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jcmarchi · 7 months ago

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3 Questions: Enhancing last-mile logistics with machine learning

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/3-questions-enhancing-last-mile-logistics-with-machine-learning/

3 Questions: Enhancing last-mile logistics with machine learning

Across the country, hundreds of thousands of drivers deliver packages and parcels to customers and companies each day, with many click-to-door times averaging only a few days. Coordinating a supply chain feat of this magnitude in a predictable and timely way is a longstanding problem of operations research, where researchers have been working to optimize the last leg of delivery routes. This is because the last phase of the process is often the costliest due to inefficiencies like long distances between stops due to increased ecommerce demand, weather delays, traffic, lack of parking availability, customer delivery preferences, or partially full trucks — inefficiencies that became more exaggerated and evident during the pandemic.

With newer technology and more individualized and nuanced data, researchers are able to develop models with better routing options but at the same time need to balance the computational cost of running them. Matthias Winkenbach, MIT principal research scientist, director of research for the MIT Center for Transportation and Logistics (CTL) and a researcher with the MIT-IBM Watson AI Lab, discusses how artificial intelligence could provide better and more computationally efficient solutions to a combinatorial optimization problem like this one.

Q: What is the vehicle routing problem, and how do traditional operations research (OR) methods address it?

A: The vehicle routing problem is faced by pretty much every logistics and delivery company like USPS, Amazon, UPS, FedEx, DHL every single day. Simply speaking, it’s finding an efficient route that connects a set of customers that need to be either delivered to, or something needs to be picked up from them. It’s deciding which customers each of those vehicles — that you see out there on the road — should visit on a given day and in which sequence. Usually, the objective there is to find routes that lead to the shortest, or the fastest, or the cheapest route. But very often they are also driven by constraints that are specific to a customer. For instance, if you have a customer who has a delivery time window specified, or a customer on the 15th floor in the high-rise building versus the ground floor. This makes these customers more difficult to integrate into an efficient delivery route.

To solve the vehicle routing problem, we obviously we can’t do our modeling without proper demand information and, ideally, customer-related characteristics. For instance, we need to know the size or weight of the packages ordered by a given customer, or how many units of a certain product need to be shipped to a certain location. All of this determines the time that you would need to service that particular stop. For realistic problems, you also want to know where the driver can park the vehicle safely. Traditionally, a route planner had to come up with good estimates for these parameters, so very often you find models and planning tools that are making blanket assumptions because there weren’t stop-specific data available.

Machine learning can be very interesting for this because nowadays most of the drivers have smartphones or GPS trackers, so there is a ton of information as to how long it takes to deliver a package. You can now, at scale, in a somewhat automated way, extract that information and calibrate every single stop to be modeled in a realistic way.

Using a traditional OR approach means you write up an optimization model, where you start by defining the objective function. In most cases that’s some sort of cost function. Then there are a bunch of other equations that define the inner workings of a routing problem. For instance, you must tell the model that, if the vehicle visits a customer, it also needs to leave the customer again. In academic terms, that’s usually called flow conservation. Similarly, you need to make sure that every customer is visited exactly once on a given route. These and many other real-world constraints together define what constitutes a viable route. It may seem obvious to us, but this needs to be encoded explicitly.

Once an optimization problem is formulated, there are algorithms out there that help us find the best possible solution; we refer to them as solvers. Over time they find solutions that comply with all the constraints. Then, it tries to find routes that are better and better, so cheaper and cheaper ones until you either say, “OK, this is good enough for me,” or until it can mathematically prove that it found the optimal solution. The average delivery vehicle in a U.S. city makes about 120 stops. It can take a while to solve that explicitly, so that’s usually not what companies do, because it’s just too computationally expensive. Therefore, they use so-called heuristics, which are algorithms that are very efficient in finding reasonably good solutions but typically cannot quantify how far away these solutions are from the theoretical optimum.

Q: You’re currently applying machine learning to the vehicle routing problem. How are you employing it to leverage and possibly outperform traditional OR methods?

A: That’s what we’re currently working on with folks from the MIT-IBM Watson AI Lab. Here, the general idea is that you train a model on a large set of existing routing solutions that you either observed in a company’s real-world operations or that you generated using one of these efficient heuristics. In most machine-learning models, you no longer have an explicit objective function. Instead, you need to make the model understand what kind of problem it’s actually looking at and what a good solution to the problem looks like. For instance, similar to training a large language model on words in a given language, you need to train a route learning model on the concept of the various delivery stops and their demand characteristics. Like understanding the inherent grammar of natural language, your model needs to understand how to connect these delivery stops in a way that results in a good solution — in our case, a cheap or fast solution. If you then throw a completely new set of customer demands at it, it will still be able to connect the dots quite literally in a way that you would also do if you were trying to find a good route to connect these customers.

For this, we’re using model architectures that most people know from the language processing space. It seems a little bit counterintuitive because what does language processing have to do with routing? But actually, the properties of these models, especially transformer models, are good at finding structure in language — connecting words in a way that they form sentences. For instance, in a language, you have a certain vocabulary, and that’s fixed. It’s a discrete set of possible words that you can use, and the challenge is to combine them in a meaningful way. In routing, it’s similar. In Cambridge there are like 40,000 addresses that you can visit. Usually, it’s a subset of these addresses that need to be visited, and the challenge is: How do we combine this subset — these “words” — in a sequence that makes sense?

That’s kind of the novelty of our approach — leveraging that structure that has proven to be extremely effective in the language space and bringing it into combinatorial optimization. Routing is just a great test bed for us because it’s the most fundamental problem in the logistics industry.

Of course, there are already very good routing algorithms out there that emerged from decades of operations research. What we are trying to do in this project is show that with a completely different, purely machine learning-based methodological approach, we are able to predict routes that are pretty much as good as, or better than, the routes that you would get from running a state-of-the-art route optimization heuristic.

Q: What advantages does a method like yours have over other state-of-the-art OR techniques?

A: Right now, the best methods are still very hungry in terms of computational resources that are required to train these models, but you can front-load some of this effort. Then, the trained model is relatively efficient in producing a new solution as it becomes required.

Another aspect to consider is that the operational environment of a route, especially in cities, is constantly changing. The available road infrastructure, or traffic rules and speed limits might be altered, the ideal parking lot may be occupied by something else, or a construction site might block a road. With a pure OR-based approach, you might actually be in trouble because you would have to basically resolve the entire problem instantly once new information about the problem becomes available. Since the operational environment is dynamically changing, you would have to do this over and over again. While if you have a well-trained model that has seen similar issues before, it could potentially suggest the next-best route to take, almost instantaneously. It’s more of a tool that would help companies to adjust to increasingly unpredictable changes in the environment.

Moreover, optimization algorithms are often manually crafted to solve the specific problem of a given company. The quality of the solutions obtained from such explicit algorithms is bounded by the level of detail and sophistication that went into the design of the algorithm. A learning-based model, on the other hand, continuously learns a routing policy from data. Once you have defined the model structure, a well-designed route learning model will distill potential improvements to your routing policy from the vast amount of routes it is being trained on. Simply put, a learning-based routing tool will continue to find improvements to your routes without you having to invest into explicitly designing these improvements into the algorithm.

Lastly, optimization-based methods are typically limited to optimizing for a very clearly defined objective function, which often seeks to minimize cost or maximize profits. In reality, the objectives that companies and drivers face are much more complex than that, and often they are also somewhat contradictory. For instance, a company wants to find efficient routes, but it also wants to have a low emissions footprint. The driver also wants to be safe and have a convenient way of serving these customers. On top of all of that, companies also care about consistency. A well-designed route learning model can eventually capture these high-dimensional objectives by itself, and that is something that you would never be able to achieve in the same way with a traditional optimization approach.

So, this is the kind of machine learning application that can actually have a tangible real-world impact in industry, on society, and on the environment. The logistics industry has problems that are much more complex than this. For instance, if you want to optimize an entire supply chain — let’s say, the flow of a product from the manufacturer in China through the network of different ports around the world, through the distribution network of a big retailer in North America to your store where you actually buy it — there are so many decisions involved in that, which obviously makes it a much harder task than optimizing a single vehicle route. Our hope is that with this initial work, we can lay the foundation for research and also private sector development efforts to build tools that will eventually enable better end-to-end supply chain optimization.

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luvsupa · 1 month ago

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“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly.

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you.

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry.

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #smut #anime smut #kinktober

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perfectiongeeks · 1 year ago

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Transportation Management System Development

Transport management solutions consist of data repositories that have transactional, analytical, and communication features. A TMS can be part of an ERP platform, a supply chain management system (SCM), or other platforms. These systems also access, process, and share data among logistic service providers, manufacturers, distributors, and retailers. Here is a simplified version. The customer orders an article from a website connected to your ERP platform. The platform sends order data to the TMS and pulls product availability information from other systems. You can then use the platform to create a route, generate the necessary documents, and select a transporter.

Visit us:

#Transportation Management System Development #ios app development #website development company #app development #blockchain application development #iot development services #ui and ux design service #supply chain management system

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transit-fag · 3 months ago

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Part of the reason “We shouldn’t have to drive to the grocery store” is such a hard sell to Americans is because car culture has encouraged us to think of the grocery store as a place where you buy a trunkload of food and supplies once a week, or even less frequently. When someone goes “You should be able to take public transportation to the store!” we usually imagine ourselves struggling to carry our trunkload of groceries onto the bus, correctly conclude that it would suck, and dismiss the idea out of hand. It tends not to occur to us that people in other countries manage to stop at the market every couple of days for a small number of items.

That is actually one of the most interesting things about urban design, they way that it alters human behavior through things such as how often do you go grocery shopping and for how much, because that all has to do with how you get to the store

#asks

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aarvishindalenterprises · 2 years ago

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Aarvi Shindal Enterprises

Building the future. Preserving the past.

View On WordPress

#aarvi shindal enterprises #builders in chamba #building #catering #catering services #chamba #chamba weather #construction #construction company in chamba #event management #interior designing #minjar #Shimla weather #transportation

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numinous-scribe · 9 months ago

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Siblings by trial and choice

So @noir-renard posted a prompt in Haunting Heroes a little while ago that's had me in a perpetual choke hold ever since.

When the Portal ZAPS Danny, he doesn't just get turned into a half ghost; he gets catapulted halfway across the galaxy. So now he's stuck on an alien ship, trying to deal with new powers, and desperately searching for a way home.

And my immediate thought was "How can I make this about Starfire?", from which everything spiraled.

[Click the pictures for better quality!]

Having assumed that the portal wasn't even supposed to be functional, Danny had absolutely no basis for anything that was happening to him. Not his new look or powers, not for wherever he was, and certainly not for the predicament of where he landed-- A ship he would later come to know as belonging to the slavers known as the Gordanians.

For all Danny knew, he certainly wasn't human anymore, and he might not have even been in the same dimension either; while Earth had been seeing more and more interactions with aliens, he'd never seen any quiet like these, and his parents had said that the portal was designed to view a whole other world.

And that was terrifying! He was Danny Fenton, just fourteen, and so far out of his depth it wasn't even funny. If it weren't for Koriand'r then Danny didn't know how he would have kept it all together.

As it were, Kor'i had already been enslaved for four years by this point. She knew what it was like to suddenly be cut off from everything she'd ever known, and the torment that was awaiting this strange boy that had appeared in a flash of green light. So even though she had nothing to give, Kor'i stuck by Danny's side.

Together, for the next two years, they fed each other hope.

Naturally, returning to Earth was a big ordeal for Danny, and by proxy for Kor'i as well. Over the two years they spent enduring harsh labor and torture from both their Gordanian captors and the Psions, Danny had confided in all sorts of stories about his home world and vice versa Kor'i about Tamaran. After confirming that he hadn't been transported to another reality, and that this was his Earth, Danny had been so excited to return home and to introduce Kor'i to his friends and family.

But while Earth was still the same, home... was not.

His parents were in jail; not only for their unethical and code violating lab, but because they were so neglectful to the point that minors were able to get into the lab unsupervised and one of them— Danny —was able to access their faulty machine and, presumably, died.

Jazz got picked up by the state, but quickly managed to get herself emancipated and now lived in some other state attending college.

The Manson's moved. Sam was a wreck and not coping well at all; her parents were considering having her committed to an institution for a bit to help her last anyone had heard.

The Foley's couldn't afford to move, so Tucker had to carry on with life as well as he could. He's quiet now, not as verbose and shameless as before, more of a hermit than anything.

And since he's been presumed dead, and can't figure out how to disprove that, honestly, Danny doesn't know how to pick back up where he left off. He can't. Because everything, including him, has changed as well.

But, like she's always done since the moment they met, Kor'i was there for him. And now they have a new family in the Teen Titans as well.

Bonus:

Close ups of Phantom and Starfire. Danny's suit design is a mixture of some of his original concept art and @the-stove-is-on-fire's designs :)

#scribe's work #tt!danny&starfire au #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc art #dcxdp #dcxdp crossover #dcxdp art #long post

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soulcaretherapist · 4 months ago

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In the Matrix Destiny chart, the number at the orange point marked with an X shows which professions and jobs are suitable for you. You can adapt this to each of your jobs and professions, and activate the energy of money in your life.

1 - Professions that are unconventional, not very common, and where you can apply theoretical knowledge to practice.

2 - Professions where you can use your creativity, solve problems, and help others.

3 - Professions where you are in a responsible role (manager, business owner, teacher, etc.) and where men can work with women, providing you with opportunities to shine.

4 - Management of money and creative fields for women, physical labor or group management for men.

5 - Professions that require organization and rules, with a clear, profitable outcome from the service provided (like a doctor's diagnosis).

6 - Any profession related to communication, with opportunities to rise in beauty/design fields.

7 - Professions involving movement, such as sports, tourism, military, or those combined with transportation/logistics.

8 - Professions involving advocacy, analysis, and a clear, structured process.

9 - Teaching, roles where you can share your knowledge and expertise.

10 - Managing teams, working in large office environments, and collaborating with similar professionals.

11 - Professions requiring physical strength, activity, and leadership roles.

12 - Professions related to helping people, nature, and creativity.

13 - Professions that may be challenging or chaotic, such as managing emergencies and crisis situations.

14 - Professions combining art, creativity, tourism, and entertainment.

15 - Leading large groups, helping individuals with dependencies, and working in various environments.

16 - Professions involving frequent travel, business trips, and communication/travel-related work.

17 - Professions where you can be in the spotlight, recognized on screen or social media (within your industry).

18 - Professions related to literature, art, information technology, where you can also engage in additional work like tarot reading due to your strong intuition and interpretative skills.

19 - Working with large audiences or followers, working for international companies, and finding happiness and passion in your chosen profession.

20 - Professions in the information industry, consultancy, spiritual fields, or writing.

21 - Global companies/brands, international presence, creating English content on social media, tourism/hospitality sector.

22 - As long as you enjoy it, the specific profession is less important, with flexible working hours, being your own boss, and more leadership-oriented roles.

I'm open for chart readings. 🌸 Purchase your reading here

#matrix of destiny #destiny matrix #numerology #astrology

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seeingivy · 5 months ago

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my kink is karma

satoru gojo x f!reader

**loosely based on my kink is karma by chappell roan

an: based on a request from gojo as taylor anon <3 this one is for u

“hi honey bee.”

you peer over the top of your monitor screen to find satoru gojo, the executive account manager whose murder you’ve been planning for the past few weeks, looming over your desk. his inhumanely long limbs are fixed behind his back, bright ocean blue eyes filled with glee. and you’ve been through this enough times to know exactly what’s going on.

he’s caught yet another mistake that you’ve made. and he’s here to sick it to you, his favorite worker bee that he likes to irritate.

satoru gojo is a nicely packaged sewer demon that arrived two months ago, replacing the little old lady who used to occupy the glass office at the center of the workflow. she was kind, a little bit confused here and there, but she got her job done without making a fuss and that was all that mattered to you. she made you blondies for your birthday.

you didn’t realize how nice you had it until she was replaced with him. because satoru gojo was irritating, prancing in the way he always did – insanely tall and taking up too much space in your peaceful office – with a boisterous laugh, a strange sense of humor, and a tendency to be irritatingly perfect.

a stitched and tailored suit, designer perfume, and a sparkling rolex watch on his wrist. a pretty girlfriend that he bragged about at mandatory lunches, a shiny black mercedes, and a penthouse apartment in the center of the city.

you hate him. you hate how you can feel him scorning at the worn down ballet flats that you wear to work, the vintage watch you snagged from the thrift store, and the narrowed look that he gives to your public transportation card as you tuck it back into your wallet when you walk into the office.

“are you doing a sales report?” he asks.

“i’m at my job. where i work in sales marketing. what do you think i’m working on?”

you watch his eye twitch. the small movements – eye twitches, nose wrinkles, and the turning of his lip – you had been watching them, memorizing what exactly it was that pushed his buttons since he was so keen on doing it first. though, he would never show it upfront, at least not as openly as you do anyways.

that was one of the nice things about satoru gojo. that he was intelligent and perceptive – enough for him to know that you were maybe the only person in this office who didn’t like him. that you could understand his niceness was masked in arrogance. that you had no intention of kissing his ass like almost everyone else in this office did.

you loathed his very existence, the stupid jokes he made, and would rather hear nails on a chalkboard than the stories that he recounts from his weekends at his parent’s suburban villa.

“i love a great sense of humor!” he responds, scooting his long legs over to the side of your desk and hunching over to get a view of your computer.

he says it with a bright and sparkling smile, but you get the message clear and straight – i’d watch the attitude if i were you.

the smell of his fancy cologne tickles your nose as he leans over, his face nearly cheek to cheek with yours as he places a little manila folder in front of you. you heave a sigh, opening it up to your sales reports from the last week, each one laminated and with a dark red mark in the center.

“been looking over your reports. you’re getting a little sloppy with your math.”

you scoff.

“is that right?” you ask.

“uh huh. just make sure you count your decimal points and your zeroes when you turn in this one. i know it can be a little hard sometimes, big numbers and all.”

you bite down on your cheek, feeling the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. did he always have to be so patronizing?

“now why would i do that? i’d put you out of a job if i did.”

satoru clicks his tongue in cheek – one of the clear cut signs that you’ve hit one of his exposed nerves. that he’s a glorified calculator sitting in a fancy glass office with an arbitrary executive title slapped next to his name.

satoru gojo hates that you always seem to make that point every time he corrects you. and you’ll take any chance to remind him. that he doesn’t do anything worthwhile. that he’s a pretty face and just that – nothing substantial underneath.

“luckily for me, you’ve proven that you’ll be incompetent until the end. as long as you’re here, it seems that i will be too. i’d get back to it if i were you, honey bee.” he responds, the tone in his voice scathing as he walks back to his office, a glimmering plastic smile pressed to his face.

you have mandatory team building lunches on fridays at twelve thirty. it’s one of the things that you appreciate – that you don’t have to wake up early to put together a lunch from the leftovers in your fridge.

you cycle through every person in the office, rotating on picking up lunch that accommodates the budget and everyone’s dietary requests, and break bread to get closer to one another. satoru, naturally, goes over budget every time it’s his turn, and insists that it’s no problem – though he always seems to slightly mess up your order, while everyone else’s comes out perfectly.

and on the days where he isn’t choosing the lunch, he’s so irritating – complaining of a sensitive stomach – and instead brings a nicely packaged lunch that his private chef makes for him every morning.. three courses, always packed with a dessert.

one time you asked him if the chef wrote him little supportive notes in his lunchbox. you would be lying if you said it didn’t fill you with pride, that the small comment you made was enough to fill him with irritation for the rest of the work day.

“what are your christmas plans, satoru?”

you look over at your fellow sales associate, yuuji, and share a smirk with him. the two of you lean back, nursing your little sandwiches from the deli two miles down in your hands as you start the mental counter in your head.

every day before lunch, you and yuuji make a shot counter of things that you expect gojo to say during team building. common phrases that fall out of his mouth like back at the villa, my custom tailor shop, and louis vuitton – the normal trust fund baby vocabulary, naturally – somehow always make their way into the conversation.

you drink shots accordingly at happy hour after work. whoever’s word has the higher count has to pay for the entire night.

your poison for today was private jet. yuuji’s was timeshare.

“anne marie and i are heading over to her family’s timeshare in bali. they have a property over there – full pool, private beach and all.”

yuuji snorts. you roll your eyes.

“a private beach?” nanami asks, eyes raised as he neatly picks the tomatoes out of his sandwich and hands them over to shoko at his side.

“a private beach, indeed. it’s right on the coast, equipped with boats for excursions and stuff like that. the timeshare comes set with all of those.” he states.

“excursions.” you repeat, giving yuuji a wide eyed look as he fights the urge to laugh.

satoru looks over at you, a clear distaste in his eyes, as he leans back in his chair, legs spread wide.

“what are you doing for your vacation, y/n?” satoru asks.

“i’m going home with yuuji for a few days.” you state.

“right. that sounds exciting!” he states.

you can hear the message laced in that one too – a clear and pointed diss that he’s going to be spending his time at a resort with his skinny legged model girlfriend and you’re going to be going home with the one gay guy that works at your office and get drunk in the bar in your hometown.

“which airline are you taking?” satoru asks.

you grin.

“delta.”

“never been. i use my private jet to get around.”

you give him an exaggerated gasp.

“a private jet? tell me all about it.”

you’ve goaded him right into your trap – as satoru then says the word private jet a total of seventeen times, defeating the measly eight times he said timeshare – and delight in the fact that you’ll at least get to have a nice night out.

on the first tuesday back from break, freshly minted into five days of the new year, your co-worker katie shakes your shoulder aggressively ten minutes into your shift. you note that four days into the week, satoru has yet to return to the office and you hope that it’s not just good luck – that maybe he fell off of his duffy boat in bali and lost all his memory, rendered incapable of ever returning to the office again.

you pray that your new boss isn’t as much of an asshole as him.

you look up to find katie’s eyes wide, an excited smile on her face, as she leans down into your space. katie is one of the few friends that you have in the office, the third person who finds satoru and his antics irritating.

“did you hear about gojo?” she asks.

“every thing i know about that man is against my will.” you deadpan.

she giggles, leaning down to whisper.

“oh my fucking god. come here. you’re going to love this.”

she stands up, scanning the room, as she gestures for you to stand up, the two of you making your way over to the break room. you can’t talk so freely about him when his little lackey’s are still lingering around, who will most definitely tell him that the two of you were gossipipng.

and god knows that would only make his head bigger – knowing that everyone talked about him even when he wasn’t there. katie strides into the room, taking residence over the coffee machine and shooting nanami a polite smile, as she starts absentmindedly brewing a cup of coffee.

“he’s losing it.”

“who?”

“satoru. he’s going fucking crazy apparently.”

you snort. as if. satoru’s definition of going crazy would be mixing and matching different designer brands – like wearing a gucci watch with a louis vuitton tie.

“turns out that his glamorous vacation to bali with that raggedy anne doll never happened. she had a whole meltdown and broke up with him after his credit card got declined at a restaurant they went to a few days before the trip.”

you nearly choke on your spit.

“what?”

“apparently it was just a fluke, his card got momentarily blocked since he bought some new car. but she literally freaked out on him and left him stranded.”

you snort.

“there’s no way.”

“she told him that it was unacceptable. that she had enough.”

“well, i’ll say. she milked an entire designer wardrobe out of him.” you whisper, earning you a giggle from katie.

“i know! anyways, sharon from hr told me that he’s taken the past four days off because he doesn’t have transportation – he fucking crashed the mercedes when he was driving home from the breakup.”

“you’re fucking kidding. the g-wagon?”

“i swear to god.”

it feels a little mean, but you can’t help but delight in all of it.

that despite it all, karma’s real. and it’s finally satoru fucking gojo’s turn. six months of patronizing comments and arrogance has finally caught up with him. his pretty girlfriend is just that – a pretty girl who wanted to do nothing with him. the car he brags about has been demolished and at the very least his larger than life ego has taken some type of hti.

“oh, look, look.”

katie shakes your arm, the two of you peering through the glass window to see satoru climb out of the bus – the same bus that you take to work everyday to save money – with what you can tell from here is an unironed suit and messy hair. his tie isn’t even done properly.

and when he walks in, all you smell is the fancy cologne, with the faintest hints of tequila lingering behind. a smell that you only catch, because it’s one that you’ve drowned out on a bad day.

you and yuuji pick horrendous words for lunch – yours being luxury brand and yuuji’s being private chef – and much to your dismay, he says neither. he actually doesn’t say anything. just sulks in the corner and disappears as soon as he finishes the tacos.

you leave a mistake in your sales report. he doesn’t even catch it.

“can you close out my tab, toji?”

toji, the bartender who’s well aware of your antics – and perhaps even more upset than you are that your hoity toity boss didn’t play along well with your game today – gives him a nod, wiping his hands with the towel as he looks over at you.

“you too, doll?”

“no, i’ll have another before i head out.” you state.

he gives you a nod, shuffling off to the side to get yuuji’s bill, as you slump down on the bar, yuuji mimicking your motions as you both lean your heads against one anothers. and he leaves just as fast, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head as you swirl the little ice cubes in your drink as you watch the bubbles fizz out.

“rough day, y/n?”

you shrug.

“same old – can’t really complain. you?”

toji smiles.

“you see that guy over there, at the end of the bar? this is the third day that he’s drank up my entire supply of tequila.”

you follow the line of his vision to see satoru – the satoru gojo slumming it in this rather disgusting bar, at least for his standards – his tie messy and the buttons of his shirt loosely undone sitting at the bar.

“him?”

“uh huh. broke up with like the only girl he’s ever dated, apparently. whoever she is, thank her fucking ass. he tips well over.” toji murmurs, giving you a smile as he rearranges the glasses.

you give toji a weary smile, pressing the cash down on the bar, as you make your way over – noting that tequila smell is not masked at all this time – as you slide into the seat next to him, tapping on your shoulder. and he looks over, the rims of his eyes red and eyes squinting as he leans forward.

“honey bee?” he slurs.

the smell is overwhelming.

“the one and only.” you respond.

you reach forward, sliding the little shot glass out of his hand and placing it behind the bar. you turn back to find that his hair is messy, whatever mousse that he’s used to style it has clearly run fraught, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“that’s enough for one night, gojo. let’s get you home, yeah?”

“huh?”

“home. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or a household?”

he glares.

“i know what a home is.” he deadpans.

“perfect! let’s get you to yours.” you respond.

satoru turns over to you, blue eyes weary, before he shrugs and slumps down onto the bar. you roll your eyes, scooting your chair closer as you pull up your phone.

“i’ll do you a liberty. i know you’re probably morally opposed to taxis, so i’ll call you an uber. what’s your address?”

satoru reaches up, his fingertips brushing your wrist, as he snatches your phone and places it flat on the bar.

“no thank you.”

“toji will kick you out, you know. and he doesn’t even know you like that, he’ll probably be really mean since he has a wife to get back home to and all.”

satoru snorts.

“then i’ll just go to another bar. i’m not going home.”

you groan, noting that of course he was going to be stubborn about this too, and that whatever it was in your chest – pity, you suppose – was making you so insistent on making sure he didn’t die from alcohol poisoning tonight.

“what’s so bad about your pretty penthouse?” you ask.

he huffs a sigh.

“there’s pictures of anne marie everywhere. and i fucking hate that bitch.”

you snort, hearing such choice words about the barbie doll that you never had the pleasure of meeting, as you hop off the stool. you figured he was going to be more of the emotional drunk – crying and whining – rather than cursing her very existence.

“okay, c’mon. i know somewhere you can go.”

you feel bad for him as the night goes on. because he’s so drunk that he’s sobbing the entire drive back to your apartment, a horrendous mix of drunk ramblings about how honda civics are actually nicer than he expected and how he didn’t even know that this part of the city existed. your previous thoughts about emotional drunks were completely revoked.

he leans his entire weight on you as you drag him into the elevator, plopping him down on the couch, as you task yourself with making him a green smoothie before letting him pass out into the abyss. it’ll help with the raging hangover you’re positive that he’s going to have tomorrow – and you hope that it means he’ll spare you some kindness the following morning, for saving him from his imminent death and all.

you change into your comfy pajamas as the smoothie blends – a loose old dartmouth t-shirt and shorts – and pour it into a glass. you take a deep breath, bracing yourself, as you make your way back to the couch where satoru’s peeled his sport jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt nearly halfway down. you make it a point to not ogle his perfectly chiseled body.

“alright, satoru. this will help with your hangover tomorrow, just drink it really fast because it tastes horrible.” you state.

satoru looks over at you, completely unfazed by the green drink you hand him, and decides that he’s very shamelessly going to check you out. you can see it in his eyes – the way they follow your bare legs and your mismatched socks, before he looks back up at you and frowns.

“am i that fucking pathetic that you’re helping me?” he asks.

you grin.

“yes.” you respond.

satoru appreciates the honesty, gulping down the thick and tart smoothie that you made him, and slams the glass down on the coffee table after the fact. he wipes the residue on the back of his hand and shrinks into the couch – and you can’t help but shiver at how normal he looks.

it’s the first time that you’ve understood it, why everyone thinks he’s so attractive. he has soft and full cheeks, striking blue eyes that go perfectly with his snow white hair. a few freckles dot his nose.

“well, let’s hear it. make all the fun you fucking want.” satoru murmurs.

you roll your eyes.

“do you think i’m a bitch? i don’t kick people when they’re down. something you’re wholly unfamiliar with, i’m well aware.”

“you have no problem doing it in the office.” he states.

you scoff.

“you always start it. you can’t really get mad when i start dishing it back. and i’m a little bit better than you. i won’t make comments about you now that pretty malibu barbie’s broken your heart now because i have a shred of decency.”

satoru scoffs.

“you’ll just do it tomorrow, when i’m keen enough to fight back .” he states.

you sigh, leaning back on the couch, as you look up at the wallpaper pressed to the ceiling. it’s slightly peeling and you make a mental note to replace it when you get the time – which knowing you, you probably never will.

he was impossible.

when you look over at him, his eyes fixed to the peeling wallpaper too, but with glimmering tears sprinkling out of his eyes, though they’re slower and quieter than the sobs that he was heaving in the car. you wonder how much he really had to drink.

“you need to replace your wallpaper. it’s coming off.” satoru seethes.

“okay.” you respond.

you look back at the ceiling. you could give him some advice too.

“you should stop dating gold diggers.” you state.

he rolls his eyes.

“how was i supposed to know she was a gold digger?” he asks.

you laugh.

“it’s not normal to buy your girlfriend’s entire wardrobe. and her car. and her..”

“okay, okay, okay. it was a gift!” he defends.

“you know, normal people get a giftcard and call it a day. or a candle from target.” you respond.

there’s a whisper of a smile on satoru’s face as he sighs, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“okay, well. i was trying to be sweet. her love language was giving gifts.”

you snort.

“shocker.” you deadpan.

he reaches for the closest cushion, before smacking it straight across your chest. you’re quick to snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest, as the two of you stick back to the silence.

“so what do i do?” he asks.

“what do you mean?”

“i dunno. never done a break up before. she was like my first girlfriend.”

you would understand it. you would, you suppose, if that was something you could relate to. being so in love that you can’t be with anyone else. but then again, that lingering question would always come back to you – how could you know that this person was the one if you hadn’t tried anything else?

in your very limited experience in your very short life, one thing always rang true – that the more time you took to learn, to experience, the better things seemed to get. you had a bunch of shit friends in high school and now you’re friends with yuuji. you had four different majors before you picked marketing because it let you be creative. you’ve dated four different guys but you’re still looking for the one.

that’s why you didn’t understand it – how people could be so one and done, on something so serious. granted, that’s probably how they end up with gold diggers.

“do you have anything of hers?” you ask.

satoru gives you a strange look, before digging his hand in his pocket, and fishing out his wallet. he opens up the little zipper, yanking a little silver necklace out of the leather, and placing it into the palm of your hand.

you feel your eyes widen a little bit, sparkling diamonds set in a little circular mother of pearl design, as you run your fingers over it. you shake yourself out of it, looking over at him resting his forearms against his knees, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“real cute. go throw it out of my window.” you state, handing it back to him.

“i beg your pardon?”

“so a window is an opening in the wall or roof that…” you start.

he lightly shoves you, before clutching the necklace in his fist.

“i can’t throw it out. it’s fucking expensive.”

you roll your eyes.

“that means nothing to you. you’re not throwing it away because you still like raggedy anne.”

“raggedy anne?” he asks.

“yuuji, katie, and i call her that. red hair kind of set that one up for us but…”

his eyes widen, as he leans forward.

“do you guys not like her?” he asks.

you shrug, as you stand up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you pull him closer to the window. the question catches you off guard – that he would care what the three of you would think.

you peek your head out the window – a few cars still milling on the street, the lights lazily changing, as he joins you and sticks his head out the window.

“i can’t, honey bee.” he states.

“yes, you can. it’s just a necklace.”

“but what if she wants it back?” he asks.

you fight the urge to slap him, as you stick your head back into the warmth of the apartment. he follows suit.

“you would go back to her?” you ask.

“i dunno. i –”

“she would probably only want to get back together so she can get this fucking necklace back. because she’s a gold digger! screw her, surely you could do better than that!”

satoru frowns, as he peaks out of the window again. and he makes the motion like he’s going to throw it before he looks back at you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

“it’s limited edition. maybe i should sell it and –”

“no. you’re going to throw it out of the window right now, on the count of three.”

“i really don’t want to. we should do something easier first.” he whines.

“one.” you state.

he panics. surely he couldn’t be serious.

“this can’t be how normal people cope. i could hit someone and give them a black eye..”

“two.” you scold.

“maybe i don’t want to be a normal person. i think that this is all –”

“three.”

you snatch the necklace out of his open palm and throw it straight out of the window. it makes a little clinking sound when it finally hits the bottom, the two of you poking your heads out of the window to now see it tangled in the sewage gutter that’s been dirtied by the recent rain.

“you threw her necklace.” satoru states, in exasperation.

“when normal people can’t do it on their own, a trusted friend does it to keep them in line.” you state, pushing back into the apartment and wiping your hands.

satoru follows behind you, his steps featherlike, as you reach for his phone and start scrolling through the contacts. he’s leaning his head over your shoulder, eyes wide as you pull up anne marie’s contact and hold it out to him.

“you’re going to make me block her too?” he asks.

“no. you should call her once and say some mean stuff and then block her.”

satoru’s eyes widen.

“mean stuff?”

“call her. tell her she’s a gold digger. that you think her voice is annoying or something.” you add.

satoru crosses his hands over his chest.

“that’s not very mature.”

“okay, but you’re back in dog years since you’ve been dating this girl forever. plus, i’d say it’s immature to be in a god knows how long relationship with someone just for their money. does she have any consideration for you?”

satoru pauses, like he’s mulling the thought over.

“if you don’t do it, you’re going to become even more weird and repressed than you are now.” you state

“i’m not repressed!” he whines.

“be immature! say a bunch of bullshit and then hang up! you’ll feel great – you…you’re supposed to do these types of things at least once. this is like a rite of passage.”

satoru gives you a weary look as you lean forward, pressing the dial button. his eyes go wide as you start whispering, gesturing for him to do it.

“hello? satoru?” anne marie says, voice confused.

there’s a considerable amount of sound behind the speaker, loud booming music making it very clear that raggedy anne is at the club while satoru’s moping it out in your apartment.

“do it.” you whisper.

“hi annie.” satoru murmurs.

you roll your eyes at the nickname.

“did you want something satoru?” she asks.

“yeah. yeah, i just wanted to say…” satoru starts.

“hold on one second.” she says.

there’s a murmuring over the speaker, which she’s clearly covered, as you start whispering. tell her she’s annoying! she won’t even give you the time of day on a phone call!!

“sorry, i’m back. i’m on a date right now so i was just trying to slip away.”

satoru looks up at you.

“you’re a bitch.” he murmurs.

you fight the urge to laugh.

“what did you say?” anne marie responds.

“you’re a bitch.” he says louder.

“good! say it again!” you whisper.

satoru has the whisper of a smile on his face, the silent support goading him on, as he keeps talking.

“you…you’re annoying. you have a really high pitched voice and every time you wake up in the morning, it gives me an ear splitting headache. and you…you look horrible in blue.”

the choice of words is a little middle school, but you’ll give it to him. there was a first time for everything.

“say something else.” you whisper.

“is that a girl?” anne marie asks.

you both widen your eyes, before satoru quickly hangs up and start laughing. you note that for your standards that was horrendously tame, but the glint in his eyes seems to signify that it’s at least done something for him, because it’s the first time he properly smiles after entering your apartment.

“how was that?”

“fucking great! she sounded like an idiot!” he responds.

“she sure did.”

“now she’s probably wondering which girl i’m with and working herself over it.” he responds.

you shake your head, pulling out the sheets to make the fold out bed for him properly, before you make your way back over to your own room. screaming middle school insults seems to sober him up enough, because he joins you in folding the sheets, a smile on his face.

“have you done that before?” he asks.

“done what?” you ask.

“throw stuff out like that? call an ex-boyfriend?”

you smile.

“mhm. my first boyfriend irritated me so bad that i took everything he ever gave me – a dried up bouquet of flowers, a necklace, birthday cards and all that type of stuff – and threw it in a trash can outside of the bank i go to. and the calling, i did that once when my ex-boyfriend decided to go to san diego for a trip instead of meeting up with me. he made it pretty clear for a week that we were going to break up on that day and i had hyped myself up for it, just for him to not show up. so i got pissed and called him then and there.” you state.

satoru’s floored.

“really? that’s such a dick move.”

“i mean, s’pretty standard.”

you’ve been on the carousel of assholes your entire life. but satoru shakes his head.

“i can’t believe someone would even do that. that’s unusually cruel.”

you forgot about that part. that with having experienced next to nothing, there’s a sense of naivety that comes with it too.

or hope. whichever word speaks to you more – and at the current moment, it’s the latter, only because he seems so genuinely downtrodden by it – so genuinely believing that people are meant to be good and kind that he can’t fathom someone being mean and selfish just for the sake of it.

you feel bad for him.

“that it is. almost as cruel as dating someone just for their money.” you respond.

satoru sighs.

“yeah.”

“that’s kind of the cool part now.” you respond.

“what is?”

you sit down flat on the bed, the sheets nicely tucked in and folded, as you pat the little spot next to you on the bed. he obliges, his legs stretching out a considerable distance past yours, as you cross your arms over your chest.

“this is going to sound really weird, but some day you’re going to agree with me.” you state.

“okay.”

“you’re going to feel a lot of things in the next few months. and then after the fact, when you’re really truly over it, you’re going to realize how real all of that was.”

“meaning?”

you shrug.

“you’re going to mope and listen to sad songs for a while. and those songs are going to hit like they’ve never hit before, you’re going to realize people have been writing about this exact feeling that you’re experiencing for years. you’ve just gone through a shared experience that almost everyone has, no matter who they are, of getting your heart shattered.”

satoru’s never thought of it that way. granted, he’s only been thinking about it for three days, but still.

“then you’re going to be pissed. you’re going to do a bunch of stupid stuff and you might even regret it a little bit, but that’s part of learning more about yourself. maybe you really do like to have the last word. maybe you can’t fathom it at all, seeing that person ever again. either way, you’re going to figure out something about yourself and it’s going to make it all the more worth it. that’s part of this entire thing – experiencing something new, doing things three, four, five times and fucking up each time, just to…get something out of it. figure out whatever you’ve got going on in this thing.” you respond, flicking at his forehead.

satoru rubs the spot, glaring at you, as you shoot him a smile.

“there’s no point in doing anything once. you’re going to live a really long life, were you really only going to date and love one girl the entire time? i know you must have more to give than that.” you state.

“do you not believe in marriage?” he asks.

you frown.

“who said i don’t believe in marriage?”

“i mean, you seem like so…hippie dippie. i get what you’re saying and…and i’m even inclined to believe you’re right…but where does that stop? you can’t go on experiencing things and people and loving forever?”

you smile.

“why do you think so little of marriage? do you really think all of that stops once you enter a relationship with someone?”

satoru freezes.

“you keep doing that stuff, but with the person you know is meant for you. clearly your relationship with raggedy anne must have been really, very boring, because getting to do new things together is the fun part. i’d argue that it’s even the point of even being together – growing into something new.”

satoru thinks you're wise. he thinks that he’s still leftover drunk and whatever it is you’re saying is coming out like poetry to him, that it’s singing to the tune that’s been going on in the background of his head for the past year, because really – his relationship was very boring.

it had gotten monotonous. maybe he stayed because he didn’t know anything different. maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with stalking your every move – making sly comments, finding mistakes in your reports - just because you were always so keen to give him a different answer, one he couldn’t predict, the only constant thing about you being that you were always different.

“your brain looks like it’s working overtime. you should go to bed.” you state.

“okay, yeah.”

satoru is still drunk. somewhat drunk. maybe a little.

it’s why he leans forward, to press a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. he notes that your eyes go wide, as you immediately lift your hand to press your fingers to the skin, your cheeks flushing pink.

“i was hoping you were going to give me like a thousand dollars or something as a gift for being nice to you.”

satoru grins. because again, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting at all.

“i could do that too.” he states.

you roll your eyes, before reaching forward to pinch his cheek.

“shut up.”

“you’re pretty.”

you’re taken aback by the comment, leaning back to cross your hands over your chest, as you eye him again. messy hair, swollen eyes, and pink lips from the drinks.

“you’re not that bad either. you look way better like this.”

“like this?”

“you know…no fancy mousse. creepy perfectly tailored suit. having a proper meltdown and all. not to be rude, but your distress might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

satoru scoffs.

“you’re just jealous that i look so great all the time.”

you shake your head.

“not at all. i’m not into that at all – the whole perfect, rich boy thing.”

satoru leans forward, eyes wide.

“what are you into?” he asks.

you smile.

“did you really crash your car?” you ask.

he groans.

“you know about that?”

you laugh.

“i’m into that. you being a real person. i think you’re very funny when you’re drunk and you have the insults of a middle schooler. your hair looks very good when it’s all messed up like this and your very genuine enthusiasm and curiosity is very refreshing.”

“yeah?” satoru whispers, a glint in his eyes.

“mhm. don’t lose sleep over it, okay?” you respond, pinching his cheek as you shuffle your way over to your room.

satoru watches as you retreat, your mismatched socks riding up to your ankles, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re right. if he had missed out.

he hadn’t done anything. anything at all. you were three feet away – with an entire life he knew nothing about. the little scars on your arms were all a story, maybe from pulling something out of the stove too fast or falling on the pavement, and he can’t help but wonder what it all was.

if he could still gain it all, after years of falling behind.

satoru was always an overachiever. he was going to do this, he was going to do this now.

satoru stands up, legs carrying him to the door of your bedroom, as he firmly knocks on the wood. he hears something that sounds like a thud, before you swing the door open, your eyes adjusting to the brightness outside to find him standing there.

“it’s been one minute.” you deadpan.

“can i sleep with you?”

“i beg your pardon?”

satoru sighs.

“i’ve never slept in the same bed as someone.”

“huh? you and raggedy anne never…”

he shakes his head.

“i mean, like once, but it was by accident. my penthouse has two beds and i don’t know what it feels like to…sleep next to someone.”

you pause. and let your curiosity get the better of you.

“are you a virgin?”

“i am not a virgin.”

you laugh at the irritation in his voice, before holding the door open wider and gesturing for him to walk into the room.

“my bed isn’t that big.” you state.

“that’s okay. just…please? let me?”

you assume that saying no would be equivalent to kicking a dog while it’s down. it’s what you reason to yourself as you let him in, watching as he giggles at your stuffed animals and your glasses in the nightstand before he wraps his arms around you, his embrace warm around you.

you swear he kisses your hairline.

“did you just kiss me again?”

“hey. i’m experiencing new things. i’ve got tons of places i have to kiss you on my list.”

you snort.

“you’re bold.” you state.

“and you’re really very sweet. i really like you, you know that?”

you roll your eyes, before leaning back into his touch. it’s so innocent, so unlike any other guy you’ve talked too – so excited about kissing you on the top of your head.

maybe it’s a little bit less pity than you anticipated.

“do you ever think i could do that?” he asks.

“do what?”

“what you’re talking about? doing things four, five, six times…growing with someone and all that?” he asks.

you sigh, before placing one of your hands over his.

“yes, satoru. of course you can.”

the following monday, you’re greeted by a little box on your desk. you open it up to a giftcard and four target candles, accompanied with a little note and his horrible chicken scratch handwriting.

honey bee, heard normal people give gift cards and candles as gifts. but i’m indecisive so there’s four candles. also, they’re custom made and really expensive so don’t throw them out to sass me or make a point or something :O satoru

and you see him an hour later, a cup of the cheap office coffee in his hand, as he walks around talking to everyone in the office. his tie is a little bit loose and his hair is unstyled – and you think that it’s interesting, that he had taken what you had said to heart. and your previous thought stands.

that he really does look better this way.

he makes his way over after twenty minutes, leaning down and basically pressing his cheek to yours as he looks at your monitor.

“did you check your math?” he asks.

“do you want me to shove a pencil down your throat?” you ask.

satoru laughs and you can’t help but smile.

“did you like my gift?”

“yes. but i have a few notes.”

satoru stands up properly, leaning against your desk with his hands crossed over his chest, as he gestures for you to talk.

“do tell.”

“when i say candle, i really do mean one candle. and you know, i meant like an eight dollar candle. like the shit ones that give you allergies.”

“candles can give you allergies?”

“i get watery eyes when they aren’t soy or natural.” you state.

“noted. what else?”

“when i say gift card, i mean twenty bucks. not two thousand dollars.”

satoru whines.

“so many rules. you’re so high maintenance, honey bee.” he whines, cupping your chin in his hand and squeezing once, before shuffling back to his office.

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetnertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

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azzayofchaos · 6 months ago

Text

As an exercise in creature design and in the interest on developing my dreaming-verse/general world building lore, i thought these guys would be fun to do!

More lore / transcript:

THE STRIDER:

Peaceful lava walkers and grazers, they’re often breed and domesticated for both their use as transportation across the lava lakes and for various materials.

While not certainly an acquired taste to an overworlder, strider meat is not an uncommon food source. String and membranes from their opalescent sensory organs and hide are also valuable resources.

The membranes are heat management, courting displays, and gathering sensory input as they are near-blind.

Strider's eyes are largely vestigial, the sensory organs picking up on heat signatures exclusively.

They have spiracles for breathing along their sides and tails.

When wading through lava, their limbs are able to stretch out, this process requires the high temperature and results in the brighter, redder coloration of their skin as the heated fluids move under it. When not on lava, this fluid cools resulting in a duller coloration.

A subspecies of strider can be found in regions of the deep Neth that are blue in color.

They are long lived and migratory creatures, lichens and fungi often growing on their harder outer plates to spread across lava lakes. These are not an incident the striders, though magma barnacles, the stationary stage of a Nether-local insectoid species are considered pests.

Adolescent striders are a few meters tall, though they can grow considerably larger.

When being ridden, a lantern full of the phosphorescent warped mushrooms that Striders prefer. This lantern has the bonus effect of glowing when passing across sections of land. While Striders prefer to graze on fungi, they also spend significant amounts of time filtering minerals from the lava lakes.

Flags are displayed to help make visible where the rider and the strider are coming from and what the point of travel for the rider is.

THE GHAST:

Territorial and aggressive animals that use the updrafts of lava lakes to remain afloat in the the atriums of the Neath.

Ghats contain organs able to solidify and fire out explosive charges, when about to fire, the organ will light up, an illusion of a demonic face appearing through their spiracles and semi-transparent bodies.

They feed on minerals and airborne biological matter that filters out of the biomes in the upper-regions of the Neth with their oral arms.

The ghast tear is an organ in their center arm.

Adult ghasts release their own spores into the air to help with genetic exchange, otherwise growing young ghast on their bodies that eventually split off in a sort of mitosis.

the gelatinous bodies of ghasts are used primarily in construction and fuel, but parts of their innards, explosive organs not included, are commonly eaten.

#dreamingverse au #minecraft #world building #my art #minecraft worldbuilding #minecraft ghast #minecraft strider #speculative biology #this stuff is up to changing but I think its a good start

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transformers-synergize · 6 months ago

Note

Do you have any more stuff for Sunny & Sides? Your designs for them are some of the best I've seen, and I'd love to know more about your plans or headcanons for them!

No pressure ofc, I support you and your absolute galaxy brain :D

Sure, here is a bunch of random stuff about in no particular order, lot of this stuff was just pulled from my notes but whatever lol

Sunstreaker is egotistical, he knows he is the best and makes sure everyone knows it too. He also has the skills, looks, and combat prowess to back it up. Sunstreaker only really cares about himself and Sideswipe, considering pretty much every bots below him or not worth his time. He often makes sly comments, belittling or cracking jokes about bots whom he deems lesser. His friends are either Sideswipes friends who can tolerate him or bots who think he's cool, which is usually due to factors outside his personality. He's always down for a good fight, being ruthless and downright merciless in combat while still somehow managing to get as little dirt, energon, or other various combat filth on himself as possible, sometimes being nearly spotless after a battle aside from the energon coating his blade. Sunny likes to keep himself in good condition, making sure his paint is perfect and his polish shines, it really helps accentuate how he's the best.

Sideswipe is the nicer of the two brothers. He's outgoing and usually pretty friendly. Sideswipes is always looking for a fight. He loves the thrill of combat. He often treats serious situations more like a game than the high-danger situations he often places in. Sideswipe often can't sit still and always need something to do, and if there is nothing fun to do then he will make his own fun, he is often sparring with his fellow Autobots, trying risky stunts, pulling pranks on other bots and generally just causing chaos. He's very impulsive, often doing the first thing that comes to mind because he thought it might be fun, never considering the consequences. He's kinda like a jock who treats war like a sport with an almost ruthless approach to combat. He often tenses and banter with other autobots, sometimes making jokes at their expense, but unlike Sunny, he usually knows when to stop or when he's gone too far.

info dump bellow↓↓↓

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both emerged during the Autobot Decepticon war and never known peace times. They are the youngest of the crashed Autobots, both being around a thousand years old, which is very young when your species can live to their hundred thousands.

Twins are what happens when a shuttle-sized spark splits into two, so before Sideswipe and Sunstreaker split, their emerging was highly anticipated because shuttles are rare and extremely powerful, but their spark ended up splitting. When they finally emerged, it was a great disappointment.

they were mentored by Inferno and, to a lesser extent, his conjux Redalert (they are one of the many reasons for Redalerts anxiety). Sideswipe has a pretty good relationship with his mentors Sunny… not so much

Sunny hates Earth, it's filthy it's wet it's squishy it's sticky it's too hot, at least compared to Cybertron's frigid temperatures, and its dominant species are nothing but a pain he hates he has to hide his existence from the stupid inferior fleshy creatures that rule this dirtball of a planet he hates how often on missions he has to have a fleshy human chaperone to perform basic task that he could easily do himself or wouldn't be a problem if humans just didn't exist. Whichever bot or bots are on a mission with Sunny where human help is required, the other bot will always be the one transporting the human because Sunny refuses to let a human inside of him.

Sideswipe likes Earth, there so much to see it his first time being anywhere without the war consent looming present of the great war, but having to hide all the time on Earth is frustrating, he's been able to seek out and do some street races without Prowl knowing, he likes quite a lot of human stuff human music is pretty good and he like some human tv shows and movies mostly the ones with a lot of actions and explosion, he like interacting with the humans he's allowed to interact with especially Carly and Raoul, thought Sideswipe often struggles to understand how fragile humans are and often can put them at risk without even knowing it. Sideswipe is still a little homesick for Cybertron, even if he's only ever known it as a war-torn mess.

their poses often mirror each other

Sunny tells Sideswipe to smile with his mouth closed because his split beak.

Sunny is the decision-maker of the two, and though Sideswipe may make destinations for himself on his own as a pair, Sunny always has the final say.

Sunstreaker hates Sideswipe stickers but gave up on trying to remove them because whenever he tried, he got his claws sticky.

Sunstreaker and Tracks have a bit of a rivalry going on, though Tracks hates Sunstreaker more than Sunstreaker dislikes Tracks. Also, Sunny usually comes out as the victor of most of their little spats.

Sideswipe pulls pranks but doesn't dare prank Sunstreaker because he knows there will be hell to pay if he messes up his brother's paint job.

sideswipe loves to cause chaos, Sunny often help

Sunny has some artistic talent, though he doesn't use it much

Sunstreaker always makes sure his frame is clean and in near-perfect condition. Sideswipe doesn't care as much but Sunny, make sure Sideswipe keeps up to a certain standard.

Sideswipe is very extroverted, loves interacting with other bots, and will talk to basically anyone. Sunny is more introverted and prefers to keep to himself and select bots. Sunny tries to encourage his brother not to hang out with bots he considers not good enough to be associated with them which is most bots.

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

As for plans for them, I like keeping what I share plot-wise pretty vague. They appear pretty early on, and they both are pretty plot-important. I don't really care about spoiling characters who appear in the first seven chapters. After that, I'm a little more sneaky and vague about who will appear.

#Sunstreaker #sideswipe #raoul #dont tag as ship #transformers fan continuity #transformers #tfs #transformers synergize #art post #ask answering #sunny #raoul lopez #sunstreaker is pretty controlling #his brothers images is a part of his image or atleast thats how sunny sees it #yes i call their teeth beaks instead of denta since the top and bottom pice are solid pieces without Individualt teeth #cybertronian have beaks kinda like squids #sideswipe naturally formed with a split beak #thank you happy ya like them so much #realized i left one my draft notes on here asaaaaa

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socpens · 8 months ago

Note

Do you like the youhitmetal17times_everyday analogue horror?

I dont watch any analog horror. I dont really like any "devised" analog horror, none of them feel authentic enough both from a tech standpoint but also from a content matter standpoint. They are trying to be scary and I feel like once youre going down that road your shit will never be scary. The only stuff Ive seen that manages to interest me in that genre is stuff that makes earnest and genuine attempts at mirroring feelings we've all had, through analog mediums, instead of conjuring up a scary face for 2 seconds or writing some scary text.

Ive had some of my work be called analog horror and Ive never set out to make it horror. I think people are just unsettled by genuine and authentic portrayals of analog mediums because of their inherent imperfections. And I also think that making things as accurate as possible - from graphic/motion design, sound, editing, every part of it - will either transport the viewer back to when they saw that kind of stuff on TV, or make a viewer who never had that experience feel like they did.

A lot of people shit on the use of nostalgia as lazy or low-effort, but I think it's more about what you do with it, it's a tool. Most analog horror makes no attempts at using nostalgia. Nothing about them is accurate or genuine, it's just a flavor slapped on the work. If you use nostalgia in a way that's real and genuine then you've come pretty close to being able to communicate one to one with the viewer. It's a way of disarming people so you can express what it is you want to express clearly. And thats really hard to do in art, but it's the goal (at least for me)

Feel free to recommend me any analog horror you think fits the bill. No local58 or mandela catalogue or whatever. Only real stuff.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months ago

Text

Boeing’s deliberately defective fleet of flying sky-wreckage

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Boeing's 787 "Dreamliner" is manufactured far from the company's Seattle facility, in a non-union shop in Charleston, South Carolina. At that shop, there is a cage full of defective parts that have been pulled from production because they are not airworthy.

Hundreds of parts from that Material Review Segregation Area (MRSA) were secretly pulled from that cage and installed on aircraft that are currently plying the world's skies. Among them, sections 47/48 of a 787 – the last four rows of the plane, along with its galley and rear toilets. As Moe Tkacik writes in her excellent piece on Boeing's lethally corrupt culture of financialization and whistleblower intimidation, this is a big ass chunk of an airplane, and there's no way it could go missing from the MRSA cage without a lot of people knowing about it:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-30-whistleblower-laws-protect-lawbreakers/

More: MRSA parts are prominently emblazoned with red marks denoting them as defective and unsafe. For a plane to escape Boeing's production line and find its way to a civilian airport near you with these defective parts installed, many people will have to see and ignore this literal red flag.

The MRSA cage was a special concern of John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who is alleged to have killed himself in March. Tkacik's earlier profile of Swampy paints a picture of a fearless, stubborn engineer who refused to go along to get along, refused to allow himself to become inured to Boeing's growing culture of profits over safety:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Boeing is America's last aviation company and its single largest exporter. After the company was allowed to merge with its rival McDonnell-Douglas in 1997, the combined company came under MDD's notoriously financially oriented management culture. MDD CEO Harry Stonecipher became Boeing's CEO in the early 2000s. Stonecipher was a protege of Jack Welch, the man who destroyed General Electric with cuts to quality and workforce and aggressive union-busting, a classic Mafia-style "bust-out" that devoured the company's seed corn and left it a barren wasteland:

https://qz.com/1776080/how-the-mcdonnell-douglas-boeing-merger-led-to-the-737-max-crisis

Post-merger, Boeing became increasingly infected with MDD's culture. The company chased cheap, less-skilled labor to other countries and to America's great onshore-offshore sacrifice zone, the "right-to-work" American south, where bosses can fire uppity workers who balked at criminal orders, without the hassle of a union grievance.

Stonecipher was succeeded by Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, ex-3M CEO, another Jack Welch protege (Welch spawned a botnet of sociopath looters who seized control of the country's largest, most successful firms, and drove them into the ground). McNerney had a cute name for the company's senior engineers: "phenomenally talented assholes." He created a program to help his managers force these skilled workers – everyone a Boeing who knew how to build a plane – out of the company.

McNerney's big idea was to get rid of "phenomenally talented assholes" and outsource the Dreamliner's design to Boeing's suppliers, who were utterly dependent on the company and could easily be pushed around (McNerney didn't care that most of these companies lacked engineering departments). This resulted in a $80b cost overrun, and a last-minute scramble to save the 787 by shipping a "cleanup crew" from Seattle to South Carolina, in the hopes that those "phenomenally talented assholes" could save McNerney's ass.

Swampy was part of the cleanup crew. He was terrified by what he saw there. Boeing had convinced the FAA to let them company perform its own inspections, replacing independent government inspectors with Boeing employees. The company would mark its own homework, and it swore that it wouldn't cheat.

Boeing cheated. Swampy dutifully reported the legion of safety violations he witnessed and was banished to babysit the MRSA, an assignment his managers viewed as a punishment that would isolate Swampy from the criminality he refused to stop reporting. Instead, Swampy audited the MRSA, and discovered that at least 420 defective aviation components had gone missing from the cage, presumably to be installed in planes that were behind schedule. Swampy then audited the keys to the MRSA and learned that hundreds of keys were "floating around" the Charleston facility. Virtually anyone could liberate a defective part and install it into an airplane without any paper trail.

Swampy's bosses had a plan for dealing with this. They ordered Swampy to "pencil whip" the investigations of 420 missing defective components and close the cases without actually figuring out what happened to them. Swampy refused.

Instead, Swampy took his concerns to a departmental meeting where 12 managers were present and announced that "if we can’t find them, any that we can’t find, we need to report it to the FAA." The only response came from a supervisor, who said, "We’re not going to report anything to the FAA."

The thing is, Swampy wasn't just protecting the lives of the passengers in those defective aircraft – he was also protecting Boeing employees. Under Sec 38 of the US Criminal Code, it's a 15-year felony to make any "materially false writing, entry, certification, document, record, data plate, label, or electronic communication concerning any aircraft or space vehicle part."

(When Swampy told a meeting that he took this seriously because "the paperwork is just as important as the aircraft" the room erupted in laughter.)

Swampy sent his own inspectors to the factory floor, and they discovered "dozens of red-painted defective parts installed on planes."

Swampy blew the whistle. How did the 787 – and the rest of Boeing's defective flying turkeys – escape the hangar and find their way into commercial airlines' fleets? Tkacik blames a 2000 whistleblower law called AIR21 that:

creates such byzantine procedures, locates adjudication power in such an outgunned federal agency, and gives whistleblowers such a narrow chance of success that it effectively immunizes airplane manufacturers, of which there is one in the United States, from suffering any legal repercussions from the testimony of their own workers.

By his own estimation, Swampy was ordered to commit two felonies per week for six years. Tkacik explains that this kind of operation relies on a culture of ignorance – managers must not document their orders, and workers must not be made aware of the law. Whistleblowers like Swampy, who spoke the unspeakable, were sidelined (an assessment by one of Swampy's managers called him "one of the best" and finished that "leadership would give hugs and high fives all around at his departure").

Multiple whistleblowers were singled out for retaliation and forced departure. William Hobek, a quality manager who refused to "pencil whip" the missing, massive 47-48 assembly that had wandered away from the MRSA cage, was given a "weak" performance review and fired despite an HR manager admitting that it was bogus.

Another quality manager, Cynthia Kitchens, filed an ethics complaint against manager Elton Wright who responded to her persistent reporting of defects on the line by shoving her against a wall and shouting that Boeing was "a good ol’ boys’ club and you need to get on board." Kitchens was fired in 2016. She had cancer at the time.

John Woods, yet another quality engineer, was fired after he refused to sign off on a corner-cutting process to repair a fuselage – the FAA later backed up his judgment.

Then there's Sam Salehpour, the 787 quality engineer whose tearful Congressional testimony described more corner-cutting on fuselage repairs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP0xhIe1LFE

Salehpour's boss followed the Boeing playbook to the letter: Salehpour was constantly harangued and bullied, and he was isolated from colleagues who might concur with his assessment. When Salehpour announced that he would give Congressional testimony, his car was sabotaged under mysterious circumstances.

It's a playbook. Salehpour's experience isn't unusual at Boeing. Two other engineers, working on the 787 Organization Designation Authorization, held up production by insisting that the company fix the planes' onboard navigation computers. Their boss gave them a terrible performance review, admitting that top management was furious at the delays and had ordered him to punish the engineers. The engineers' union grievance failed, with Boeing concluding that this conduct – which they admitted to – didn't rise to the level of retaliation.

As Tkacik points out, these engineers and managers that Boeing targeted for intimidation and retaliation are the very same staff who are supposed to be performing inspections of behalf of the FAA. In other words, Boeing has spent years attacking its own regulator, with total impunity.

But it's not just the FAA who've failed to take action – it's also the DOJ, who have consistently declined to bring prosecutions in most cases, and who settled the rare case they did bring with "deferred prosecution agreements." This pattern was true under Trump's DOJ and continued under Biden's tenure. Biden's prosecutors have been so lackluster that a federal judge "publicly rebuked the DOJ for failing to take seriously the reputational damage its conduct throughout the Boeing case was inflicting on the agency."

Meanwhile, there's the AIR21 rule, a "whistleblower" rule that actually protects Boeing from whistleblowers. Under AIR21, an aviation whistleblower who is retaliated against by their employer must first try to resolve their problem internally. If that fails, the whistleblower has only one course of action: file an OSHA complaint within 90 days (if HR takes more than 90 days to resolve your internal complaint, you can no have no further recourse). If you manage to raise a complaint with OSHA, it is heard by a secret tribunal that has no subpoena power and routinely takes five years to rule on cases, and rules against whistleblowers 97% of the time.

Boeing whistleblowers who missed the 90-day cutoff have filled the South Carolina courts with last-ditch attempts to hold the company to account. When they lose these cases – as is routine, given Boeing's enormous legal muscle and AIR21's legal handcuffs – they are often ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs.

Tkacik cites Swampy's lawyer, Rob Turkewitz, who says Swampy was the only one of Boeing's whistleblowers who was "savvy, meticulous, and fast-moving enough to bring an AIR 21 case capable of jumping through all the hoops" to file an AIR21 case, which then took seven years. Turkewitz calls Boeing South Carolina "a criminal enterprise."

That's a conclusion that's hard to argue with. Take Boeing's excuse for not producing the documentation of its slapdash reinstallation of the Alaska Air door plug that fell off its plane in flight: the company says it's not criminally liable for failing to provide the paperwork, because it never documented the repair. Not documenting the repair is also a crime.

You might have heard that there's some accountability coming to the Boeing boardroom, with the ouster of CEO David Calhoun. Calhoun's likely successor is Patrick Shanahan, whom Tkacik describes as "the architect of the ethos that governed the 787 program" and whom her source called "a classic schoolyard bully."

If Shanahan's name rings a bell, it might be because he was almost Trump's Secretary of Defense, but that was derailed by the news that he had "emphatically defended" his 17 year old son after the boy nearly beat his mother to death with a baseball bat. Shanahan is presently CEO of Spirit Aerospace, who made the door-plug that fell out of the Alaska Airlines 737 Max.

Boeing is a company where senior managers only fail up and where whistleblowers are terrorized in and out of the workplace. One of Tkacik's sources noticed his car shimmying. The source, an ex-787 worker who'd been fired after raising safety complaints, had tried to bring an AIR21 complaint, but withdrew it out of fear of being bankrupted if he was ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs. When the whistleblower pulled over, he discovered that two of the lug-nuts had been removed from one of his wheels.

The whistleblower texted Tkcacik to say (not for the first time): "If anything happens, I'm not suicidal."

Boeing is a primary aerospace contractor to the US government. It's clear that its management – and investors – consider it too big to jail. It's also clear that they know it's too big to fail – after all, the company did a $43b stock buyback, then got billions in a publicly funded buyback.

Boeing is, effectively, a government agency that is run for the benefit of its investors. It performs its own safety inspections. It investigates its own criminal violations of safety rules. It loots its own coffers and then refills them at public expense.

Meanwhile, the company has filled our skies with at least 420 airplanes with defective, red-painted parts that were locked up in the MRSA cage, then snuck out and fitted to an airplane that you or someone you love could fly on the next time you take your family on vacation or fly somewhere for work.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

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