, though when they did, it wasn't much- stiff movements of their arms to slowly lift the shirt they wore off and away; even slower as they nearly crawled to the shower. It was almost at iff their legs had refused to work, resulting in the motion being more of a drag than a crawl, and the feeling of freezing cold water forced a startled yip from their throat. They resisted the urge to back away, however, instead forcing themself to keep scooting forward until they were entirely under the stream.

It caused a near immediate burning numbness of muscle even as they began to shiver almost violently with the shock. But even so, they stayed in place, pressing to the wall and pulling their knees up to their chest. The hope that the cold would shock them awake, or at least shock the vivid images out of their head was strong, but it didn’t seem to work. Not immediately, at least.

They let the water wash over them for a moment, giving in to the numb shivers until their chest heaved- once, twice, a third time before resulting in yet another sob.

And once the sobs began, this time they didn't stop.

For once they were grateful for the high pressured water, the sound of it drowning out their sobbing as they slumped against the wall entirely.

~

Cam sat there, curled and crying, for what seemed like hours, even though they knew it hadn't been. While the freezing water had woken them initially, the exhaustion was far too overpowering as they leaned against the wall half asleep with numb fingers and toes. It was only when they felt they had no tears left that they looked at the door to the bathroom- not once had it even been cracked open. Not once had he attempted to check on them, though they assumed it was from the aversion to the cold, as if asking for the coldest setting had driven him off temporarily, or until they came out.

And, while lonely, they couldn't stop the twisting feeling in their gut as they couldn't help but admit it was reassuring. 

He was willing to give them space.

They watched the door for a moment, mindlessly shivering, until they glanced at their own skin. It had gone a somewhat odd red-ish pale, and lifting a single hand had shown just how bad their shivering really was.

“... shit…”

Even they could barely hear their own voice over the water, looking up to the dial. Too high to reach like this…

With a sigh and a sniffle, they shifted.

It was, admittedly, somewhat difficult, the cold water having locked their muscles somewhat, but they managed to shift onto their knees and reach up. A few clicks of the handle in the opposite direction provided a quickly growing- and welcome- increase in temperature, though they didn't quite move any further. 

The water burned their skin as it heated, the contrast between the freezing and warmth sending another shock through their body, even as it happened slowly, and soon they slumped forward with a sigh as the water continuously heated to the point where steam immediately fogged the mirror.

They only moved again once the shivering had subsided, the feeling of warmth calming their muscles and giving them back what little strength they had to stand. It would have been easier with help, of course, but they couldn't bring themself to call out- once on their feet, however, it became easier, and another few moments of reveling in the warmth was all it took for them to sigh and grab a small bottle of soap.

~

Actually cleaning themself was a surprisingly easier task than standing up, and soon they spit toothpaste into the drain before switching the electric brush off and placing it back into the small nook it was in. A few more moments of standing in the water for a last rinse was enough, and soon they turned the water off and sighed.

They wandered across the floor to grab their hanging towel, running it along their hair first before draping it over their shoulders for a moment while stopping in front of the mirror-

Despite being freshly cleaned, they still looked like hell, with darker bags under their eyes than usual and reddish skin from both the heat and crying for so long. 

Another moment staring at the reflection led to a sigh, and they finally moved to the door, readjusting the towel before hitting the button.

Almost immediately the light of the bathroom filled the room as the door opened, and they stepped out hesitantly while wrapping the towel loosely around their front. Their eyes glanced over the room itself before fixating on Saren, his ghostly form sticking out clearly from the semi-darkness of the room- no lights save for the gentle blue glow of the fish tanks and the lighting from the bathroom itself, just like they had left it.

He rested on the couch, one leg crossed over the other as he casually scrolled through a datapad- but their interest was quickly drawn to the loose dark pants he wore that looked almost too big for him in a way, looking somewhat undignified on the irritatingly proper turian. They stared at him for a moment, and he looked up.

“Shepard.” He greeted calmly, sitting up near instantly and setting the pad down onto the table in front of him. “I was wondering if you were alright. Your shower was… long…”

Cam was quiet for a moment before clearing their throat, keeping a hold on the towel as they finally moved to the small closet area.

“I'm… I'm fine…” they replied, pressing open one of the drawers and digging until they found a new shirt- still as large as the other one, though this time a darker color with a colorful design on the front. “What about you?”

He tilted his head.

“Me…?”

They managed a small, amused smile as they glanced at him over their shoulder, though it was clear it was somewhat forced- they wanted to seem as if it were alright, to try and change the subject if they could. Avoiding the nightmare all together was optimal at this point.

“Yeah. I didn't think you'd be caught dead in those.” They joked lightly, gesturing to- what was essentially- the sweatpants he wore. “Never thought you'd own any, are you feeling ok?”

He stared at them for a moment, mandibles flicking, before his nose scrunched with a small huff.

“They were… ‘given’ to me.” He started, looking down at them and picking at the material with his talons. “... It was not my choice.”

They hummed with a small, curious tone.

“Aww, who gave them to you?”

He was silent again, though his mandibles fluttered in a way they couldn’t quite tell was more irritation or embarrassment.

“... Vakarian…” 

The shamed utterance of the other turians name earned a genuine snort from them.

“I'm surprised he was so nice…” they teased, and the new scrunched scowl on his face almost made them snort again.

“‘Nice’ isn't the description I would claim it to be.” He said flatly, watching as they wandered to the bed with the large shirt in hand. “Rather, they were forced on me to, in paraphrasing, ‘get the stick out of my ass and relax for once’ before he called my age a factor in my decision to avoid them.”

Cam paused for a moment. 

“... So he basically threw them at your head and told you to stop being a cranky old bastard?” They suggested, and he grumbled.

“... To put it far less eloquently, yes.”

They snorted again as they partially removed the towel from their front, saying nothing while feeling his eyes on their skin as they dried more completely- but not with need. No, his icy gaze still held large concern, watching them almost intently as if waiting for something to snap, to prove that his concerns were more valid than they had initially been from the moment they had woken up. It was clear he was thinking, his mandibles flicking opposite of eachother every few seconds as they fully dried and slipped the shirt on.

They wandered back over towards the bathroom, ruffling their hair with the towel in attempts to dry it more before they decided to lay down again, only to slow at the sound of a soft, concerned clicking. They tilted their head slightly, coming to a full stop as the sound of talons against the floor sounded behind them, and they could nearly feel him next to them within seconds. For such a large creature- large to them, at least, though he was rather small in species terms- he certainly moved far more silent than one would expect. A gentle touch to their arm with his knuckle made them flinch, though they didn't shy away from the touch entirely now. They flinched again, however, at the small click of his mandibles as he pulled them to his jaw.

“Please.” Saren said suddenly, his vocals a low, gentle purr meant to sooth- it wasn't something he did often, and it made them freeze. “Tell me what happened.”

They didn't move. Couldn't move, honestly. They felt their heart speed up in near panic for a few moments as they glanced over to him, tilting their head slightly to look at his face. Scarred, yes- but pristine otherwise. No severe damage. No soulless eyes. No missing mandible or jaw. Completely normal for an older- albeit specifically altered- turian…

They flinched again as more burning pain rushed to the back of their neck, and they forced themself to not move before taking a breath.

He had to know. He had every right to know, given the situation… And keeping it from him just felt… wrong.

“... Sit…” they nearly whispered, nodding to the bed. He tilted his head slightly, shifting it from one side to the next as he glanced over at the bed and then back to them before bowing his head in a small nod. 

Cam watched as he slowly backed away before he quietly padded to the bed, and they turned to enter the bathroom once more. They paused as they hung the towel, their mind racing with a new anxiety as the idea of telling him the details of their nightmare made them swallow hard. A small, fearful twist in their stomach made them back away from the wall- It was better to tell him now, but even they knew how sensitive he could be with things relating to… ‘that’ time.

Another few seconds of contemplation rendered them immobile until they shook themself out of it, building whatever courage they needed to walk out of the bathroom with a finality in the decision.

Saren sat calmly- almost ‘properly’, they noted- at the edge of the bed as they had asked, tapping his talons along his thighs just slightly in a mindless- yet distinguishable- rhythm. They wandered fully to the middle of the room, pausing mere feet from the bed as he looked up at them. The now reflective ice blue gaze had been filled with concern mixed with a wide, bright nervousness much like a child afraid of getting in trouble. It admittedly sent an arrow through their chest, and they managed to force back the choking feeling that threatened to close their throat once more.

Despite everything, that bright gaze meant the world to them now, and it hurt more than anything knowing what it turned into when their eyes were closed.

They were shaken from their pause as he shifted his head towards them and let out a gentle, warbling trill that held concern. Anyone who claimed the former Spectre was heartless clearly had never gained his trust.

They took slow steps towards him, managing to keep small confidence as they finally circled and sat next to him, one knee bumping his. A source of touch, for reassurance. They reached out hesitantly to take his hand, feeling his gaze shift between them as his fingers slowly curled around theirs.

So warm…

So gentle.

So alive.

Fuck, it hurt.

They were silent for a moment longer before releasing the breath they didn’t realize they held, and finally beginning to speak.

“... I know you don't… remember… but…” they started, attempting to choose their words carefully. “... When… When we destroyed Sovereign at the Citadel a few years ago… there was some… damage.”

They managed to hold back the flinch as they felt his grip on their hand tighten just slightly, glancing up at his face- he stared at them hard, mandibles pulled taught against his jaw, almost as if they'd snap from the pressure- but he was entirely still despite the clear spark of dread in his eyes, and more pain shot to their neck.

They sucked in another deep breath.

This would be harder than they thought.

“Obviously the place itself was more or less rebuilt… we had casualties outside…” they tried, prying their gaze off his and focusing on their hands. “Garrus and Wrex were a little banged up, but nothing some mild painkillers and medi-gel couldn't fix…”

They went quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of their cheek. They could feel his eyes burning into them, and they squeezed his hand.

“... Medical said I got lucky.”

Suddenly his gaze was off them. They continued.

“You, uh… well… your… corpse got me pretty good…”

A small nervous chuckle came from them as they reached back with their other hand, rubbing the back of their neck with an awkward smile as if it were the punchline to a bad joke- but he made no movement. So, they took a breath and kept talking.

“They… Well…” they tried to search for words, but couldn't.

Nothing would have made this easy…

May as well rip off the bandaid, right?

They were silent before sighing, staring their hands with his fingers around theirs- looking at the pale talons that gripped their own skin so gingerly, as if he were afraid of slicing it-

As if he were afraid to do exactly what they feared.

“... You… It… It almost sliced through bone… through the spine.” They said finally, using their thumb to run along his. “It could have paralyzed me, but they said I moved out of the way just in time. It just barely nicked the bone, but hit a few nerves…” they cleared their throat, squeezing his hand, “I-I'm fine now, just… just a small tweak in the neck when I turn it, but it-... I…”

They trailed off, and glanced at him. He stared forward at the ground, a somewhat vacant look in his eyes. He barely remembered anything from then, of course- they were surprised he remembered ANYTHING… but it was always obvious he had never WANTED to remember.

They stared at him for a moment before looking away again, feeling their lip tremble.

“... Saren, I…” they tried, and could feel his body shift slightly as he glanced at them-

Another rush of pain to the scar, and another forced back sob.

“... Sometimes I dream that it worked…” they managed, their voice suddenly small. He flinched. They continued once more.

“I dream that… you… it…”

A small struggling breath and squeeze to his hand-

“... I dream it killed them… it killed them, and I didn't move, I didn't-”

A pause and a choked back sob-

“... I didn't move in time.”

He looked at them fully now, and they gripped the back of their neck.

“It got me. Right through the spine, I couldn't move and it knew that… It hurt so fucking bad, and then just… goes numb… but I can still hear everything… I can still see… and all I see is just…”

They trailed off again for a moment, feeling his fingers trembling- 

A flash of vision again. Them on the ground, bleeding out, mouth opening as if to speak, though no words escaped their lips. Watching in paralyzed horror as the Husk approached, the violent red-ish sparks from its chest aglow with Reaper energy. Claws poised to strike, already dripping with the deep crimson blood. His face glitching back and forth, mangled to pristine, red to blue, malicious intent in every movement. His wheezing voice so clear in their head, as if it were right in their ear-

They flinched out of the vision and finally took a breath and looked at him, welling tears stinging the corners of their eyes as they tried not to break upon seeing the sudden heartbreak in the ice blue once he understood.

“... You...” They finished, and they could see his jaw shift. “I see you. Even when I wake up, it's still there. Always for a few seconds.. and then I just… you're laying there with me… and it's a constant flashing of that… that thing… and I'm just…”

Tears spilled freely now, slowly at first before a constant stream flowed down their cheeks. They searched his face, the hurt they saw causing a pain in their chest.

“... I know its not you…” they nearly whispered and looked away again. “It's not real… it's just a stupid dream, but it… It feels so fucking real, and then I wake up and see you here, and I just… I get… scared…”

They paused.

That was a lie.

They took a breath.

“... I get terrified.”

There we go.

They were quiet for another moment, feeling his eyes on them- a quick glance revealed more than it needed to.

His eyes wide, brow plates raised in a way indicating surprise- the ever growing hurt and horror in the blue orbs as they stared. Mandibles flared just slightly in disbelief, though twitching ever so slightly as if he wanted to speak.

Cam looked away again, almost in shame.

“I wake up next to you and that's all I see, even for a moment before it goes away.” They said, their voice but a hoarse whisper. “I see that fucking thing, right out of my goddamn nightmares… It keeps getting worse every time, and it makes me sick and scares me and-”

“... You know… I wouldn't hurt you… right…?”

It was unusual for him to interrupt them, though it didn’t quite matter at the moment. What mattered was his now trembling hand still in theirs, and the almost wavering tone he held.

His voice was quiet. Scared.

Hurt.

Cam shook their head immediately.

“I… N-No, I know… I know that.” They said quickly, finally letting go of his hand to rub their face. “I know you wouldn’t, Snow… But I can’t… control what I see…” they fought to work through their words, feeling him shift next to them. “I can’t control whatever fuckery my head tries to get me to believe, even when it concerns you…” they shook their head again, “... especially when it concerns you…”

They went silent again, though soon shifted onto the bed fully, burying their face in their hands. They didn’t even look at him, but could feel his eyes burrowing into their skin.

“I told you before… the nightmares have only gotten worse…” they muttered, voice strained as they attempted to force back the sobs they could feel tightening their throat. “I thought it would be easier the more I knew you… That maybe they would just… go away, I guess.” a pause of breath, “... I was wrong…”

Silence filled the room once more, and they suddenly felt him move again- but no sound came from him. No warbling, no clicks… they could barely even hear him breathe. They couldn't feel his eyes on them anymore, and they slowly realized their own hands were shaking with the anxiety the feeling alone gave.

Did they fuck it all up by telling him…?

Slowly but hesitantly, they shifted their face to peek through trembling fingers, almost afraid of what they would find- and somehow, it was worse than if he had just left the room.

He sat silently in front of them, facing away from them with his head down, his arms at his front along his thighs. But they froze almost immediately with the one glaring detail-

His back was turned.

Completely.

A form of vaunerability that even the most suicidal turian wouldn't dare attempt depending on who they were around, and certainly not something Saren himself did willingly, if at all- even around them.

And yet, pale form striking in the near darkness, they could see a gentle tremble of his shoulders, making no move to shift even slightly to the side. It put a pit in their stomach, and suddenly they couldn't stop the new round of tears from falling, not even giving a chance to stop. He only seemed to flinch as they sniffled, curling more into himself. 

They felt their arm twitch just slightly, a small longing making them want to reach out, to press against the carapace over his back to cover that vulnerability, but they found they couldn't move- not easily, at least. 

“... Snow…?” They tried, their voice a near squeaky whisper, and he flinched again.

“... I'm sorry…”

It was the only response he gave, nearly weak in tone with a heavy layer of guilt, and it made their heart shatter. 

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

“Snow…” they tried again, choking back a sob. “I… I don't… blame you for them…”

He shook his head, and they could tell from the small movements of his arms that he had reached to rub his own face.

“I… I still caused them.” He managed, shifting his head slightly to the side. “I caused all of it, Shepard. Even now, I know I'm blamed for it… perhaps not by you, but by everyone else. And you…” he paused, a small, seemingly involuntary warbling trill escaping his throat as he spoke, “... You were caught in the crossfire. Conscious or not, luck or not, you were close to death because of me… And that has affected you enough to feel terror where you should only be experiencing peace.”

“That wasn't the only thing that caused them-”

“And yet it is what you see the most often… It's what you saw tonight.”

They knew he wasn't trying to make them feel worse, only stating blunt facts with his own guilt, but it certainly didn't make them feel any better. They watched as he shook his head, a wavering inhale the next sound they heard. They flinched again, though this time couldn't stop the pained whimper they let out at the same time. It felt like their neck was on fire, pulsing and burning as if it were a fresh wound, and their hands shot back to cover it.

They doubled over with a sudden sob at another wave of nausea at the feeling, and felt the shift as his head nearly snapped back to look at them. They brought their knees up to their chest, driving their face into them while clutching the back of their neck with trembling muscles. But they opened their mouth anyway in attempts to speak.

“I... I'm s-so… so sorry, Snow…” they choked out, and this time he felt his own breath hitch in his chest. They shook their head. “I don't… I don't want this… I hate seeing you like… like that… I hate waking up to it…”

Another sob forced its way from their throat with the pain… then another… and another… and suddenly their body trembled and jerked with them, one arm moving to surround their head while the other stayed over the back of their neck.

“... You… You mean… the fucking world to me, Snow…” they forced out between sobs, unable to even lift their head to see his face. “I hate being afraid… I hate these… fucking… nightmares for making me afraid of you…” another sob, and their voice dropped. “... F-Fuck, it… it hurts…”

He couldn't. He couldn't just sit there any longer. Not like this. Not while the guilt ate away enough to make him similarly nauseous, to make his mouth dry and body ache. 

Something in his chest snapped, and it forced him to move.

A soft, bellowing trill was all Cam heard before they were nearly barreled into at lightning speed, the soft, blue-ish purple glow of Sarens biotics dancing on the outside of their closed eyelids before they even had a chance to open them. They were almost ashamed of the short, terrified scream they let out as they were grappled and pulled against bone-like plating, instinctively pushing away for a few seconds before their wrists were grabbed with a gentle force, pulling them in as close as possible-

Within moments of being ‘attacked’, however, their ears were assaulted with the sound of a constant deep rumbling that shifted between purr, warble and low keen. The albino turian sounded damn near feral as he somehow managed to curl around them, simultaneously tucking their head under his chin and vigorously nuzzling and prodding around their face and neck with his own face- but even so, he still trembled heavily, mandibles flaring and fluttering with every sound he gave.

Every trill.

Every warble.

Everything with a twinge of guilt and care and heartbreak, every emotion that he could even think to let out, even if they didn't fully understand.

While it caught them off guard- to say the very least, quite honestly- it didn't quite stop their own flood of emotion. Even as they relaxed against him, listening to the sounds he made that he certainly would have never would have dared make around other turians for both of their sakes, their own body still trembled, and sobs still forced their way out from their throat-

The only time they faltered, however, was when their hand was nipped and shoved away from the back of their neck with a desperate trill, replaced by his mouth plates.

It made them freeze entirely, suddenly coughing in a fit when their sharp inhale interrupted a heavy sob. An arm went around their shoulders defensively as they coughed and wheezed, still pressed to his chest as his neck craned to stay pressed to theirs. Mandibles fluttered with hot breath against their skin, small nuzzles and nips against the scar that burned with low warbling as if performing a ritual to take the pain away.

Soon a hand was pressed to their face, and, as the coughs lessened, they felt themself lean into the touch almost immediately.

Soon they were able to move, and their arms shifted against his chest.

Soon they managed to twist and wrap their arms around him, gripping tightly onto the ridge of his carapace while allowing him to keep his own grip and touch.

Soon they were a tangle of limbs and noises, his ‘feralness’ only lessening a small amount as they relaxed, keeping his face at the back of their neck, now nipping and dragging his tongue along the scar as if trying to lick a wound clean.

Cams sobs lessened as well, the warmth and pressure against the back of their neck providing the smallest amount of relief for the pain. But they still shook their head slightly at one point, and he let out another low warble.

“I… I'm so… so sorry, Snow…” they repeated, their voice wavering. He trilled, pressing his mouth to their skin.

“Don't… Don't apologize…” he said, his own voice strained, even with the obvious thrum of sub-vocals loud enough for them to pick up on, “Don't ever apologize…”

It felt like another arrow through their chest.

They managed to press their face to his own neck, the warm leathery hide almost comforting- especially with the vibrating purrs from his chest and throat. He said nothing for a few moments, though his desire to was clear with small hiccups and choked pauses in the sounds and shifting of his jaw.

“... I'm sorry, my little fox…” he nearly whispered finally, his purrs almost deafening his voice comparatively. “For causing this… for tainting your mind so deeply it affects you even now, and…” he trailed off for a moment, though kept his face pressed against the back of their neck, his mouth moving against the scarred skin, “... And for giving you a reason to fear me still… A reason that causes so much pain so often.”

He fell silent once more, and their grip on him tightened. But a sudden small, warm prick of moisture hit the base of their neck, and they froze.

Was that-

“... If I could go back…” he strained, curling tighter around them, “I never would have hurt you.”

It made their chest lurch fully, and another wave of tears began to stream down their cheeks as his own slowly landed on their skin.

“... I know…” they whimpered, clinging to him tighter. “I know…”

Silence fell between them again, other than the semi-feral sounds Saren still made- and seemed to not have full control over now in attempts to calm them- and Cams still slowing sobs. Only after a few moments did either of them move, despite not wanting to, Cam managing to move a single arm out from around his shoulders. They instead reached up to press their hand against the back of his neck, fingers tracing the edges of the scarred plating in a near soothing motion- both for him and themself. They felt him shudder involuntarily, pressing his face closer to their skin. But he said nothing, allowing them whatever touch they pleased, so long as it kept them calm.

They took a wavering breath after a moment, though kept their eyes closed.

“... I don't want to sleep again tonight…” they managed, voice taught and even somewhat pained. He let out a small, warbling trill.

“You need rest…” he replied just as raggedly, and they shook their head.

“N-No… I… I don't…” they tested, muscles beginning to tremble once more- but the tighter hold he gave was enough to halt them quickly. Their grip on him tightened, shaking their head once more, a bit quicker this time.

“... I don't wanna see it again, Snow…” they finally whispered, and he froze. “... I don't… I don't wanna wake up like that again… I don't wanna see you as that… thing again tonight…”

His purring seemed to halt for a moment as they spoke, his jaw and mandibles shifting slightly as he thought.

“... If you do…” he started slowly, hugging them closer, “Know that I am here. It will not harm you, and neither will I.” He gave another nuzzle to the back of their neck. “Dreams are not reality, Shepard… Despite how real they may seem.”

He never was quite the best with words, always more ‘blunt’ in a manner of speaking, but it seemed to work well enough.

Their breath caught just slightly as he spoke, though the trembling of their muscles slowly diminished. They let out a shaky sigh within a few moments, slowly slumping forward against him entirely. They were tired… Far too tired to even attempt to argue…

But they also knew he was right.

Slowly their grip on him loosened, simply curling and cuddling in his arms

“... I hate when you’re right…” they mumbled, and he gave a gentle, trilling huff.

“I’m familiar with such… experiences.” he sighed, finally releasing his hold just slightly. “It is better to rest while you can... And in your case, we can only hope a second attempt will be more successful than the first.”

That made them snort, and finally they pulled away from him slowly- despite not wanting to.

“Yeah, I guess…” they said, moving their hand to wipe at their face. “It might be the only ‘second attempt’ I get…”

A gentle trill made them look at him again, and they relaxed more upon seeing the gentle light in his eyes as he watched them. A small flare of his mandibles and tilt of the head eased them more, and he huffed.

“‘Second chances’ seem to be a theme with you in quite a few scenarios, little fox, are they not…?” he questioned lightly, and they couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“You’d know best, wouldn’t you, Snow?”

A soft warble and purr was his only response, and Cam smiled fully. They looked at the pillows for a moment, a small wave of anxiety washing over them once more- but they shook it off just slightly, and took a breath.

“... Alright… Ok.” they sighed, slowly managing to scoot away from him and closer to their pillow. Not like they wanted to, but their eyelids felt heavy and, goddamnit, now they wanted him to hold them again.

They shifted slightly back into the covers where they had been before waking, though kept them pulled away slightly and looked at him. He met their gaze for a moment before looking at the sheets, and back to them. “... I assume I am joining you?” he said, a hint of amusement behind the purr in his voice. They huffed.

“Consider it an order, Arterius.” they said, settling in where they were. They paused for a moment. “... please.”

His brow plates shifted just slightly, but he soon gave a small, warbling chuckle.

“Understood, Commander.”

There was a small fluttering in their chest as he spoke, the comfort of the gentle banter just slightly overtaking the anxiety that still churned their stomach as he simply pushed himself entirely onto the bed and back next to them. But the anxiety as a whole still remained, even as they lay down. Even as his presence was now more calming as he shifted under the sheets next to them, silently holding out an arm for them to come to him- but they couldn’t help but hesitate still. Not because of him now, no- it was simply the anxiety of falling asleep again. Of the second chance at rest betraying them despite his help. But a questioning trill was all it took for them to bite down that anxiety and shift into his awaiting arms, cuddling to the warmth he offered, albeit small.

They cuddled to his chest, resting their face against the bone-like plating- there was still a small feel of softness to it, much to their continuously appearing delight each time- and wrapping an arm around his torso as he rested his chin against the top of their head and did the same. They were silent for a moment before a small thought occurred, and they tapped gently against the lower mid section of his carapace as if getting his attention.

“... Saren…?” they started quietly, and he gave a questioning hum.

“Hm…?”

“Permission to shoot you?”

They felt him shift, glancing up to see him look at them with mild bewilderment.

“What…???”

They tapped again.

“In the dream.” they said, and he just stared.

“... I will ask you to elaborate.” he said slowly, and they simply cuddled to him again.

“If I do dream about it again…” they mumbled, feeling his prosthetic arm shift around them to gently drag its talons along their back in a soothing motion. “Figured it might… help maybe to ask… I guess…”

He said nothing for a moment before giving another hum, this time with a purr.

“So perhaps your subconscious self knows it is alright to do so, should you find the strength?” he said simply, and they nodded.

“Something like that, yeah…”

He seemed to think, though eventually set his chin back where it was.

“Yes.”

They couldn’t help but smile.

“That was fast…”

“I would prefer you shoot me again anyway should something like that happen again, may the spirits forbid it.”

His voice was quiet, but they hugged him tighter.

“... It won’t.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

A low, rumbling purr started in his chest at that, and his own body relaxed more than they thought it could have. There was relative silence otherwise for a few moments, and he tapped the back of their neck gently.

“... perhaps we will think of a way to ease this pain of yours tomorrow.” he said quietly, and it was their turn to hum.

“I’ll take just about anything you can throw at me…” they said. He tapped again.

“I may have a few ideas.” he said, going silent for a moment again before he let out a deep, purring sigh. “... get some sleep, little fox.”

They let themself relax, finally allowing the hint of exhaustion to take hold. They focused on the rumbling purrs and the somewhat muffled sound of a heartbeat in their ear.

“You got it, Snow…”

[silenceofthewave]

[There were many things that Soundwave was. Symbiont host bot. Surveillance extraordinaire. Third in Command of the Decepticon Forces. Head Communications Officer. However, the most important aspect of it was often the most forgotten about, or simply thought of in passing- Soundwave had almost complete control over the Nemesis' systems.]

THE EXODUS

[This control was for several reasons; it had the processing power built into its frame to ensure that the automated systems did not meet unexpected failure, it needed to be able to adjust trajectory, course and speed at the blink of an optic, groundbridging, ensuring weapons and communications arrays always performed at top capabilities.]

[The control the mech had over the ship was not absolute- to save processing power, and to prevent becoming utterly useless in its other duties, Soundwave had created a patch that allowed the ship AI to take over the less relevant tasks. They would check in often, go over reports, fix what was broken. Though, it was easy enough to regain that control, and that's exactly what Soundwave was doing.]

[The mech silently stood at its usual terminal, paying no attention to the vehicons that came in and out of the bridge. It could vaguely hear the outraged cries of Lord Megatron- something about Starscream not responding to his comms. Soundwave couldn't help the small smirk behind its visor. Soon, that was going to be the least of Megatron's worries.]

[No, soon enough, Megatron would have a complete catastrophe on his servos.]

[Indeed, Soundwave had spent the last two weeks painstakingly coding a seek-and-destroy virus. While it would have been much easier to simply set the Nemesis to self destruct and leave, there was no guarantee that it would actually self destruct. That process required two codes, both of which it knew, then sent out a ping to the high command. It only took one code- the code Megatron knew- to halt the process in its tracks.]

[A virus though? A virus could be built to be discreet, undetectable, and just as devistating. The virus itself was complex- it had to be, for its task was no simple one. It had to utilize the AI's blindspots and complex firewall navigation to remain undetected. It had to be able to pull power directly from the engine's electical outputs to various systems simultaneously. It had to have every access and failsafe code built into it.]

[The virus would take the electrical output and put each targeted system into overdrive. Not only would this completely fry any and all circuitry, systems like the space bridge, communications array and cloaking would be rendered completely unusable. The electrical generators that powered them would more than likely explode and require either a full replacement, rebuild or extensive repairs. The Nemesis and her crew would be rendered sitting targets with no escape.]

[Truly, it was a feat of software engineering.]

[Soundwave had run tests earlier last week on its outputs and capabilities, which explained the strange system failures and power fluctuations the vehicons had been complaining about. The code had to be perfect- Soundwave would not be there to witness its execution, nor would it be patched into the systems. If it were, it ran the risk of being disabled itself, either by Lord Megatron or the virus. That was a risk it was not willing to take.]

[Soundwave had finished uploading the virus and was in the process of setting a four hour timer when Lord Megatron stormed in. It quickly finished and shut off the terminal before facing the enraged mech that stood in the middle of the bridge. Megatron was pointing a clawed servo at it.]

"Where are the seekers, Soundwave." It wasn't a question, rather a demand.

[Soundwave considered its options carefully. Though, the longer it waited, the angrier Megatron seemed to get. It quickly scrambled together a series of images from the last few days. Starscream in their quarters tending to Aurora, Thundercracker and Skywarp getting ready for patrol, Slipstream and her trine arguing in their own quarters.]

"If that is where they are, then why can't I find them? In fact," Megatron stepped closer to Soundwave.

[His field was alight with anger and suspicion. Megatron was close enough to touch, to get a true read. His field betrayed the way he knew something was going on, but Soundwave had no way of connecting the dots without that physical contact. Yet, it did not reach out, and neither did Megatron.]

"You know why, don't you?"

[Megatron raised a clawed servo, his index digit a mere milimeter away from Soundwave's visor. Still, they did not touch. Megatron was undoubtedly toying with it at this point.]

"I knew that little fling you had, and that slagged sparkling was going to cause more trouble than its worth." Megatron's voice was low, and if Soundwave didn't know any better, it would have classified the tone as sultry.

"I told Starscream to stay away from you, that I couldn't have my invaluable third in command distracted from its duties."

[Soundwave stayed maddeningly silent. It had no idea where Megatron's mind was- what he thought was going on, what he was going to do. There was an electrical charge that ran up its spinal strut and its HUD flashed the option to activate its battle protocols. It quickly denied that, standing stone still.]

"But, you wouldn't betray me, would you Soundwave?"

[Megatron's voice teetered between fake and genuine concern. Soundwave shut down the urge to shudder and shook its helm.]

"No, I didn't think so."

[Megatron's servo finally made contact with Soundwave's visor as he pet the mech with the back of his knuckles. Images instantly floated to Soundwave's mind, visions of unspeakable violence aimed towards itself, its mate, the seekers and...Aurora.]

[Megatron was threatening it.]

"Bring me the seekers, Soundwave." Megatron did not need to tack on the or else.

[Still, his threats rang hollow to Soundwave. There would have been a time where Soundwave would have ended the interaction cowering in fear, not unlike Starscream, but that time was also when its loyalty was unquestionable. Now, there was no loyalty left- not to Megatron at least.]

[Soundwave had evolved past whatever was keeping it here. Whether it be that it had no other tangible experiences than fighting to survive or that simply the Decepticons were all it had left- neither of those things were true now. It had something to live and fight for other than itself and someone it used to call Lord.]

[Megatron had left the bridge by now. The remaining vehicons stood as silent as ever, their fields anxious and jittery. It paid no mind to them as it faced the terminal and turned it on.]

[Soundwave opened an encrypted message link and searched the frequencies until it found the one it was looking for. Autobot signals and messaging might be encrypted, but there was always at least one open comm link available. It was untraceable, and had to go through several layers of scrambling, but it was a well known secret. Anyone who dared use it, at least within the Decepticon ranks, was immediately considered a traitor.]

[At this point, that is exactly what Soundwave was.]

[Soundwave unspooled a datacable and connected it to the terminal. It uploaded a large data packet containing vital Decepticon intelligence, and an inert copy of the virus, only to prove its good faith. It sent the datapacket with the following message.]

Use this wisely.

[Soundwave turned off the terminal. It had a limited amount of time to enact the next portion of the plan. Luckily, it had been smart enough to transport its Rumble and Frenzy to an unused, secure site a few days ago. It had stolen medical supplies to keep them stable- not like Knockout would notice anyway. Still, its spark ached. They were stable, but still had not even shifted. Soundwave didn't know if they ever would again.]

[It lightly shook its helm, perishing the thought. It needed to disconnect itself from the ship entirely, not focus on its woes. Soundwave quickly found its way to the engineering terminal and plugged itself in.]

[One by one, it disconnected from the systems. The sensations of the freed up processing power quickly began to leave it dizzy and unwell. Its frame had been constructed with the intended load of the Nemesis. To no longer have that weight on its neural net was both freeing and debilitating. Its thoughts raced by too fast- there was nothing to hinder them anymore.]

[The last one it disconnected from was surveillance. Its HUD suddenly became quiet. Too quiet. There was no constant video chatter, no moving images in the corner of its optics. For once, it could see the reflection of its optics against the tinted glass. That was perhaps the most unsettling part.]

[Soundwave had to take a moment. It felt like it was swimming under solvent, while also being pulled into a tidepool. Perhaps it had detached itself too fast, but time was not something it had. Still, everything felt terribly empty and lonely, its HUD blank, its mind startlingly clear.]

[Now, all there was left to do was...Leave.]

[There would be no goodbyes. Knockout was gone, and it doubted Shockwave would want one. Soundwave certainly was not going to say goodbye to Megatron.]

[It was not the time for sentimentality. Soundwave had already packed its things and left it with Rumble and Frenzy. The only issue was that Soundwave no longer had a space bridge. It would have to fly.]

[Quietly, the mech made its way to the very same flight deck that its relationship with Starscream started on. Luckily, there was no one out there. The sun blazed low on the horizon, painting the sky with firey reds and oranges. Tinges of purple could be seen the higher it looked. Briefly, Soundwave wondered if the Stolen Secret would ever witness sunsets as beautiful as this.]

[Without a final look back, Soundwave transformed and raced into the sky.]

[mattapparentlystumbltourneys]

Virtual Character Tourney - Battle for 9th! (and 10th!)

Propaganda below (May contain spoilers!)

Kasane propaganda:

HER DREAM WAS TO ONE DAY BECOME A REAL VOCALOID AMD SHE FINALLY DID IT!!!!!! ITS NOT A VOCALOID VOICE BANK BUT ITS A FULL SYNTH V VOICEBANK!!!!! AND A NEW DESIGN!!!!! SHE DID IT SHE GOT HER DREAMS!!!!!! YOURE NEVER TOO OLD TO ACCOMPLISH YOUR DREAMS!!!!!!!

Kasane Teto is a vocal synth, she started out as an april fools joke to parody VOCALOID, with her voice bank in UTAU. although she did start out as just a joke a lot of vocaloid fans grew to really love her and she became rather popular. Kasane Teto is to UTAU as Hatsune Miku is to VOCALOID. But recently on Kasane Teto's 15th anniversary, April 1st 2023, she got moved from UTAU to SynthV. With her voice bank now in SynthV she also got a new character deign alone with how her voice and her singing sounds much more clear and human like than her UTAU voice bank which sounded a lot more mechanical/robotic.

ART propaganda:

ART (Asshole Research Transport, nicknamed by Murderbot), formally known as the space ship The Perihelion (in italics but this is a Google Form), also known as Peri (nicknamed by it's human family) is a super illegal highly advanced AI that was created by a university. It grew up with two human dads and a human sister. It and its crew go on research trips that are cover for allying with people and communities at the edges (and beyond) of the capitalist hellscape that is the Corporate Rim. It also goes on espionage missions by itself, without its human crew and family, posing as an automated cargo ship. It was during one of these missions that it picked up Murderbot, a super-duper illegal bot-human security unit construct that had hacked the torture device implanted in all bot-human constructs so that it could disobey orders and walk away from its "owners" without dying. Murderbot uses its illegal freedom to watch television, a habit it passes on to ART. Turns out ART doesn't like shows where human crew members get hurt.

ART is the AI that controls/is the research and teaching vessel Perihelion. (Perihelion is usually what people call it, but the protagonist of the series calls it ART so that's the name I put. ART stands for Asshole Research Transport.) It is extremely intelligent and advanced and also extremely sarcastic and condescending. 100% earned the name ART. ART will do absolutely anything for its crew!! It was developed and "raised" alongside the captain's daughter, Iris, and they're like siblings. Its crew calls it Peri. They do corporate espionage on the side to help bring down said corporations. It has a "debris deflection system" which is definitely not a weapon because ART isn't legally allowed to have a weapon. Definitely just for debris, don't worry about it. It's friends with the aforementioned protagonist, Murderbot, and ART is very good at bullying it into actually leaving its comfort zone when it needs to. They care about each other a lot, and they like to binge watch TV shows together. I don't want to write too much but I just love it a lot.

Ene propaganda:

She's blue. Headphone actor and yuukei yesterday are also bangers

Epic gamer cybergirl. Miku adjacent

She's a girl that was forced to become digital but is still a good friend. She may not have a body anymore but she's still important to the plot.

Murder-Bot 2.0 propaganda:

Sapient computer virus made from bits of two other AI characters (the original Murderbot and a spaceship AI). Unlike its not-parents, it is genuinely just code and doesn't have a physical body. Its only physical presence is through its effects on the machinery it infects, and it considers its "body" to be the code rather than any combination of physical objects. Also it was literally made to cause problems on purpose, does so enthusiastically, gives several people including its creators existential crises, and saves one of its creators (and other people from the (literal) fallout of the other creator learning the first one got killed)

Murderbot 2.0 is sentient killware created by Murderbot and ART with the purpose of being sent on a suicide mission. It has some of Murderbot's memories, but not all because it doesn't have any hardware of it's own to store that much information in. It travels by hopping in between other computer systems (mostly bots and bot-human constructs). It named itself Murderbot 2.0. It freed a security construct named Three. It's nicer and more open than both its parents.

EDI propaganda:

EDI is the AI of the Normandy starting with Mass Effect 2. Through dialogue EDI can become more human-like in her way of thinking, developing different kinds of relationships with the crew. In Mass Effect 3 she uploads herself into a body so she can freely move around and can be taken to missions, but she is still part of the ship's system.

Holly propaganda:

Due to a pay dispute with Holly's original actor, Norman Lovett, Holly was instead played by Hattie Hayridge during seasons 3-5. This was explained briefly in the show as them having gone through a "computer sex change". This makes Holly canonically trans do not @ me.

holly is the silliest most specialest ai ever. she has an iq of 6,000 but sometimes it seems like his iq is more like 6. they're possibly transgender (do computers have gender??) (i am panicking over pronouns while writing this propaganda) - holly goes from appearing like a man to appearing like a woman with no real explanation(??) and nobody questions this (the show is from the 90s btw). he's hilarious and sometimes lies to the crew for no reason other than 'its a laugh, innit'. shes everything to me <3

Holly is the computer of Red Dwarf, a Tenth Generation AI hologrammatic computer who appears as a floating head on a screen. Can be downloaded onto various other devices. also literally transgender.. meets a female appearing parallel version of itself in a parallel universe and then goes through a sex change after falling in love with her. transgender computer ftw

Tama propaganda:

Tama is the eyeball of Kuruto Ryuki and investigates dream worlds with him. She's his bi emotional support eye who regularly ties him up to help him with stress relief and loves to affectionately tease him. She laughs at bad jokes and has AE10D1F ("Ryuki" in hexadecimal) in her likes on her profile.

OKAY anyway uhm she's like aiba in that she's a little Ai eyeball that helps you investigate except sadly no animal theme. instead she has a domintrix vibe instead!!!! she is so cool… also ermm she's a lot more. Human than aiba. Not literally/physically like uhh emotionally. I haven't finished aini but like she does look out for your best interest! what a good Ai partner i don't kno

She's voiced by Anairis Quiñones and she's an absolute legend

Lyla propaganda:

she is a humanoid ai programmed to help spider-man gather info. she can simulate human emotions and has a high intellect

[a-goat-writes]

Ingress

Priority Transmission - For Captain Menelaus’s Eyes      The uprising on Vega II has become too large a problem for the local government to handle. You are more aware than most how critical it is we retain control of the system. Send in your new dog and push them back. Mechanized force is authorized.

     Dahlia could barely contain her excitement upon receiving the captain’s summons. The Vega mission would be her first assignment since graduating the academy, and it came direct from central command. She half-walked, half-ran to the hangar, squeezing past engineers and enlisted personnel in the cramped bowels of the ship. Down at the far end of the bay stood her brand-new Telamon-class mech, a hulking 30-foot bipedal war machine bristling with armaments. The technicians were already loading its brachial missile racks and arm-mounted cannons. Dahlia could feel the furious rumble of its reactor roar in her chest as she walked down the gangway to the cockpit.

     The sharp hiss of the cockpit’s seal opening greeted her. She slid into the seat in one fluid motion, pressing her arms into the control linkages molded just for her. One by one, she felt the click and static discharge of cables connecting to the ports along her spine and limbs. With each new connection came a new data stream. Comms, visuals, IR and UV, LiDAR, reactor status and ammo readouts, all sprang to life on her display, felt as much as seen. Last came sensation - Linkage, the pilots called it. The ontological bridge between pilot and machine which allowed for direct, intuitive control, as if the chassis was itself the pilot’s body.

     Linkage online. Bridging stability 100%. Good afternoon, Dahlia. Shall I download mission data to the heads-up display?

     The words were broadcast into Dahlia’s mind more than spoken, though the onboard AI did pump them through the cockpit’s speakers.

     “Yes, Artemis, let’s get all mission data and maps of the landing zone pulled up.”

     A dozen information feeds began pumping into Dahlia’s head. For a brief instant she felt her head might explode from the pressure — but Artemis stepped in, culling and organizing the rivers of data into manageable streams. The two sat wordlessly entwined for what seemed to Dahlia like several hours, though her heads-up display indicated mere minutes had passed. The streams decreased to a trickle, then droplets, until finally there was no more.

     The mission would be simple, Dahlia thought. The insurgents on Vega II had installed an automated orbital defense array to prevent off-world reinforcements from reaching the planet’s surface. It lacked sophistication. None of the combat droids they fielded had been manufactured this century, and their combat AI was equipped for little beyond basic swarm tactics. They reminded Dahlia of a virus. Unintelligent, dangerous in number only. She let Artemis slip into her conscious thoughts and felt the AI’s confidence mix with her own.

(Next)

[samueldays]

I am once again recommending Master of Orion (1993).

It's thirty years old, it originally came on floppy discs, and it's really good. The interface is crisp. The ship design system is neat. The technology research system is not your standard tech tree. It has helpful hotkeys like "Indicate next world that has enemy fleet inbound". It has antifeatures like "not doing a Cinematic Camera Pan for several seconds". It has detail while avoiding micromanagement by giving you mostly high-level control, and automatic reassignment of overflow when something like factory construction fills up.

I say it again because of discourse from a mutual's post.

hello gamer. you claim to want "shorter games with worse graphics that are made by people who are paid more to do less". in front of you is itch dot io, which has a "pay what you want" feature,

that… feels like an unfair take?

I don't want the claim as stated, I strongly suspect it's something said because it's catchy more than it's accurate, and I want to dissect its relation to things I do want, like MOO1.

shorter games

No, I want games with less padding.

I want fewer cinematic camera pans, and fewer cutscenes, and less of the dev team showing off their fancy tech demo, and fewer animations in the interface because the interface should have sub-second response time, and less loading time because the game should be smaller, and less grinding unless you're an idle game in which case it should be automated, and I want more automation and macros for things that are a waste of my attention as well as my time. Give me autoresolve for battles with weak enemies. Give me minions that can be sent to do things for me. Give me "repeat until" orders. Give me a dialogue meta-option that says "I've played this before, give me the TL;DR". Give me speed-up and skip buttons.

itch.io games have some of these, but also have less gameplay.

worse graphics

I'm close to agreeing with this, but IMO it's less about the graphics themselves and more about the 50GB graphics package and rendering engine that contemporary games like to include for little to no gameplay improvement, and then that enables lazy devs to think "another 3GB isn't a problem when we're already past 50GB" and the game bloats to 150GB as each dev includes a whole-ass library for one function, and then there's 10GB updates to download repeatedly.

I don't know if this is literally what happened behind the scenes, but a recent game like Baldur's Gate 3 did hit 150GB. Which also brings me to,

people who are paid more

I want developer studios to fire the movie team and redistribute their salary to the rest of the devs, with movie team describing the Thing that 'graphics department' has grown into.

A game like Age of Mythology doing in-engine cutscenes was cool when the engine was primarily a game engine and hands had eight polygons; these days it seems like AAA games also want to be movies and that means turning the game engine into a movie-maker, and hiring an entire movie team to render the 3D model of each character's armpit hair and the physics of how it moves in the wind when the character raises his arm.

Since budget is limited, that movie team comes at the expense of every other aspect of the game, like gameplay, writing, bugtesting, et cetera, and it still won't be as good a movie as an actual movie.

do less

See above. Less padding, less cinema.

[wizard-island-trading-co]

Lore Post:

(ooc: I've been hopping on again and seeing some revitalized interested in wizarding, so I thought I'd make this for RP. This won't be all inclusive unless I edit it later, but I'll cover the main points.)

Hello! My name is Captain Fless Roicaff. (Don't say it backwards lest ye be cursed)

Pronouns are he/him.

I am of age for adult activities, but prefer not to go too deep. (Roicaff is a skeleton, after all, and has no flesh with which to crave another's.)

I am a skeleton who wears stereotypical pirate garb with colors of green and gold. Except pants. I don't wear pants. This tradition used to be an intimidation tactic before I became a skeleton, but is still followed. (Profile picture created by "@the-necrobotanist") (didn't want to put in a direct link in order to prevent spam if I edit this post)

My schools of magic (in descending order of specialization) are necromancy, transmutation/alchemy, spatial manipulation, and just a touch of astral magic. I am not well versed in combat magic because I invested heavily into immortality. I do, however, have my own personal school called Dock Magic, which combines transmutation and spatial magic in order to create and throw boats at people.

My vessel, the Stocky Jasmine, is a personalized Ship of Many Decks. In addition to the standard number of decks for rigging and cannons, the Stocky Jasmine is connected to an extradimensional space. Not even I know how many decks there are. Or what else is down there. In addition to being my equivalent of a wizard tower, the Stocky Jasmine has the ability to travel anywhere as long as I have a sample of magic energy from the target location. Very useful for finding people in an emergency.

My crew is comprised mainly of two kinds of skeletons. The Rave Skeletons are standard summoned skeletons who love a good party. These fellows were brought into unlife during a wizard duel and are fantastic companions. The Starlight Skeletons are of my own design. They are birthed of Liquid Starlight and are remotely controlled by spiders. There are also the Dock Wizards. Students of my craft, they are very helpful with the maintenance of my fleet and outposts.

I run the Wizard Island Trading Co., which is headquartered on Wizard Island Island. We (we being me and the skeletons) have a worldwide web of acquisitions, manufacturing, and distribution. Kinda like wizard capitalism, except the rules are made up and the points don't matter.

The cornerstone of my empire is Liquid Starlight. This liquid is flawed, being made only of the starlight that reaches the Earth. When used regularly, it can cause issues in automated magic systems or ingested directly. That said, it is available in ridiculous quantities and provides a highly efficient source of power to those willing to work around the maintenance requirements.