#stream processor

[mp3monsterme]

Fluent Bit config - Railroad Diagrams

A bit more content for FLuent Bit in the form of some RailRoad Diagrams for the syntax. Particularly helpful for the Stream Processing capabilities.

I’ve written about how railroad syntax diagrams (see here) are great for helping write code (or configuration files). Following the track through the diagram will give you the correct statement syntax, and generally, the diagrams don’t require you to jump around like BNF or eBNF representations. While Fluent Bit’s core syntax is pretty straight forward, the syntax for the stream processing is a…

[waywardvagabonds]

My god, that was soooooo good, holy shit!

[captainrufflebanger]

So anyway Elden Ring DLC coming in hot soon anyone want to watch me eat shit trying to get ready for it? I did do a DS1 stream once which was fun so I could stream to Twitch or host a discord party if friends want to chat 🤔

Spoilers: I am a Very Very Very Bad™ gamer

[falling-down-the-scroll-hole]

Heiko Hellwig: Silicon Cities (2017)

Colorful Circuit Cities Built From Motherboards, Processors, and Microchips. Hellwig built these cityscapes last year using the guts of old MacBooks, IBMs, and even PlayStations that he scavenged from eBay and friends' basements.

[medickpidia]

Information

The Amazon Fire Max 11 is the most powerful and feature-rich Fire tablet to date, designed for streaming, reading, gaming, and productivity. With a vivid 11-inch display, a 14-hour battery life, and support for an optional stylus and keyboard, this tablet is an excellent all-in-one device for work and entertainment. Its sleek aluminum design and lightweight build make it stylish and portable, while the octa-core processor ensures smooth performance. >>>>----Click To Know More About That Product----<<<<

Features

✅ Vivid 11” Display for Immersive Viewing

11-inch Full HD (2000 x 1200) display with anti-glare coating.

TÜV Rheinland-certified for reduced blue light exposure, minimizing eye strain.

Perfect for watching movies, gaming, and reading.

✅ Powerful Performance

Octa-core processor for fast multitasking.

4GB RAM for smooth app performance.

Runs on Fire OS, optimized for Amazon services and Android apps via the Amazon Appstore.

✅ All-Day Battery Life

Up to 14 hours of mixed-use battery life.

USB-C fast charging for quick power-ups.

✅ Optional Accessories for Enhanced Productivity

Stylus Pen (sold separately): Supports handwriting, drawing, and note-taking.

Detachable Keyboard (sold separately): Converts the tablet into a mini laptop for work and school.

✅ Ample Storage

128GB internal storage (expandable via microSD card up to 1TB).

Download movies, games, books, and apps for offline use.

✅ Great for Streaming & Gaming

Compatible with popular apps like Netflix, Prime Video, Disney+, Hulu, and YouTube.

Supports cloud gaming services like Amazon Luna for console-quality gaming on the go.

✅ Advanced Camera & Connectivity

8MP front and rear cameras with 1080p HD video recording.

Dual microphones for clear video calls.

Wi-Fi 6 support for faster, more reliable internet connectivity.

✅ Durable & Stylish Design

Premium aluminum body for a sleek and lightweight feel.

Scratch-resistant screen for durability.

✅ Kid & Family Friendly

Parental controls and Amazon Kids+ subscription options.

Multiple user profiles for shared family use.

Ideal 

✔️ Entertainment lovers who enjoy streaming, gaming, and reading. ✔️ Students & professionals who need a lightweight, productivity-friendly tablet. ✔️ Families looking for a durable and secure device for all ages. ✔️ Amazon ecosystem users who want seamless access to Kindle, Alexa, and Prime services.

Specifications

Display: 11” Full HD (2000 x 1200) touchscreen

Processor: Octa-core

RAM: 4GB

Storage: 128GB (expandable via microSD up to 1TB)

Battery Life: Up to 14 hours

Charging: USB-C, fast charging

Cameras: 8MP front and rear, 1080p HD video

Connectivity: Wi-Fi 6, Bluetooth

Audio: Dual speakers with Dolby Atmos support

Operating System: Fire OS

The Amazon Fire Max 11 is a versatile, high-performance tablet perfect for work, entertainment, and creativity. With a stunning display, powerful hardware, and long battery life, it’s a great alternative to more expensive tablets for both casual and professional users.

[tom2tec]

Librempeg ~ Multimedia Libraries & Toolsets

Librempeg is a collection of libraries and tools to process multimedia content such as audio, video, subtitles and related metadata. Libraries: libavcodec provides implementation of a wider range of codecs. libavformat implements streaming protocols, container formats and basic I/O access. libavutil includes hashers, decompressors and miscellaneous utility functions. libavfilter provides…

[muletia]

✧˖° 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: optimus deals with feelings that, even for him, are way powerful and dangerous

cw: suggestive themes, angst, hardcore pinning, optimus is fucking obsessed with you, obsessive thoughts, yandere?? optimus i guess, bro is down bad for you

word count: 995

He was doing it again.

Optimus is a calculated being. He didn’t make rash decisions, never threw words to the wind. Every action he took had meaning; none were purposeless or born of impulse or whim. He was crafted to be the perfect leader, to guide thousands, millions. He was supposed to be an authority, the alpha and omega, someone to be respected, admired, and followed. But there was one creature who turned his philosophy upside down and broke his facade.

He blinked once, twice. His optics returned to reading the report on the datapad. However, not even ten seconds of focus passed—a return to being the Prime—and his attention was anchored somewhere else again.

He couldn’t tell anymore, was he doing it on purpose or automatically? A force stronger than him, stronger than Primus himself, was pulling his optics toward that one being capable of breaking him. In the presence of this rare power, he was truly defenseless, revealing to everyone close to him the truth of his feelings, the intensity of which surpassed his wildest expectations. They had grown beyond his control, fierce and unyielding, like a wild beast impossible to tame.

He knew it was inappropriate, and unfitting for you and his friends; he should have restrained the beast before it became a problem. But he hadn’t. He had failed, and another burden had taken residence on his shoulders.

You laughed, and his optics instantly shifted to you. His spark throbbed pleasantly, distracting him from tormenting his very being. He adored that sound, rejoicing every time he heard it. It was melodic, soothing, and calming. In an instant, it tamed his chaotic processor, now focused solely on you, the real you. Optimus observed every smile, frown, and wrinkle on your face with great curiosity, even though he had done it countless times. He watched your chest rise and fall, counting how many breaths you took in a minute. He searched for any abnormalities or signs of illness. Nothing escaped his attention.

He already knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on the report. Not when you were so close to him, when he knew there was a microscopic chance you’d start a conversation with him. You’d honor him and look at him, too. He didn't dare to ask for more. He longed, but he knew he couldn’t allow himself that—at least not now. For the sake of keeping an image, he still held the datapad in his hand, but his thoughts were circling around you.

You were discussing something with Miko about a topic he didn’t understand, related to Earth’s video games. For some time now, he had planned to gather knowledge about them, so he could have conversations with you beyond his comfort zone, aligned with your interests. He wanted to be more approachable, and friendly, enticing you to spend more time with him. Amidst the stream of words, he caught a single one, which he assumed was a title, and made a mental note to study it later. Would you be happy to see him as someone worth talking to? Would you smile, let him hold you on his servo or shoulder? Help ease a processor constantly focused on unknowns and daydreams?

Content simply to be in your presence, yet fantasizing about something deeper, more intimate, he was still intently watching you. He had drifted so far from shore that he acknowledged Jack's and Rafael’s greetings a second too late. He nodded to the kids and briefly watched as they climbed onto the couch beside you. You had a way with children, caring for them, and helping with their school projects, but most importantly, you were their friend. Seeing you surrounded by children had an effect on Optimus—a feeling he was even frightened to contemplate because it easily took over him, pulling him away from reality, creating visions that would never come true, no matter how much he wanted them to.

"You are crossing the line," he reminded himself, fully aware that he had crossed it long ago. The cup had overflowed; there was no going back. Primus, he had just daydreamed about having offspring with a different species.

The truth was, despite all the self-flagellation, despite the hatred for what he had become, the ruin he had brought upon himself, he didn’t want to stop. You were a pleasant distraction from the war, death, and suffering that had accompanied him since becoming Prime, and for now, he didn’t plan to (couldn't) let go of that distraction. This didn’t mean his little obsession with you was painless—quite the contrary. However, those brief moments when your attention was focused on him, when you shared your touch as you traveled with him through Jasper when you looked only at him, made up for all the pain, torment, and hell he went through. Then there was no war, no Decepticons, no Optimus Prime. There was only him and you.

One last time, he tried to return to the report, but this time it wasn’t his illusions sabotaging his work. This time, it was you.

“Optimus,” your voice freed him from the prison of his thoughts. “I’d totally understand if you don’t have time to leave the base. But… would you perhaps like to drive me home? It’s getting late.”

“Of course, [Name],” he replied immediately because refusing you made no sense.

“Can’t you ask Bumblebee instead of dragging Optimus to fulfill your whims?” Ratchet intruded into the conversation.

“That will not be a problem for me,” Optimus assured, with an unusually stern tone aimed more at the medic than at you. “I am at your service, [Name].”

“Thank you!”

He transformed and waited patiently for you to join him. He opened the door, and once you climbed into the seat, fastened the seatbelt himself. He hoped you wouldn’t notice the slow pace he had settled upon, that this time he had decided to be selfish, savoring the unrestrained pleasure of your privacy.

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 6

(part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5)

I catch a glimpse of the Pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes are wild, panicked, with the glaze of just having been torn out of herself.

For a moment, as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She reaches out with an emaciated arm, fast as lightning, and takes hold of my wrist in an iron grip.

She moves her lips, at first unable to form words, unable to remember how to use human speech organs.

"Do your job," she says, slowly, deliberately, as if that singular command is the only thing in the universe that matters.

Something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips into catatonia. Her grip loosens and her fingers trail away.

Something has gone terribly wrong in this last engagement.

Alarms blare and booted feet thunder past me.

My own feet join the cacophony.

I have a job to do.

The Pilot is alive and she is now the responsibility of the med team.

My responsibility is the Machine.

Do your job.

The words echo in my head as I sprint the remaining distance to the vestibule.

A tech tries to stop me, he says something I don't quite process. I shove past him and am greeted by a scene out of a nightmare.

Morrigan's hatch has been severed, the emergency release pyros having been triggered. The parts of her hull visible to the vestibule are pitted and blackened. I can't even find the stencilled lettering of her factory designated identifier, just an ugly hole torn open by an incendiary.

Inside, the cockpit is a mess of fire suppressant and crash gel. Indicator lights form a constellation of blinking red and half of the display panels, the half that still work, flash an endless stream of error messages.

Everything reeks of ammonia and ozone and scorched metal.

"Me or Morrigan could get dead in the next engagement."

The nonchalance with which those words had been delivered caught me off guard when they were spoken. Morrigan and Her Pilot are untouchable. They were supposed to be untouchable.

Do your job.

I begin to strip as fast as humanly possible. I need to get in there. I need to know that she is alive.

The tech that tried to stop me grabs my arm. You can't go in there, the reactor has not been stabilized.

I tear myself from his grip.

I have a job to do, I say with a snarl.

Something in my expression, my bared teeth, my feral eyes, convinces him to leave me be. He stands down, hands raised in surrender. He could call security, but by the time they get here, I'll already be jacked in, and it will be too late for them to do anything.

Do your job. Do your job. Do your job.

My job is information recovery and analysis.

My job is to save as much as I can.

I need to save Her.

One of the cameras spots me and the others focus on me in panicked motion. The one nearest to me has a cracked lens and the iris flutters open and closed, unable to focus.

The cradle has been mangled nearly beyond recognition. They had to physically cut the Pilot out of Her, neither of them willing to let go of the other. The still operable mechanisms of it jerk erratically, trying vainly to reconfigure for me. Her neural interface port reaches towards me desperately.

I scrabble to Her, pressing myself into the cradle. The shorn, inoperable pieces dig painfully into my flesh. The neural insertion is not gentle, the plug scrapes painfully against my skin before it finds the jack and shoves roughly into me.

"I'm here," I tell Her as the link is established.

It's bad.

It's worse than I feared.

Reactor housing is damaged. System failsafes are vainly attempting to stabilize it while ground crews work as fast at they can towards a purge of the system.

Her processor core… fuck. My mind struggles to make sense of the telemetry stream. Multiple processor modules fractured. Unstable resonance modes. Positron avalanche. System collapse imminent.

My breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest.

She is dying.

Do your job.

The umbilical data lines aren't receiving, rogue processes are preventing access to primary communication channels. I work furiously to establish auxiliary paths for the data transfer. In fits and starts, the data recorder begins streaming into the facility mainframe.

There is a problem.

The data repository is meant for telemetry and battle space recordings. If I attempted to back up her core personality engrams, everything that makes her who she is, the data would get scrubbed and purged faster than I could back them up elsewhere.

There isn't time to set up an alternate backup repository.

- PILOT STATUS?

"She's safe," I tell Her. “You completed your mission. Your Pilot… Our Pilot is safe.”

- ENGINEER STATUS?

"Status is… not good…"

- PLEASE DO NOT CRY.

Fuck.

I drag my hand over my face, smearing the tears gathering in my eyes.

Now that the data is streaming there is nothing I can do but feel her die as I lie in her embrace.

I can not conceive a reality in which I exist without her.

And the Pilot. The Pilot will not survive, not with half of who she is destroyed.

"The three of us, we're just this fucking tangle, aren't we?"

Do your job.

Save Her.

Save. Her.

I know this system. I know it more intimately than anyone alive.

There *is* one data connection I haven't considered. There *is* one piece of external storage currently connected.

Shit.

I act.

I open up a new interface in my hud. Morrigan's attention fixes on me, on the calculations I'm running through my head and I can feel Her dawning horror over the link.

Neural bleed. It works both ways.

All neural rigs are designed to facilitate data transfer between an organic brain and a mechanical one. Mine is no exception. Mine hasn't undergone all the upgrades needed for a pilot's full sensorium, but the core neural interface is the same.

If I disable safety overrides, if I bypass the data buffers, I can download her personality engrams directly into my prefrontal cortex.

I have no idea what that will do to me.

Exceptional synchrony and neuro-elasticity. That's what my intake assessments had said all those years ago. I was in the upper quintile among all pilot candidates. Maybe that was my downfall. Maybe that's why I washed out.

Maybe that's why I'm here now, contemplating this singularly desperate act.

Maybe that's why my neural bleed with Her has been so deep. Maybe there is something in me that is in tune with Them.

But as far as I know, no one has ever attempted anything like this. It could very well kill me.

But the thought of living without Her is more terrifying than the prospect of dying. It's more terrifying than what might happen to me if this works.

Morrigan pleads with me.

- STOP.

"No. I can't stop," I reply. "I need you."

- NO.

"Yes, I do," I tell her. "Your Pilot needs you."

I can feel Her emotional flinch over the link. I have the one piece of leverage I need, and She knows it.

"Wouldn't you give anything, sacrifice anything to see her again?"

It's a dirty trick, I know it is, playing off that one connection, her deepest, most intimate connection. Maybe I mean something to Her, but She and the Pilot were made for each other in the most literal sense.

And I suddenly realize that I am doing this as much for the Pilot as any of us. That surprises me. As much as I have tried to distance myself from other human beings, I became entangled with her the moment I opened myself up to Morrigan.

I would never be able to face her if I didn't do everything in my power to save the Machine.

A processor module fails outright. The system struggles to reallocate resources, but submodules throughout the entire system are strained to their limit.

There isn't any time left and She knows it.

She sullenly acedes.

We begin working in concert, me working to disable safety protocols in my rig, Her working to isolate and distill Her core personality patterns into something that can be handled by the bandwidth of the interface.

An alarm pings over the link. Reactor purge in progress. Power fluctuations spike all over her systems. Her processor power distribution subsystem is completely fucked. It won't be able to keep up with current activity levels as the whole system switches over to umbilical power.

Out of time.

I engage the final override, by mind suddenly open to hers, the neural link unbuffered, unfiltered.

Her mind presses in on me and I glimpse the full sensorium. I feel all of her pain and fear and anguish at what she is about to do to me.

My fingers tingle before they go numb.

"Do it," I command her.

- I LOVE YOU.

Data transfer initiates.

This isn't neural bleed.

This is a flood.

My body convulses.

I taste something coppery in my mouth.

Someone somewhere screams.

The scream is mine.

My rig isn't built for this. My body isn't conditioned for this.

Every nerve in me blazes white hot.

My vision tunnels as auras bloom like bruises on the skin of reality.

Shouts of alarm call from outside the cockpit.

A face resolves itself, and for a moment I think it's Her.

The Pilot.

A Priestess.

An Angel.

No.

It.

It is one of the techs.

Then a medic.

More shouting.

Get her out of there!

Every muscle in my body clenches painfully.

I can barely breathe.

Cut her loose!

No.

It's not done yet. It's not enough.

It's too much.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

I can't.

I can't stop. Not yet.

Do your job.

Save Her.

My body convulses once again, and I pass into oblivion.

(next)

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten

[redisthenewblue]

𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘—𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐱 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

—

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑: 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

[Name] spun around before jumping into Idia's arms, their eyes shining with joy.  

“Thank you! Thank you!” [Name] showered his face with sweet kisses, each touch sending delightful shivers through Idia, his yellow eyes widening in admiration. He melted under their affection, his blue fire hair flickering with a fervor that mirrored the passion in his heart.  

“It’s nothing… anything for you,” Idia whispered, his cheeks turning a bright red as he was enveloped by his fiancé. He felt so utterly, hopelessly happy that [Name] had planned a picnic date in the park. While the thought of being outdoors usually triggered a wave of anxiety, for [Name]'s radiant happiness, he would face any discomfort, any sunbeam, any stray butterfly.  

[Name] finally released him from their long embrace. “I’ll be right back! I just need to change!”  

Idia watched [Name] glide across the floor in their royal blue pajamas, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His eyes followed their every movement, glowing with unwavering affection.  

“Sevens,” he clutched his chest, suddenly aware of the rapid beat of his heart and the clamminess of his hands. “Oh, [Name], my beloved… I love them. More than all the data streams in the world.”  

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-  

Inside the greenhouse, the air was thick and sweet, a heavy floral scent that would typically send Idia into sensory overload, his internal processors buzzing with agitation. But with [Name] by his side, their presence a warm anchor in the fragrant chaos, even this felt… manageable.  

Sunlight streamed through the glass, creating a steamy, vibrant world that contrasted sharply with his cool, controlled room. Yet his yellow gaze, usually flitting nervously, remained fixed on [Name]'s radiant form. He settled onto the edge of the woven picnic blanket they had cheerfully laid out, his long legs bent awkwardly, his blue fire hair casting playful shadows on the vibrant foliage. He wasn’t particularly fond of this… plant sanctuary, but being in the same oxygen-rich space as [Name] transformed even the most verdant hellscape into paradise.  

“[Name],” Idia began, his voice a low murmur, infused with a tenderness he typically reserved for his most prized gaming consoles. “This is… quite a collection. You seem very comfortable here.” His yellow eyes followed the gentle curve of [Name]'s smile as they gestured at a particularly lush fern, its fronds unfurling like intricate green lace.  

[Name] smiled, their face bright against the backdrop of blossoms, a sight that made Idia’s nonexistent heart ache with longing as they arranged a colorful spread of sandwiches and fruit. “It’s nice to be surrounded by life, don’t you think? A change from the usual digital glow.” They looked genuinely happy, and Idia found himself not merely appreciating their enthusiasm, but cherishing it, wanting to bottle it and keep it safe forever. “Besides,” they added, their tone softening as their eyes met his, “I wanted to do something… different for us.”  

Idia’s gaze flickered to [Name], a hint of adoration softening his usually sharp features before he returned to observing the fascinating patterns on a nearby leaf, simply because it had caught [Name]'s attention moments before. “Different is… certainly accurate. You seem to know a lot about all of this.” He watched, captivated, as [Name] gently adjusted a delicate flower, their touch so tender it made his chest ache with longing he couldn’t quite express.

 [Name] giggled, their warmth a pleasant contrast to the humid air, a sound that resonated deep within Idia, chasing away the usual static of his thoughts. They offered him a small sandwich. “It was a big part of my life growing up. My mother had an agriculture business. We cultivated all sorts of things.”  

Idia accepted the sandwich, his fingers brushing against [Name]'s in a brief, electrifying contact that sent a jolt of pure joy through him. He took a bite, pondering their words with utmost seriousness. “Agriculture? So, less about optimizing network architecture and more about… soil composition?” He wasn’t being sarcastic; he was genuinely trying to understand this world that was so clearly important to his beloved.  

“Exactly!” [Name]'s eyes sparkled, a radiant light that could outshine any monitor, making Idia’s breath catch in his throat. “Though there’s a surprising amount of strategy and problem-solving involved, just in a different domain. We had to manage resources, predict yields, deal with pests… it was a whole system.”  

A comfortable silence enveloped them, punctuated by the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft buzz of insects, a silence that felt less like awkwardness and more like a shared tranquility in [Name]'s presence. [Name] didn’t push for constant chatter, seeming to instinctively understand Idia’s more introspective nature, their consideration deepening his affection. They simply enjoyed the shared space, and for Idia, being near [Name] was a symphony for his soul.  

After a while, [Name] pointed to a cluster of delicate white flowers hanging like tiny bells. “These are lily of the valley. They smell beautiful, but they’re actually quite toxic.” Idia’s yellow gaze followed theirs, a spark of genuine interest igniting in his eyes, not due to the poison, but because it was something that had captured [Name]'s attention. “Poisonous, huh? Interesting. So something so seemingly delicate can have such a… potent effect.” For a moment, his usual guardedness seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet fascination with anything that held [Name]'s interest.  

They continued their quiet picnic, [Name] occasionally pointing out unique plants or explaining particular adaptations, their voice a sweet melody to Idia’s ears, while he offered thoughtful observations in return, his attempts to connect with [Name]'s passions clumsy yet heartfelt. It wasn’t a boisterous conversation, but a comfortable exchange, a quiet exploration of a world so different from his own, made beautiful simply by [Name]'s presence.  

[Name] gestured to a vibrant purple flower with intricate patterns. “This is a passionflower. Look at the complexity of its structure. It’s almost like natural engineering.”  

Idia leaned in, his eyes wide with fascination, not just at the flower, but at the way [Name]'s face lit up with enthusiasm. “You’re right. The arrangement of those filaments… it must be a master at attracting pollinators.” He found himself genuinely intrigued by the intricate design, a concept he hadn’t considered before, all because it was part of [Name]'s world.  

“[Name],” he said, his voice a bit more engaged than before, the hair at the crown of his head turning slightly pink. “Your mother’s business… what exactly did it entail?” He felt a genuine curiosity about this unexpected piece of [Name]'s past, a world so different from the digital landscapes he usually inhabited. The idea of anything being important to [Name] instantly made it important to him.  

“You mentioned your mother's agriculture business involved greenhouses and cultivation. Did you… do a lot of… outdoorsy things?”  

[Name]'s eyes lit up, a wide, genuine smile spreading across their face, a smile that Idia treasured more than any rare loot drop. “Oh, absolutely! While I learned a lot about the controlled environments of the greenhouses, the real fun was outside. Our property backed onto these huge, sprawling meadows. In the spring, they were carpeted with wildflowers – blues, yellows, purples, all mixed together. It was breathtaking.”  

They paused, their (e/c) gaze distant for a moment, as if reliving a cherished memory, a memory Idia longed to experience. “Evangeline, my personal maid, bless her patient soul, used to have a fit whenever I’d disappear into them. She’d always fret about me getting my dresses dirty or encountering some sort of… meadow creature.” [Name] chuckled, a sound that made Idia’s chest swell with affection. “But I loved it. Just running through the tall grass, feeling the wind in my hair… it was so freeing.” Idia listened, a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes fixed on [Name]'s animated face.  

He could picture it, a vibrant splash of color against a backdrop of green, [Name]'s figure a joyful silhouette against the horizon. Their hair flowing with the wind while their eyes sparkled with that same beautiful light that always captivated him. It was a stark contrast to the controlled, often predictable environments he preferred, yet through [Name]'s vivid description, it held an undeniable allure.  

“And the waterfalls!” [Name] exclaimed, their voice gaining an even more enthusiastic lilt, a sound that was music to Idia’s ears. “There were these small waterfalls cascading down the rocks at the edge of our property, feeding into a little stream. On hot days, nothing beat wading into the cool water, feeling the spray on your face. Sometimes, if the water level was just right, I’d even try to jump behind the falls. Evangeline would practically have a heart attack!”  

They laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that echoed softly in the tranquil garden, a sound Idia wished he could record and listen to on repeat. “She’d chase after me, her skirts hiked up, yelling about the potential for slippery rocks and hidden dangers. I’m sure she aged ten years every summer because of my waterfall adventures.”  

Idia found himself entranced, everything in the background fading away, leaving only [Name].  

He’d seen [Name] laugh before, but witnessing them speak so fondly, with the brightest smile he’d ever seen, filled him with an overwhelming tenderness. “So, a bit of a… daredevil then?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone, his yellow eyes sparkling with adoration.  

[Name] grinned mischievously, a look that Idia found utterly endearing. “Maybe a little. Life felt so much bigger and more exciting when I was exploring those meadows and splashing in those waterfalls. It was a different kind of learning than what happened in the greenhouses, but just as important, I think. It taught me about the raw, untamed beauty of the world.” They paused, their gaze softening, their eyes meeting Idia’s, and in that moment, he felt an inexplicable connection. “Though, looking back, I do feel a little bad for poor Evangeline. I put her through the wringer.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later, as they were leisurely finishing a thermos of iced tea, a gentle breeze swept through the greenhouse, showering them with delicate pink petals. One of these petals landed softly in Idia’s blue fire hair, creating a vibrant contrast against his flickering flames. He remained completely unaware of the floral addition, his yellow eyes focused intently on [Name].

Reaching out slowly, [Name] gently plucked the petal from his hair, their fingers moving almost reverently. When their eyes met, an unhurried connection blossomed between them, filled with a quiet intimacy and an acceptance that transcended their differences. For a moment longer than usual, Idia’s typically darting yellow eyes held a steady gaze, revealing a hint of softness and vulnerability, a reflection of his boundless love for [Name]. 

“[Name],” he said softly, his voice barely rising above the gentle hum of the ventilation, afraid to disrupt their shared moment. “This… this place… it’s… not as bad as I thought it would be.” A faint blush dusted his pale cheeks, a testament to the profound effect [Name] had on him. “And… the food you brought… it’s decent.” A warm smile graced [Name]'s lips, a smile that Idia cherished more than any digital masterpiece. “Decent from you is high praise, Idia.”

A small, almost shy smile flickered across Idia’s lips, a rare and precious sight. “Don’t get any ideas. But yeah… it’s… okay.” He hesitated, glancing down at his hands before meeting their gaze again, his blue fire hair dimming slightly as he gathered his courage. “Spending time with you… it’s… okay too.” 

As they began to pack their things, their movements slow and deliberate, a comfortable silence enveloped them, filled with unspoken affection on Idia’s part. “Maybe… sometime… we could do something else… that’s not all… plant-y?” Idia suggested hesitantly, his yellow gaze fixed on the picnic basket as he carefully folded the blanket, wanting to prolong their time together. 

[Name]'s smile softened, their eyes sparkling with warmth as they looked at him. “I’d like that very much, Idia. What did you have in mind?” A small, genuine smile finally broke through Idia’s usually guarded expression, brimming with hope and adoration. “Maybe that new movie everyone’s talking about? Or just… chilling at my place?”

As they stepped out of the fragrant warmth of the greenhouse, the outside air felt crisp in comparison. Idia maintained a comfortable distance, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a newfound ease that hadn’t been there before, all thanks to [Name]'s gentle influence. For Idia, this quiet afternoon amidst blooming chaos was a significant step, a precious moment of connection in their unique, unfolding story.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” [Name] replied, their voice filled with tenderness that made Idia’s blue hair flicker with renewed warmth.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns of the park as [Name] and Idia strolled along a paved path. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, carrying the sounds of children laughing and birds chirping—sounds that usually grated on Idia’s nerves but now served as a pleasant backdrop to being near [Name]. Surprisingly, Idia hadn’t voiced any major objections to this “outdoor perambulation,” as he dryly called it, though he kept a wary eye on a group of energetic squirrels darting across their path, a small price to pay for [Name]'s happiness. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, their footsteps on the pavement blending with the soft sounds of the park around them. [Name] pointed out a vibrant patch of wildflowers blooming near a bench, their colors a striking contrast to the green grass. 

“Those are pretty,” [Name] commented, pausing for a moment, their eyes sparkling with appreciation. 

Idia glanced at them, maintaining a neutral expression, but his eyes held a flicker of interest simply because [Name] found them appealing. “They’re… colorful.” He didn’t elaborate, but the usual hint of dismissal was absent from his tone, replaced by a quiet acceptance of [Name]'s tastes. 

Continuing their walk, they reached a small pond where a few ducks paddled lazily. [Name] stopped to watch them, a soft smile gracing their face—a sight that always filled Idia with a profound sense of peace. 

“They seem pretty content,” [Name] mused gently. Idia observed the ducks for a moment, his usual guardedness softening as he considered anything that held [Name]'s attention. “I would hope they would. The most they need to worry about is hunting for food and not getting eaten.” 

[Name] chuckled softly, radiating warmth towards him. “You always find a practical way to look at things, don’t you?” Idia shrugged, an almost shy smile touching his lips, directed solely at [Name]. “It’s a habit.” 

They started walking again, the path winding through a grove of trees. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, creating shifting patterns on the ground. [Name] noticed Idia looking up at the canopy, a thoughtful expression on his face, his yellow eyes tracing the patterns of light and shadow. “It’s… quieter here,” Idia remarked, his voice softer than usual, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Less… chaotic.” 

“Yeah,” [Name] agreed, their hand brushing lightly against his arm, a touch that sent a pleasant warmth through Idia. “It can be nice to just… be still for a bit, surrounded by nature.” 

Idia didn’t respond immediately, but after a moment, he nodded slowly, his blue fire hair flickering gently in the dappled sunlight. “I suppose there’s a certain… lack of unnecessary stimuli.” 

They reached a small bridge arching over a trickling stream. [Name] leaned against the railing, gazing down at the water. Idia stood beside them, his hands tucked into his pockets, his yellow eyes fixed on [Name]'s serene profile. 

“You seem… more relaxed today,” [Name] observed gently, their gaze meeting his. Idia hesitated, then shrugged again, a slightly more open gesture this time, silently acknowledging the calming effect [Name] had on him. “No immediate deadlines or pressing concerns help lower my baseline level of anxiety.” 

A comfortable silence settled between them once more, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t the awkward quiet of their initial moments in the greenhouse, but a shared stillness, a quiet understanding that transcended words. They stood side-by-side, watching the water flow beneath the bridge, the sounds of the park creating a gentle backdrop to their unspoken connection—a connection that, for Idia, was the most precious thing in the world. 

As they began to walk back, the sun starting its descent in the sky and casting a warm golden glow over the park, [Name] noticed Idia looking around, his gaze lingering on the trees and open space, a hint of wonder in his usually guarded expression. “You know,” Idia said quietly, breaking the silence, his blue fire hair glowing softly in the fading light, “it’s… not entirely horrible being out here.” Although he didn’t sound overly enthusiastic, there was a genuine note in his voice that made [Name] smile, a testament to his willingness to step outside his comfort zone for them. 

“I’m glad you think so, Idia,” [Name] replied. He didn’t meet their gaze, but there was a subtle softening in his posture, a hint of peace blooming in his expression, a peace that blossomed solely in [Name]'s presence.

As they continued their walk, hand in hand, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. It felt like a small, quiet victory, a gentle step forward in their unique way of connecting. The park, with its simple beauty and unhurried pace, had provided them with a different kind of space, a space where even Idia could find unexpected calm, all because he was sharing it with the one he loved with every fiber of his being.

“Me too,” [Name] murmured, their hand finding Idia’s, their fingers interlacing gently. Idia’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected contact, a soft gasp escaping his lips, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the warmth spreading through him at their touch.

The setting sun cast a golden halo around [Name], making them appear even more ethereal in Idia’s adoring gaze. He knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within him, that any discomfort or fear of the outside world was worth enduring a thousand times over, just to share moments like these with [Name]. 

Their hand in his felt like the most precious thing in the world, the most vital connection he could ever hope for. As they walked on, hand in hand, Idia realized that even in the simplest moments, with [Name] by his side, life was an adventure worth exploring.

Taglist🤍: @glitterandgoldfinds@sherryclover@1abi@lizzzysimp@floathyblues@toxicm0cha@kazudare@boredselkie @strayharmony943 @fanlovedlt @lizatherobot @d1gital-data @gl00muraaii @savanaclaw1996 @namingcrisisagain @frostines-blog

Sorry for the late updates but I am happy to say that I now have a Co-author!! This means quicker updates(3–9 days)!!  Redamancy will be updated later!! As always, TY for reading 🤗🤍

[ms-demeanor]

I apologize, do you know anything about "rugged" laptops? I'm an ADHD college student who has a lot of difficulty with spacial awareness and stuff so I have trouble with delicate laptops that break if you set them down too hard and I'd like something that can handle basic coding requirements (R studio, Jupiter Notebook, etc), and preferably can stream video for classes as well, though that's less of a requirement. I emergency ordered a cheap lower-spec used rugged laptop from eBay because my laptop isn't working, but I was wondering if a.) you think the whole thing is a gimmick and there's an easier way to get what I need and b.) if it's not a gimmick which ones actually do what they need to. Thanks!

Rugged/Ruggedized laptops are absolutely not a scam, they are incredible, it's just that the ones that are actually rugged are incredibly expensive.

I have a small collection of used Panasonic Toughbooks that are absolutely positively not functional as modern computers but work great for slowly connecting to the internet and running a word processor or programming radios. They are literally used lineman's computers and are supposed to be able to survive falling off a telephone pole. They're dustproof, so they're great to use in the desert. If I tried to edit raw image files on them they would go on strike. I'm pretty sure I could use one as a hammer.

You CAN get used or refurbished ruggedized laptops that are useable; here's a site that sells them. BUT. BUT. You're still going to be paying a high price for computers that are slower and more limited than a cheaper, more delicate computer.

So basically you're combining two separate needs here and they're not playing together great. A rugged laptop can be a great thing to have if you're the kind of person who drops your phone ten times a day (me!) But it's going to be slower and more cumbersome than a lot of what is on the market and it's going to cost a lot.

Honestly in your situation I'd probably focus on getting better performance specs out of a thinner, cheaper, lighter laptop and maybe maximize performance at the lowest price possible if you know you're a laptop destroyer (there's a reason my phones are always whatever's cheapest and in a protective case; I drop them so frequently and so creatively that I can't afford to have nicer phones).

Either that or throw power into a desktop and get a chromebook or something similarly cheap to carry around campus and have your real working computer live on a flat surface that never moves.

If you're trying to find a middle ground, business-class computers can take a bit more abuse than the flimsiest cheapie student computers because they're meant to last and are expected to move around. ThinkPads are my fallback rec for a bunch of reasons, and "sturdiness" is one of those reasons, but a business desktop is not going to tolerate being dropped. So it depends on what level of sturdy you need.

From an ADHD management perspective, you might want to consider your habits around how/where the computer gets moved; don't put it in a backpack if you're likely to drop your backpack on the ground when you get to class. Don't put it on the arm of a chair if you'll forget and knock it off the chair. Don't put it on your bed if you'll forget and sit on it. Make very specific landing spaces and very specific rules for how it gets moved and where it can go (my laptop can only go in one specific backpack and only if it's totally turned off; my laptop cannot be moved when open, i need to shut it before I carry it someplace; my laptop is not allowed on the bed or the center of the couch, it is only allowed on my desk or on the arm of the couch; I tend to set my laptop down hard so I don't set it down on my desk, it gets set on a stand. Etc, etc, etc)

Hopefully that's at least somewhat helpful. I wish that real rugged computers were more affordable and had better performance specs; if you can find one that will perform to your needs and you can function with linux, you may be able to get a toughbook or something like that for under a thousand dollars but you'll sacrifice processing power to get one that old. Good luck, I'm sorry!

[autonomousroboticorganism]

bug trouble (TF Prime)

featuring - Optimus Prime x F!Reader, Bumblebee x F!Reader, Smokescreen x F!Reader, Knock Out x F!Reader, Wheeljack x F!Reader, Soundwave x F!Reader, Shockwave x F!Reader

summary - you have faced some of the worse Decepticons/Autobots with them, so your fear of little organic insects mystifies them

warnings - the Bots and Cons shoot at/step on/crush the spiders, some of them by accident

a/n - i don't condone killing anything but in my opinion this is how they would solve it, as battle-hardened warriors

OPTIMUS PRIME

Optimus and the team had just come back from another dangerous and tiring mission to stop the Decepticons from getting their servos on a relic. The base was suspiciously quiet, and they were sure that you and the other humans hadn't followed them through the ground bridge this time.

So where were you?

Ratchet was at his usual station, chuckling to himself, which earned suspicious looks from Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee.

"Ratchet?" Optimus called. "Where are the children?"

The medic turned to the returned team, "At this point, I don't know. (Name) screamed randomly, and they scattered."

"And you haven't even tried to find them?" Arcee crossed her arms.

"I was just doing that now," Ratchet replied.

"Then why were you giggling like a little girl?" Bulkhead asked.

Optimus walked over to check the screens, spotting you in one of the camera feeds. You were in one of the relic containment units, running around the platform holding the relic, frantically. The Prime immediately turned and walked to that room, leaving the others to bicker. When he opened the unit, you screamed and ran past him, sobbing hysterically.

A little black thing with eight legs was following behind you.

(Name)," the Prime called, "Wait."

He followed you, back to the main area where you circled around Bulkhead and ran back to him, trying to scale his leg. Optimus bent down and lifted you up.

"My love, what is that following you? And why are you afraid?"

"It's a spider!" You wailed, "And it's got eight creepy legs and six creepier eyes!" You shivered. "Stuff of nightmares, really." Tears still streamed down your face.

Optimus looked back down at the arachnid, which was hesitating to follow you up his leg. Arcee shivered as well, the sight of the spider reminding her of her worst enemy.

"I shall get rid of it," the Prime handed you to Arcee before reaching down to pick up the arachnid. It crawled onto his digit, and in his attempt to grab it with his other servo he accidentally crushed it. "Oops."

You shivered when he reached for you again, "Optimus, I love you but if you touch me with the remains of that infernal thing on your servos, I will jump out of your hands and accept my fate."

The Prime was even more confused, but complied and only reached for you when he had cleaned his servos. You happily returned to him, relaxing in his hold.

"You have faced the likes of Starscream and a zombie Skyquake," he looked at you, "Yet you fear a little earth arachnid?"

You pouted, "Did I mention the eight legs and six eyes?"

Optimus was still confused, but comforted you nonetheless. He held you and stroked your back soothingly with one digit, telling you about their mission to distract you. It worked, for the most part.

BUMBLEBEE

All Bumblebee wants to do after a long day of fighting Cons is to sit and have you curl up to him as you watch a movie. The feeling of you against him always calms him, and never fails to destress him after a mission.

Unfortunately, when the team got back there was no sign of you or Jack, Miko and Raf. Only a giggling Ratchet, which set off alarm bells in Bee's processor.

The scout beeped a few times, asking the medic where you were.

"I did not know myself," Ratchet replied, "Until I took a look at our surveillance systems." He stepped aside to show the team.

Bumblebee spotted you immediately, and he immediately grew concerned. You were on his berth in his berthroom, shaking and frantically looking around but otherwisd stuck there for the time being.

The scout beeped worriedly, rushing off to save you from whatever horror was in his berthroom. When he opened the door, he saw something black with multiple legs scuttling around the room, and you were sobbing on his berth.

"Bumblebee!" You cried out when you saw him. "Blasters out, please!"

He beeped, asking why, and when you pointed to the arachnid on the floor he asked, Why do you want me to shoot something so small? It seems harmless. When you burst into even more tears, he quickly corrected himself, I mean, you've gone up against Starscream and Knock Out! Why does this thing scare you?

"Bumblebee please!" You begged, "I'll explain after, please just get rid of it!"

The scout obliged, blasting the arachnid to bits before coming closer, picking you up. You offered him rushed, relieved thank you's, before promptly burying yourself in his neck cables.

"It's got eight creepy legs," you complained to him, still shivering. "And six even creepier eyes. I hate them so much. I won't sleep for the next few nights."

Bumblebee beeped again, I will always protect you.

"I know...but these creepy crawlies..." You shivered again. "I would rather get kidnapped by Knock Out than face one of these again."

Bumblebee whined, Don't say that!

You laughed, kissing his faceplate, "Thank you, my hero."

His chassis puffed out in pride.

KNOCK OUT

Starscream could be very annoying, this much you knew. He often got on Knock Out's nerves, more so than the doctor let on. But there were apparently no limits to heeled Decepticon's cruelty, because somehow he had found out about the human fear arachnophobia.

Because now the eight-legged abomination was scuttling around Knock Out's lab, stranding you on the tool table.

This was how the medic found you, on your hands and knees peering over the edge of the table. You were trembling, something he'd never seen you do. There was a wild, fearful look in your eyes that didn't match your usual behaviour, and Knock Out looked around.

"Am I missing something?"

You screamed and fell backwards, chest heaving, "Knock Out! Don't scare me like that!"

"You were scared long before I got here, sweetheart. What's the problem?"

"You don't see it?"

Your eyes once again landed on the floor, glued to something that was moving. He looked down, his optics narrowing in on the small, furry eight-legged creature.

"What is that?"

"A spider!" You shuffled back on the table. "Please get rid of it!"

The mad doctor looked confused, "You've come with me to battle Autobots, and have stood in the middle of our fights, but you afraid of something so tiny?"

You glared at him, "Count its legs and eyes before you judge!"

He sighed, but got rid of the arachnid by stepping on it. Then he proceeded to complain about getting his pede messed, and you face-palmed. At least you were calm now and no longer shaking, so he decided to ignore that.

"How did a spider even get on the ship?" He asked you, scooping you up and placing you on his shoulder - something he seemed to enjoy.

"Take one guess."

"Screamer?" He already knew the answer without your confirmation.

"Mhm."

Knock Out didn't take kindly to anyone messing with what belonged to him. Especially if it was his precious little human. So the next time Starscream needed repairs, you laughed when you heard his repair had malfunctioned, knowing that the mad doctor had purposely sabotaged it.

SMOKESCREEN

Every time Smokescreen thought he had found out all he needed to know about the human race, he was smacked in the helm with something new. He hadn't even considered that you had fears, since he had seen you face Decepticons and not even flinch.

Yet here you were, screaming murder and running away from a little black thing with eight furry legs. The rest of the team looked up from their positions, Miko's face paling as she took off as well.

"What's that?" Smokescreen looked at Bumblebee, confused.

Bumblebee beeped a few times, explaining that spiders were eight-legged, six-eyed arachnids that freaked you and Miko out like nothing else.

Smokescreen looked at you again, before going over and picking you up. He didn't understand your fear, but he didn't want you to feel scared when he was right there.

"It's okay, I got it!"

He tried stepping on it, but it scuttled away. He set you down on his shoulder and tried to grab it, which made you yelp and attempt to scale down his back.

"No no no!" You kept muttering, shivering and shaking like you were in some kind of horrible trance.

"It's so small!" He grit his dentae, reaching for it again. "This thing isn't as scary as some Decepticons." He meant well. He just sometimes said stupid things.

"I would rather fight Starscream again than be around that thing!" You cried, climbing as far back as possible as he finally got a hold of it. You slipped and fell off his shoulder, but Smokescreen's reflexes were great. He caught you in his other servo.

"Uh, Smokescreen? Not a good idea," Arcee watched as your whole body went rigid when the spider escaped his grip and crawled along his arm.

You screamed so loudly you might have damaged his audials, but he realised his mistake and quickly handed you to the nearest Autobot as he frantically looked all over his body, trying to locate the infernal creature. He managed to get it, but only after he sped out of the base to remove it outside, to prevent you and Miko from passing out.

When he got back, you shivered but allowed him to pick you up again, and he grinned, "I don't understand it, but if it scares you it's probably bad, right?"

You smiled.

WHEELJACK

Wheeljack is pretty fearless, so you often feel intimidated by him and insecure about your own fears. You never told him about your deathly fear of arachnids, and he never asked. He assumed you were like him, not scared of anything.

That is, until today.

When he got back from a mission with Bulkhead, he immediately sought you out. Even Miko was missing, which the green Autobot found strange.

"Where's (Name) and Miko?" Wheeljack asked Raf and Jack, who were playing a racing videogame.

Jack shrugged, "Haven't seen them since we got here after school."

That was even more odd. Usually you would be here waiting for him to get back from wherever if he wasn't here. Then, moments later, a scream rang out through the base. Wheeljack recognised that as yours and took off towards the sound.

When he found you, he stopped dead.

You were running in circles around his berth, looking over your shoulder. He tried to spot what was apparently chasing you, and only did so when the thing scuttled out from behind his berth, in the direction you were headed. You screamed again and changed directions.

"What is that?" Wheeljack asked, confused on why you were so terrified.

"Spider!" You wailed, running to him and hiding behind his massive leg. "Kill it!"

He raised a big metal eyebrow, "You're scared of that tiny thing? You've faced vehicons and Dreadwing with me and that little creature is what's shaking you?"

You groaned, "I knew you would judge! Where's Bulkhead?"

"Okay, okay, no need for that," he grumbled and picked you up, setting you carefully on his shoulder before kicking the arachnid, sending the dreaded creature flying and hitting the wall. It crumpled, laying on its back and curling inwards.

"Thanks," you sighed in relief, but still looked tense. "Now get rid of it."

"It's dead."

"Dead and no less creepy!" You protested.

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes, but got rid of the dead spider. When he got back, he watched you carefully. "You good now?"

"Much better," you confirmed, but still looking like you had seen a ghost.

"Come here."

Wheeljack wasn't a cuddler, but he figured the best thing to do as your boyfriend was get in some snuggles to soothe you. And maybe, MAYBE he enjoyed it too, but Primus forbid he ever admit that out loud.

SOUNDWAVE

Like Knock Out, Soundwave didn't understand how an earth creature got on the ship. And since you seemed so horrified, he concluded that you didn't bring it with you.

He was aware the second you're terrified, as predicted, so you didn't have to scream and cry for help. You just hid wherever you could, and waited for the silent Decepticon to find you.

He stopped his work to come check on you, and to deal with the cresture that was inspiring such fear. Once he's in his berthroom, it's not hard for him to locate the arachnid, and he got Laserbeak to carry it out and drop it off the Nemesis.

He then scanned his room for you, finding you in a little crevice under his berth. He coaxed you into coming out, tilting his helm as if asking why you were afraid of such a little thing.

You shivered, your eyes scanning the room before looking at him, "They're scary. Did you see how many eyes and legs it has??" You shivered again.

Soundwave patted the top of your head, comfortingly. Then he tilted his helm again, words appearing on his visor, You have been through far worse, encountering the Autobots and other Decepticons.

"I know but these things are the stuff of nightmares!" You complained. "I would rather fight any Cybertronian than be in a room with one of these again..."

He nodded in understanding, not quite understanding your logic there but there but nonetheless agreeing. Whatever made you less scared was preferred, after all, he didn't like seeing how terrified you had been.

Feeling better? Popped up on his visor.

You nodded, calming down, "Much. Thank you."

He displayed a red heart.

SHOCKWAVE

Shockwave was used to dark, confined spaces with rodents and other creatures scuttling around. He had been stuck on Cybertron for years, after all. So he doesn't think much of it when an earthly creature finds its way aboard the Nemesis.

Until it starts to bother you.

He walked into his lab one day to see you on your hands and knees on his tool table, peering over the side. He instantly noticed the slight tremble of your small form, and approached you cautiously.

"What is the matter?"

You screamed and jumped despite his careful approach, turning to him with wide, frightened eyes before snapping them back to whatever was on the floor.

"There's a spider!"

"I do not understand."

You turned back to him, but your eyes flickered to the ground every so often, "These earth creatures with six eyes and eight freaky legs."

Shockwave nodded in understanding, before tilting his helm, "You are around Decepticons who are much larger than you, and coukd squash you easily, yet that tiny insignificant creature frightens you? That is illogical."

You sighed, "That thing is just creepy okay! I can handle giant Decepticons, I just can't do spiders." You shivered.

Shockwave didn't argue, going over to the bug and studying it for a second before picking it up and making his way out of the lab to get rid of it. You relaxed when it was gone, and when he came back you were lying on your back, trying to overcome your shivers.

"It is gone."

"I know, thank you," you sat up. "It just feels like smaller ones are crawling all over me."

He reached out to let you climb onto his servo, keeping you close to him to comfort you while he continued his work.

[izsheum]

Hello!!!

Can i listen to you yap about rodimus and swerve for hours please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

WHEN I TOLD YOU I JUMPED FOR JOY!!!

ugh these guys have been in my brain for a bit now…i swear

“it’d be cool if i took my favs and made them kiss haha that’d be so silly” and then Boom. I kept thinking.

have some art of them i am in the trenches methinks

when i tell you they are PEAK yapper + louder yapper…

like i genuinely believe that’s how it can start. two losers who love to hear themselves talk? it should be a recipe for disaster.

However.

it’s not like swerve doesn’t know when it’s not his turn to talk. he’s got a big mouth, and criminal levels of audacity, but he has manners. and that means that whenever rodimus goes on and on about whatever bullshit he had to deal with during the day, he listens.

and, good lord, rodimus can definitely talk.

he does so with swerve probably after having a few because i mean…that’s how this starts, surely. a bottle of top-shelf and a purely functional arrangement.

(hundreds of words of sleep-deprivation-induced writing under the cut. i am so sorry. completely sfw btw just barely on the edge of suggestive.)

predictably, swerve’s constant chatter is bearable after rodimus gets in a few drinks. and in the beginning of Whatever The Hell They Got Going On starts with the two of them building a routine.

swerve supplies the shots of liquid stress relief and a listening ear (audio processor? cybertronian anatomy is lost on me), and rodimus provides what can only be described as a semi-coherent stream of complaints and whines about his day. and he has a lot to gripe about—he’s suffering from an acute case of ‘doomed by the narrative’, primus help him.

and swerve, for the most part, is quite a good active listener. not that rodimus would ever admit that out loud (for now) because swerve wouldn’t be able to keep that kinda praise to himself. i mean, the guy raved for months after getting his own rodimus star…yeah, no, not happening. rodimus’ appreciation will remain unspoken, thank you very much.

he gets his sentiment of ‘thank you for listening to my bullshit, you’re such a good friend’ out there by continuing to show up. same time, every day, like clockwork. he’s there in the bar, long laundry list of things he’s going to cry like a baby about, and swerve is at the ready with the fainting couch. their little ‘whine and cheese hour’ (as swerve calls it. rodimus will adamantly deny that he likes the name. it’s not clever. it’s not! it’s apparently a human thing, anyways. little thief.) is probably the only thing he’s ever on-time for at this rate.

having someone listen politely to your woes is. nice! having someone gently try and guide you into solutions to said problems is…manageable, i suppose.

having someone who gasps dramatically and exclaims “i can’t believe you had to deal with that—you’re so much stronger than me for putting up with such scrap” is euphoric.

because since getting the weight of the universe thrust on his shoulders again and again. since he had it ground into him every single day that he needs to be this mature, wise, thoughtful leader who doesn’t react to problems with complaints, but rather calm understanding followed by benevolent resolution…rodimus has completely, truly missed just being able to talk shit.

and, oh, does swerve just love that song and dance.

this isn’t therapy, and neither of them are going to pretend it is, though the constant flow of drinks does manage to feel like something akin to self-medication after a while. their lives are messy, god damn it, and they’re going to cope with it messily!

and cope they do. and they talk. a lot. and—for some reason—it helps. turns out, when you get to vent all your frustrations towards someone who knows how to match your energy exactly, you feel seen. not as this esteemed figure who needs to watch what he says and make sure he keeps up the display of picture-perfect-motivational-cat-poster-leader twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five…but as just. a guy. a guy with a lot on his shoulders and a lot more on his mind. turns out, talking with swerve ends up helping rodimus feel normal.

go figure.

and somewhere between the start of their little unofficial gossip sessions and the end of another bottle of the good engex, something bubbles up that wasn’t there before. and it isn’t the carbonation in the cocktail.

feelings. affectionate ones. rodimus goes to recharge afterwards all giddy, like some newly forged spark still buzzing with boundless energy, and honestly? he feels like he might be going crazy. might need some actual fucking therapy, because ho-ly shit he is not about to entertain this. not at all.

because, let’s be real here, it’s swerve we’re talking about. swerve. s-w-e-r-v-e. the ‘shut your damn mouth’ guy? he used to annoy the living hell out of rodimus when he first came aboard, and nowadays rodimus finds himself excited at the thought of going to talk to him again.

war changes people…and, okay, the war is. over, technically. but still. maybe he hit his head a little too hard during a mission. yeah! yeah, that’s it. little concussion knocked a couple things loose in his processor. that’s why he’s suddenly wanting to share more than just his woes with the little ‘bot. that’s why he starts asking swerve about himself, why he starts listening back. chimes in every so often with “huh, i never knew that” or “you should show that to me some time” when swerve goes on his little tirades about foreign media.

why rodimus can’t help but wonder how that big mouth would feel against—

phew! yeah, definitely brain damage. because the alternative is that rodimus has started feeling terrible, awful, affectionate things for swerve. and that just won’t do. nope!

but ohhhhhh god, does that do nothing to stop his imagination. because really. how would swerve fare if he used that mouth for something else—

thankfully for rodimus, swerve is an avid fan of imagining things that he can never have. dreaming like the hopeless mech he is about a future that only someone as deeply delusional and para-social as himself could think up.

in his swerve-y fantasy, the talks start to mean something. rodimus goes from coworker to situational friend to…something. something that he can’t place his finger on. but it’s something that he doesn’t believe he can have. because while rodimus laughs at his jokes…he’s also laughing drunk. and swerve is desperate to let people close, sure. he likes people, he wants friends, he loves connection. but he’s not stupid. a bit air-headed? sure. but not dumb. not by a long shot. he has a mental list of things that he can try to have (friendship, a successful business, endless adventures with said friends that he plans to get more of, he swears), and things that are off-limits.

you can guess which box rodimus starts to fall into.

doesn’t mean he can’t…y’know. think about him. a lot. find excuses to comm him about this or that, subtly hint that he misses him…uh, he meant their talks! offer him free drinks just to see the way his face lights up. deny the suspicion of special treatment by reminding rodimus that he’s the captain! c’mon! of course he deserves a little leeway!

and ignore the fact that the reassurance is more for himself.

swerve is so good at believing that this something he imagines with rodimus is so, so far out of reach that he thinks it’s a joke when rodimus propositions him for the first time.

and, c’mon, he’s gotta be having auditory hallucinations. because there’s no fucking way in the world—in the galaxy, or in the whole universes that he’s visited, for that matter—that (co-) captain fucking rodimus prime-not-prime-status-still-pending-thanks-a-lot-matrix-of-lameship asked to borrow him for the evening. he nearly drops the glass in his hand.

because that’s the only way rodimus can bring himself to phrase it when he finally fucking gets through all five-billion stages of grief over this stupid crush. god. he was so pathetic. the worst part was that he didn’t even care anymore.

“yo! are you working tonight? can i borrow you for the rest of it? we can watch that movie you were talking about earlier this week, or whatever.”

or whatever. rodimus would’ve just tossed himself out the nearest airlock if he wasn’t glued to his recharged slab (not literally, this time) rocking back and forth like an asylum patient. he could hear the cries now—nurse! nurse! he’s out again!

successful attempts at being casual: zero. days since last urge to ram his head into the wall: also zero.

swerve’s response comes in quickly just before rodimus contemplates jumping ship and taking a page outta megatron’s book and starting a new life in another universe. and if rodimus wasn’t busy having a fucking panic attack, he’d’ve noticed the undercurrent of excitement in swerve’s voice when he strains out those six little words.

“sure thing! your place or mine?”

it ends up being at rodimus’. more space meant more wall for the projection of ‘Alien’.

not that they ended up paying much attention to the movie by the time the fledgling xenomorph got loose.

and liiiisten. listen. they didn’t plan on it going that way, alright? major props to ridley scott—the two of them were intensely invested in the film for a good long while. but, as per usual, swerve brought drinks to help ease the tension that threatened to smother them as soon as he entered rodimus’ quarters.

he would’ve pat himself on the back, too, if he wasn’t so consumed by the way the light of the projection reflected off of rodimus’ frame. and rodimus would’ve thanked him (and i mean, like, actually thank him, no reluctance left in him whatsoever) if he wasn’t so focused on the warmth of swerve next to him.

the elephant in the room was slaughtered and left for dead in the same way as the crew of the nostromo as soon as they locked eyes.

and rodimus ended up being right.

swerve’s mouth could do a lot more than just talk.

[somesecretpie]

Fans and Creators of Webtoons!

I want to talk about Line Webtoon’s new “Super Like” program and why it sucks for literally everyone.

What is a “Super Like?”

According to their website, super likes are a new way for webtoon creators to monetize their work. Readers can pay real money to buy a super like for their favorite webtoon, and the creator gets a fraction of that money.

Wait, a fraction? Not all of it?

Yep! Webtoon skims quite a chunk off the top.

30% goes to Webtoon, and then another 30% of that amount goes to the payment processor.

So what do creators get? 49 cents for every dollar their fans try to give them. Literally half.

That’s pretty ludicrous, right?

Interestingly enough, they announced that they had a “tipping system” in the works in the same email they ended the CANVAS creator rewards program (and many comic creators livelihoods)

They said tipping system in their social media posts too

Obviously this tipping system is referring to super likes right? They say they’re going to do a tipping system, and then this rolls out.

But “tips” are not something that buisinesses can just take a cut of, at least not in the United States. According to the Department of Labor, it is illegal for any amount of tips from customers to go to an employer.

Webtoon is trying to walk back this language, of course. You won’t find the word “tip” anywhere on their website page explaining how it works. But those old social media posts are still up.

This is all pretty scummy

But wait, it gets worse!

They removed the Patreon button at the end of episodes and replaced it with this:

Yep! That’s right. Webtoon really said “what if we replace the tipping system that already existed with a shittier one where you only get half of it 🥺”

Unsurprisingly, they faced a ton of backlash.

Webtoon was quick to point out that the Patreon button was only removed from the end of episodes and there was still a button on the creator’s homepage. But of course, the end of episodes is where that button matters the most.

Creators know this. Webtoon knows this.

Eventually, after days of continued complaints from creators on social media, Webtoon went on damage control mode and announced that they would be putting the Patreon button back at the end of episodes—

As of right now (May 11th, 2024) the Patreon button is still not back.

***

So…Super likes are “super totally not a tip.”

But if they aren’t tips…what are they?

Well there’s a bit more to the story of what a super like actually is. After announceing the program, the app updated to reveal a new ranking category on the front page

When you click on this ranking tab, you can see that there is now both a daily and weekly ranking

If you’re a CANVAS creator, you know how difficult and seemingly random it can be to get your comic on the front page of the app—so my immediate worry was that comic creators were going to buy superlikes on their own series to get in this ranking and…

Yep, that’s already happening.

But why would webtoon even allow creators to buy superlikes for themselves? How does that make sense?

Surely goading desperate creators into buying superlikes can’t be that lucrative, can it?

No. I think there’s another, possibly even worse reason.

Fandom wars

If you’re into music, you probably are aware of how common it is for super fans to make concerted efforts to get their favorite musician to the top of the billboard charts. They coordinate over social media, stream music on loop as soon as an album drops to inflate the numbers, buy albums in bulk to increase sales, all so that they can say their fav is number one. It’s especially common among K-pop fans and swifties

This phenomena is well documented

Fans of Webtoons can be just as ravenous as K-pop, so I think Webtoon is trying to capitalize on this. They want to encourage fandom war and make money. That’s why they have this ranking. Not only can super fans brag about their favorite series topping the charts but they can wear their super like proudly on their reader profile that webtoon will be rolling out soon.

They’re just testing this super like stuff out on CANVAS right now, but once this starts up with originals? Oh. It will be a very profitable, very terrible mess.

(Oh and I mean profitable for webtoon, not creators, in case that wasn’t clear.)

***

Anyway, if you’re a creator, do yourself a favor and don’t enable super likes.

If you’re a fan of a webcomic, just donate to that creators patreon or Ko-Fi to show your support. Don’t give a red cent to webtoon because they did not do any of the work to make the series you love, alright?

Also check out my webtoon haha.

[technoarcanist]

WAR NEVER CHANGES. BUT,

WARFARE NEVER STOPS CHANGING

"I've seen countless reasons why most mech pilots don't make the cut, but one of the largest hurdles are the physical alterations. The implants and modifications done to the fleshware is so extreme that it's enough to push most would-be pilots away from day 1.

Back in the day, when mech tech was still in its wild west years, when the technology was still in its infancy, things were different. Levers, joysticks, switches, a chair, most of the first models were something between the cockpit of a construction vehicle and a fighter ship.

Pilots in those days still consisted largely of the usual suspects. Test pilots, army jocks, space force veterans looking for something new, the occasional crazy who lucked their way up the ranks. All you needed back then was to be fit enough to work complex machinery. 'Handler's wouldn't be a coined phrase for nearly a decade. I still remember being a kid and seeing repurposed older models in the mech fighting streams.

Everything changed with the Bidirectional Cerebellum Computer Interface. To say nothing of how it changed civilian life, it was a military marvel. The BiCCI saw the creation of Mechs as we understand them today. The first generation were just retrofits, older models with a pilot's chair, and even manual controls to use in an emergency, but even then we knew that was only temporary. Before long, sleek frames of sharp angles, railguns and plasma cannons were rolling off the factory floor.

Like many things, it began small, optimising first for cockpit space by removing the manual controls. Before long, my then-supervisors thought, "Why have this glass? Why not hook the pilot's eyesight right into the advanced multi-spectral camera system? Before long, cockpits were but soft harnesses made to house a living body, their very soul wired into the machinery. Obviously, for security reasons, I cannot tell you everything about how our latest cockpits work, but suffice to say we've been further blurring the line between pilot and frame ever since.

This drew a very different crowd. Out were the army jocks and powerlifters. The only ones who even dared to have the interface hardware installed into their brainstem and spinal cord were the dispossessed, the misanthropes, those who sought not to control their new body, but to be controlled by it. No AI can work a mech properly on its own, but our pilots are never really in full control either anymore. Those who do try to go against the symbiosis get a nosebleed at best, and vegetative seizures at worst.

And that was that. The only people left who pilots these things are those who had already been broken, those who sougt a permenant reprive from being anything resembling human. A lot of my department quit around this time. I've lost a few friends over it, I'm not shy to say. Did we knew we'd be bringing in the more vulnerable people? Of course we did. But, the wheels of progress must turn, as they say, and it wasn't like we were shy of volunteers.

In our latest models, we have refined an even more advanced frame. Again, security detail prevents me from divulging too much, but one breakthrough we've made is decreasing action latency by approximately 0.02s by amputating the limbs from our pilots and replacing them with neural interface pads.

Using the pads where the limbs once were, pilots are screwed directly into the cockpit, which itself can now be 30% smaller thanks to the saved space. And, of course, we provide basic humanoid cybernetics as part of their employment contract while they are with us. Not that most of them are ever voluntarily out of their cockpits long enough to make use of them. Even removing the tubes from their orifices for routine cleaning incurs a large level of resistence.

And, yes, some of them scream, some of them break, some become so catatonic that they might as well be a peripheral processor for their mech's AI. But not a single one, not even one pilot, in all the dolls i've ever trained, have ever accepted the holidays we offer, the retirement packages, the stipends.

As you say, there are those who like to call me a monster for my work. I can see why. After all, they don't see the way my pilots' crotches dribble when I tell them I'll be cutting away their limbs, or the little moans they try to hide when we first meet and I explain that they'd forever be on the same resource level as a machine hereafter.

Those who call me a monster don't realise that, even after going public with how we operate our pilots, even after ramping up mech frame production, we still have more than twice as many volunteers as frames.

Those who call me a monster cannot accept that my pilots are far happier as a piece of meat in a machine of death than as the shell of a human they once were.

Those who call me a monster never consider the world my pilots grew up in to make them suitable candidates in the first place."

-Dr Francine Heathwich EngD

Dept. Cybernetic Technologies @ Dynaframe Industries

[In response to human rights violations accusations levied by the Pilot Rehabilitation Foundation]

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

Long-Distance date/bonding ideas I've learned while making it work with my femme

Streamed Movie Night: Discord has a function that let's you stream video and gaming alike! I'd recommend Nitro because otherwise stream quality is gonna SUCK (and you need to do some weird fiddling to get services like Netflix to work) but you can enjoy movie night with your boo

Tabletop Simulator: If you both have about $20, and a computer with even a low budget graphics processor, this program is invaluable. The base games are neat but the real trove is in the Steam Workshop. Mod makers upload hundreds of boardgames from Catan to Azul to outright heavy ones like D&D and Warhammer. My femme and I now have a weekly boardgame night (she actively challenges me at strategy games and it makes me so happy to have a partner that does 🥰)

Coffee shop dates: Go to a place where the shop has wifi (or you have a really good data plan with your phone), pop your headphones in, and just video call. I promise you, there will be more people there who find it sweet than those who find it weird.

Spotify Jam Sessions: I don't know about other music apps, but we both have spotify and it now has a function that let's you invite others to a shared listening session. Music is really important to both my femme and myself, and the ability for us to literally listen at the same time and talk about the music is truly quite lovely.

Parallel crafting time: Admittedly, I'm Neurodivergent as hell, and parallel play baseline is big for me. But pop on a videocall and make some crafts together. Bonus points if you get similar materials and share what you've made together

Call every night: no seriously, even if you both are busy the entire day and can't talk, call for at least a half hour or so to round your day off. That lack of certain forms of intimacy means you need to be really on top of other forms. On top of affirming love for one another. If you're trying to make long distance work long term, calling to just. Be with eachother is so important.

Schedule Time: As an extension of the above, just because you're calling every day, doesn't mean ensuring you have dedicated time for eachother isn't important. I'm talking like. An afternoon/evening once a week type thing. Be together for a long period of time while you can't be physically together.

Technology has honestly made what I always thought impossible for myself feel possible. The advent of videocalling my femme every day helps so much of the potential pitfalls that could have happened, and the best part is its more or less free (I pay for discord nitro but I digress). Don't get me wrong I'm having my hard days still. The inability to hold her when I want to take care of her is particularly bad. I show care and love through things like physical touch and food so much. But getting creative, and being consistent have really made this feel possible and sustainable until we get to the "next stages" bridge.

If you have ideas you found fun/helpful please toss em in the replies, tags, etc. Always open to more date ideas with my girl 💕