#Or having difficulty with temperature regulation

[calmmyfears]

it was the warmest spring day so far here today and yet i am feeling so cold, i've been sitting under two large blankets all day with my two pair of winter socks on.

[sightseertrespasser]

I keep meaning to ask and keep forgetting to. What exactly is a crash? The way I have it figured is that it’s somewhere between passing out and a seizure, though it’s kinda hard to tell when everyone treats it a little differently

So I’ve seen crashes written with varying levels of severity depending on what the writer needs it to be.

For my setting, I treat crashes as something that could technically affect any cybertronian but is very rare outside of individuals with certain conditions.

In human terms, crashes can be as be as mild as a Petit Mal (or absence) seizure, with brief lapses in attention and confusion. All the way up to a massive stroke requiring immediate hospitalization. That’s just to compare how serious they are to a bunch of alien computer people.

Since crashes are their own thing, I have my own guide to how they work. Also, I encourage everyone to play with the concept themselves.

Crashes! What are they?

Causes: Cybertronians basically have computers for brains, so the things that make actual computers crash are what you’d expect to cause a Cybertronian to crash.

Most commonly,

- Overheating (#1 cause, similar to heatstroke)

- Hardware issues (I.e. something got physically damaged in there)

- Malware/viruses (akin to getting poisoned or on brain damaging drugs)

Those are what the average cybertronian has to watch out for. For most people, these are all external factors that can simply be avoided or are caused by someone’s deliberate actions (I.e. getting kicked in the head real hard).

Now, Prowl has a Tacnet. As do his brothers, which I’ll get into later. Tacnet is essentially a super computer jammed into a regular processor. It’s primary function is to crunch numbers and it is very good at that. Tacnet also opens up its mechs to an additional way to experience Crashes:

- Logic cascades.

In which Tacnet gets stuck on a problem, pulling in more and more resources to try and solve it until either it does the job, or some load bearing element is compromised resulting in a crash.

Usually, logic cascades simply result in crash via overheating, which is normally very treatable. The difference with a logic cascade, is that Tacnet does not stop trying to solve the problem. A doctor can bring a mechs temperature down, but the second their processor isn’t literally physically melting, Tacnet goes right back into using all of the resources available to it to solve the problem.

Symptoms: Crashes can be very dangerous because it is effectively a form of brain damage.

Overheating can cause wires and delicate components to melt and fail.

Hardware issues can mean much of the same, but pieces are already explicitly broken and elements that are absolutely not supposed to touch are crunched together.

Malware might be designed to cause overheating as well, or maybe reroute power inside to blow fuses and cripple other components.

Regardless of the cause, someone who’s crashing is going to be severely struggling to think clearly and maybe loose control of body functions if the parts related to motor control are affected. Sudden changes in mood, lapses in memory, difficulty communicating, difficulty concentrating, paralysis, failure to regulate bodily functions such as venting and fuel pumps etc, etc.

Basically everything that could go wrong from having your brain messed up.

Tacnet crashes specifically don’t usually effect the life support systems until it’s already at catastrophic levels. The primary symptom of a Tacnet crash is a complete and total mental arrest of the subject at its final stages before the aforementioned “catastrophic level”.

Treatment: For the first three causes, the treatment is fairly straightforward.

- Cool down the processor.

- Repair the damage.

- Purge the malware.

Of course, Tacnet has to be a special case. To fully undo a Tacnet crash, a doctor has to essentially get into the mechs processor and manually find and delete the rapidly multiplying and branching logic branches until they get back to the source code of the issue and remove that too. This requires speed, precision and endurance on part of the doctor. The affected individual can eventually start to fight back against the logic cascade themselves once they have some control of their processor back. Manually deleting splitting logic branches themselves.

Prowl has gotten very good at this! Which is kind of a bad thing, since that means he only gets help when it’s already gotten extremely bad.

So why don’t Bluestreak and Smokescreen regularly crash if they are also susceptible to logic cascades?

It’s because they essentially only use their Tacnets for “solvable” equations. They can still be overwhelmed, or get stuck on impossible, incompatible data. But usually it’s just a brief freezing up before going back to normal.

Smokescreen regularly uses his for calculating the outcomes of fights, races, dice and card games etc. All things with clear boundaries of relevant data and simple end points “Who will win? Who will loose? The most likely card to be drawn next.” You get the picture.

Likewise, Bluestreak is using his Tacnet to calculate speed, velocity, air resistance, gravity, flight paths and so on. All concrete data points with a distinct solvable condition: Hit thing with other thing.

So what’s Prowl trying to calculate? War.

A million moving pieces, a billion interchangeable factors, and there is never truly a “solved” state since conflict never truly ends, just changes shape.

Prowl, being Prowl, has decided that “Solved states” are bullshit and every time Tacnet tells him the solved state of what he’s asking is “Everyone dies” he says do it again. Add more information. Find every possible angle until something works.

Basically, Prowl finds a wall and then bashes his head against that wall until he gets a hole.

Tacnet reacts by going “Give me solvable equations or so help me I’m smothering us in your sleep.”

“Is the solved state to loose?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it again until it’s not.”

“Fuck you. Hospital.”

Long Term Management: The easiest way to prevent future crashes is to not try and fist fight the laws of physics.

However, taking on extremely taxing calculations can be done safely (ish) if Prowl slows down and takes his time. Basically letting stuff sit on the back burner while he does things like eat and sleep regularly.

Talking out a problem is a manual way of slowing Tacnet down, as processing power is diverted towards simplifying complex equations into coherent spoken statements. Some margin of error is lost this way, (rounding 7.83620563 up to 8 for example) making the calculations slightly less accurate. But in return, Tacnet can then use those rounded numbers to more efficiently do the required math.

I hope that answered your question!

It’s always a lot of fun fleshing out the details for stuff like this. I have a whole other tangent I could elaborate on about Tacnet specifically, but this post is long enough on its own.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Umm, is it normal for a newly evolved Flareon to randomly... Combust?

uh...no. it should not be doing that. flareon are actually built to be able to vent excess heat extremely well. spontaneous combustion in fire types is usually the result of either a behavioral issue (inability to appropriately redirect energy manifests as physical outbursts) or a health issue (e.g. flame sac disorder, irritation to the diaphragm or chest muscles, difficulty regulating body temperature). you should always have your pokemon's health evaluated post-evolution, but in your case i think you need to have that done sooner rather than later for both your and your flareon's health.

[forest-hashira]

Keeping Warm

having now recovered from writing smut back in september, i am back with more demon slayer smut! partially joking but writing smut really does take more out of me which is why this one took so long to come out. this is my promised second entry for my autumn leaves anniversary event, which is still open if you would like to contribute something! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy 💜 also big thanks to @awkwardchick87 for beta reading this for me!

event masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~2.6k | cw: obamitsu x gn/afab reader (female anatomy but gender neutral pronouns), undefined but implied established relationship, cockwarming, orgasm delay/denial, oral (reader receiving), making out, cowgirl position, slight sub iggy/dom mitsuri (not too heavy tho), creampie

Obanai had never been fond of cold weather. Much like his scaly companion, he preferred the warmth of spring and summer, and spent as much of his time as possible indoors during the fall and winter. If there was a chill in the air, it would cut straight through to his bones, no matter how many layers he wore. He never mentioned it to anyone else, knowing there was little that could be done about his difficulty regulating his own body temperature, but as soon as both you and Mitsuri had wormed your way past his defenses, the two of you had picked up on it, and did everything you could to keep him warm.

Which, he supposed, was how you all wound up the way you were now.

The temperature had dropped before the sun had set, and he had barely finished lighting his fireplace when he heard Mitsuri calling out for him.

“Obanai!” she’d chirped, grinning brightly when he came to the door to greet her. She’d held a thick blanket in one arm, her other hand holding yours. You’d offered the serpent hashira a pleased smile as well, just as happy to see that he was, in fact, home. 

“Hello, Mitsuri,” he’d replied, smiling behind his bandages. He’d greeted you, too, then tilted his head slightly. “Not that I’m not happy to see the two of you, of course, but can I ask what brings you to see me this time?”

“We know you don’t like the cold,” you’d explained. “We wanted to make sure you stayed warm tonight.”

He hadn’t thought much of the way Mitsuri’s eyes glinted when he’d invited the two of you in, assuming she was just excited about having a sleepover with you and him, since those didn’t happen exceedingly often, given your positions in the corps.

Now he was wondering if he should’ve read into that glint a bit more, since she was straddling him as he laid on his back on his futon, you sitting by his head. Clothes had been discarded quickly, so you and Mitsuri were entirely bare, and the only thing Obanai still wore was his bandages.

“We’ll keep you warm, ‘nai,” the love hashira cooed, rolling her hips against his, and he let out a shuddering breath, his hands gripping lightly at her thighs. She paused at the touch, tilting her head slightly. “Wait until you’re given permission, love.”

“Apologies,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her, instead digging his fingers into the futon beneath him.

“All is forgiven,” Mitsuri assured him, slowly beginning to roll her hips again.

Your fingers glided across his forehead, gently brushing his hair from his eyes, and you smiled at him when he looked up at you. “Can I take these off?” you asked quietly, fingers ghosting down his cheek until they reached the edge of his bandages.

There was the tiniest moment of hesitation – less than a second, really – before he nodded. “Yes,” he breathed, remembering that Mitsuri liked when he said the words aloud. “Yes, you can take them off.” 

With nimble fingers, you delicately unwound the bandages from the lower half of his face, setting them off to the side. As always, you were careful not to touch his scars; he was comfortable enough to allow you and Mitsuri to see them in private, but he still didn’t like them to be touched. “Stunning as always, ‘nai,” you said, giggling softly when his face darkened with a blush at your words.

The sound of your laughter sent his heart fluttering, and he smiled slightly back up at you. He still found himself flustered whenever you complimented him, but he never argued, even if he disagreed with your words; how could he, when your eyes always shone with genuine, eager affection?

Mitsuri shifted her weight slightly from her position atop the serpent hashira, and he gasped, his hips bucking the tiniest bit with surprise. Knowing the movement was unintentional, the love hashira chose not to chastise, instead grinning down at him. “Someone’s eager,” she teased, a small laugh tumbling from her lips at the way the older man’s blush spread from his face down his neck to his chest.

“Looks like you’re warming up,” you said, a teasing lilt to your words as well. As you spoke, you carded your fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Just as you knew would happen, the touch sent a shiver through the serpent hashira. “Or maybe not.” 

With an exaggerated pout, you looked back up at Mitsuri. “Looks like he’s still cold, ‘Tsuri.”

She fake pouted right back at you. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?” Her gaze dropped to Obanai’s, and she tilted her head slightly. “Do you need more to stay warm?”

“Please,” he answered, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please, Mitsuri.”

Her peridot eyes flashed. “Well, when you ask so nicely…”

When she stopped the slow rolling of her hips, Obanai almost whined, staring up at her pleadingly; you knew from experience he was mere moments away from openly begging, if the love hashira decided to push him even just a tiny bit more. He was in luck this time, though, and she had mercy on him. She raised herself off of him slightly, just enough to wrap her fingers around his hard cock.

He barely stifled a gasp at her touch, and when she began to sink down onto him, his eyes rolled back in his head. The feeling of being inside of either of you was something he knew he would never take for granted; the warmth and intimacy of it was too precious to him. It took him a few moments to catch his breath once Mitsuri was fully seated on him, the heat of her almost unbearable, while somehow also being exactly what he needed. 

The love hashira sat perfectly still atop the serpent hashira, watching as he fought to compose himself once again. She could be patient, and she knew you could, too; besides that, this was far from the first time the three of you had done anything like this, and Obanai had proven each time that he was more than capable of being obedient and taking direction. There was no doubt in her mind that he would manage it again this time. When she saw his two-toned eyes flutter open once again, she smiled down at him.

“‘Nai,” she cooed, slowly trailing her fingers up his stomach and chest, delighting in every minor jump and twitch of his muscles beneath her touch. “You’re doing so well… Can you do something else for me?”

“Anything,” Obanai replied, almost before Mitsuri finished speaking. He was willing to do anything she asked of him, even if all it earned him was a smile. The same went for how he felt about you; maybe holding the two of you so close to his heart would only cause him pain one day, but for now it only brought him peace, so he would make no effort to change how he felt.

Mitsuri’s smile inched closer to a smirk. “I want you to make them feel good.” Her eyes darted up to your face for a moment, though his stayed locked on her.

“How?”

“With your mouth.”

Finally, he tipped his head back slightly to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide. “I would be honored to pleasure you that way,” he told you, almost reverently.

His words had heat pooling in your gut, and you swallowed thickly. Even if you hadn’t already known how skilled he was with his tongue, you wouldn’t have been able to deny him when he looked so beautiful when he asked. You nodded in response, not quite able to find your voice in the moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His eyes never once left your face, and the feeling of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Mitsuri told you, a faint edge to her voice – not sharp, but motivating nonetheless.

Never one to disagree or deny yourself pleasure from either of your lovers, you carefully pulled yourself away from Obanai, shifting so you were hovering over his face, facing the love hashira. You didn’t lower yourself to be within his reach, though; Mitsuri was still calling the shots, after all.

Obanai felt his mouth begin to water as he looked up at your pussy, so close yet still so far away. He flexed his hands against the futon, eager to devour you but doing his best to be patient.

Apparently getting a thrill from the control she had over the two of you, Mitsuri sat in silence for a moment, simply looking you over, before she said, “You can touch them now, ‘nai.”

The serpent hashira barely remembered to thank her before he locked his arms around your thighs and dragged you down to sit on his face, his mouth already open and eager to please. The first taste of you on his tongue had him moaning against you, and you gasped at the vibration against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you breathed, one hand going to Obanai’s abdomen to steady yourself, the other landing on Mitsuri’s shoulder. You met her gaze, and the heat that had risen to your cheeks spread a bit further when you saw the glint in her eyes.

“He’s quite good at that, isn’t he?” she asked, somewhat teasingly. As she spoke, one of her hands pushed your hair away from your face before coming to cradle your burning cheek. “Feels like he’s keeping you nice and warm, too, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, lashes fluttering a bit as you felt Obanai trace a pattern across your clit. You couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but if you’d asked, he would have admitted it was his name; an invisible mark stating that you were his as much he was yours and Mitsuri’s.

“Good,” she murmured, smirking slightly as she pressed her thumb to your bottom lip for a moment. When your lips parted slightly at the touch, she pulled you into a kiss. 

Her lips were soft and plush against your own, and in mere seconds you found yourself being devoured from both ends, completely at the mercy of your two ravenous lovers. Your grip on her shoulder tightened as you moaned against her, reciprocating the kiss as best as you were able.

It wasn’t long – an embarrassingly short amount of time, in fact – before your legs were shaking around Obanai’s head. “‘Tsuri,” you whimpered, breaking the heated kiss in an attempt to catch your breath. “I— ah! —I’m close.”

“Already?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. When you nodded, she tilted your chin up slightly to meet her eyes again. “I know you’ve earned it,” she added, glancing down at the man beneath you for a moment. “But do you think he has?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered immediately. “He’s— fuck — making me feel s-so good.” With practically every breath, small moans and whimpers slipped from your lips, and if the serpent hashira’s hold on you had been any less secure, you’d have been grinding down on his tongue, eagerly chasing your release.

Mitsuri seemed to brighten a bit at that. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve to feel good, love.” She grinned when the pet name had you practically melting for her, and she pressed another quick kiss to your lips before turning her attention to her other partner. 

“‘Nai,” she said, tracing a fingertip lightly down his torso. “Once you make them cum, I’ll let you cum, too.” She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, promising so much more once he did as he was told.

The action drew a loud, wanton moan from the man, which in turn had you gasping and dropping your hand from Mitsuri’s shoulder, leaving both hands now braced against his stomach. He tightened his grip around your thighs, pressing you as close to him as he could as he increased his efforts. 

When he shifted his head slightly and pressed his tongue into you, not giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling before he was fucking you relentlessly with it, you cried out. The sheer amount of pleasure coursing through your body at that moment had you trembling from head to toe, but it wasn’t quite enough to tip you over the edge. You squirmed the tiny amount you were able in his hold, trying to get some sort of stimulation to your clit.

Thankfully, Obanai seemed to get the message, and he loosened his hold on you with one arm. It allowed you to shift a bit more, but the movement wasn’t really necessary once his fingers found your clit. He rubbed quick, almost aggressive circles on it, matching the insistent pace of his tongue inside you. 

“Oh fuck!” you wailed as your orgasm crashed over you, your head dropped forward to rest against your pink haired lover’s chest. Despite having brought you to your peak, your raven haired lover showed no signs of letting up, still devouring you as if his life depended on it.

“Looks like you’ve earned your reward,” Mitsuri mused, beginning to rock her hips, giving Obanai the pleasure she’d promised him. 

It quickly became apparent to you that she was eager for release, too, because within just a few minutes she was fully lifting herself up and down on his cock, little sounds of pleasure slipping from her every time their hips made contact. Managing to come back to yourself a bit, you lifted your head from her chest, dipping in and taking one of her pretty pink nipples into your mouth and sucking hard, the way that always made her whine and plead for more. 

“Oh, yes, keep doing that,” she gasped, beginning to pinch and tug the other nipple herself. The more stimulation she got there, the louder she moaned and whined; she’d always been sensitive there, and you loved the reactions it would pull from her.

When she grew closer to her orgasm, she went back to simply rolling her hips and grinding down on Obanai’s cock, chasing the pleasure she knew awaited her. You decided to take advantage of the change in her movements, reaching between her legs to play with her clit. You were drawing close to another orgasm yourself, and you wanted desperately for all three of you to cum together.

She gasped, crying out your name as she fell apart, riding Obanai even harder to bring him to the heights of pleasure, too. It didn’t take long for him to get there, if the moan he let out against your pussy and the gasp Mitsuri gave were any indication. The vibration of his moan was enough to send you toppling over the edge again, a shuddering, breathless moan escaping you as you released Misturi’s nipple from your lips.

The three of you took a moment to catch your breath, not bothering to move from your positions at first. Eventually, though, both you and Mitsuri crawled off of the serpent hashira, one of you lying on either side of him and curling up as close to him as you could. After a moment, Mitsuri reached behind her, fumbling a bit until she found the blankets, including the extra thick one she’d brought with her. She pulled them over the three of you, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. Obanai wrapped his arms a bit tighter around the two of you, and you eagerly pressed further into his space – you were there to keep him warm, after all.

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[outofangband]

Hi!! I adore you and your blog!! Did you have any thoughts on what the effects of crossing the Helcaraxe would have on the elves that did it?

thank you so so much for your kind words! this is a little scrambled but I hope it's okay! I did a combination of the physical effects and the cultural and psychological aftermath! If you'd like more on one or the other let me know and I'll make a followup!

This also made me realize I need a proper xenobiology tag...

I talked about some of this on my post about elves and winter!

Elves are more adept to deal with cold but they can be effected by it especially for such prolonged periods. While navigating over snow is generally not an issue, there are other effects of a prolonged exposure to the kind of environment of the Helcaraxë that can be severe.

Disorientation, confusion, temporary snow blindness, and lack of directional sense are the most common symptoms the elves suffer due to the cold. The snow of the Helcaraxë is hard and thick, covering the earth and for most of the journeys, there are no flora and hardly any geological features that elves can orient themselves with (I’m once more basing this in part of Legolas’s words about the elves of Hollin where he appears to draw sense memories from flora and stones)

Some elves experience something like shock, becoming seemingly apathetic to their surroundings and no longer fighting to resist the conditions.

I think some of the elves experience long term difficulty with temperature regulation, which manifests in a spectrum of ways with some suffering cold much more intensely than is typical for the eldar and others seeming indifferent to it, a phenomena which often reads as unsettling to their kin.

In addition, food was extremely scarce on the Helcaraxë and the consequences of this physically and psychologically are significant. I’ve gone into a lot of detail on food related trauma and the effects of malnutrition on my food posts for Angband and post Nírnaeth Hithlum (it’s actually one of the areas I’m most knowledgeable about!) so I’ll only do a brief overview here but even for elves who do not need food in the same way humans do, the effects can still be profound and potentially lasting. In addition to physical weakness, fatigue and other physiological effects, resource anxiety, disordered eating, hoarding of food or long term appetite loss may be present for survivors.

Just as intense as the physical effects are the cultural ones on Fingolfin's host. We don't have an exact or consistent number for the losses sustained but we know they were significant

Winters in the regions of Beleriand Fingolfin and his children all reside in are cold with heavy snowfall and year after year, memories of the grinding ice haunt them.

The first full moon of winter is often marked with a ceremony at Barad Eithel commemorating the losses.

[creativity-deficient]

Anyways why autistic Tweek Tweak is so real to me (an autistic gal that relates heavily to his character)

-Socially inept

Interprets things literally, can be blunt, and just has a general lack of social awareness

-Possible? Hyper-empathy

Shown to be more sensitive/emotionally conscious than (most of) the other boys. He demonstrates intense reactions to others getting hurt, shows immediate concern for their well being, and also cries when he believes his friends are dead in tsot. Of course, this doesn’t NECESSARILY mean hyper-empathy, since that’s a bit more, but it could certainly be interpreted in that way

-Stimming

Certain actions of his, such as his shirt/hair grabbing, as well as frequent use of repeated phrases such as “oh god!” and “oh Jesus!” could be seen as stims

-Cognitive inflexibility/demand avoidance

Demonstrates a great deal of anxiety when it comes to changes in routine/adapting to different situations, and often finds performing new tasks extremely stressful

-Difficulty regulating/identifying emotions

Many autistic people have a hard time managing their emotions, which we’ve seen with Tweek on multiple occasions. He also has been shown to have some difficulties interpreting these emotions too at times, which we see in “put it down”, where he has a hard time putting into words just WHAT exactly he’s feeling, until Craig urges him to open up about it

“I don’t need you to problem solve all the time! I need you to…AUGH! I don’t know!!”

-Possible? Special interests

Again, a bit of a stretch, but from LEGO’s, to model planes, to kinetic toys, etc, I could certainly see any of these being interpreted as special interests of his

On the topic of his room, another trait of autism can be disorganization/executive dysfunction, which is certainly evident by these photos

-Temperature regulation

Tumblr won’t let me include any more pictures unfortunately, but lastly, many autistic people tend to regulate temperature differently than neurotypical people, possibly due to sensory issues. This can include having extreme reactions to temperature, or even having the opposite reaction, causing a resistance to weather-appropriate clothing, as we see with Tweek in snow day. His every day outfit consisting of a light, messily buttoned shirt could also be an example of this.

Anywaysss take all of this with a grain of salt! I know most (if not all) of these are just traits of his anxiety/coffee/meth intake, but I do think it’s fun to interpret it in other ways too!

[motsimages]

The bit about the menopause in Never Stop Blowing Up was superfunny but I don't want the youth to think it was just a joke because it's funny to speak like this about menstruation and menopause. If you happen to be next to menopausic women after you are 30, they will tell you about it and yes, it may involve a way heavier flow than before for a couple of years.

Quite literally, the nurse assisting a gynecologist I had an appointment with told me that she spent two years having to have a change of pants in her workplace (the hospital) because she bleeded so much. Sometimes she even fainted.

And since I'm at it, other things that apparently happen, as told to me by menopausic women are: temperature dysregulation (the famous hot flashes), your boobs get bigger, your vagina lubricate much less, difficulty regulating the mood swings (if you get angry, you get superangry superfast and it's hard to calm down).

Looking forward to hear jokes about this too.

[echantedtoon]

A Wizard's (Matchmaker) Apprentice

Sofia notices that Mr. Cedric happens to be particularly nervous around one particular maid after some sisterly advice she decides to not only be his apprentice but a little matchmaker too.

There was a few things she was absolutely sure she was good at. Jump rope, hopscotch, and baking her mother's favorite cookies to name a few however she wasn't so good at practicing magic spells. Turning a ruby to a rock, a line into an emerald, and a show into a perfect glass slipper was perfectly fine for her to do but she was having difficulties with the new potions Professor Merryweather had assigned to her class 

Luckily she knew exactly who to turn to for help!

Mr. Cedric the King's sorcerer! He helped her once before and surely he could help her learn how to make these complex potions! So when she had turned up to his courters requesting to become his apprentice again he was eager to agree. By now she was familiar with how Mr. Cedric liked to have his books aligned and how he liked his potion bottles lined up from tallest to smallest or how he wanted just a few cobwebs to remain to give off that creepy sorcerer's lair without all the dust making him sneeze.

However unlike the last time she had been his apprentice she had noticed something strange about the place. It was much cleaner than the last time she visited him. Did he learn how to organize his space better? Or did he use some kind of cleaning spells? No. No that wasn't the case at all really and she'd find out why quickly on her first day of being an apprentice again.

"Remember measurements ARE important!," the resident sorcerer stressed with his back turned to her and one hand pointed upwards. "The reason why you can't get your levitation potion to work is because you kept putting in too many teaspoons of dried dove feathers."

The small mini cauldron heated over the small bunsen burner bubbled and boiled at the precise temperature needed for the recipe. Turned on by her and adjusted properly by Mr. Cedric to correct her before scolding her of having to learn how to regulate heat on the cauldron as well. 

"Right!" This time she made sure to put two spoonfuls of the white powdery substance in the cauldron instead of three from the small jar she held turning the bubbling water from a blue to a white in color. "Got it! What's the next step Mr. Ceedrick?"

"It's CEDRIC," he corrected her yet again with an annoyed tone before sighing. "Continuously stir the cauldron for exactly five minutes! Any second more and it'll turn into a flying potion instead of a levitation potion."

"There's a difference?"

"Yes! Levitation is just hovering in one place while flying means you're constantly moving about in the air. No wonder you needed guidance. Who gave such a young child this assignment anyways?"

Before she had the chance to answer there was a loud knocking at the door that had caught both of their attentions.

The wizard sighed again annoyed. "Good graces what now? You may enter!"

Sofia's eyes turned and blinked as the door opened up and in squeaked a cart. The kind that the butlers would use to bring dinner to the table. It's squeaky wheels filled the spaces with loud creaks followed by the clacking of heels as a maid walked in however she didn't recognized who it was although she was very pretty.

The woman smiled friendly at the sorcerer who had frozen upon seeing her. "Good morning, Mr. Cedric." Then she turned to her and bowed lightly. "Her highness. I've been informed about the princess taking up temporary apprenticeship here, so I brought along breakfast for the both of you."

Her arm gestured to the cart which she just now noticed was covered in silver covers probably containing the food underneath judging by the smells it was fried eggs, sausage, and maybe pancakes. A pitcher and two glasses were set beside the covered plates. 

"And of course I brought along something for your lovely raven."

"I'm a crow!.. But I'll let it slide for the mealworms and corn," wormwood muttered but only she could understand that as he excited awaited his silver bowl of food.

"His feathers seemed to have gotten glossier since starting his new diet," she commented gazing fondly at the crowd before turning to sorcerer. "Shall you be needing anything else, Mr. Cedric?"

"U-U-Uh-..." He shook his head before clearing his throat and turning away. "N-No. You may go now. As you can see we're quite busy."

She bowed. "As you wish. I'll come by again at noon with your lunches."

Without further ado, she left leaving the young princess to watch her in awe. "..Who was that?"

Cedric waved her off with a sour expression. "Oh that. She's not one re-really." He stuttered which had her raising an eyebrow at him. "Baileywick convinced King Roland that my part of the castle was behind in upkeep and hired new maids to keep it in shape. He even dated to have one assigned to clean my lair."

"Oh. And she brings you meals too!" She smiled getting up from the boiling cauldron to make her way over to the cart. Lifting up the silver covers lead her to happily discover perfect pancakes with her sausage and eggs.

"Actually...No. I made the mistake of skipping a meal just once in front of her and of course she had to inform Baileywick of it so now she's tasked with bringing me two meals a day! It's annoying to say the least."

"Mm! Call it annoying all you want! If I get this delicious food twice a day I won't complain," Wormwood muttered from between beakfuls of food.

She didn't complain either. She had pancakes! And the pitcher was orange juice. She was happily digging in when Cedric cried out from the cauldron boiling over from being unattended. Oops. They'd have to start all over again after they ate breakfast which was delicious!! He was still cleaning up the mess with some rags when she returned again with the cart, this time with what presumably was their lunches. But paused at the sight of Cedric frozen mid scrub on his hands and knees and Sophia still stirring the cauldron.

"Oh, dear. What happened?"

"I-I-I-I-..W-Well you see-. Hmm." He had stuttered out before freezing up again much to Sophia's growing confusion.

"The potion bubbled over," she explained in his stead still stirring. "So we had to redo it and clean up."

"Oh." She pushed the cart to the side. "I'll was going to mop in here anyways. Let me go get a mop and bucket and I'll help you."

"N-NO!" Cedric shouted from the floor. "You don't-..I-I me-me-mean I don't ne-need-"

"Don't strain yourself please. It's what I'm here to do. I'll be right back."

She walked away causing the sorcerer to facepalm himself and Sophia to tilt her head even more confused. What was all that about?

"What was that all about?"

"HA! You really don't know?" She jumped turning her head back to Wormwood as he flew down onto the cart and began just poking at the small bowl of cornmeal for him on the cart. "And here I thought you were smart enough to notice."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Kid. You ever see a boy at your school get a crush on some girl?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Sure. Sometimes."

"Well that's what's going on here." He paid no more attention as he dug in.

Her eyes went wide. "Mr. Ceedrick has a crush on the maid?!" Her awed look turned back to the sorcerer whom was muttered to himself and stood up- Only to skip on the spilt potion and fell onto his behind back hitting the shelf and causing some books to fall on him.

"Ha! The drip fell the moment he laid eyes on her months ago and just kept falling. It's not like he'll ever get up the courage to fess up anyways, so why bother paying attention to it?"

A crush huh? Mr. Cedric? She watched as he muttered under his breath while starting to pick up the books and put them back on the shelf. As much as she'd like to admit it Wormwood was right. There's no way Mr. Cedric would tell the pretty maid how he felt...And Idea lit up in head mind as she stared back down at the cauldron just finishing the potion. Unless...She had a very good idea.

"Hey, Mr. Ceedrick-"

"Cedric," he corrected without looking up at her.

"Since I finished my potion, can I ask you to demonstrate a different one?"

"Did you even test the levitation potion?"

She blinked at him before quickly dipping her spoon in the cauldron, pulled it out, and watched as it levitated out of her hand. "Yes. It's working wonderfully! But back to my question. I was wondering if you had a truth serum." 

"Of course I do. Every king's sorcerer has one on hand in case the King's in dire need of it." He turned back to her wig a raised brow. "But why do you ask?"

"Well, one of the potions we're studying happens to be a potion that tricks others so I was wondering if a truth serum could cancel that out."

"Of course it can."

"Can you show me how?" His brows rose higher. "Please?"

He sighed but placed the book he was holding down and walking on over to a tall shelf. She watched with mischievous eyes as he looked around the many potions placed there before he reached a hand to the highest shelf and pulled a very small beaker containing an almost silvery, glittery liquid. Humming in satisfaction at the find, he turned back towards her and presented it out to her.

"Behold! The truth serum. Just a few drops on your skin will make any living creature tell nothing but the truth for the next ten hours," he explained proudly at her.

"Fascinating! Can you show me how it works? Please?"

"Oh. Alright." He was none the wiser as he carefully removed the cork and dropped just two of the silvery droplets on his palm before placing the cork back in it. "Now ask me a question and I'll try to lie?"

"Ok." She hummed again looking around the room. What to ask? Eventually her eyes landed on Wormwood still eating. She smiled and pointed at him. "Is it true that Wormwood's feathers are black?"

"NNnnnnn-" A loud drawn out n sound left his mouth as he attempted to say no but his mouth refused to say the vowel o. "I mean he issssssssn-" Again his mouth strained to try say the T sound to say isn't but no dice. All that was left was him making a strained funny face like he bit into a lemon making her giggle. Giving an frown he cleared his throat and turned to put the potion back. "Yes. Well now you can see why every king finds it crucial to have." 

"Fascinating. And it lasts for ten hours?"

"Two drops does. The more you use the longer it lasts. If you drank the entire potion you might as well forget ever having secrets." 

Perfect.

"Well then." She got off the stool and made her way towards the door just as the pretty maid came walking in. "Since I finished the potion I guess we're done for the day then."

"Yes, yes." He waved her off with a hand. "I'll see you now doubt tomorrow for that invisibility potion."

"Ok!"

She waited until the maid lady walked past her mop and bucket in hand until she placed down the bucket and dipped her mop into the bucket in the middle of the room. Only then did she shimmy on over to the door and only stepped out until her head was peeking in. 

"Oh. Mr. Ceedrick-"

"Cedric!"

"One last thing." He looked deadpanned at her. "Is it true that you're in love with the maid in the room?"

"Yes-"

A loud smacking sound went off as his two hands launched up and covered his mouth quickly. He stood there shocked and wide eyed... Before he looked at the maid that was also staring at him with a similar expression.

"Ok. Just wanted to know. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye!"

She left them with just the sounds of the door closing.

******

[rocket-enjoyer]

You know what really grinds my gears?

Working with people who don't understand how a neural computer works.

Be it some mass ratio optimizing payload engineer, a logistics officer frustrated with the difficulties caused by our team's solutions or just our boss looking for reasons to fire us because they thought our initial cost estimate was "unrealistically high" and are now sorely disappointed at reality, these people are miserable to deal with. On the surface, their complaints make sense; we are seemingly doing a much worse job than everyone else is and anything we come up with creates lots of problems for them. Satisfying all their demands, however, is impossible. With this post I intend to educate my audience on

Neural Computers 101

so that my blog's engineer-heavy audience may understand the inevitable troubles those in my field seemingly summon out of thin air and so that you people will hopefully not bother us quite as much anymore.

First of all, neural matter is extremely resource heavy. Not by mass, mind you; a BNC of 2 kilograms requires only a few dozen grams of whatever standardized or specialized mix of sustenance is preferred in a single martian day. (I'm not going to bother converting that.) The inconvenient part is the sheer variety in the things they need and the waste products they create.

This is just a shortened list, but already it causes problems. If you want to create a self contained system to avoid having to refuel constantly, you will need a lot of mass and a lot of complexity. This is what a typical sustenance diagram for such a system looks like:

(Keep in mind, this diagram doesn't even have electricity drawn in.)

Typically these systems are even more complicated, with redundancies and extra steps. In any case, this is complicated, energy expensive and a nightmare to maintenance crew. I mean, just keeping the bacterial microbiome alive is a lot of effort!

Second of all, neural matter is extremely vulnerable. Most power plant and rocket designers just round away all temperature changes less than 100 K, but neural matter will outright die if its temperature is just a few kelvin off of the typical value. The same goes for a lot of other things - you'll need some serious temperature regulation, shock absorption, radiation shielding (damn it I wish we had access to the same stuff as those madmen in the JMR) and on top of all of that, you need to consider mental instability!

That last one is kind of the biggest pain in the ass for these things - we need to give them a damn game to play whenever they don't have any real work to deal with or they degrade and start to go insane. (Don't worry, I'm not stupid, I know these things aren't actually sentient, I'm just saying that to illustrate the way they work.) It can't even be the same game - you need to design one based on what the NC is designed to do! (Game is a misleading term by the way; it's not like a traditional video game. No graphics - just a set of variables, functions and parameters on a simple circuit board that the NC can influence.)

And lastly, neural computers are complicated. Dear Olympus are they complicated. There are so so many ways to build them, and the process of deriving which one to use is extremely difficult. You can't blame the NC team for an inappropriate computer if the damn specifications keep changing every week!

There's the always-on, calculation-heavy, simple and slow Pennington circuits, the iconic Gobbs cycle (Bloody love that thing!), the Anesuki thinknet and its derivatives, the Klenowicz for those insane venusians and so so many more frameworks for both ANCs and BNCs. Oh yeah, by the way, the acronyms ANC and BNC actually don't stand for Advanced and Basic Neural Computer respectively. They stand for Type A Neural Computer and Type B Neural Computer. It comes from that revolutionary paper written by Anesuki.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I got some assorted headcanons for Nightmare's henchmen because I've been thinking about how many chronic issues those guys are bound to have non-stop lately...

Killer:

He doesn't take care of himself properly, even after he starts taking care of the others. Meaning my guy is most likely gonna have some issues with chronic dehydration, which, in my experience, leads to "fun" things like: long-term and short-term memory issues, struggles with focus, difficulties regulating emotions (meaning, the longer this goes on the more often he might flip between different stages), difficulties sleeping, frequent headaches, chronic fatigue, dizziness and vision blacking out when he gets up from a sitting position, and joint pains.

Being dehydrated also generally makes pre-existent mental issues worse. So the struggles with guilt, self-hatred and all that stuff that is very present at Stage 1 are probably all accentuated by his lack of proper self-care.

Horror:

His skull and empty eye socket both cause him pain often. Especially with switches in temperature or humidity. Because of the positioning of those wounds, that often leads to debilitating headaches and often teeth pain too. He pulls on his bones to try and alleviate the pain because the pressure does help in the moment, but the strain he puts on them always leaves him far more sore after.

The years of starvation also left his bones far more brittle and prone to breakage. He's gonna be extra careful even while doing things like getting out of the shower or sitting down. He would benefit from getting braces and several different kinds of mobility aids, but it's not like he's got access to any of that either in his world or at the castle, so he learns to make do without.

Dust:

Because he's got a high LV and yet his soul is still inside of his body, he experiences a lot of side effects from that. Things like: chest pains, frequent headaches, auditory and visual hallucinations, memory problems, frequent blackouts, disorientation, and bone fragility (though, unlike Horror, his bones aren't more prone to breaking, they're more prone to dusting).

The thin layer of dust that constantly covers his bones causes frequent rashes and irritation. It's not unusual to see red blotches on his bones. Massaging his bones with oil or cremes would help relieve some of his discomfort and I'm sure that Killer does his best to find and steal some for him, but their resources are still limited and his access to it is only temporary. Also, that scarf he always wears doesn't help, what with it being covered in dust. And having his hood always up doesn't help either, since fabric rubbing against his already sensitive and irritated bones is probably Hell. Wearing some lighter and breezy clothing would do wonders for him. (Yes, this is part of my propaganda to put all my faves in pretty dresses. It would look cute and it makes sense, I swear).

Cross:

Old badly healed fractures from his time in the military probably cause him a lot of general pain he's grown used to in the years. But, by far, the worst of his problems come from his and XChara's unusual soul situation. Sharing a soul cannot be easy, and it probably leads to a great deal of disorientation and confusion around their memories and identities.

Not knowing where one ends and the other begins makes social interactions with outsiders to their bond rather difficult. It most likely led Cross to develop a great deal of social anxiety which is why he often tends to isolate himself and suppress most of his emotions. Truly, he tries to minimize the amount of meaningful social interactions he gets because the panic attacks afterward are just not worth it

All skeletons should immediately be put in loose pretty dresses /hj

But honestly I love these very much, they seem very probable. And I can honestly relate to Killer’s dehydration and Horror’s teeth problems, those things suck. (For me tho it’s often because water is a boring drink.)

Also do you think that whenever Killer decides to take the others on his responsibility, does he do things like help Dust rub the cream on his bones, especially with those hard to reach places or extra painful spots? Maybe this is something they’d have to work up to, as doing something like that is a rather vulnerable thing, requiring trust.

I think itd be a cute image though, and maybe if we go with the headcanon that horror is or grows to be a little bigger or taller than Murder and Killer, he offers Murder some of his clothes since they’re bigger and looser. I’d imagine that Killer would have to frequently steal and horde painkillers and numbing medications for the gang, and perhaps manage it all carefully to avoid overuse.

And Dust probably wouldn’t want to wash his scarf, but I wonder if he’d accept a cleaner version of a scarf that looks just like it and just keep the old one as a comfort somewhere in his room.

And I’d imagine that Dust and Horror would have to frequently remind both Killer and Cross/XChara of who they are, where they are, the time and the year.

And very likely have to remind Killer about things multiple times either because he forgot something, or because he was asked to do something but didn’t realize if that experience was real or not. Perhaps they create a little system of asking if they can hold Killer’s hand (or let him hold their hand), to anchor him in reality whenever it seems like he’s not really present or sure.

{ @stellocchia }

Honestly id love to hear more about all of your headcanons. They’re all so detailed.

[earthstellar]

because it's cold and my circulation is shitty because I am old and disabled lmao, I've been thinking...

Concept: Old Bots in Cold Earth Weather

there are different kinds and degrees of cold, of course

but surely, snow/ice/damp winter weather would be not great for mechanical lifeforms

sure, we know rust is a perpetual concern to begin with

and in TFP, we know there is a hard limit to maximum safe cold exposure for bots in general

but what about old bots with more sensitive joints and cabling?

maybe their minor fuel lines suffer stiffness during cold weather similar to how vascular construction from cold can cause circulation problems in human beings (Reynauds Syndrome, anyone?)

it would also be comparable to winter damage to rubber lines and materials in cars, where the cold causes the rubber components to become more brittle and less flexible over time -- might also affect tires

in TFA, they're all by Lake Erie/Detroit. cold as hell in winter. there's no way Ratchet is having a good time. his ass is out there unable to feel his servos for a good five months out of the year.

I know this, because I used to live just outside of Erie, in Allegheny. And holy fuck, my joints hurt just thinking about it. Now I live in England, where it's a different type of cold, but it fucks up my circulation and my lungs. lol

maybe it's not just damp cold weather that can impact older bots more severely, but dry cold weather.

perhaps "breathing in" cold air through their cooling systems and fans might cause difficulty with internal temperature regulation, possibly even causing spark dysregulation in the way humans can suffer tachycardia/arrhythmia from extreme cold exposure.

TFA Ratchet is having a rough time, I'm telling you. He's a medic, he's watching his own systems carefully, but he's not having a good time. lmao

But even TFP Ratchet, who has been acclimated mostly to the desert climate of Nevada, surely would not have an easy time trying to bridge himself over to a colder climate in order to pull an injured bot out of the field or try to carry out field repairs in a blizzard etc.

Or G1 Kup, who would absolutely be feeling the cold in miserable ways what with being in charge of field drills for the younger recruits (and therefore having to be outside all day), but he would absolutely strategically call Hot Rod over so that he could warm himself up with the excess heat rolling off of the exceptionally hot-running speedster.

The longer his stories are, the longer Hot Rod has to stand there next to him. LOL

all of the old bots would refuse to acknowledge their own difficulty in cold weather, lmao -- If Ratchet drops a tool because he can't feel his digits at all, you did not see it, it is fine, yes Bumblebee does pick it up and it's totally not embarrassing to be taken out by EARTH WEATHER of all things

if he trips because his pedes have started to ice over and his fuel circulation is going to hell, you did not see it. (Everyone sees it. Bumblebee and Optimus are first to offer help, and if the snow piles up too high, Bulkhead might even jokingly offer to carry Ratchet back... Ratchet starts yelling back, which gives Optimus the opportunity to sweep in and pick him up instead. "It's not a problem, old friend. We all stumble at times.")

lots of grumbling about how the vacuum of space is far colder and they've handled that before etc. (until someone points out that space doesn't have snowfall etc.)

anyway my break's over so I gotta get back to work, apologies for any typos, I'm writing this on my phone lol :')

[phoenixyfriend]

Flip the Hourglass 3

Chapter 3: Monster(?)

Anakin has some bad conversations

Read on AO3

-----------

Anakin has emergency credits on hand, but Republic currency is going to be difficult to offload to anyone who’s actually staying on planet. He has some peggats, a just in case measure he never fully outgrew, and one he is grateful for now. He saves the peggats for later, and drags Ahsoka Soka to the spaceport to find a more appropriate set of clothing for her. A few of the traders here do take credits, as they spend enough time going back and forth that they generally need both currencies in their coinpurse. It won’t work for everything, but fabrics and food and water are in supply here.

Soka complains, even whines a little, but he knows it’s mostly the heat and the dawning grief that they are slowly coming to terms with as a group. He lets her have a little bratting for her own good, as a teenager in a horrible situation. He still makes her get better clothing. Togruta are just as sensitive to solar radiation and the associated risk of cancer as humans.

“Ugh, I look like Obi-Wan,” she asserts.

“Not all beige is Obi-Wan,” Anakin tells her. He passes over the haggled price to the trader. He’s lucky in that his money is worth more now than it would be in a decade and a half, so everything certainly feels cheaper. Still more than he’s comfortable with, but it’s the cost of doing business. “You can wear your burgundy as a base layer, and the belt.”

“I don’t like beige,” Soka says. “It clashes with my markings.”

“Cheaper than white, and it reflects the sun better than dark colors,” Anakin reminds her, far from the first time. “I’m getting some too, you know.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

It’s not just the color that she objects to, but that’s a safer point of contention than the loose and flowing shape of these clothes, or the fairly rough weave. It’s smoother than most of what can be purchased locally, unless one has far more funds than Anakin is willing to expend before he can secure a building and his family’s freedom; it’s also more expensive than the slave fabrics, but he can push the budget a tiny bit here on the Republic credits side. It’ll soften with a few washings, anyway, and the main concern he’s got is for temperature regulation and blocking the sun.

The shape… he doesn’t want her targeted for kidnapping. If she fights them off, she risks getting noticed by Gardulla and Jabba. If she doesn’t fight them off, Anakin will probably kill someone to get her back.

Shmi could probably talk him out of it. Rex might not bother.

At any rate, kidnappings are bad. Wear the shapeless dresses. Anakin got some for himself and the rest of them, too.

“What’s next?” Soka asks.

“Water,” he tells her. “Buying it from off-planet isn’t always easy for locals, but it’s the best option for using our remaining credits without losing most of it to currency exchange fees. Some food if we find it cheap, but water is probably still going to give us the most clang for our credits.”

Soka makes a face. Anakin ignores it.

They shop around, each carrying more and more products without a floating carrier for it. They get looks, of course, but nobody is too willing to ask why they’re not having difficulty with such weight. Too many options, and half of them are deadly to the asker.

Anakin’s comm rings. He picks up.

“Hey, General,” Rex’s too-easy voice greets, “tell me, how much trouble would I get if I shot someone?”

[toudan]

EX MACHINA – DOTTORE X READER

Not once have you strayed from your true purpose—if this is what your creator made you for, then you will fulfil it until your body breaks down.

CONTENT.⠀18+ only, minors dni. HORROR / DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; gender-neutral reader; unhealthy relationship, psychological and emotional manipulation, possessive and obsessive behaviour, non-consensual body modification, conditioning and mindfuck, drugging, kidnapping, sadism, descriptions of anxiety attacks. Dottore is simply referred to as “The Doctor.” DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT | ~2.5k words

A/N.⠀dedicated to my beloved @hiperacid2! this is my first horror/dark fic and it was challenging to write, but i hope you like it, my fellow kindred and kuro hater (/j) // @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @kentocidal

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

You follow his orders.

If the Doctor tells you to kill, you do so in cold blood. If he tells you to steal something for him, you bring him everything he needs. If he is not pleased with you, you recalibrate and retry the next time he needs you. Like a dog obeys its master, you obey your creator and he rewards you with his praise. Not once have you strayed from your true purpose—if this is what your creator made you for, then you will fulfil it until your body breaks down.

The halls of Zapolyarny Palace’s science wing are silent save for the sound of your footfalls and the occasional murmur from lower-ranked Fatui agents pass by. They do not look into your eyes nor do they greet you. It is not important whether or not they greet you. An agent’s purpose is to do the duty given to him, much in a similar vein to yours, and it is his responsibility not to be hindered by trivial things. The coat you’re wearing covers the lower half of your face and is heavy enough to withstand the unforgiving winters of Snezhnaya, but even then, the air within the walls is cold.

For a reason you haven’t been able to find yet, your body seems to be having difficulties regulating its temperature recently. Perhaps you’d ask the Doctor if he could fix the issue when he’s less occupied with his latest project.

The doors to his laboratory slide open the moment it detects your facial features. It’s dark inside the laboratory; the sun has not yet risen, the only light at this time of day comes from the main city, and frost settles on the glass panes of the window. As you enter, you find that the Doctor is hunched over his desk and that the room is in complete disarray. Papers are scattered across the floor. Beakers and other glassware have shattered into pieces, some of their contents spilling out on documents the Doctor spent hours organising. Your gaze scans every corner and you reach for your sword, about to unsheathe but stop when he speaks up.

“Ah, you’re here, Seven.” He drums his fingers on the surface of the desk, the telltale sign of his impatience. A sigh leaves his lips as he turns around to face you, his lips pursed in dissatisfaction. “Seven, my dear Seven, my prized unit 70-Y…”

He steps closer and closer until your faces are mere inches apart and you are staring directly into his mask. There is a strange sensation that travels across your system and once more the temperature beneath your skin spikes in pinpricks of static. Your ears are ringing, your hands are beginning to shake but they’re out of your control. You can’t comprehend what type of error it is and it only gets worse with each passing second. It can’t be an error; the Doctor never makes any mistakes, so it must be a flaw on your end.

“D-Doctor?” you stammer—another error you don’t recognise. “What… What happened?”

“You’ve grown incompetent,” he replies. You can’t tell whether he sees you malfunctioning in front of him or if he’s simply ignoring it for the matter at hand. “My commands for you were quite simple, were they not?”

Your lips part as you try to respond, but no words come out.

“You don’t understand.” It’s more of a statement than it is a question. “My research has been stolen, Seven. You’ve failed your mission in keeping my laboratory exclusive to us.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You try to continue, but your body is unstable, swaying until you find yourself falling to the ground. Your legs don’t move the way you need them to; it’s as though they’ve become rubber and can no longer hold your weight. Weakly, you push yourself up into a sitting position and look up at him. Your vision blurs and instinctively you narrow your eyes to try to focus, to reach out to him. “I…”

“You don’t feel well, do you?”

You can’t see him clearly. Something is different about his tone—the irritation has transitioned into something akin to amusement like he’s aware of something that you aren’t. You don’t understand. You don’t feel. That’s something only humans and animals are capable of. He despises having a human assistant; he needs something beyond human, so he created you. It is the only information about your ‘birth’ that you know. 

He lets out another sigh, tone dripping with annoyance once again. “What a bore.”

You detect him staring down at you in the same way he does with his failed projects. You have witnessed firsthand what he does to some of them. They’d get abandoned, their lifeless bodies piled atop each other until it was time for them to get disposed of. Emotions are unknown to you—it’s an area you haven’t explored, but when he ordered you to disassemble all of them with your own hands, you wondered if it could be compared to what humans describe as fear.

Irked and impatient, he clicks his tongue. “Find the thief and kill them. Do not fail me again.” He strides past you and toward the doors, ready to leave but not before he spares you a displeased glance over his shoulder. “And clean this up. You know I hate clutter.”

The Doctor does not return to his laboratory after the incident. 

For the past couple of days, you’ve been trying to find the Doctor so you could report your findings but he’s nowhere to be seen. While it’s not unusual for him to go off somewhere without a word, it is out of routine that he doesn’t have you follow him. If he has been sent on a mission by the Tsaritsa, you would know either from himself or one of his segments. You consider asking his fellow Harbingers, but you have also been forbidden from interacting with any of them aside from the Director. All there is to do is your objective and the disposal of the culprit as soon as you can.

The investigation has been difficult. There are no fingerprints you can scan, no notably suspicious trails left behind, and not enough of anything to form a hypothesis. All you know is that the Doctor’s journals are no longer where they are supposed to be. You consider interrogating the guards but decide against it. They cannot provide useful information, not when the responsibility for surveillance is yours. 

The only thing clear so far is the motive. Whoever broke into the laboratory needed the Doctor’s notes for a reason, whether it was to expose the moral ambiguity of his experiment or to take an idea for themself. Yet there is no evidence of a break-in; the windows aren’t broken and the security system hasn’t been tampered with. If the culprit truly had intentions of stealing or exposing him, they would’ve taken his most valuable research of all: his studies of the Gnoses. The door to his private library remains locked as well, which simultaneously proves the point and does nothing at all. 

You walk through the halls of the palace in silence, attempting to note anyone with suspicious behaviour to no avail. Every face starts to look the same, every voice seems to be monotonous, and the static buzzing beneath your skin returns once again. The discomfort seems to increase with every passing minute of inactivity. Your body feels heavy as if you’re slowly shutting down, out of energy. Have you neglected your self-maintenance? Why have there been errors in your system today?

No matter. Those aren’t of concern now—you’ve been given a mission to complete and you can’t fail him again.

Setting your destination to the laboratory, you decide to do another investigation. There must have been something you missed. A bloodstain, a fingerprint, anything the culprit could’ve left behind in their wake. As you make your way inside, you spot something on the Doctor’s desk that wasn’t previously there: a newspaper. It doesn’t appear to be recent; the date on the corner of the page indicates it’s over a year old.

That’s unusual, you note. He doesn’t like to keep anything unrelated to his work and research. 

The article seems to be about an aristocratic family’s activities which makes it all stranger considering his disdain for them. ‘The patriarch, 47, has now become a priest at the Church of Celestia. His heir did not attend the ceremony, most likely due to their dispute with their father earlier this year,’ it says. The names written in the article are mostly unknown, but as you continue to read, you find that something is off.

One of the people in the images looks just like you. Could it be that the Doctor modelled you after them? And if their reputation precedes them just as much as the article describes it, why haven’t you heard of them?

The newspaper nearly rips in half from how hard you clench your fists. You don’t understand why you did it. You aren’t supposed to have a physical reaction. You aren’t supposed to malfunction, and yet your system is out of your control again, the odd sensations spreading across your skin like frost does to water. There is something wrong with you, with everything. But there isn’t supposed to be—he wouldn’t lie to you, would he?

“So, have you figured it out yet?”

The Doctor steps into the laboratory with his arms crossed behind his back, walking with confidence and satisfaction. His expression melts into a scowl when he approaches you. “Hm. Your optical cybernetics aren’t working well anymore. You should’ve been able to detect me coming in.”

“There wasn’t a thief,” you whisper shakily.

“That’s right!” He grins. “And the heir?”

You choke out, “I… I don’t know.”

It couldn’t be you. No. It’s not possible. You’re an android created by the Doctor, the second of the Harbingers. You’re his assistant, his servant. You have always been here with him.

“Has my precious assistant gained sentience?” he coos mockingly, “A flaw in your code, perhaps? An error or a malfunction?”

“That can’t be,” you breathe. You’re suddenly aware of how unfamiliar it is to inhale and exhale, and how it feels as though there’s something lodged in your throat that is suffocating you. “Y-You made me. You never make mistakes.”

He ignores your words as he smiles at you wickedly, his eyes widening. “Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

“How…”

You feel weak. Exhausted. Everything hits you like a storm and you can’t even figure out what any of them are; all you know is that you are afraid. The same man who built you will be the same man to break you.

“I’ve replaced some of your organs with artificial ones. Not sure what you’re missing here.” He feigns annoyance and clicks his tongue, a sound you’ve found to make you feel overloaded. There’s too much happening, too many truths, too many lies. You don’t know what to believe.

“W-Why?”

“Why?” He laughs as if your devastation is humorous to him. His voice echoes throughout the room in a way that makes your skin crawl. “To sate my curiosity, of course! And, well, I have a… fascination with you, Seven. Or should I say—” his laughter dies down and he leans forward, the smile never leaving his face. Then he says a name—your true name, and everything comes crashing down once again. 

It’s too much. It hurts. Your breathing is out of order, your mind (you have a mind) is in tatters and all you can do is wail as he rejoices in your torment. There’s a stinging sensation in your palms; when you look down, you find that you are bleeding from how hard your nails have been digging into your skin. Out of fear, you scream and cry until your voice is hoarse, until your energy has been drained, until there is nothing left. When you’re finally quiet and sobbing sporadically, the Doctor kneels beside you and pulls your hair back, forcing you to crane your head to look up at him.

He grins. “I suppose I can consider this hypothesis to be true.”

A sharp, biting pain pierces your neck. The world around you spins and slowly disappears behind a haze. Your limbs feel weak, boneless. Your body succumbs to the poison in your veins, and as you fall farther and farther from the light, the void takes you in its embrace.

You are alone with a woman you don’t know. She is the very epitome of holiness, bringing you warmth and comfort, but there is a sorrowful air about her. You try to ask, try to talk to her, but you can’t speak. With a smile, she holds you in her arms like a mother cradles her child, and she cries. She mourns for her child as droplets of her tears land on your skin, a mark of her grief. She whispers apologies to you, tells you that home doesn’t feel the same, and you mourn together with her over the loss of her only child.

Your world shifts, and you find yourself with a serpent. 

It hisses at the air, bares its fangs to something you can’t see. It wraps itself around your frame and softly nudges your cheek with its head, an attempt to comfort you when there is nothing but its presence and yours. It speaks to you in a language you can’t understand with its forked tongue. It coils around your throat when you sleep, both a warning and a reassurance that it won’t leave you alone.

You feel fondness and fear for it at the same time.

Your eyelids slowly flutter as the lid of your sleep pod slides open, exposing you to the bright lights of the room. A masked man is sitting beside you, his lips curved into a joyous smile when he sees that you’re awake. Something is familiar about him, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You feel strange, like you’re forgetting something. It doesn’t make sense. How can you search for a memory you’re not even sure exists? You want to ask, but a glance downwards steals away your attention. Your hands — they’re mechanical, sleek and black metal that goes up to your elbows. Your fingers are long and sharp, undoubtedly made to be weapons. Curiously, you bring it to your eye level to take a closer look; they resemble claws with their pointed tips and sharp edges.

“My dear Artiglio,” he says, watching as you push yourself up into a sitting position. “Are you ready for your first mission?”

Of course. How could you have forgotten?

You serve the Doctor, your creator. With the gift of life and lethality he bestowed upon you, your purpose is clear.

If the Doctor tells you to kill, you do so in cold blood. If he tells you to steal something for him, you bring him everything he needs. If he is not pleased with you, you recalibrate and retry the next time he needs you.

You follow his orders.

[novasolstash]

Unintentionally just got hit with more goofy Sebastian anatomy things while replying to someone

The mix of various DNA and changes in a vast majority of his genetic makeup lead to several physical changes and we all see that. I think it would be silly if some of these went even further considering the vast differences in mammal, fish, and reptilian DNA :3c

This is alot of word salad and just pure rambling for the sake of rambling. Just thoughts I had and think would be fun to share [:

- Has a 3 chambered heart as opposed to a humans 4 chambered heart. This change allowed him to more comfortably and effectively thrive with the semi-aquatic lifestyle change, at the cost, however, that 3 chambered hearts are less effective in delivering oxygenated blood. Which leads me to..

- Slower metabolism than an average human. This, at least, means he doesn't need to eat too often and that he can usually do pretty well in the hadal blacksite with few resources.

- Has a significantly smaller diaphragm compared to his current body size. [Basically, it did not grow with him very well] Luckily, it's not near as vital to him as it was before. He has gills to help and, in general, doesn't really need to breathe as much as a mammal would due to, once again, his overall slower metabolism.

- Like to imagine he's a heterotherm. Essentially, he can regulate his body temp only to a point. His body will generate heat up until a certain degree. He still has to rely heavily on external sources to regulate his temperature properly [so clothes, people, machinery, etc. Things that would, in general, make that temperature easier to manage]

If he was lucky enough to get back to the surface, I can imagine some of these would resolve themselves [Getting back to a normal enough size taking care of the diaphragm issue for example], some would require more extensive help [Having a heart surgery to fix the 3 chambered situation], and some would still be prevalent, just not as much so [Mild difficulty with regulating his temperature. Would likely have something akin to reynauds]

Anyways, Nova rambles done. I'm off to I dunno, explode, or something

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi everyone,

It’s been extremely hot this month, so I wanted to share some information about autism and heat intolerances. Here’s an excerpt from one article:

Beyond common medical conditions caused by extreme heat (e.g., exhaustion and heatstroke), individuals with autism often have sensory sensitivities affecting their ability to regulate temperature; their heat intolerance may be part of sensory difficulties. Our recent interviews with parents and professional care providers suggest, after exposure to high temperatures, children with autism are significantly more likely to have rapid and unstable mood shifts and present strong behavioural, emotional, and communication challenges. In addition, limited outdoor opportunities greatly affect children’s routines and space for daily activities, further intensifying their stress and anxiety.

The full article will be down below if you’d like to read more:

I found another article talking about heat tolerance. Here’s an excerpt from that article:

Autistic people face multiple challenges during heat waves. They may have difficulty understanding why they need to wear a hat, coat, or sunscreen. They may struggle with finding comfortable places to sit or lie down, and they may find it difficult to keep themselves cool and safe. 

Some autistic people suffer from hyperthermia (overheating) and hypothermia (underheating). This means they don’t always respond well to changes in temperature. For example, some autistic people may become agitated when they get too warm. Others may become anxious when they get cold. If this happens, it could lead to sensory overload and an outburst.

Also, children on the autism spectrum are more easily triggered when dealing with hot weather. They may become very upset by the increased body temperature, which makes them less able to control their emotions. An autistic child may also be at greater risk of overheating because he has trouble regulating his own body temperature.

(I know this refers to children, but I think this could be applied to teenagers and adults).

This article from this excerpt will also be below if anyone wants to read through it:

I hope many of you find this helpful. Stay cool, hydrated, and safe.

Autism

Heat Tolerance

[machine-crush-hazard]

gn robot reader/ f engineer doing repairs

1.9k words nothing explicit just flirty

--

Your protocols stipulated that you were to report to a human team member if you required repair or maintenance. You had an entire diagnostic system dedicated to running those checks. But ‘Requiring Repair’ is an incredibly subjective term.

It could be argued that a car approaching the recommended oil change date ‘Requires Repair’, or a car that had impacted a light pole perpendicularly and folded around it, crushing most remaining components, ‘Requires Repair’.

You had neither of these problems. You were having temperature regulation difficulties. You could even still regulate your temperature most days. It was just the occasional overheat that teetered on the edge of a forced shut down.

Obviously you've tried all the software fixes, limiting your background processes in the new summer weather, deleting some new programs you picked up recently in case they were too much strain. You even stopped wearing clothes entirely. It wasn't as though you had anything to hide, you were just a machine. You didn't need to sit on the couch in the break room next to your human coworkers. Cloth was an unnecessary use of resources and the energy that you'd have to redirect to keep yourself cool.

You knew what the last option was obviously. You could clear your external vents without too much trouble, but you didn't have authorization to check your internal fans on your own. That was a repair and had to be reported to a Human Team Member.

They would have to open your casing and see the issue and manually clean your fans. You would have to lie down immobilized on the build table like you had for weeks when they were first moving your program into your current body.

You didn't need a repair or maintenance, so you were fine for now, but once a malfunction was Actually occurring you would enter your Survival Protocol where all nonessential functions would be suspended until a repair occurred. This would, in all probability, be… unpleasant. You intended to, if possible, avoid this situation.

So late one night, long after your coworkers’ shifts ended, you turned down the temperature on the environmental controls in the main break room as low as they would go. You spent the minutes, as the air around you cooled, programming in a two percent efficiency decrease in the coolers for the coming week to compensate for the extra energy usage tonight.

You didn't need the lights or environmental controls, so they were usually deactivated during your coworkers' off hours. Tonight you would need both. Before you turned the lights on you took over the data stream from the security cameras in the room and played the video from last night.

You flicked on the lights and made your way to your improvised workstation. You had a repurposed office chair, a non-electric flat head screwdriver (rudimentary, but it wouldn’t set off your sensors the way unauthorized electric tools would), and a can of compressed air.

You settled backwards in the office chair, the front of your casing pressing into the backrest, your posterior maintenance panel facing the deactivated camera. You picked up the current video output from the camera, dropping the visuals from your eyes. Like this you could look down over yourself and see the seams on your back where you closed. Your vent appeared clear of dust externally at least. 

That was a comfort, it would have been humiliating to be walking around trailing dead skin cells and lint behind you.

You could feel the increased processing already raising your temperature, but the cold air was doing its job. This would be fine, if you used manual tools your internal sensors wouldn't classify this a repair. You thought. It was the best theory you had.

So, bending your arms at an angle that you knew from experience frightened your human coworkers, you started trying to gently pry up the panel. A warning took over your visual data for a moment, marking the risk of panel damage. You did not let out a low growl of frustration, that would be a poor use of resources at the present moment. The sound you made was unrelated to the warning that you dismissed impatiently. 

You tried another spot that seemed to have more of an edge you could slip the screw driver beneath and began again.

Finally finding enough grip, you began applying force… Just as the break room door slid open with a hiss. The surprise caused your calculated angle to redirect and sent the screw driver skittering with force across your back panel leaving behind a long silver scratch through your paint. You focused the camera on the door and saw her.

Her usual coveralls wer slipped off her shoulders and tied at the waist, leaving her in the sleepless undershirt. Her hair was tied up out of her face like she had been working on something.

"Team Lead," You greeted quickly, trying to simultaneously hide the screw driver, stand up, pick up your own visual data again, and drop the camera. In the end, you managed to do none of these but the last. The loss of visual data sent you tripping back into the rolling chair as you tried to push out of it, forcing you to steady yourself with both hands or end up on the floor . Thereby dropping the screw driver to the floor instead, in all likelihood, directly into her view.

"You can call me Dial," She reminds you, "I’m begging you to just call me Dial honestly." She had told you this many times before when the two of you were working together.

Finally you manage to get your eyes back.

"So what are you up to in here?" She asked, she had already made her way across the room to kneel for the screwdriver.

"Up to?" You say, buying time pretending to not recognize the turn of phrase.

"What are you doing?" She clarifies easily with none of the time consuming mocking others might have employed.

"I was..." Your mind spins with possible replies but the clock ticks down too fast leaving only a look of understanding on Dial's face as she spots the can on the table beside you.

"Right, you've been having an overheating issue right? Did you want a hand?"

You stilled. No you did not, but Dial was chief engineer on your development. If she declared it time for a repair that would be enough to put you in maintenance mode.

Coldly you say, "It is past working hours. Your assistance is not required."

"Yeah, of course, I meant more like... off the record? A hand, between friends?"

You zoomed in on her face trying to understand the expression there. Her pulse was a little fast and it looked as if she was chewing the inside of her cheek. Was she nervous?

"Off the record?" You repeated hesitantly.

"Not a repair. Just," She seemed to think for a moment, "exploratory observation of your internal components. If any impromptu tasks are performed and you want them logged for your database later I could do so at that point."

Her wording was so careful, carrying with it a complete awareness of what had been written into your code by the programmers on the team in early days.

"Exploratory observation would be acceptable," You agreed reluctantly.

Relief crossed her face, "Great! Great. Alright you- you should sit down, you're gonna need to be still. I've never opened you up when you're awake before. I don't want to risk jostling anything important while you're standing and could hit your head."

"Yes," you lowered yourself back into the chair and she circled behind you, tugging on her gloves. You glanced back as she dragged a chair over to sit behind you, then resettled facing forward. You heard her reach into her pocket where you knew she kept a small collection of electric tools.

Your casing warmed a few degrees where she placed her hand against it to steady you. There was a tap and a small tug as she opened you up.

"Did you want to pick up the camera feed again?" She said softly, she was very close behind you.

"How did you know about that?" You asked.

"Wouldn’t be the first time. Your not the most subtle. Just because you refuse to call me anything except ‘Team Lead’ doesn't change the fact that we've been friends for nearly two years. You always drop the visuals from your eyes when you need a wider angle. Of course you would do it for this."

“Ah…” Hesitantly you picked up the security cam again and watched as she carefully set your scratched panel aside on the ping pong table beside you.

She clicked her tongue, “Oh, I see why you’ve been having a hard time regulating.”

You fan kicked up in speed at this. 

“Whoa hey, easy there, I gotcha,” Her free hand landed across the side of your torso, your sensors were very aware of the pressure of her hand moving up and down your side thoughtlessly as she leaned in to look over your components.

“Alright well, nothing for it but to start with the compressed air and then see where we're at,” She decided, picking up the can next to you, “This might be a little chilly. Tell me if you need me to ease up.”

“I'll be-” !

A surprised chirp left you as sudden temperature alerts startled through you. 

“Hmm?” She said. Tone: Playful.

“I underestimated the temperature difference,” you admitted stiffly, feeling the difference in the way your fan was moving already.

Her feet were out in front of her, her ankles pressing against yours. Another shot of cool air came and you felt her gloved hand delicately reach inside you to move aside a bundle of wires that sat in the way of the angle she needed.

“Y-” You tried, but failed as sensory data registered from the wires she was moving, “You’re here later than usual.”

“Yeah well, I've been working on something for you. Of the clock.”

You wanted data on her facial expression. Her back was turned on your camera.

You tried to search for the right phrase. You wanted to know what she was working on but was that rude?

“You can ask,” She confirmed.

“What are you working on?”

“New ankles that, if I do it right, shouldn’t need to be replaced every three months from sand damage.”

!!! Ah. That was. Well that was very nice of her. 

“Thank you.”

“‘Course. Anything to reduce table time right?” Tone: Compassionate.

“Right.”

“There you go,” She said, setting down the can, “Your internal temp is dropping already.” The backs of her fingers pressed against the still warm side of your processor. You went very still, trying to force your fan not to speed up and give you away. Her fingertips trailed lightly across the ports and withdrew.

You gave no sign of the disappointment that flared through you as she settled the part of your casing back in place, you sensors coming back online in that panel as she brushed one last touch across the silver mark that ran across your back now.

“We- we could,” You stopped. Letting your systems settle to stop the halting manner of your words.

“Do this again?” She asked, slipping her screwdriver back into her pocket, “Just you and I?” Tone: Hopeful.

“It would be nice,” You agree.