#to sit there and see this little computer module

[denimbex1986]

'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

[chaiiitime]

Plaything

Daniel is not happy after the sprint at the Austrian Grand Prix.

Warnings: 18+, language, mentions of sex, dubious consent

Note: repost from my previous blog

“Let me see what I can do in clean air”

“Daniel, we’re looking at it, we’re looking at it. I’ll get back to you.”

Daniel’s anger had been mounting since lap 13 of this fucking sprint so much that when Tom came on the radio at the end to inform him that he was P12, he barely managed to be civil. What he had really wanted to do was to unleash all his frustrations on the radio, to let everyone know what he really thought, but he knew with the media frenzy about his future right now, that this was not the right way to go.

So he kept his mouth shut, went through parc ferme procedures trying to get himself under control. He’d played the team player game for too long and he’d had enough of it now.

He made his way to the the motor home, going up the steps to the engineering room. He was absolutely fuming, ready to tell the strategy team exactly where they could stuff their fucking strategies. The room was empty save for one lone figure sitting at one of the computers. Great, it was Sarah or whatever her name was, Daniel couldn’t care less. She was part of the strategy team and outside of engineering meetings, he had never interacted with her much.

She looked up as Daniel abruptly threw his helmet on one of the tables. “Where’s Andreas or Randy?”

“I think they’re in the hospitality suite. Is there something I can help you with?” Something in the calm modulation of her voice made Daniel snap.

“Is there something you can help me with?” He bit out as he advanced on her “Is there something you can help me with? What do you fucking think,huh?” He spat as he towered over her.

Daniel knew he should probably step back and leave. Go hide in his driver’s room till he had himself under control. But he was bleeding dry here. He didn’t put his blood and tears into this sport, into this team for him to be asked to roll over for his teammate. He was not losing to a kid again.

“Daniel, you need to calm down. If this is about the decision to not swap positions during the sprint, we can discuss this once you’ve cleared your head” Daniel was so done. He was sick of people always treating him as the nice guy, as if he was meant to always accept what was dished out to him. His hand shot out, grabbing her good-girl ponytail and twisting. He pulled till she was looking him in the eye.

“Daniel, please step back. You’re overstepping your bounds” Sarah tried to keep her voice calm and measured but the truth was that she was scared. In the time she’d known him, she had never seen him this angry. Daniel had a hard glint in his eyes, his features sharpened in anger. His mouth twisted in a feral smile.

“I’m done with being nice” his other hand came up to grip her jaw tightly, painfully “tell me what I should do for you lot to listen to me one fucking time.” He used his hold on her to pull her even closer. Sarah was suddenly painfully aware of his hard body against hers. She could smell his drying sweat, could feel his hot ragged breath on her face. To her shame, she could feel her body responding to the base animality in him.

She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped as her breath came in quick shallow puffs. Daniel could see her pupils were blown wide open, could feel her heaving chest against his. He zeroed in on her parted lips, watched as her tongue briefly shot out to lick her bottom lip.

“You little freak”, he let out a mean laugh “you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” He watched as she flushed red, as she tried to shake her head no. His fury began to abate, becoming sharper, more precise. She became the perfect focus for his rage. So what if he got fucked over by the team every race weekend, here he had the upper hand. He let that dark side of him, the one that punched holes through walls, the one that he tried so hard to leave behind in his Red Bull days, take over.

He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, once, twice, each time more forceful. He was going to have fun playing with her.

Sarah turned her head to the side, trying to break from his grip on her jaw. She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away. Her futile attempts seemed to amuse him.

“Please step away”

Daniel tsked at her and tightened his hold on her. “Who are you trying to fool, little girl? Don’t pretend like I’m not going to find you soaking wet right now if I put my hands down your panties”

He snaked his hand down between their bodies, flicked the button on her slacks open and slipped his hand into her panties. He dragged two of his fingers through her slick folds, gathering her arousal on the pads of his fingers. Sarah couldn’t help that involuntary jerk of her hips as his fingers brushed against her clit. She should have been scandalised as he brought his hand up and painted her lips with her arousal. He dipped his head and sucked at her bottom lip, biting down hard on it. She gasped and Daniel slipped his tongue past her lips. The kiss was brutal. It was meant for Daniel only to take his pleasure from it. He slid his hand down to her throat, applying pressure to tilt her head uncomfortably backwards as he continued to plunder her mouth, his hips mimicking the thrust of his tongue.

Just as it started, the kiss ended abruptly. Sarah stumbled backwards into the table, gasping for breath. Not giving her time to recover, he gripped her hips and flipped her around. He pushed her panties and trousers over her hips, down to her knees. He kicked her legs as far as her slacks would let him. He pressed his hands between her shoulder blades, bending her slightly over the table.

Daniel gave a satisfied huff. He had her exactly where he wanted. He rucked up her team polo to below her arms and pulled down the lacy cups of her bra. He grunted as her tits filled his hands. He squeezed and fondled them before pushing two of his fingers into her mouth. “Make them nice and wet” he ordered. She had no other option but to obey, swirling her tongue around them. Daniel pushed them further into the back of her throat, feeling smug as she gagged on them. Fuck, her mouth would feel so good around his cock.

Later, he promised himself. He pulled his fingers out, swirling them around her nipples and watched as they puckered even further in the air conditioned air. Sarah watched as he pinched and pulled at her nipples, feeling like there was a live wire between her breasts and center. She moved her hips restlessly, trying to relieve the ache in her core.

She jumped as Daniel suddenly rained down a series of slaps on her arse, each one harsher than the other. “You’re so fucking needy” he hissed. Sarah could feel her ass smarting and her face burned in humiliation at her own neediness. She felt his knuckles brush against her ass as he freed himself from his fireproofs. She wanted to look at him but Daniel roughly pushed her further down onto the table. She braced herself for his thrust but he surprised her as he rubbed himself against her clit.

He held himself in his hand as he dragged his cock through her folds and just as she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he finally notched himself at her entrance and gave a few shallow thrusts. He laughed darkly at her whimpers as he withdrew. He cut her off with two well-times slaps to each of her ass cheeks. She pushed her hips back into him, trying to find some kind of relief. One of his hands stilled her movements while the other reached out to grip her chin and turned her head around.

“Beg me” he ordered, relishing her squirm.

“Please, please Daniel”

“Please what? I want you to say it” his features well pulled tight in sadistic pleasure as he spat the command at her.

It was maybe at this point that Sarah should have gathered whatever was left of her dignity and leave, but whatever line there was had been crossed a long time ago. She could feel her inner muscles clenching around nothing. She desperately needed him inside of her. She couldn’t care less that anyone could walk in at anytime and see her like that. She didn’t stop to think about the repercussions that this might have on her career. “Please please fuck me Daniel!”

Daniel felt a rush of power at her sobs, at the litany of pleas still falling from her lips. He gripped himself in hand and slapped his dick once, twice against her clit before thrusting into her. He leaned over her, gathering her undone ponytail in his fist and whispering nasty things in her ears, getting mean and letting out all his frustrations.

The room filled with the vulgar sound of their flesh slapping together, the wet squelch of her pussy. Daniel didn’t hold anything back, fucking into her, hitting that magical spot inside of her. Sarah tried to find purchase on the table as her nipples rubbed almost painfully on the table top. She felt the bow string inside of her tighten even further, reaching its breaking point. She reached back, grabbing onto Daniel’s hand that was on her hip, her fingers digging into his skin as she felt her orgasm start to break.

Daniel looked down almost enraptured at his handprint on her ass, at his dick, covered in her juices, entering her. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, it clicked that he had forgotten to wear any protection, that he should pull out before he started coming. But fuck him, she was milking him so deliciously it would be a pity to miss out on that. His movements became more erratic as he started coming. He buried his face into the curve of her neck and bit hard, prolonging both of their orgasms.

Sarah winced as Daniel pulled out, feeling his cum drip out of her. Daniel stumbled backwards. He quickly tucked himself back into his fireproofs.

“Fuck” he rubbed a hand over his face. The enormity of what he’d done hit him as he looked at Sarah. She flinched as he reached out to steady her. His hands trembled as he helped her right her clothes. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and Daniel couldn’t blame her. He knew he had forced himself onto her and he had to face the repercussions of his actions.

“Sarah, I’m sorry” he stumbled over his words, “did I hurt you?” What he really wanted to ask was whether what they’d just done was consensual, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words for fear of what the answer might be.

Sarah gave a mirthless laugh, “you don’t have to worry. I was a pretty willing participant towards the end”

As she walked away, Daniel felt even worse than he did when he came in here.

[sobri-k-eyt]

Ninjago Fic (Roselock AU)

Posting some Ninjago stuff here! This is something written for one of @roselock22's AMAZING AU's! Go check them out! ------------------------------------------------------------------- She was just about sick of losing. She was Personal Integration Xenagogue Android Labile, not some mere voice-controlled vacuum. She was complex, and near human if not higher. She was more knowledgeable and made to be versatile and learning. She had been built by the great Cyrus Borg, and had only created her own path from there. She formed digital worlds and untold stories.

But yet, she couldn’t seem to outthink a human child. Disregarding the fact that she craved to be human, it was still a solid blow onto her pride, and a dent in her confidence about her skills. She growled at the small-cat-boy-human-thing threateningly, her voice modulating in her frustration.

“How are you doing this!” she shouted, accusatorily pointing a metal hand at the blue man, her eyes glowing with emotion.

It was something the Ninja did, and if she had decided to program it into herself, well, who was going to say. Because she was that advanced and human. And yet... Jay gave a simple smug grin back, his lips curled upwards and his eyes half-lidded. He smirked, and if Pixal had functioning blood and arteries, it would certainly be boiling.

“How do you keep winning!” she shouted, punctuating each word with a stab at the table. Jay’s blue eyes winded and stared at her, but his insufferable smile never changed. “I am the most advanced A.I. in the entire world! I nearly took over the world, and would and could have done so if I didn’t develop morals! I built my own body, I’ve ruled over Ninjago, so why in the world do you keep beating me at a foolish computer game?”

“Pix, you get so worked up over this!” he laughed, the points of sharpened teeth peeking from his grinning wide smile. His hair bounced up, shaking with his laughter. His eyes crinkled. “That’s half the fun of it!”

] “It’s not fun to me.” she huffed, sitting back down with finality. She glanced back to her mind’s eye and the tablet in front of her, piecing over the meticulous code. There hadn’t been any holes in it she had thought, no real way to win the game. Yet, he always just. Kept. Winning???

Humans.

Pixal kept her physical eyes open, but vanished into the digital world, analyzing both her tablet and the digital realm she had formed. She strolled through the miles of code, hands up and she traced over each line. Jay looked at her innocently, but that innocence was all a lie. He was a menace. She turned back, and shook her hand at him again, modifying the metal to form a bladed weapon with an energy blaster. “I will find out how you keep doing this Walker,” she swore. “And I won’t forget.” “Sure ya won’t Pix. Again, that’s the fun of it.” he giggled in response, “Sure ya won’t Pix. Again, that’s the fun of it.” he giggled in response, tone excited yet not over the top, and she relaxed, feeling her mouth quirk up around the edges.(edited)

She was still irritated, and her pride still relatively damaged, but maybe it wasn’t all that bad, she mused.

It was good, harmless fun, and a decent learning experience as she adjusted her skills. This was what friends and colleagues did after all. Pixal guessed how she could see how this was fun after all. It was definitely more fun for him, but there was a bit of enjoyment as she worked out the puzzles and how to improve.

She looked at Jay again, and his innocent face, about to offer a compromising smile, but paused. It was…too innocent. She felt an impending sense of doom, the ways his eyes were so big and adorable, and his smile all too sweet for her to believe it. She’d dealt with him for too long to know what that look meant. She glanced at the code, and gasped in horror of the cat videos that now replaced large chunks of it, all mewling and whining.

GIFS now filled the entirety of her vision, the code now wiggling around like little bugs. He was a menace, and absolutely just as bad as she thought. If not worse “Walkerrrrrr!” She got up and ran after him, the human cackling maniacally as he fled, little blue sparks jumping off of him excitedly. The blue-clad ninja pushed away the tablet, tucking it into a spot of his gi before taking off, seeing the annoyed panic in Pixal’s face. He’d been found out. He saluted and then proceeded to race through the long halls, his body leaping with a bit of panicked excitement.

She ran after him, legs pumping and pounding against the ground in a singular motion, and now, she was sure that if she had a heart, it would certainly be pumping. Her eyes glittered with emotion. What one, she wasn’t sure. Be it anger, frustration, or righteous humor, it was a mixed back. She felt a smile grow on her face. So this was what it was like to be human.

It had been a few weeks since Pixal had joined the Ninja, rejecting the Overlord in favor of the “good” side. He was flawed, and she finally could see how she had been tricked, and had nearly destroyed them all. So far, there was a bit of an awkward air from her, a sense of shame and embarrassment. After all, how do you apologize for accidental intended genocide and removal of free will? She had meant the best, and some of them knew that, but it was still a bit different to say “I forgive you” and take you into the fold than really doing it. For the moment, she was trying not to be too weird, though it was a bit odd when you knew all about them, and they really didn’t. Jay mostly trusted her, so that was definitely the best. He’d challenged her at mind and code games, and that certainly…occupied her time.

At the moment, she was helping around the Bounty as the Ninja trained, working on the delicate software with her advanced systems. Pixal stared at the Bounty’s systems and diagnostics, busying herself as she went over it. She waved her hands, familiarizing herself with the nice mix of old and new systems. She hoped to exponentially increase security and ease of access for those who would navigate the system. Despite being an incredibly advanced AI, and near human, it still felt nice to have a purpose. That was something both designs had in common. She just hoped it could be seen that way. She didn’t want to just be a mere robot with a command and output. Pixal glanced at a particular sector, a slight frown on her face. She adjusted a code or two, tightening the system’s security, her body plugged into the updated system. She smiled after, satisfied with her work.

The android, or really, whatever she was, desperately wanted to be more. She couldn’t be compared to a robot, and even AI couldn’t exactly contribute to who she was. She was so much more. But others saw her differently in part of her metal exterior. It was evil to think of her as a pure evil and logical machine than something (someone) more. She hoped she was at least human enough, and human enough that other people saw that she meant well. Pixal closed her physical eyes and entered the Digispace to assess her handiwork, as it was affectionately named. Rows of code and lines surrounded her. To most others it would be chaos and overwhelming, but it was a first or second language to her. It rose above and around her. She ran her hands through, running simulations and testing their strength. She was certain of them, but it was always good to check after all. Perfect.

Pixal opened her physical eyes, exiting the Digispace, and disconnected herself mostly from the Bounty’s systems. Mission Accomplished.

Next goal, friendship.

-------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading!

[jademint2581]

I have this tiny bit of a headcanon about Ranger being actually quite the creative little feller.

Gashu deliberately created him to be not just an entity capable of learning, but a being that has to learn (plus, has the very human-like drive to do so). Ranger, upon booting, had a bunch of basic skills and a bank of knowledge pre-installed, but he had to learn more advanced fine motor skills and exercise any talents he'd see worth pursuing.

And he did.

Ranger, after being introduced to music, would practically beg to be allowed to hear more of it. He'd listen to a song, and modulate his own voice to match the pitch of the singer. He'd get sick beats stuck in his head and would use any railing, pipe or a table as an impromptu percussion instrument.

If Ranger wasn't allowed music, he'd start finding fun in mimicking just about every noise in his immediate surroundings, trying to make his own music out of it. He'd pester various scientists to the point of insanity by firing their own speech remixed into foul, unnerving absurdity right back at them nonstop. He won that one whenever it came down to that.

Ranger also liked doing crafts and art. Painting, drawing, collage type cutting and pasting also. He definitely made his own expression cards: those were allll him! What his machine mind could concoct with his very limited experience and exposure to the outside world, he'd express in his art. He absolutely loved juxtapositioning extreme eyesore with more classical elements that have been largely considered 'beautiful' by humans for whatever reason. And gore. Lots and lots of edgy, highly aestheticized gore.

Ranger tried hooking up himself to a monitor to straight up generate imagery and audio onto a computer as files, but he found it pretty boring. He'd rather enjoy the figuring out of the equipment he was working with, as well as its less predictable possibilities. Happy accidents. Mind-"muscle" connection. The process of art itself.

None of it came for free to him; he had to learn everything. He learned songs by ear to sing them later, but he'd definitely mess up at first trying to find the pitch before perfecting it. The original beats he came up with at first were dogshit (his words, not mine), but he got better at understanding the makings of a true earworm. Taking his time to sit down, plan out a work of art, work with what supplies he was allowed... only for it to turn out drastically different from his initial vision (often enough for the better!) was an adventure. Every time.

It helped with the research he was initially created for. It was an excellent distraction from the mind-numbing, aggravating boredom of being locked away into an underground facility for life—which, by the way, would've been enough to turn a biologically human being destructive and uncooperative too.

And most of all, it was strangely satisfying. Even if that satisfaction would be nicked out of his chips for the sake of the research into [redacted], just the chase for that satisfaction made him feel...

...? No. Better.

After all, he was beyond above them bastards.

[dausy]

Hello, hows it going?

I guess I could have things to talk about. I thought about updating my tumblr a few times and then just didn't.

I've been working on a project management certification course thats free to military associated personal and signed up for a few IT certs too though I think because its a holiday weekend, those havent gone through. But I finished all my online modules and just need to study and take the test. Do I think these certs might be useful? probably not but I low-key hope they maybe can shift me into some sort of unicorn nursing informatics or research job in the future. But either way, I have some free time on my hands since I'm not employed and I have a gajillion stationery supplies, including some of the ones I made. So I enjoy writing notes and doing school-y stuff. If it wasn't so expensive I could be a chronic student. The one thing about being unemployed is I feel guilty about wanting to purchase so many items. I mean I guess I could purchase them but I know we are about to move too and why add to my hoard? but I want to buy so many things T_T I've really stopped spending other than coffees.

otherwise, my spouse has had to do a lot of outprocessing appointments. We've gone to a couple classes that talk about retirement benefits and healthcare and other things. Because he's outprocessing from the army theres not a whole lot that he is needed for at work so he's picked up some gaming (he's not really a gaming individual). Which is kinda a blessing because he doesn't have much hobbies and it frees me up a bit more to do art stuff.

I've been primarily decorating my houses in Dreamlight Valley since I finished FF7 rebirth. When I do get back to Xenoblade Chronicles 3 and finish it, I think I'm going to spam read a few books that have been sitting on my desk for a while. I started reading them and then got distracted. Just gonna binge all of them at one time and then probably start FF16.

Anyway, tomorrows the 4th of July. My MiL and SiL are coming over for the weekend. My plan today is to go to the gym, come home and bake a pie, set up their rooms, probably mow the lawn and shower, do some studying and finish some laundry. This afternoon we are going to go see a baseball game and fireworks. Think tomorrow our itinerary is to go to the rock gym (that will be open), then the pool, then bbq, then go see fireworks at the onpost park. Next day we are going back to Carlsbad Caverns because family has never seen it and its amazing. Then they go home. Then I gotta prep for a new dog babysitter and turn around and fly to SanDiego.

Its a little busy. I do have an on theme 4th of July decorative footer but I can't find it right now at this computer, so this one will work.

[tanadrin]

Is there like a popularity threshold below which you'd allow people to act/perform music/create art for the public? Or must it all be automated to save people from the potential negative effects of fame?

hmm, first off, disclaimer: posts prefixed with "hot take" are intentionally inflammatory, not carefully considered proposals, and are not things which i necessarily actually endorse wholeheartedly (or at all). this particular post was inspired by me stumbling across a reddit post on r/all where a ton of people who as far as i know do not personally know joe jonas and sophie turner were intensely discussing if and why they might be divorcing. like jesus christ, people. you don't know these two, you never will, and you have no reason whatsoever to care even an iota about their lives, except that the Monkey Status Module sitting on top of your limbic system is telling you "ooh! high-status monkey! let us pay attention to them!"

actors, and certain kinds of musicians, for whatever reason seem to come in for this kind of obsessive treatment most of all, second only perhaps to the british royal family. probably because they're intensely recognizable, and often attractive. they serve, i suppose, as a canvas for projecting our own hopes and insecurities. every once in a while i get served a tiktok which alludes to the existence of the people who secretly believe that a) taylor swift is a lesbian, and b) she is carefully sending coded messages about her lesbianism to her die-hard fans through her music. this is objectively insane behavior. just truly a monumental waste of time. the people who spend their time and energy thinking about this sort of thing are the equivalent of sovcits--deranged, if frequently by the grace of god not quite deranged enough to qualify for a clinical diagnosis.

there are celebrities of other categories who 1) tend not to achieve fame until a little bit later in life (and so are less prone to actual exploitation) and b) even when they do so tend not to attract the same kind of obsessive, rabid maniacs. writers rarely make it big before their 30s; even prodigies like christopher paolini don't become objects of obsession, or superstardom. jk rowling became like the first or second person ever to make it to billionaire status off her writing career, but people still don't really give her deference, or obsess about her personal life. politicians are very well known, but frequently held in (IMO) a healthy degree of contempt and suspicion simply by virtue of their profession. you get exceptions like Trump--but they're obviously divisive figures, often as deeply unpopular with the broader public as they are popular with their own core constituency. many smaller or more workaday musicians, who are not the subject of marketing pushes by large labels, but who may still be widely known.

we could imagine a system where all entertainment and celebrity gossip magazines were simply banned, and nobody was allowed to act in TV or film until they were 45. that would have a certain charm to it! it might help revitalize struggling regional theater scenes, as people honed their craft in anticipation of competing for film roles once they came of age. and, of course, it would be great to see child roles played by, like Hugh Jackman walking on his knees. all drama is artifice, after all; what we take as acceptable deviation from reality now (like 20 year olds playing high schoolers in TV shows) is simply a result of convention and habit; we could form new convention and new habits if we really wanted to. personally, i think gary oldman could play any role he set his mind to if we gave him a chance.

but technology offers us a better way. really, we've had the technology since we invented animation, but i suppose there is always a desire to achieve a certain verisimilitude in certain kinds of art. we no longer have to compromise. between AI and sophisticated computer graphics, why not simply abolish those professions that tend to produce figures that (for reasons of marketing or simply a defect in our ape-minds) we cannot be normal about? we can create sui generis faces for each film or TV show. maybe we can demand all pop music stars go about masked like the daft punk duo.

that's no help with the royals or for sports stars, though i think i am pretty much on record as saying both those jobs would, in the best of all possible worlds, be abolished for other reasons anyway.

[incubatorbycora]

Tell None

When I got a job at Tell Technologies I only knew about their innovations in Symbots. I suspected I would get to work on a technology that most people use. It’s something so massive, yet I would get to be a part of it. I never stopped to think why they chose me though. I’m not a particularly remarkable person.

As soon as they gave me the coordinate address for the location I would be working, I should have known I wasn’t getting a design job. Their main design campus was at 928, 0, 77 USA block 5. But the coordinate address they gave me was down at -700y. Coordinate addresses don’t go that low, they should end at -345. If they go any further down they’d be reaching into the mantle of the earth.

If my apartment wasn’t built 200 years ago, I might have a teleport module inside, but instead I’m forced to walk to the nearest port hub. Even though I left early the line was long. People seemed extra slow today especially the elderly, but that wasn’t unusual. I looked over to the out-chamber trying to recall if anyone had come through. No one likely had it was 7:45am in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. Wisconsin was not the front of any major development.

I finally reached the in-chamber and stepped inside. The central plate depressed, and the machine began to whir. I typed in my information to the center console; one passenger, my tpID number via scan, and finally the coordinate address for the Tell Technologies building. I was nervous, this address didn’t seem right. To my surprise the machine recognized the location and primed itself. Priming gives a high tone that rises briefly in pitch. It always makes me a little anxious hearing that tone. I put my hand on the lever hesitated for a moment, but finally pulled it down. I could feel the vibration of the rings circling around me and then in just a few seconds there was a flash.

Standing now in an out chamber somewhere unfamiliar, my eyes adjusted from the teleporter’s flash. It was hot. So hot. Hotter than the summer sun in Arizona. I stepped out from the chamber. The small room around me was just big enough to fit the two teleport chambers. The walls and floor were made of a thick, dull gray, concrete like material.  Several feet away on the opposite wall two doorways sit open leading into a vast open room. The blinding orange glow made it impossible to see any details.

I was scheduled to start training at 8 so eager to make a good impression and be on time I pushed through the unknow doorway into the room. Immediately I was grabbed. Despite the heat a cold hand wrapped around my arm and dragged me along. I hand no sense for where I was. I was hot, dazed by the amber glow, and in pain from being forcibly moved.

My arm thud against a solid metal table. Before I could even think about moving my arm away, a hot iron was pressed to my face-up inner arm. In the smoldering building, hot was relative and I couldn’t tell if I was being burned or if it was some other sensation. Whatever it was, it was excruciating.

I must have blacked out from the pain because the next thing I remember is waking up in an office. The temperature was much more manageable in this room, it even felt cool in comparison. The room was depressingly empty, just an office chair behind a desk with some computing interface on top. Other than that, there was the cheap upholstered chair I was sitting on. It was a typical, drab, square office space.

I sat up in the chair and regained my composure. Memory of the previous moments came back as I looked down at my searing arm. The pain had mostly gone, but I could tell I would be feeling it the next morning. I touched the circular mark. It didn’t hurt to touch nor was it hot or cold. It simply felt like the rest of my skin, but it gave off a ghostly orange glow. The mark was a three fourths circle, a part of Tell’s logo.

Before I had any more time to examine the mark someone entered the door behind me. They came rushing in with a level of urgency. A burst of hot air came with them, but it dissipated quickly as the door shut. I swept my hair out of my eyes to get a better look at the person who walked in. They had on a dark gray suit with a black undershirt and a light blue tie. They looked like they were wearing armor, their hands were covered in metallic platting. Their boots seemed to be made of the same material and made a metallic click as they walked. I looked up and instead of being greeted by a face I saw a metal helmet with an orange visor. The visor took up all the front face of the helmet and even wrapped around the sides. They stood behind the desk with their hands placed on top. They leaned forward and spoke.

“Hi, welcome to training.” Their voice was somewhat deep with a mostly androgenous, but slightly feminine tone. “I would have given you the run down, but it seems our security bots got to you first. Thankfully they recognized you as an unmarked employee and not an intruder… getting fired means something a little different around here.” They straightened their posture and spoke with hand gestures. “You wanted to work at Tell, well now you’re in Hell…” They looked up to the corner where a camera sat watching. They then turned back and said, “I mean that as a joke of course.” They nodded their head and If I could have seen their face behind the visor, I probably would have seen them wink. “Well anyways, I’m Terra, hi. I use she/they pronouns don’t get it twisted. I’ll be your supervisor here in the armory.”

“I don’t know if this is what I had in mind when I put ‘okay with any position’ on my application. Armory? I didn’t know Tell was a weapons manufacturer.” I tried to speak with confidence, but I doubt any came across.

“Uh yeah… you see, this is operation is not public information. Is it illegal? Um, probably. That’s why you have that mark on your arm.” The mark on my arm started searing with pain. “If you even think about telling someone about this place the mark will hurt you. If you try to speak about it so someone who doesn’t also have a mark, then it’ll just kill you.” She said it so bluntly.

“WHAT!!!” I was taken aback.

“You did read the contract, right?”

[thrushforreal]

A new crime lord called the Red Hood has been taking up a lot of Batmans time. He's got the Bat running all over the city and still somehow finds time to mess with Robin as well. It must have gotten too much for Bruce to handle because the twins find themselves standing at the door of Wayne Manor.

After Jack and Dana's deaths, Tim had tried to bring back good old Uncle Eddie. He didn't last long, Bruces paranoia, causing him to check up on the two constantly. Worried that the Red Hood had somehow found them.

Suffice to say that not long after the two of them found themselves in Bruce Wayne's custody with permanent rooms in the family wing. But Bruce was still concerned with the Hoods fixation on Robin, which brings them to now.

"I'm really fine, Bruce," Tim grumbled, kicking one of the suitcases next to him. "I don't need to go to the tower. You don't need to bench me!"

Bruce just let out a hn in response and put the suitcase he had Tim pack in the back of Dicks car. "It's for your safety," he said, closing the trunk with a huff. "Just until we catch the Red Hood." Tim wasn't happy with this response at all.

"Why doesn't Trace have to go?"

"Maybe because I don't have a murderer after me?" Trace snarked from where they stood in the doorway of Wayne Manor. "Besides, you get to see the others, so which of us really has the worst of it here?"

Tim didn't reply to that. He just walked up to her, gave her a hug, and went back to the car. Only then did he say something, "I guess you're right, I did get the better end of the stick."

Dick and Tim got in the car and drove away. It would have been faster to use the Zeta in the Batcave, but Bat paranoia strikes again. So Bruce is having Dick drive Tim to a Zeta further away to use.

~a week later~

"There you go, all bandaged up!" Thrush exclaimed as they put a Green Arrow bandaid over the standard field bandages dressing the wound of the child in front of them. It was nasty, but at least it was only caused by a fall and not something more dangerous. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" they asked the kid, pulling a handful of lollipops from their belt for him to choose from.

The kid let out a little giggle and shook his head as he studied the options in front of him as serious as if it was a test. As they sat there a thud sounded behind them, Thrush not startling only from their training. But that did remind them of somethings.

One, they are a bat, well bird, but the same thing. Two, they are in Crime Alley right now. Thrush never really realized how much of the area they patrolled dipped into what is now classified as Hood territory. And Three, the child in front of them was not scared in the slightest. Something they know is not something Batman can do.

"Where is he?" The mechanical voice growled behind them, only after the kid took his pick of lollipop and scampered off.

"Can't say Hood." Thrush replied, hands up in the air as she turned around, her own voice modulated by the device in her bandana over her mouth. "You don't exactly have good intentions, do you?"

He stalked closer, "I don't need good intentions. For him or you, you're on my terf, by the way."

"Some would say it's mine."

"They would be wrong, now where is he."

"Don't worry, Robins safe." Thrush said, putting their hands down. It was an interrogation. Intimidating, yes, but he knew if he wanted information, he could hurt them. "Somewhere that's not here, at least." As they finished their sentence, they grabbed their grapple and shot it, swinging away from the angry yells of the Red Hood.

"Guy needs to get a different hobby," they mumbled to themself. "Obsessing over a teenage boy is not a good look."

~ with Tim 2 days later ~

Tim loved his friends, he did really. But sometimes he just needs some peace and quiet. Time to himself. And here he found himself, practically middle of the night, sitting in the kitchen area.

The light overhead was barely enough to see the computer in front of him. He was planning on working on cases that he hadn't had time to yet since he'd left Gotham. But with quiet came thoughts, and not the thoughts he wanted.

His strayed to the conversation he had with Trace a couple of days ago.

"The Red Hood did what?" Tim said, his surprise carrying in his voice.

"He's cornered Nightwing and I like three times trying to figure out where you are!" Trace laughed over the phone, rummaging with something on their end of the line. "He even got Bats one time. After their talk though, it seems he'd had enough and hasn't been out in a while. Probably thinking up a new strategy to get information."

Tim hummed, "Well, we don't know that for sure, but one can hope."

Their conversation didn't last long after that, delving into mundane topics until Trace had to hang up to help Alfred with something. But Tim can't stop thinking about the Hood. Why would he just disappear like that?

He didn't think on it long as his coffee ran out. He sighed and got up to make a new pot. Tim leaned tiredly against the counter as it brewed, he drinks more coffee lately than ever. Sure, a cup here or there, but with his workload as Robin Tim has found himself downing whole pots one after the other.

When the pot was done Tim grabbed it and returned to his seat at the table. As he sat down, a chill ran down his spine. Something was wrong. The lights flickered above. That shouldn't happen, not here, not with their funding. "Kon?" Tims called out, voice shaky.

"Sorry little birdie," said a voice from the darkness, mechanical. "Not Kon."

'Not Kon.'

~ Trace a couple hours before ~

The streets of Crime Alley are still void of the Red Hood. Thrush flitted from one rooftop to the other, searching alleyways. Some working girls, on a corner. 'Perfect' They thought, swooping down gently behind them. "Ladies." They called out, startling them a little.

Before they could speak though Thrush started again. "Sorry, I don't have much time. Have you seen the Hood lately?"

"Hood?"

"He hasn't been around for a good couple of days, spread word about how he was off to see a birdie and he'd be back soon."

"Shit." Thrush was already off before the ladies could say anything else, hand reaching up to her comm. "Oracle," She said. "Oracle, I think I know where the Red Hood is."

~ Titans Tower ~

A finger dragged along the wall, leaving a long red streak behind. Footsteps echoed in the hall, followed by the beeping of a keypad and the shutting of a door. All that was left was a soft, gurgling sound in the living room. Not 5 minutes later, running sounded from somewhere else in the tower, yelling coming not long after. As it got closer, it became clearer

"-m! -im! Tim! TIM!" Nightwing dropped to Tims side at where he laid on the living room ground. On the wall written in tims own blood were the words:

Jason Todd Was Here

[talesfromsigil]

Royal Road: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/74124/theseus/chapter/1352597/dilation

I was beginning to look forward to losing my dependence on sleep again. I had that same dream that night. The same dream where I’d felt so helpless and then everything I was got destroyed by the approaching darkness. Sitting in the mess with the others, I stirred the remains of the fried bits of eggs and potatoes around my plate idly as I tried to process it all.

Recurring dreams were supposed to mean something, right? Sure, it had only happened twice, but it felt like something was eating at my subconscious. I couldn’t identify it at all, though. It was like there was something deeply wrong, but so far away that it couldn’t touch me. Was I forgetting something?

“You look chipper.” Aisling muttered as she walked in to join the rest of her crew, grabbing a plate and filling it with food from the pan. As she began to pour herself a cup of coffee, she said “I thought you’d be excited. Soon as you finish up here, you get to go back to your favorite place on the ship again.”

I set my fork down “Yeah, I’m okay, just… not hungry I guess. Bad dream again.”

“Not surprising, you did get kidnapped by pirates after a near-death experience and given unprecedented mental trauma and involuntary surgery.” Doc said in a half-joking tone. When he put it like that, it felt obvious.

I took a deep breath. Perhaps I should just forget about it for now. They were right, it was a bright new day, and it was time to immerse myself in lubricant again. I put on a smile and pushed my chair back “Alright. I’ll see you all on the other side.”

I had already had an examination that morning, and Doc had cleared me to reenter the core module, but not before I got some food in me. That worked for me, it meant I wouldn’t have to come out for another full day. But now that I was walking up toward my heart, my restlessness was starting to peak. I just had to do a little more walking to get there, undress, immerse myself, and flip a switch, and Theseus would be ready to go back online. I would be ready to go back online. And I’d be able to see what I could really do when the obstacle of faulty hardware had been removed.

It felt like it took forever, but within minutes, I was sitting on the edge of the open sphere again, looking down into what should have seemed like a claustrophobic enclosure, but I knew that once it was filled and the lights were turned on, it would be true freedom.

I jumped down and stood waist-deep in the thick fluid. Closing my eyes and reaching out to the mechanism in the room, I didn’t waste another second before I started the immersion process, the lid closing and the chamber beginning to fill.

I didn’t want to wait. I plunged my face down into the pool and exhaled. I had found that the jarring process of changing my lungs’ ‘modes’ was best done like pulling a bandage off. I let all the air out and let my lungs fill with lubricant. It had become easier every time I did it, but the three day wait had admittedly made my return a little more difficult and I felt myself momentarily choking again before I was able to take in a full breath of the wondrous fluid. The tank was full after a moment and I began floating, losing my sense of gravity and the chilly air that I’d started to grow accustomed to. I could only hear my own gentle breathing as my lungs settled, and then…

The lights flashed on, and emptiness washed over me. I stared into it and felt relief. Three days without this calming bliss had been enough. I felt at home. Right. Like my mind could finally take a break. I quickly lost track of time, allowing my mind to go blank. I suppose that one might call it meditation. Or a blackout. I wanted to liken it more to a computer that had been left working for entirely too long and had just had the opportunity to restart and run its boot sequences again: clearing memory, running diagnostics, starting all my systems from scratch. It was a release of mental tension that was hard to describe to someone who hadn’t experienced what it was like to have a starship grafted to their mind. I was home. I was awake.

I received a ping. I wasn’t ready to check it yet though. Just another few minutes of this bliss. It was when multiple pings started coming in from the same place that I grunted and closed my eyes. What I saw was a whole new experience. With my mind’s eye, I looked around, but it felt more intuitive than it did before. I could see a reflection of myself in my map of the ship. It was like I was a virtual avatar rather than a disembodied ghost. The lines of my map were clear, and I shifted seamlessly between the rough memory of the ship’s halls and the detailed sensor data I was receiving. It felt like my mind was moving rapidly, catching and processing the data into readable arrays that I could parse quickly as they appeared. Various bits of system data flowed in and out of my mind as I cleared them with hardly a thought. I reached out like I had before, and in my mental view of the data stream, a panel appeared as if it knew I had wanted to check my messages. Another ping.

It was Aisling. ‘Whaaaaaaaaaat?’ I typed into her text file, turning my sensor arrays at the bridge on and off to watch it fade in and out of my vision ‘Can’t a ship take a few minutes to settle in?’

“Been half an hour since you hooked yourself in, Meryll. Get yourself in the game.” Came her response as she typed away on a conversation with the port authority about our liftoff. She sounded serious, but at least she didn’t sound irritated.

Huh. It hadn’t felt like I was slacking off for that long. I guess I had just really been enjoying myself. I flipped through my diagnostics and found multiple unfamiliar pieces of hardware from when I’d last been in the core. I expected two new engines, with the wings restored. It would give me much finer control, especially in atmosphere, and make me less reliant on the gas propulsion systems. I would have to get a feel for the new balance on the way to Earth though. I added the engines to the panel I’d been putting together specifically for piloting, taking the time to clean up the new interface the clean implants allowed so that it would be easier to read.

Moving on with my diagnostic, I noticed something odd. ‘Captain, I think the intercom might be broken.’ I reported immediately, seeing a few units that weren’t properly wired to the rest of the ship’s communication system.

“That’s for you. You need to learn to synthesize a voice, and I don’t need everyone freaking out over your electric screeching noises while you figure it out. Use the one in the back of the storage closet and you shouldn’t disturb anyone.”

That seemed sound, I’d been wanting to learn to communicate better as the core. There was another that just made me confused though. ‘Okay, that makes sense, but why is there one on the outside of the ship?’

Aisling sighed deeply and stopped typing to lean against the back of her seat “I told Joel to install the first one somewhere we couldn’t hear it.”

‘But sound doesn’t travel in space. I wouldn’t be able to hear it either.’ I noted, isolating the two systems for future use as well.

“He’s not the brightest.” She mumbled “I dunno, maybe you can blast some music on it or something to announce our arrival. It’s already installed, so whatever.” The captain rolled her eyes and returned to her text conversation.

I looked over the new additions a few more times, seeing mostly just touch-ups and repairs that I’d noted for Mouse before we landed, so I put the diagnostics aside for now. Instead, I peeked in on Aisling’s conversation. She had informed them that there may be minor errors with takeoff because they were running a brand new core. Not entirely false, I’d never taken off from land before after all. They acknowledged and now we were just waiting for our turn.

Looking around the ship, I marveled at the clarity my sensors gave me now, and happily noted that there wasn’t nearly as much strain on my mind as there was before. The new implants were doing wonders, like a broken bridge between the system and the cpu had been repaired. But there was one thing I still needed to test, and I figure it would probably be best to do it while we were still on the ground.

The psychic damper should have activated automatically if there was ever significant ship damage or another source of psionic shock, but I had to make sure it was operating. I didn’t exactly look forward to it though. The moment it was installed still stuck in my mind: That moment of total mental emptiness. It wasn’t the kind of soothing, meditative emptiness that came from resting in the void. It was cold and sterile, like my mind going on auto-pilot, almost out of my own sense of control entirely. It had shut down everything, presumably so that my mind couldn’t transfer the horror of losing a part of myself to my vitals.

Never the less, I had to at least let it run once more. I pinged Doc ‘I’m about to test the damper. What’s a safe maximum duration I can set?’

“Start with… two seconds.” Came his reply “We don’t know exactly how it’ll react, we need a small test first. I’ll watch your vitals.” He put his tablet aside and started watching the various health monitors at his station closely.

That sounded like it would be too short of a time to learn anything to me, but I supposed that I could always do it again if I had to. ‘Beginning test’ I sent before launching a manual activation script for the new hardware.

Another spike of pain followed by calm. And then that distant mental emptiness returned. I only saw the numbers, code, and machinery surrounding me as it was. Literal data that I had no way of interpreting anymore. I didn’t feel Meryll anymore. I was Theseus. I was the ship and nothing more. And yet, at the back of my mind, there was still a part of me that was watching. Unable to act. Trapped in a loop that kept me isolated from reality.

That distant conscious part of me looked to the system clock. It seemed to be ticking up slowly, milliseconds in what should have been seconds, and that small part of me that was locked away behind a digital wall felt like it wanted to panic. The passage of time had slowed to a crawl, and I could feel myself able to react at much higher speeds. I couldn’t reason though. I could only observe and perhaps run existing scripts. My creativity, my self-awareness, my consciousness, however, was all gone. The part of me that had the capacity to act was, in that moment, a computer and nothing more. And all I could do was watch as the clock passed at an agonizingly slow pace. The only thing moving through my mind was the system cycle count of the test script I’d started.

It felt like a full half hour had passed, and the clock still crawled forward. I couldn’t say that I was becoming bored, I don’t think that I was even capable of feeling bored in that state. I was simply on standby. Idling like a good computer awaiting orders.

Suddenly, my sense of self rushed back to me, like the end of an out of body experience. My eyes went wide and I had to take several heavy breaths to try to calm myself down. Two seconds. I held my legs close to my chest, giving myself a hug in an effort to calm down. I had been out for two seconds, but it had felt like I had just become a robot for half an hour. The thought of having to spend any extended amount of time in that state was horrifying. I was fully aware of myself somewhere deep down, but it was like that wasn’t me in that frozen moment in time. It felt like everything that actually made me me was just a flaw in my programming. A file gone rogue that wasn’t operating how it should.

“Meryll? Meryll, are you okay in there?” I heard Doc calling me. I immediately pinged him back without closing my eyes to look ‘Two seconds was entirely too long! I am never using this thing!’

It took me a few moments to work up the courage to give up the sight of the void. Closing my eyes again, I saw that Doc had a surprised look on his face “Really? Ship cores can usually safely run a damper like this for hours if they need to. What exactly happened? Your vitals were far calmer than your baseline for the duration of the test, but they spiked afterward. Are you okay in there?”

Hours. I extrapolated the numbers quickly. I had a roughly 15 minute perception of time per second. My perception was slowed by nearly 1000 times. An hour would feel like more than a month as a hollow shell of myself ‘No. Nonono not doing that no WAY would I run this system for that long. Get this thing off of me.’ I reached up behind my head and tried to tug the device away from me, but it was secured tightly, and I was still aware enough to realize that pulling objects out of my brain by force would be a bad idea.

“Meryll, calm down, your heart rate is spiking all over the place. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

I let go of the damper and did as he said, taking a few more deep breaths until I felt my heart starting to slow down again. Rationality began to return as I was able to shelve the trauma of what I’d just experienced, at least for the moment. Then I tried to describe it again and quickly lost my grip all over again. ‘I don’t even know how to describe what happened. It was like everything I was had been swallowed up and replaced, thankfully temporarily, by some kind of blank AI. A soulless husk that could perform functions if it needed to, if that’s what was asked of it, but it couldn’t think or feel or remember or or’ It was hard to tell that I was crying within the lubricant, but my eyes hurt and I felt that familiar emotional release. I couldn’t keep typing.

“Alright, Meryll, you’re okay now, yeah? Look into the void, go to your calm place. You can relax. It’s over. Deep breaths.”

It was hard to focus on his words, but after I opened my eyes and took a few breaths as instructed, I started to feel myself stabilizing. I would be alright. I was out of that thing now. The void helped. It made me calm. It felt like safety.

I closed my eyes and continued recounting my experience to Doc ‘But the worst part is how long it felt. Two seconds felt like forever. Maybe half an hour, that’s my best estimate. And the whole time, all I could do was stare at the timer variable counting down until it stopped. I had no control at all. Nothing.’

Doc pursed his lips. I was likely the first human person who had ever experienced what it was like under the influence of a psychic damper, and the fact that this was the kind of thing that one faced under its influence was both fascinating and terrifying to him as well. “Okay, look. I had no idea that something like this would have an effect on your… temporal perception. But the damper is a device that could very well save your life.” He tried to speak calmly “It only needs to counteract the worst of the shock response. In the dire case where you actually need it, it will only last… at most, I’d say four seconds. After that, your mind should be able to parse it like any other sense of pain.”

‘I can’t Doc.’ Was all I wrote at first, a knee-jerk reaction to being told I might one day have to go through that hell again. I opened my eyes and tried to catch my breath again. Four seconds. Twice as long as I’d just experienced. An hour of ego death. It terrified me more than the thought of actually dying in space wreckage. I typed blindly ‘Don’t try to talk me into this, I’m disabling it, I just can’t. You didn’t feel what I just felt, NOTHING is worth this.’

“Would it be more manageable if it was a shorter time?” he asked slowly, trying to keep me calm

I had to think about it for a long moment, still emotionally devastated by the test I’d just run. I was reluctant to type anything back, but finally I managed ‘How long?’

“Just for testing, until we can figure this out, maybe find a solution, how about we test it in intervals of…” he shook his head slightly, trying to come up with a ballpark figure “Ten milliseconds.”

Ten milliseconds. 1/100th of a second. A ten second burst of the alien emptiness that I’d felt. It certainly sounded more reasonable. Perhaps I could hold myself together for that long under its influence. Maybe I could become accustomed to it. Microdose my way to being able to withstand that horrid limbo. Just for emergencies. ‘Maybe.’ I finally responded.

I couldn’t make that decision right now. I needed to think. I needed to do something, anything else. A good distraction where I could really let loose and feel like myself again, just for a bit.

Just then, Aisling pinged me to the bridge and I heard “Alright, Meryll, ready to fly?”

[the-firebird69]

●Lady Gaga - Venus (Rocket #9) 🚀

YouTube · Polybius Monster Kris

Sep 19, 2019

I found this song to be the most obnoxious not the least. And he is saying that something wrong with this one. Now I see what they're saying it's not for Venus where's the threat to try and grab me Santa try and fire those up and have to be accepted intercepted and a lot of your dragon and talk is out there and it's very loose and loud so macs made the shield. It's very big now it encompasses all of your territories Plus half again and Stan keeps losing his and we don't have it over our areas we won't tell you how it simply don't exist if they are. And you people are bothering us all the time with similar stuff but last night the Max and others went in and pulled all of this woman's missiles out took them out and promised to get back to her now they're trying to find them for fire on them and they are congregated and it seems stupid because it is you're saying stuff to us is illegal they don't want you firing on us at all and really it was for the shield but you were screaming it last night. You fired on you a little with the backs of devastating your areas Gaga and took out tons of missile building facilities and others missiles because of your son you haven't played it over and over and now it's over and we've been telling you what do you people doing it's just like John remillard he's losing businesses and he won't stop and you won't have anything is she around town doing nothing but harassing people and each other and mostly my son not my husband that is but boy you people annoying and you lose all this stuff it seems like you don't get it

Hera

Well they provoke me to talk about it so I can take the missiles and that's how it is it's very Scrappy lowbrow low life pirate stuff and that's what's going on we're all kind of thieves and it does not do what it used to do because the government as it were he just took them. I don't want to say anymore but this sucks and they're right we start to blow really bad and we still had a lot of people in power and we took it the wrong way or something went the wrong way it's all about this ai and this crackhead he says of computers are probably running really out of this and I'm not sure if you understand that seems like they had a module each and it didn't ruined the future kill cuz it was in a sentence signals is what if there's a Time One but when after the all the big areas are a problem and now we're looking at all the small ones and items it says he can't believe it well that's what people do that's what it's your stuff cuz you're the one with a big mouth I've had enough of this guy and he's stupid and it's not doing anything by the book cuz she doesn't care and we explained it it doesn't get it or he says he does it doesn't get it we have to do some lesson and I want to buy that freaking stupid he's not there legally and our friend has a case here against everyone for just sitting there watching it's horrible and we're getting s*** and we're getting in trouble because this a****** won't leave and that's what it is and he's a loser okay any successful is success stuff like that. I'm ordering it now

Mac

We are too we want him out of there he's a horchio loser tried to take their missiles and never showed up to do it and the max does I mean there's some hokey s***

Thor Freya

Olympus

Trump had some craps to say so we're not letting him

[thewul]

JAB Stacks, A different approach to storing data and computing

Data can be stored in binary form, in the shape of bytes, but still if we want to truly implement a rapid and reactive computing isn’t there another way to store it

How Much Data Can A QR Code Store?

QR Codes are made of multiple rows and columns. The combination of these rows and columns makes a grid of modules (squares). There can be a maximum of 177 rows and 177 columns which means the maximum possible number of modules is 31,329. With the naked eye these are just small squares and mean very little, but the exact arrangement of those modules allows the QR Code to encode its data. This means that unlike traditional barcodes which are 1 dimensional and use 1 row of lines, QR Codes use 2 dimensions which allows them to store a lot more data in the same area of space.

The QR Code standards don't allow you to create a QR Code with just any combination of rows and columns. There are 40 preset sizes that you must select from. These are referred to as versions.

Version 1 QR Codes will have 21 rows and 21 columns. Each version thereafter increases by 4 rows and 4 columns. The largest version is version 40 which has 177 rows and 177 columns and results in the 31,329 needed to encode 3kb of data.(1)

When a QR Code is being created, the QR Code generator assesses the amount of data you are trying to encode and from that it determines the version number that it needs to use. These levels allow the generator to encode a QR Code as efficiently as possible and means not every QR Code is forced to have 31,329 modules.

(1) qrcode.meetheed.com/question7.php

JAB code

JAB code (Just Another Barcode) is a color 2D matrix symbology made of color squares arranged in either square or rectangle grids. It was developed by Fraunhofer Institute SIT (Secure Information Technology).

The code contains one primary symbol and optionally multiple secondary symbols. The primary symbol contains four finder patterns located at the corners of the symbol.

The code uses either 4 or 8 colours.[96] The 4 basic colours (cyan, magenta, yellow, black) are the 4 primary colours of the subtractive CMYK color model which is the most widely used system in industry for colour printing on a white base such as paper. The other 4 colours (blue, red, green, white) are secondary colours of the CMYK model and originate as an equal mixture of a pair of basic colours.

The barcode is not subject to licensing and was submitted to ISO/IEC standardization as ISO/IEC 23634 expected to be approved at the beginning of 2021[97] and finalized in 2022. The software is open-source and published under the LGPL v2.1 license. The specification is freely available

Because the colour adds a third dimension to the two-dimensional matrix, a JAB code can contain more information in the same area compared to two-colour (black and white) codes – theoretically twice as much data for a 4 colour code and three times more for 8 colours assuming the same encoding algorithm. This can allow storage of an entire message in the barcode, rather than just storing partial data with a reference to a full message somewhere else (2)

(2) en.wikipedia.org/wiki/QR_code

JAB Stacks

And now we see that storing data not in the shape of bytes but as QR codes or JAB codes holds the immediate advantage of a very rapid interpretation of these codes and the information they contain vs a binary approach

These codes can thus be used to store not only modulated self patterns, and modulated self patterns averages and sequences but also the outputs that are result from these different patterns

The list of other data and metadata that can be stored in JAB codes is very extensive resulting overall in a computing approach that doesn’t read data in order to interpret it but rather interprets readable data

So what we have in the end are the exact same components, an encoder that encodes data into JAB codes and a decoder that interprets JAB codes

Where we have individual JAB codes, and JAB Stacks which can represent any amount of data that we want, its important because what we mean by Kyocera AI Dense Computing Datacenter may actually revolves around a supercomputer able to hold and rapidly interpret massive amounts of JAB Stacks

And where the initial version 40 177*177 matrix is only the stepping stone of future matrixes averaging tens of thousand times that size

Still if we look at these JAB Stacks from the disk space perspective we find them to be much less than the data they are holding

While if we want to reach the full extent of JAB computing we find that a byte presently represented as 8 bits or 2 exp 8 or 256 values, expressed in binary by 0 and 1, is conducive to the concept of a JAB byte or HEX byte, represented by 8 exp 8 colors or 16777216 values expressed in 8 hex colors

Conclusion

This leads us to conclude that in the future, data interpretation and analysis will not solely depend on the values expressed by this data after its interpretation, but can take place as a raw format through hex colors interpretation in search for patterns and similarities

So yes we interpret data and look for meanings, but there is meaning in how data is structured itself, which we may also call intelligence when we see that these same patterns and similarities reproduce themselves, in the works of an author or a painter or any contextual data sets that we compile

Whereas we like to think that data holds intelligence we find that intelligence produces data, that the abstract shape or abstraction of that intelligence in how it structures data can apply to other completely different data sets, and produce results

Basically structuring data to obtain replicable data patterns and similarities across different data sets is how artificial intelligence works, in doing so it compiles tens of different models sees what works here what doesn’t work based on the similarities that it sees, or if a combination of several known models yields something and a new model that it is going to keep

[corruptquality]

Being a Twenty-something in the Two Thousand and Twenty Somethings: Employment

FOMO: also known as, the fear of missing out. Since the pandemic, it seems to be a mutual feeling amidst twenty-somethings. Missed birthdays and weddings and funerals and retirements and graduations and births and all the missed milestones of life that garner a certain amount of ceremony, feed into this feeling.

One of these missing milestones, especially for twenty-somethings, is employment. Not to say that the job market hasn't been difficult for a while now; it's just that the platform itself has changed.

Work from home. Remote work. Hybrid. Mandatory office days. These are all common vocabulary for the post-pandemic world as workplaces adapt to the online platform that we have revolved around for the past two years.

Though remote work offers opportunity for rural communities/commuters, people with disabilities, and start-up companies/businesses, it also changes the dynamic between an individual and their workplace. This change can be especially difficult for those twenty-somethings with no prior experience working remotely.

A lot of us had remote or hybrid learning for our last years of school due to the pandemic. However, working remotely with a team of people whom you have never met in person, is a different experience all together. Sure, there are group projects in school or break out rooms to host discussions with classmates virtually, but often you're not working with the same people day after day. When you belong to a company and a team of people whom you consistently report to, that lack of in-person interaction can be daunting.

At first, it rocks. Rolling out of bed minutes before your workday begins, flipping on the kettle or coffee maker and starting up your computer while in your pajamas—seems like a dream, right? That's until you face a screen of avatars rather than faces. Disembodied voices speak to you from the abyss of Microsoft Teams asking you to screenshare so they can watch you work. The call ends. You're alone with your computer. What do you do now? No one there to tell you. Send a message? Everyone is busy. Maybe you'll just take it easy. But what are the others doing if they're busy? You should be doing something, too, right?

The fear of missing out also applies to those less exciting parts of life, like work. Without a physical place to go to everyday or coworkers to chat over the water cooler with, remote work can be isolating. Often, this FOMO feeling can follow you into the weekend or beyond work hours as you see coworkers punching in overtime while you sit behind a blank computer screen.

Remote work not only affects camaraderie; it can also affect comprehension. For those companies only introducing remote work now, the systems put in place are often lacking. Training modules may be non-existent, or there may be no training supervisor put in place. You may be passed from person to person learning how to do one thing five different ways, which often means your progress goes unrecognised or unnoticed—much like those celebrations you missed through the years.

Of course, not all remote positions are like this. Sometimes it's just a change in mindset. Or maybe it's a change in expectations.

Twenty-somethings, go into your first remote position open-minded. Remember there are other key words that go alongside LinkedIn postings now, like hybrid. Try a few days in the office. Start out getting to know your team in person and then graduate to remote work. If that's not possible for you, don't be afraid to show your face. Request a little "Get to know me" call with your team. Ask every question you possibly can without feeling inadequate, because you're not. You're just acclimatising to a new way of working.

And if that doesn't work for you, don't be afraid to branch out! You're only twenty-something, you know. There are so many opportunities waiting for you beyond the computer screen.

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

“ABA therapy is fundamentally ableist and harmful/abusive”

and

“ABA therapy is often the only type of ‘help’ for autistic people that insurance will approve”

and

“People who genuinely want to help autistics can be easily persuaded that ABA therapy is necessary and useful because they don’t have the right context”

and

“ABA therapy specifically touts itself as scientifically based and approved, and it can do this because there are actual scientific journals saying this”

and

“Those scientific journals are written by neurotypical people who are investigating reduction of visual symptoms instead of reduction in stress”

and

“ABA has some aspects that are generally considered good, such as helping kids communicate, and this helps it mask the screwed-up and abusive sides of the therapy”

and

“Some institutions will say they offer ABA therapy and then actually offer a completely different type of treatment”

and

“The ABA therapy offered in schools is usually even crappier than average because it’s focused on making kids quiet, not healthy”

and gosh I’m so fricking tired

[caspercryptid]

hi moth !! hits you with a giant death laser but nonlethally(??) jayvik date nights they kidnap each other. but its expected. theyve discussed this i swear

Cowritten with my beloved @the-neon-pineapple (whose prompts are also open!) TWs for sedation, have fun, thank you for the prompt.

____

As soon as Jayce ventures outside for the first time in a while there's a distinct drone buzzing and then a prick in the side of his neck from a tranquilizer dart and then he wakes up restrained in a chair with metal cuffs on his ankles and wrists and around his torso. He's in a dark room. "Well, this is a little unceremonious." He says. "No formality. Where are your manners."

"Well, you've been so busy at work," Machine Herald's modulated voice says from behind him as he walks in. "It's hardly my fault you didn't get dressed well enough to go to a restaurant." Jayce bites down a grin. "You're just annoyed that I've been working in a lab and not in the field. Missed me?" "Not at all." The lights come on and Jayce can see he's sitting in front of a dinner table with food already laid out, and Viktor pushes the mask up and off and sits down opposite him.

"Have you been sleeping at all?" He asks, as the restraints on Jayce's wrists pop open, and Jayce pulls them free and rubs them for a minute. "Are you asking so you can decide between the drugged wine and the regular wine?" He deadpans, not hiding his grin. "I didn't think the drugged wine paired well with Chinese food," Viktor says. "the drugged pop?" Jayce says, and he sounds kind of hopeful, like the question is really do you have pop. Viktor sighs and opens a cooler and hands Jayce a can of cold Dr. Pepper. "You're predictable." "You break my heart." He teases, but he cracks it open. "Anyway how long was I out from the tranq?" "Thirty-eight minutes. It was dosed for thirty but if you haven't been sleeping-" The last words are pointed, but Jayce just winks. "Well, then I don't really need to answer the question, do I?"

Viktor sighs. "This is why I laced the food with soporific drugs, Jayce." "Well, that's your loss." Jayce says, getting chopsticks. "Can't cuddle you if I'm asleep." "You're a sleep cuddler and you know it." Viktor serves himself up some noodles. "How's the air filter coming?" "I'm not when drugged!" Jayce says, and jabs a piece of chicken with the restrained anger of someone who's air filter is not going well. "De-icing problems?" Viktor asks, innocently. Jayce mumbles three languages worth of swear words and takes a bite of his chicken. "Yeah." "Explain the problem to me." "Well it's-" Jayce pauses, "-hey, wait a second." The corner of Viktor's lips twitch upwards. "Did you figure it out that quickly or are you just now realizing I've hacked your computer?" "I haven't solved the de-icing problem but you need to get out of my computer." "No," Viktor says, serene. "Rubber duck it, Jayce. I am offering my services as a rubber duck." Jayce sighs, and then accepts that. "Okay." He says. "So-"

____ Viktor is midway through a heist when a gas canister rolls into a room and he has just long enough to think that's stupid and ineffective before he wakes up in a dark room. He's out of his suit, but there aren't any restraints on him, and he immediately leans down to check on his prosthetics.

"So help me if you've disabled any of these pawing at my armor, Jayce-" "What do you take me for?" Jayce asks, wrapping his arms around Viktor's shoulders from behind him. Viktor leans back into him, tipping his head back. "Someone who managed to disable the air filtration on my suit," he says, reaching up with one hand to look for Jayce and finding his face with a hand. "Very cleverly and deliberately, if I do say so myself." Jayce's tone is smug as he leans into the contact. Viktor threads a hand in his hair. "You don't know my blood volume for certain any more," he points out. "How accurate was your estimate on time I'd be out?" "Within five minutes." Jayce murmurs, leaning down to kiss Viktor's hair. "Because I hacked your suit six months ago and I've been monitoring your vitals remotely ever since." "You connected a wifi enabled bug to my suit?" "Not exactly." Jayce corrects, amused. "Do you think I'd connect you to the internet of things, sweetheart? I gave a program the ability to judge how long to leave your air filters open once it activated based on the vitals it was recording. I only had to hit it once and I had to be in a short range with the frequency." "That's very inventive," Viktor says, tipping his head back more and pulling Jayce down to kiss him. Jayce meets him halfway, getting distracted a minute before he comes back up for air. "Speaking of inventive." He murmurs. "would you like to see where you are?" "Well now I'm curious." Jayce clicks a button, and soft blue light comes up on all sides of the room. It's fishtanks. Viktor is sitting in a chair in the middle of what looks like a cozy apartment space- tiny kitchenette, a little setup with two couches and a table, a door to a bedroom. The fishtanks are set into the walls and have a collection of colorful species. "New hideyhole?" Viktor asks, curious, as he looks around. "New hideyhole." Jayce confirms, sounding a little self satisfied. "The fish feeding and tank cleaning is automated." "I like it," Viktor murmurs. "Watching fish swim should be good for your anxiety." "And your stress levels." Jayce murmurs back. "And it's always good to have somewhere... safe." "You made us a safehouse." Viktor says, quietly. "I made us a safehouse." Jayce kisses Viktor's hair. "You really like it? One last chance for takebacks." Viktor just smiles at him. "I'll give you the specs to add a charging pad for Blitzcrank." "Of course." Jayce says. "I allotted a section of the power grid for it. I figured you'd have notes." "Sentimentalist." "For you? Always."

[wizkiddx]

Hiii I really love your work! Could you write about Tom secretly or not secretly watching yoi have a Zoom Uni class? And maybe he teases you in a way, trying to make you laugh or he sends you text messages or something? And later when you're done and he has a meeting,you tease him right back?

Hope you're having a lovely day 💞

a/n hey anon!! this was a really cute idea but I have another req for the vice versa bit, so only did the first half in this- I hope u don't mind :)

warnings: implied smut at the end but rlly just a fluffy cringe fest

////////////////////////////////////////

Early mornings where never you’re favourite and this one wasn’t an exception to the rule. The LA sun was flooding through the curtains that had been hurriedly thrown almost-closed last night as you huffed into the duvet. You needed to get up - but you definitely didn’t want to. To be fair, you’d only arrived the day before and were still acclimatising to the jet lag - though Tom’s presence certainly made everything alot easier.

Especially as you’d been without him for so long, the pandemic meaning you hadn’t been able to make the long-weekend trips you usually would’ve. So when at the beginning of may, Tom had offered for you to come out and stay with him for half the summer (while he was busy working). There was only really one answer…. free holiday with the absolute specimen of a human who you call your boyfriend? Yes please.

It did mean though, that you had flown out before the end of the semester. Only by a week and it didn’t make much difference because you only had a few zoom lectures - but they were compulsory. So even if you were living in the US, you had to follow your UK school timetable. Hence why you had to get up at 6:30, to make your UK time 14:30 lecture.

The arms around you seemed to have other ideas, huffing and only pulling you tighter when you tried to wriggle out of his embrace. You groaned in annoyance, mainly because he was making it more and more tempting to stay huddled up against him.

“Toooooommm I gotta get up” Clearly not agreeing, he just squeezed you to his chest tighter, whilst emphatically shaking his head - all with his eyes still firmly pressed shut.

“Let go! I have a lecture!” Still not letting up , he just shook his head once again - making his bed hair especially wild as it dragged against the linen pillows.

With a sigh you turned in his death grip, now being able to see his puffy morning eyes pressed firmly shut. First you arched up and pressed a soft kiss to his chin, then jaw and then nose.

“Seriously T, I need to show up to this one.” Because yes, you might’ve already had an absence from yesterday, where you had both slept through the alarm.

“-o it-’” Croaking so much so you couldn’t even puzzle out what he said, the man cleared his throat before trying again, the sound reverberating in his chest. “ uhmm do it from bed, don’t go.”

That had you pouting at his cuteness. Ever since you’d arrived he’d been unbelievable clingy to you, barely letting you out of his sight. You showered together; he sat and stared whilst you did your skin care routine; even at restaurants he insisted on sitting next to you with his hand on your knee. When you had asked him, the only reasoning you got was a shrug and a muttered ‘I missed you’. Never, ever would you complain about Tom’s attention. But…. you really needed to get to your laptop.

“I can’t babe thats not very profess-“

“-wont even be able to tell.”

As much as you tried, you couldn’t ever really deny Tom anything. Not when he cracked his eyelids open, revealing the softest warm brown eyes, coupled with a lazy smile. So yes, you ended up quickly getting changed into one of Toms old burgundy tops, running a brush through your frizzy hair and then clambering back into bed. You balanced your laptop on a tray on top of a box, so the angle was less obvious that your backdrop was a headboard. Instantly Tom had half-asleep turned over to lay his messy head on your lap. And with a half sigh half laugh, you logged on- once in the waiting room bringing a hand down to trail your nails through Tom’s hair which made him groan with delight.

It was all going so well too, up the point where breakout rooms were announced and you had to talk - your chipper voice and laughs with your course mates rousing Tom from his sleep. Every time he almost lifted his head into the view of the webcam, you were very quick to slam it back down, forcing him back onto your lap.

Eventually he got bored of the restrictions, as well as not being very into the history module you were all puzzling over- so slid out of bed into the shower. Once he was gone you did almost sigh in relief, you had thought that Tom in his friendly-idiot manner would end up getting you caught at some point. Especially as our relationship was so secretive, none of your course mates knew you weren’t single - imagine their shock if an a lister popped up in the zoom class.

But oh, the relief did not last long at all.

The issue was Harry had gone out for the day. It was just you and Tom in his fancy rented LA house. And, as mentioned, Tom was being clingy as hell. It couldn’t of been more than 20 minutes before the fluffy haired brunette was back in the room - pouting when he saw you still on the computer.

Even though you shooed him away, Tom just cocked his head to one side, a small smirk on his face. And you knew. You knew he was going to be a little shit. He slinked over the bed, perching at the foot next to where your feet lay.The warning look you shot him, metaphorical daggers coming out your eye did absolutely nothing - you watched his hand pin your right ankle down before stroking the sole of your foot. Familiar shivers shot up your leg and it took everything in you to not kick out, launching the laptop across the room as tickled you.

Soon though he stopped, you pulled yourself into a cross legged position, readjusting the laptop and trying to concentrate back on the lecturer. Seeing your disinterest, Tom hopped up off the bed and you thought he was leaving. But no. No you were wrong. He just stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips as he appeared to listen intently to the lecturer too.

Clearly Tom was an actor, he was pretty good at accents. You should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to resist the impersonating your academic staff - who happened to have a strong Somerset accent.

Pretending to ignore Tom as he hunched up and widened his stance - to imagine the physicality of your lecturer- you narrowed your eyes at the computer screen. Then though, a deep booming farmer-like voice came out your well spoken south london boy - god you were glad you’d stuck the mute button on as soon as he had entered.

“And then as your reading in chapter twel-“

“And then as yowr readinf in chapter twelve….” Tom echoed the lecturer loud and proud, making it completely impossible for you to attempt to concentrate. As much as you wanted to be furious at him- well, all it took was one look.

He was holding his face in some sort of duck pout and all the movements were extra pronounced and exaggerated. You couldn’t help it- instantly you burst out laughing, having to turn off the video for fear of anyone noticing.

Seeing he’d got a rise out of you, Tom was only spurred on, continuing the dramatic acting with a new found confidence. That was until you got yourself under control, face turning like a switch from joy to fury.

“Shut the hell up!”

And he did, for a few minutes, whilst pouting like a told-off toddler. In a strop, he sat down, shoulders slumped at the edge of the bed. Oh how wrong your were, when you thought you’d won - with a satisfied smile concentrating back on the laptop screen. Just in time to hear the lecturer FINALLY starting to rounding up the lecture.

“Alright so next session we’re-“ Before he’d even stammered his way to the end of the sentence, Tom’s face had switched up once again - into one of mischief as he started crawling up the bed either-side of your legs. One strong arm reached out to touch the back of your laptop lid and before you could protest he was pushing it down, till it landed with a small ‘clunk’.

“You did not just do that!” Yelling at him, you sat up so now he was kneeling across your lap.

“But I just did.” He mimed a mic drop which had you cringing hard, staring at him in disbelief. Okay the lecturer was beginning to round off, but that conclusion could’ve gone on for 5 minutes at least!

“Oh you are so in for it Holland.”

You’d meant it as a threat, as a sort of ‘I’m-going-to-make-your-life-a-living-hell” but the bright eyed boy before you had other plans. Wordlessly he nodded, then placed your laptop on the bedside ; then pushed you down on the bed. His legs either side of you, his arms like rockets to pin yours either side your head.

“Ah but you see my love…” he tutted, with a wide smile, hhis breath fanning down onto you as he took your breath away. “That is exactly what I want.” Immediately his lips were on yours, the both of you fighting for dominance as you arched your head up to get extra purchase on him.

“I hate… I hate you… so bloody much” It was hard to talk when his intoxicating lips were moving against yours, melting away all your resistance.

“Hmmm… well its… its a good thing… that I love you.”

He was impossible and no doubt you’d missed the prep work for tomorrows lecture. But having him there, body pressed against yours, after months apart.

Well, you wouldn’t mind failing the module for him.

~~~~ let me know what you think <333~~~~

tag list : @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove @msmimimerton @thegirlwiththeimpala

[andromedarune]

[Piers/Reader] “Kiss on 3, Okay? 1, 2... 2 and a half... umm???”

OOOOOooooo I’m working up my sanity and skill to write fanfic again so what better way to do that than by procrastinating on a paper due later tonight WHOOOHOOOOO!!!!

SUMMARY: “You're working on music for Piers' next set, and confirm a few things to yourself. Really just mindless fluff/angst stuff in a very stream-of-consciousness ficlet - don't mind me~~~”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35575087

(Hit Keep Reading to read the whole thing~!)

“Uhhhmmm --” his humming interrupts your thoughts “-- I beg yer pardon?”

You turn back towards Piers, blinking ever so innocently as you stirred the honey further into your cheap, instant-make coffee. His brows are furrowed, thick black barbs of shadows wrenched into one along his forehead. Blue eyes piercing -- he hates whenever you say that.

“What’s the matter now?”

He jabs his thumb back towards the computer screen. “What the hell did you do to the second chorus?”

“I put it into cut time.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause,” you linger on the sizzle of your words, resolving it’s hiss with a swig of your piping-hot coffee, “it mellows things down for a bit, gives everyone a breather.”

He scoffs, glancing down at the notation software on the computer you presented to him not too long ago. “Yeah, right. Like I ever need a breather.”

You don’t deny that statement. Better sip your coffee before that thought ramps up.

He drags his eyes across the screen once more. One finger rests instinctively around the silver of his choker, toying with its spikes and slides, mindless, clueless -- you were sure by now that he had no idea of how often he fidgeted with that damn thing. Once, you’d caught him doing it almost fifty times in one sitting; you were watching a new show -- together, for once -- legs tangled up below a heated blanket he insisted you buy before winter hit (even though he always ended up hogging it the whole time). Too distracted to watch, you pretended to watch, while watching other, more important things. Specifically someone’s nervous ticks.

His left hand slaps the spacebar. Listening to a payback of some section -- probably the bridge, you think to yourself as you steal another sip of your coffee. Good thing you’d bought some honey this time; Piers prefers his coffee as black as night, and while you weren’t against that, sometimes you needed to bring some goddamn happiness into your life. Piers oughta figure that out too -- he’s getting there, you figure. He’s getting there, even if it takes baby-steps cut in half.

He pulls out the earbuds. Shooting you an incredulous look, you make the poor decision to muscle through your mouthful of coffee -- there goes most of it, spilling down your lips and onto your shirt as the laughter shoots through you in a disastrous tremolo.

“Yer shittin’ me --” he’s trying not to laugh -- you know he’s holding it down, trying still to play like a hardass, “-- what the actuall fuck is happening after the bridge?!”

“Oh -- so you got to the fun part then, yeah?”

He snaps your name -- his snarl always loses its edge then, when it has to deal with matters of you -- and Marnie too, but that’s a different tone altogether. You meet his glare, smug despite your coffee stains. “Do I look like a bloody Octillery or what?”

Another laugh slips out of you. “It’s just a little metric modulation, a little tempo shift, no big deal -- a little extra practice and I know you can handle a few itsy-bits quintuplets on bass, yeah?”

“Yer killin’ me.”

You shrug. Makes us even, then.

Finally satisfied with your drink (or what little you actually got to drink), you deposit your mug into the awaiting sink before taking the long way around the kitchen back to him. His eyes are back onto the screen once more, lost to the world of not-music, his thumb pricking itself with the dull point of the upper spikes in his collar.

Pfft, collar -- you called it that once, teasing the metal in your own fingers, wanting to see his reaction. He had stared you down for so long that day, default sternness remaining hauntingly so on his face, you almost pulled away, afraid that you had gravely overstepped your boundaries. Before you made it out of reach, he flicked the wrist of your retreating hand, hiding his snicker with the click of his tongue -- “Do that again and yer gonna be the one fitted for a collar, got it?” You’ve been stuck here ever since, hopeless and thoughtless, trailing after the likes of someone who literally forgets to do amazingly simple things, like actually drink his disgustingly bitter coffee.

“Oh, right,” he mutters, watching you snake around behind him to retrieve his half-drunk coffee cup from the table. You can feel him stealing glances as you pop the cup into the microwave. His wordless thanks reach you even still, easier and faster with every day you stick around. Hell, one day he might even figure out how to say it.

You don’t let your thoughts dwell too long on things that can’t be helped; instead, you swivel around again, crossing your arms over your chest with a curious tilt of the head. “Thoughts?”

He glances down at the screen. Lips pursing, frowns furrowing, jaw clenching -- goddamn this isn’t fair. This is hardly a fair fight. You’d told him that before, too, shamelessly honest and true with your feelings for once -- “Relax, it’s just one battle -- you’ll catch up to me soon enough.” He hadn’t gotten it, but it’s not like you made it easy for him to understand. The two of you were amazing at these foolishly clever ways to say half-truths, burrowing feelings beneath computer screens and heated blankets and honey-less coffee -- a match made in heaven, one may say. Not you, though, not aloud.

He sighs, a crooked smile sparking instinctively onto his face.

“Guess I’d better get practicin’ then. Don’t wanna disappoint my music theorist, right?”

It’s your turn to scoff. You’re even there, too.

“Not a thing, but okay.”

“Eh, close enough.”

The microwaves beeps. Piers’ eyes are back onto the computer screen, everything pursed and furrowed and knotted and tangled and just a step out of reach. You open the little door to pull out his warmed, not-sweet-enough-or-at-all coffee, cheap and easy, to bring back to his side. You do so, ignoring the stains on your white work shirt that you’ll likely have to bleach late tonight, knowing Piers’ll use your every weakness in effort to keep you around a little while longer to practice his next set. And you do so well, knowing that you’re here hopelessly and thoughtlessly, finding every stolen glance -- every wordless thanks -- from him to be worth it a thousand times over.

You take your usual seat beside him.

“Close enough.”

Close enough.