#be project topics for computer engineering

[projectchampionz]

SUSTAINABLE PRACTICES AND TOURISM DEVELOPMENT AT THE NATIONAL MUSEUM IBADAN AS A STUDY AREA

SUSTAINABLE PRACTICES AND TOURISM DEVELOPMENT AT THE NATIONAL MUSEUM IBADAN AS A STUDY AREA ABSTRACT This research explores the role of sustainable practices in tourism development, with a focus on the National Museum Ibadan, Nigeria. The study investigates the current sustainable practices at the museum, their impact on tourism development, the challenges faced in integrating sustainability, and…

[roosterthefae]

Again (Tell Me That You Love Me Again)

Mobster!Joel Miller x Reader

Chapter 1 - You're No Good (word count - 4194)

Read On Ao3

(check ao3 for content warnings. i will be posting one on here tomorrow once i'm done school and my shift. so sorry for the inconvenience!)

- - -

Your fingers raced across the keyboard, furiously adding the final touches to your design layout. You’d lost track of time, but based on the twinkling stars just outside your apartment window, you knew you had been working on this for hours now.  

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were exhausted. From down the hall, you swear you heard your bed calling your name, and the urge to follow it was there.  

Alas, this project needed to be finished, and you weren’t about to waste all your years of education just to become lazy now that you were in the working world. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you groaned, begrudgingly returning to your work.  

In the background, the local news station was playing on your TV. You put on the channel randomly, opting for some background noise over the dreadful silence of your empty apartment. The sensation felt relatively unfamiliar to you. For the past six months, your apartment had been filled with the agitating sounds of the worst man on the planet. Your ex-boyfriend. 

Perhaps the silence wasn’t that bad. 

Still, you had watched enough horror movies to be cautiously aware of the dangers that came with being a single woman living alone in a big city. Maybe this fear was slightly irrational and did more harm than good, or perhaps you were reasonably on edge.  

Regardless, you didn’t love the feeling of jumping at every single sound, whether it was a car driving by or the rattle of your building from the wind. So, it was decided that late-night news was the best solution.  

It wasn’t the most entertaining—plus, a lot of the darker topics sometimes discussed, such as missing women in your area, just made your new living situation seem even more dreadful–but it kept you focused on your work. 

After your break-up, you choose to drown yourself in copious amounts of overtime. Your only other idea had been to binge-watch every early 2000s rom-com you could think of while inhaling an unhealthy amount of salted caramel ice cream; the latter did not seem as productive.  

The entire experience felt rather dehumanizing. You were a self-proclaimed independent who always could handle issues on your own. This didn’t mean you isolated yourself or anything. You were like anyone else with a tight-knit group of friends; maybe your parents weren’t exactly in the picture anymore, but that was fine. You built a life for yourself here in the city.  

You worked a waitress gig for four years while getting your bachelor's degree, found a job at a great company with amazing benefits, and then that company paid for you to get your master's in computer engineering. Not to brag or anything, but you had a pretty successful life that you made for yourself.  

Until you made the foolish mistake of dating again. You should’ve known it was never a good idea, but your best friend insisted on giving this guy a try. You did, reluctantly, just to please her. He was a detective, so you had high hopes. However, you were wrong. 

The first half of your relationship was fine, nothing out of the ordinary. It was months of occasional dates that you put most of the effort into planning and mediocre sex. You two moved in together, as it naturally was the next step, and everything was pretty decent. 

Until you found him in bed with another woman. 

In your bed. In your apartment. That you paid for on your own. 

The landlord hadn’t added his name to the lease yet, which you found hilarious. This guy was such a bum, he couldn’t even screw his whores in a place that he legally owned. You threw him out immediately. Apparently, he spent the next week crashing on his buddy's couch. You’re not sure what he is doing with his life now, and frankly, you don’t care.  

Nothing good came of that relationship except for a life lesson: you could handle yourself. You knew he wasn’t the man for you, but you clung to the idea that there was someone there for you.  

But maybe it would be nice for once to be taken care of. You don’t want to be coddled or anything. You’re a grown woman, for Christ’s sake, but the thought of having a person who truly cares about you was nice. Someone who wouldn’t get in the way, yet whose presence soothed you. 

You’re disrupted from your thoughts by the sound of sirens on the TV screen. 

It’s a clip of police cars all parked outside an abandoned warehouse by the docks. You watch as officers talk among themselves, some taking notes while others pace the scene. Behind them, an array of crime scene investigators and detectives can be seen. 

The screen changes to a young reporter. She taps the stack of papers against her desk, straightening them. Finally, she clears her throat and speaks, “Breaking news out of New York. Earlier tonight, local authorities attempted to intercept a drug shipment at the docks.” 

By now, your gaze is fully turned to the screen. “Using intel from an inside source, authorities sent a group of undercover police officers to stop a shipment of 500 kilograms of cocaine. However, the mission was a failure.” 

“The police encountered gunfire upon arrival. The assailants were prepared for officers to be there,” she continues, “It is unclear yet who led this attack, but many details point to the New York mafia, who–until recently–we have not heard from in quite some time.” 

Oh delightful, now the mafia was back. Just the cherry on top you needed for this already delightful month. 

Thankfully, no one died, but several police officers are currently hospitalized due to their injuries. However, police did not apprehend any of the assailants. After this turn of events, one can only wonder what will happen next. Will we be hearing more tales about the mafia, or will this be the start of another criminal down period?” 

You turn back to your work as the reporter transitions into another story. You’ve been living in the city for over a decade now, but gangs, mobsters, the mafia–whatever you want to call it–you’re still not used to. These were topics you never thought of while living suburban life–except for movies, of course.  

There’s already too much on your plate right now, so you brush it off, returning to your screen. It's not like these mobs will ever affect you, so there's no point in stressing about it. 

You feel yourself nod off and log out of your laptop, making your way to your bedroom down the hall. You don’t bother to pack up the mess of papers thrown across your coffee table, preferring sleep over organization.  

You cannot describe with words how nice it feels to submerge yourself deep within the mountain of blankets that covers your bed. 

- - - 

“It’s done,” Tess stated from the other line. “The targets have been dealt with.” 

Joel nodded along with her words. He was currently standing in the corner of the warehouse. A warehouse on the opposite end of the coast from where the police officers were. He felt a sense of pride, knowing that he had orchestrated this entire plan. “Thank you, Tess. I knew I could count on you.” 

Tess let out a sharp laugh through the phone. “You owe me for saving your ass again.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you at Frank’s tonight. Your drinks are on me.” 

“That’s more like it, Miller.” Joel has been working with Tess for years now, ever since he left Boston–he prefers to word it like that rather than say he was chased out. She was one of the few people Joel would trust with his life. 

There was a pause; Tess continued. “So, what are you guys planning to do with that kid, anyway?” 

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Tommy is with the fucker right now,” Joel turned around to face the centre of the room, and sure enough, Tommy had the crook tied up in a chair; a group of their men standing behind him. Between sharp punches, Tommy’s making plenty of crude comments, but they’re all buried beneath the sound of shrieking. 

“No shit, really? I couldn’t tell,” Tess remarks, “Surprised you weren’t itching to get your hands on him first.” 

Joel scoffs, “Oh, trust me, I’ll be having my turn at him soon enough.” 

Tess seems pleased by this, letting out a soft chuckle. “Why am I not surprised? I’m expecting one hell of a story once I see you in person.” 

Joel watches as Tommy lands one last blow to the guy's jaw. There’s a sickening crack, and he even notices some guys behind Tommy wince. For a moment, Tommy just stands there, catching his breath, admiring his handiwork.  

The boy is now covered in a mural of blood and bruising, but it's still not enough. There needs to be consequences for these sorts of things. 

Finally, Tommy turns to face Joel, cracking the knuckles he had just been using. “Mind finishing the job?” He nods toward the product of his doing. 

“Gotta go, Tess,” Joel says flatly. 

“Finally!” Tess cheers, “Don’t disappoint me, Miller.” 

Joel hangs up without saying goodbye, sauntering to the centre of the warehouse. An eerie silence comes with him, slowly filling the room. Even in his most violent moments, Tommy carries himself as a charming, upbeat guy. His demeanor makes these dark moments almost feel like they’re entertainment. 

The feeling fades away as Joel walks across the room. There’s a shift in the air; a sharp contrast to the more laid-back environment. No one dares to even glimpse at this scene in amusement, because it's not funny. 

What Joel Miller is about to do here is far from amusing. 

The boy—the rat—hesitantly lifts his gaze from the floor to Joel. His breath is shaky as his own snot runs down his face, onto his now-tattered clothes. 

“Please,” he sobs, “please don’t do this.” 

There’s a beat, but it's not of hesitation, no. Joel stands there, pondering what the best course of action will be. How does he wish to kill this man in order to get his message across? He’s not Tommy. He won’t make a show of this. God, no. 

Without breaking eye contact with the beaten boy, Joel says, “Everyone out.” 

There's a flurry of feet across the concrete floor. Joel listens as he hears the sliding of the warehouse-doors, opened then closed. For once, the room is barren, except for Tommy, who still notably stands by Joel’s side. 

“Figured you might need a hand,” Tommy smirked. 

Joel stares at him, face void of any expression. 

“Okay, fine,” Tommy takes a step back and sighs, “I just want to watch you do your thing.” 

Ah, yes, his ‘thing’, cold-hearted murder. You know, when you’re forced to spend your teenage years helping mobsters smuggle drugs and launder money, you learn a thing or two about the many ways to kill a man. After joining the Boston mob together, Joel tried to shield his brother from as much as possible.  

The four-year age difference might not seem like much now, but it's a pretty big deal when you’re 15 years old trying to stop your 11-year-old brother from being deeply traumatized before even going through puberty. Unfortunately, there's only so much defending that can be done when you’re working with the mob.  

Yet, here they are now. Not-so-little-anymore Tommy awaits eagerly for his brother to slaughter a man. 

How time flies. 

Joel thinks about it for a second. He believes he does his best work on his own, allowing the vulgarity to fully consume him within his isolation, but Tommy is here, and there's no point in sending him out now. 

Joel points toward some boxes in the corner of the room. “Grab me that lead pipe, would ya?” 

A grin spreads across Tommy’s face as he hurries across the room. “On it.” 

Joel doesn’t bother to view the terror that's found itself plastered across his victim's face. No, it's unnecessary. He will hear the terror just fine once he’s swinging that pipe into the boy’s already beaten body. 

- - - 

The next morning, Joel finds himself in the office of the deadliest man on the East Coast. 

He gives Joel a suffocating hug. 

“You’ve done it again, my boy!” Russell Wesley squeezes Joel tighter, as if that's even possible. He’s a decent bit taller than Joel is, though he’s stopped putting so much effort into his appearance as he’s gotten older. Beneath the brim of his hat, Joel sees a few stray grey hairs peeking out.  

Back when Joel first met Wesley, the man’s hair was as black as coal. Though Joel can’t judge too hard; he’s sporting his own salt-and-pepper look at the moment. 

Joel shimmies himself out of Wesley’s grasp. “It’s just another job.” 

Wesley wastes no time in cutting Joel off. “Ah-ah, but there’s no one who could’ve been as efficient as you.” 

Even Joel’s humbleness does not stop him from agreeing. Joel may not be the most charming or admirable man, but he makes up for it with his talent. The ability to kill a man well is one that Joel finds pride in. 

“I mean, c’mon,” Wesley continues, “you found our perp, knew how to feed him the right false information, and planned an attack that’ll leave the police department in shambles for a decent few weeks. Y’know, there’s not a lot of men out there capable of such.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nothing you haven’t handled before.” 

A soft chuckle comes from Wesley. He pulls open a drawer from his desk, rummaging through its contents. “I suppose you’re right,” Finally, Wesley pulls out a cigar. “I got into a lotta trouble back in the day.” 

“You still do.” 

“Old habits die hard,” he reaches into one of his blazer pockets and pulls out an old flip-top lighter. The thing is insanely vintage; Joel’s never seen Wesley without it, but the man cares for it like it's his own child. 

Once the cigar’s in his mouth, Wesley flicks on his lighter. Joel watches as the flame strikes the foot of the cigar. He takes a deep inhale before generously handing the cigar over to Joel. 

Joel takes it with ease, placing the head between his lips. He inhales, letting the smoke fill his lungs. The sharp taste of tobacco eases his mind. 

“Miller, did I ever tell you about my time down in Philly?” 

“Once or twice,” Joel responds. 

“Yeah, well, with a story like that, it's hard not to tell it,” Wesley says, “a man only becomes the boss once in his life.” 

“Am I just here to listen to you tell stories?” 

Wesley eyes him from across the desk, “Are you opposed to that?” 

Joel hands the cigar back to Wesley after a beat, “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.” 

Wesley grins, “This is why I love ya Miller.” 

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“You see, my dear friend Earl and I had been sent out. Now, Earl, God, this kid was a nutcase. I mean, for Christ’s sake, he’s practically bouncing off the wall, must’ve had a few screws loose in his head, but he was a damn good talker. Coulda got us outta any trouble that came our way, yet this fucker hardly ever tried.” 

Wesley continues, “So we’re down in Philly–still not even old enough to legally drink–and we're supposed to be picking up a drop-off for our boss. The guys come, and they’re clearly shorting us; I’m talking half of the product they promised us wasn’t there. So, I’m talking to these fellas, and they couldn't care less about what I had to say; I was a goddamn nobody.” 

“And a guy with the name Earl wasn’t?” Joel adds. 

“Fuck no,” Wesley ignores Joel’s comment, “Hard not to be known when you’re starting fights everywhere you go. Now Earl’s riling these guys up. I’m telling him to smarten the fuck up and get us out of there, and you know what the fucker does?” 

There's a beat before Joel realizes Wesley is waiting for a response. “What did he do?” he asks flatly. 

“Motherfucker pulls out a gun and blows a hole straight into one of the guy's skulls. So, now we're in a standoff. Earl’s shooting at these guys, adding more snarky comments here and there, just to keep them pissed off. Not me. I hunker myself behind a crate like the coward I am, then I see it.” 

Wesley’s eyes light up, “Through a cracked-open back door, I see a truck full of the rest of what we were promised. I realize at this moment that no one's expecting quiet little Russ to be getting himself into any extra trouble. So, I sneak out the back, hot-wire the truck, and start yelling for Earl to get his ass outside.” 

“One hell of a story.” 

“Yeah, and it gets better,” Wesley grins, practically bouncing off his seat, “We get back home and our boss is rightfully pissed. He starts cussing out Earl for his behaviour. I straight up think my buddy's gonna die until Earl breaks the news that we got the product. The best part, Earl gives me full credit for it. It's at that moment I watch as my boss looks at me–and I mean, finally looks at me. This guy has seen me before, but I don’t think he's ever actually given two shits about me until that moment. Later that night, he calls me down and tells me he's gonna start training me to take over once he's gone.” 

“And now, here we are,” Joel adds. 

“Exactly.” 

“Look, can I be frankly honest with you?” Joel asks. He waits until Wesley nods. “That story is a bunch of horseshit.” 

“Yeah, but it's fucking more interesting than me just saying my boss sat me across his desk, gave me a cigar, and told me the job was mine. Is that what you plan on telling people, Joel?” 

There is a shift in the air. Joel stares from across the desk at the old bastard, shocked into silence. “Now, what are you implying here?” 

“I ain’t implying anything, Miller,” Wesley shrugs casually, as if he didn’t just shake Joel’s world. “I’m just curious what story you’re going to come up with to tell people how you became boss.” 

With the life Joel leads, there are very few moments where he is at a loss for words. Yet, here he is, mouth sealed shut. Wesley looks at him with no expression. He’s thrown this onto Joel like it’s small talk; nothing extraordinary. 

Wesley continues, “I wouldn’t have picked you if I thought you weren’t up to the job.” 

“It's not that it's just,” Joel rubs his hands across his face. “Jesus, Russ, you can’t just throw this onto a guy.” 

“Miller, I’m fucking old. I don’t take care of myself enough; I won’t live as long as the average fella. There’s no one I believe in as much as you to trust that this whole ordeal runs smoothly.” Wesley explains. He takes a hit before passing the cigar back to Joel. 

Joel takes the fattest drag he has had in a while. “What about Maria, or Bill, or Tess? Fuck, even Tommy.” 

“You and I both know Bill is off the table. Love the bugger, but he’d burn this place to the ground. Be fucking realistic, Miller.” 

“Okay, well, what about the others,” Joel says, with a venom laced in his voice that he didn’t intend to be there. He is becoming significantly more riled up than he expected, but in his defense, he feels that this was unfairly thrown on him with no notice. 

Wesley sighs, “Tess is bright. One of the smartest bitches we have. But she doesn’t have that leadership in her. Look, independence is a marvelous skill to have. It's why I send her out on solo missions. But for this position, I need someone who's gonna lead.” 

“What about Maria and Tommy?” Joel sharply states, “You don’t want your daughter and her husband running the family business?” 

“So, you’re saying you don’t count as family, Miller?” Wesley barks. 

“You know I didn’t-” Joel tries to respond, but he is quickly interrupted. 

Wesley is done with Joel’s pandering. He gives Joel a cruel look that's borderline a glare. “It can’t be Maria. She’s off getting her doctorate, trying to live a normal life–earn herself some clean money. I don’t want to stop my baby girl from trying to achieve her dreams. Then there’s Tommy.” Wesley sighs, “Look, if you weren’t an option, I’d pick Tommy, but-” 

“Pick Tommy then.” 

“Shut your mouth and listen to me, Miller! There is no one better than you.” Wesley slams his hand on the desk. 

The smack silences the room. Neither speak for a moment until Wesley clears his throat. 

“You have this atmosphere about you, Joel. It’s dizzying. You instill a fear in people that no other man can. You have this internal drive that pushes you harder than anyone I’ve ever seen before. There’s just something about you, Miller, that will never be replicated. Whatever that is, I don’t want it to be wasted. It’d be the biggest mistake I ever made if I didn’t choose you.” 

Joel stares ahead, trying to mask all expressions on his face. This cannot be happening—Wesley must be insane. 

He never expected this to be how his life would go. After leaving Texas with only his brother, a rust bucket for a car, and the grand that they had saved up, Joel expected them to be screwed.  

They made it to Boston, where Joel found work with the wrong group of people. It wasn’t the best situation, but it kept them fed. Few years later, things turned sour. Joel and Tommy were given an option: leave Boston themselves, or leave in a casket. 

Now here he was, being asked to be a mob boss. 

Wesley sighed, “Look, Joel, I want you to think about it-” 

“I’m not doing it,” Joel cut him off. 

Wesley muttered under his breath. The conversation was no longer the friendly, reminiscent chat it had started as. The two men were now in a stand-off. Joel had never seen Wesley this angry with him. There was a beat before Wesley spoke again. “You’re a fool, Joel.” 

“That’s fine by me. I’d rather be a fool than take this job.” 

“I have so many men who would die to be in your position, yet you’re here just throwing it away.” 

Joel rolled his eyes, “Then give it to one of those men.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Joel,” Wesley abruptly stood up, pushing his desk as he did so. Papers, previously nicely piled on the desk, were flung onto the floor along with pens and other stationery. “I cannot believe this.” 

“I’m not doing it,” Joel stood his ground. “Find someone else.” 

“Oh, I ain’t finding someone else,” Wesley stormed across the room to his liquor cabinet in the back. He grabbed a glass and poured himself a drink. “If you’re not doing this, Miller, then you’re getting my dirty work until you change your mind.” 

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” Joel continued, “You know I’ve worked my way from bottom to top in two different mobs now.” 

Wesley let out a sharp laugh, still turned away from Joel. “Trust me, Joel; I have plenty of options. I could send you on an undercover mission that’ll take years. You’ll do errands with the newbies–collect debts and shit. Fuck, you’ll be my own human shield if that’s what it takes.” 

“Try me,” Joel taunted. “I’ve done it all. There is absolutely nothing you could throw at me I wouldn’t be able to handle.” 

Wesley took a swig of his drink—brandy, neat. He turned around and looked Joel straight in the eye. “Are you sure about this, Joel?” 

“I would rather take whatever job you give me than become the boss,” Joel stated matter-of-factly. “No matter what, I refuse.” 

Silence. Wesley rubbed his face and groaned. “I’m awfully upset with ya, Miller. I expected more from you.” 

“We’re far past the point of guilt, Russell,” Joel stated. “Tell me. What’s my punishment?” 

Wesley didn’t speak for a second, still with his hands in his head. Joel watched as the gears turned, creating the worst punishment. Suddenly, Wesley’s head perked up. He darted across the room toward the papers that had been strewn across the floor in the older man’s anger. Once Wesley grabbed the paper he was looking for, he turned to Joel with a wide smirk on his face. 

“You sure you don’t want to change your mind?” 

“Never.” 

Wesley just nodded and smiled. He sat down in his chair as if he were the happiest man on Earth. Finally, Wesley asked, “Joel, have you ever been a babysitter?” 

- - -

Author's Notes:

Thank you so much for reading the very first chapter of my very first fic!!! I've been planning this for a while now, and I think you guys will enjoy the upcoming story.

Let me know your thoughts and if there is anything you'd like me to include in the future.

I don't have a posting schedule yet, but my goal is about 1-2 chapters a week. I'm still in school so we will see how that works out. I actually wrote majority of this first chapter while I was home after getting my wisdom teeth removed, so, I haven't even tried balancing writing and schoolwork yet.

Anyways, this is going to be an exciting journey for all of us and I look forward to whatever comes next.

xoxo, Rooster <3

[leonw4nter]

Are they? Are They Not?

Architect!RE2R!Leon x Boss!Reader

Tags - fluff, making out (it's short tho), office romance

“Good morning everyone! Picked up some coffee so we can all start the day right!,” Rebecca cheerfully chirps as she enters the office. She stops by everyone’s desks, placing paper cups of steaming hot coffee with their names before knocking at your door, the company’s COO. “Come in!,” you call out. She enters the organized office, spotting you sitting on your office chair and turning your work computer on. She notices a steaming hot paper cup on your desk, along with a brown pastry bag. “Got you some coffee but turns out you’ve already got a cup in. Oops,” she says with an apologetic grin. “It’s fine. I could use the extra caffeine anyways,” you respond with a polite smile. She leaves the cup on your desk before turning back to the door, walking out the office when she spots Leon come in.

“Mornin’ Leon!” “Good morning, Rebecca!”

Rebecca walks over to her desk and decides to officially start her day, answering emails and editing the current contracts that've been assigned to the company. Soon, the noise of chatter is drowned out by the clickity-clack of keyboards and ringing landlines. The morning can get busy very soon, not that they mind; the company does a swell job of making sure its employees are doing alright and are managing to balance their personal and work lives. People pour in and out of Y/N’s office, hoping to get her opinion or approval on a project before having their ideas sent to the CEO (aka Y/N’s dad). Most of the time, their ideas align perfectly so her approval could be seen as a sign that he’ll approve it too. It’s now break and everyone rises from their seats to stretch and get up to grab a bite.

“I’ll go ask Y/N if she wants to go grab lunch with us,” Leon offers just as Rebecca gets up. Rebecca nods before responding, “Okay. I’ll go join the others already.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“She’s busy consulting with the engineers and said she's sorry and will make it up to everyone with drinks one of these days,” Leon explains before digging into a breakfast bagel. Despite it being lunch time, he prefers to have breakfast foods.

“Did she ask for help? I can help her out since I’ve got a blueprint or two to review then I'm done” Claire offers. Leon shakes his head but says that he thinks she’ll accept Claire’s offer anyway. The group continued chatting over their respective meals until it got to the topic of their coffee consumption.

“My brother is a beast– out here chugging protein shakes and coffee. I’m surprised he isn’t having a heart attack whilst I’m out here palpitating with two cups,” Claire pipes in.

“I don’t know what’s worse: your brother’s caffeine consumption or the sheer amount of sugar and creamer Rebecca puts in her coffee,” Jill jokes, earning a playful smack to the shoulder from Rebecca. “At this point it’s 99% sugar and a measly 1% coffee. How you’re not diabetic is beyond me!”

“Life’s too short to not absolutely go crazy with sugar and creamer, let me have my fun!,” Rebecca retorts and earns good-natured laughter from the table.

“How about you, Leon? How do you like your coffee?,” Claire asks.

“I’m not too picky with coffee. I’ll take anything,” Leon responds.

“Hmm. You’re just like Y/N; I just get her whatever kind of coffee and she always takes it,” Rebecca responds.

“Y/N? Oh she doesn’t like or drink coffee,” Leon corrects. Jill nearly chokes on her muffin when Leon says those words, eyes slightly widened. “Really? She’s the first person I have ever come across that doesn’t like or drink coffee.”

“But she literally accepted all the coffees I got for her!,” Rebecca says. “Wait… what if she just accepted them to look polite or nice–”

“Knowing her, she probably did that to not hurt your feelings or something…,” Jill softly says.

“She could’ve told me she doesn’t drink coffee. I would’ve gotten her a hot cocoa instead,” Rebecca says. “Guys, do I look intimidating? What if she just took the drinks because my outgoing-ness is intimidating her? We do know she usually keeps to herself too–”

“You’re the least intimidating person I know, Rebecca,” Jill responds. “She might’ve done that because she felt kind of bad… or something– I don’t know–”

“And how do you know that, Leon?,” Claire asks with slightly narrowed eyes, leaning into the table while resting her head on her hand.

Now everyone in the table is sitting in silence, curious gazes focused on Leon as to how he knows that. You've never talked about her preferences in food and drink– it’s not even on the company website. They don’t think it’s ever been mentioned anywhere.

“Oh, you know– we talk,” Leon responds with a neutral tone. “Oh my God Leon you almost got yourself killed! Calm down, calm down. They won’t catch on,” Leon thinks to himself.

“Talk? Talk like how?,” Jill asks.

“‘Talk’ as in we’re just coworkers who decided to strike up a random conversation whilst working on a blueprint that one time,” Leon says. He would’ve looked calm and composed– unaffected even, if it wasn’t for the tips of his ears flushing pink and his subconscious leg jiggle. “What?” Leon asks as Rebecca and Claire shoot him smirks that scream “is it what we’re thinking?”. “Can’t a guy and girl talk like they’re just coworkers?”

“You have a point,” Claire replies but Leon doesn’t miss how her blue-green gaze falls on his pinkish ears. They decided to drop the topic, much to Leon’s massive relief. “That was a close one, Leon. Careful next time,” he thinks to himself. Well, you two did more than just talk that day– no, not in that way; you exchanged numbers, began hanging around each other more frequently until you two took secretly took things to another level. Since there was only 15 minutes left before their break was over, they decided to leave early and go up to their office.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Hey baby,” you softly say as you walk over to Leon’s cubicle. The others had already gone, the office dark except for Leon’s spot. He had stayed overtime to finish up a model so he would be free for the weekend.

“Hi,” Leon softly said as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. “Stayed a little later to finish the playground but I don’t regret it one bit if it means some time spent with you.”

“Congrats for making my heart race a million miles per hour,” you giggle. Leon shoots you a flirty wink before he finishes up packing his bag. “Ready to go, milady?”

“Let’s go,” you respond. You two leave the dark office, looking around for anyone lingering. You part your hands from his temporarily, making sure no one catches you holding hands with an employee; it’s not exactly rule-breaking to be fraternizing with an employee but it is highly discouraged. More importantly, it’s not exactly the best of look to be caught in such an act especially when you’re the daughter of the head of this entire company.

“Coast clear?” Leon whispers, to which you nod. Giggling like two school children who just confessed their crushes to each other, you two make your way down the dark hallways hand in hand. Leon kept stealing glances at you, a nerdy but hopelessly in love smile plastered on his face. Despite the lack of lights, you could accurately guess that there’s a glimmer in Leon’s eyes whenever he looked at you like you’re the sun, which you kind of are since you lit up his world.

Not too long after, you two get in your car. After starting the engine, Leon suggested that you two take his car so he could open the door for you and be the one to treat you lavishly, to which you responded with a small nod and an “I’ll think about it”. Leon connected his phone to your car’s bluetooth speakers, going to his Spotify and picking out a playlist he made that reminded him of you. Upon hearing the lyrics of the song, a warmth crawled up your cheeks and manifested in the form of a soft pink glow. Seeing your reaction, Leon beamed brightly as he leaned back in his seat.

“You know it’s your birthday next week,” Leon says, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between you two.

“Yeah, it is. Why, you wanna know what I want for a gift?,” you ask.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Oh then I guess just wear a light pink ribbon on your hair and call yourself a gift. Your presence in my life is the best present ever.”

“God that’s so cheesy,” he says with a small laugh. He keeps his gaze trained on the tall buildings around you two because he knows he’s going to scream like a girl if he looks at you once more. “It’s not a bad suggestion though.”. After a few minutes, you two finally reach Leon’s condominium.

“Good night baby, see you tomorrow,” you say whilst pulling him in for a kiss.

“Night, Y/N. Text me when you get back, okay?,” he says. You nod before he finally waves bye and shuts the door.

You’ll definitely be sending him some texts.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After another entire week of staying overtime and finally finishing the mountain of work assigned to you, you finally get up from your chair to move your body a little bit. This day went great: meetings went smoothly, everything on your planner happened, and most importantly, it’s your birthday. Of course, your father and those close to him greeted you and though you didn’t mind if someone know (or doesn't know) your birthday, the gesture warmed your heart.

“Baby?,” Leon called out.

“Huh? Leon?,” you asked. He emerged from the dark, a dainty bouquet of pink and white tulips in his hand, along with a card. Just as you recommended last week, there’s a baby pink ribbon clipped on his hair.

“Oh you didn’t have to–”

“I didn’t have to but I wanted to,” he says before pulling you in for a slow, tender kiss.

“Happy birthday to my only girl.”

Words won’t ever show how truly thankful you are for this gesture so you show it through actions. You pull him in for a hungry kiss, hands travelling to his black tie to loosen it up. Leon places your gifts on your desk, his finally unoccupied hands going to his own tie to help you loosen it faster. You kick your heels off, legs wrapping around his waist as the kisses slowly become more heated and passionate. His hand travels to your blazer, nimble fingers quickly wo–

“Happy birthday, Y/N–”

“WOAH WHAT THE FUCK.”

“CLAIRE PLEASE DON’T DROP THE CAKE.”

“LEON! Y/N?!”

You quickly push Leon off of you and get back up, fixing your hair and feeling around your clothes for any unclasped buttons or pulled down zippers. Embarrassment rushes through your veins, your heart lodged in your throat. Leon’s embarrassed too– shimmery pink lip gloss smeared on his lips, blond hair ruffled, and his tie hanging loose around his neck. His entire face is red and suddenly it’s not so bad if the ground collapses and swallows him up (though he prefers if you swallow him up but now is not the time).

“Uh… hey guys!,” you chirp with an awfully fake smile.

“Hi guys– we were–,” Leon stammers, hand behind his neck.

“Hey guys, if you were busy… we can… we can wait outside…,” Jill awkwardly mumbles, eyeing the poorly hidden bouquet on the desk.

“Yeah… we can wait outside the building if it’ll be noisy too,” Rebecca adds, which causes Leon to almost choke on air and for you to stare at her discombobulated.

“NO– No guys, you can um– now is fine, I promise–,” you stammer. Leon follows suit, trying to make it look as if you two weren’t interrupted in the worst way possible.

NOTE - I saw the reception of my first fic in here and it's looking positive so far so thank you very much! The likes, reblogs, and new followers mean so much to me and I seriously started contemplating telling my parents that I write (I'm so not telling them lmao). I hope you guys enjoy this fic just like you have with my other one!

The dividers (the doodle-y ones) are made by @saradika , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: hello! thank you for running this blog. i hope your vacation was well-spent!

i am an enfp in the third year of my engineering degree. i had initially wanted to do literature and become an author. however, due to the job security associated with this field, my parents got me to do computer science, specialising in artificial intelligence. i did think it was the end of my life at the time, but eventually convinced myself otherwise. after all, i could still continue reading and writing as hobbies.

now, three years in, i am having the same thoughts again. i've been feeling disillusioned from the whole gen-ai thing due to art theft issues and people using it to bypass - dare i say, outsource - creative work. also, the environmental impact of this technology is astounding. yet, every instructor tells us to use ai to get information that could easily be looked up in textbooks or google. what makes it worse is that i recently lost an essay competition to a guy who i know for a fact used chatgpt.

i can't help feeling that by working in this industry, i am becoming a part of the problem. at the same time, i feel like a conservative old person who is rejecting modern technology and griping about 'the good old days'.

another thing is that college work is just so all-consuming and tiring that i've barely read or written anything non-academic in the past few years. quitting my job and becoming a writer a few years down the road is seeming more and more like a doomed possibility.

i've been trying to do what i can at my level. i write articles about ethical considerations in ai for the college newsletter. i am in a technical events club, and am planning out an artificial intelligence introductory workshop for juniors where i will include these topics, if approved by the superiors.

from what i've read on your blog, it doesn't seem like you have a very high opinion of ai, either, but i've only seen you address it in terms of writing. i'd like to know, are there any ai applications that you find beneficial? i think that now that i am here, i could try to make a difference by working on projects that actually help people, rather than use some chatgpt api to do the same things, repackaged. i just felt like i need the perspective of someone who thinks differently than all those around me. not in a 'feed my tunnel-vision' way, but in a 'tell me i'm not stupid' way.

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

It's kind of interesting (in the "isn't life whacky?" sort of way) you chose the one field that has the potential to decimate the field that you actually wanted to be in. I certainly understand your inner conflict and I'll give you my personal views, but I don't know how much they will help your decision making.

I'm of course concerned about the ramifications on writing not just because I'm a writer but because, from the perspective of education and personal growth, I understand the enormous value of writing skills. Learning to write analytically is challenging. I've witnessed many people meet that challenge bravely, and in the process, they became much more intelligent and thoughtful human beings, better able to contribute positively to society. So, it pains me to see the attitude of "don't have to learn it cuz the machine does it". However, writing doesn't encompass my full view on AI.

I wouldn't necessarily stereotype people who are against new technology as "old and conservative", though some of them are. My parents taught me to be an early adopter of new tech, but it doesn't mean I don't have reservations about it. I think, psychologically, the main reason people resist is because of the real threat it poses. Historically, we like to gloss over the real human suffering that results from technological advancement. But it is a reasonable and legitimate response to resist something that threatens your livelihood and even your very existence.

For example, it is already difficult enough to make a living in the arts, and AI just might make it impossible. Even if you do come up with something genuinely creative and valuable, how are you going to make a living with it? As soon as creative products are digitized, they just get scraped up, regurgitated, and disseminated to the masses with no credit or compensation given to the original creator. It's cannibalism. Cannibalism isn't sustainable.

I wonder if people can seriously imagine a society where human creativity in the arts has been made obsolete and people only have exposure to AI creation. There are plenty of people who don't fully grasp the value of human creativity, so they wouldn't mind it, but I would personally consider it to be a kind of hell.

I occasionally mention that my true passion is researching "meaning" and how people come to imbue their life with a sense of meaning. Creativity has a major role to play in 1) almost everything that makes life/living feel worthwhile, 2) generating a culture that is worth honoring and preserving, and 3) building a society that is worthy of devoting our efforts to.

Living in a capitalist society that treats people as mere tools of productivity and treats education as a mere means to a paycheck already robs us of so much meaning. In many ways, AI is a logical result of that mindset, of trying to "extract" whatever value humans have left to offer, until we are nothing but empty shells.

I don't think it's a coincidence that AI comes out of a society that devalues humanity to the point where a troubling portion of the population suffers marginalization, mental disorder, and/or feels existentially empty. Many of the arguments I've heard from AI proponents about how it can improve life sound to me like they're actually going to accelerate spiritual starvation.

Existential concerns are serious enough, before we even get to the environmental concerns. For me, environment is the biggest reason to be suspicious of AI and its true cost. I think too many people are unaware of the environmental impact of computing and networking in general, let alone running AI systems. I recently read about how much energy it takes to store all the forgotten chats, memes, and posts on social media. AI ramps up carbon emissions dramatically and wastes an already dwindling supply of fresh water.

Can we really afford a mass experiment with AI at a time when we are already hurtling toward climate catastrophe? When you think about how much AI is used for trivial entertainment or pointless busywork, it doesn't seem worth the environmental cost. I care about this enough that I try to reduce my digital footprint. But I'm just one person and most of the population is trending the other way.

With respect to integrating AI into personal life or everyday living, I struggle to see the value, often because those who might benefit the most are the ones who don't have access. Yes, I've seen some people have success with using AI to plan and organize, but I also always secretly wonder at how their life got to the point of needing that much outside help. Sure, AI may help with certain disadvantages such as learning or physical disabilities, but this segment of the population is usually the last to reap the benefits of technology.

More often than not, I see people using AI to lie, cheat, steal, and protect their own privilege. It's particularly sad for me to see people lying to themselves, e.g., believing that they're smart for using AI when they're actually making themselves stupider, or thinking that an AI companion can replace real human relationship.

I continue to believe that releasing AI into the wild, without developing proper safeguards, was the biggest mistake made so far. The revolts at OpenAI prove, once again, that companies cannot be trusted to regulate themselves. Tech companies need a constant stream of data to feed the beast and they're willing to sacrifice our well-being to do it. It seems the only thing we can do as individuals is stop offering up our data, but that's not going to happen en masse.

Even though you're aware of these issues, I want to mention them for those who aren't, and for the sake of emphasizing just how important it is to regulate AI and limit its use to the things that are most likely to produce a benefit to humanity, in terms of actually improving quality of human life in concrete terms.

In my opinion, the most worthwhile place to use AI is medicine and medical research. For example, aggregating and analyzing information for doctors, assisting surgeons with difficult procedures, and coming up with new possibilities for vaccines, treatments, and cures is where I'd like to see AI shine. I'd also love to see AI applied to:

scientific research, to help scientists sort, manage, and process huge amounts of information

educational resources, to help learners find quality information more efficiently, rather than feeding them misinformation

engineering and design, to build more sustainable infrastructure

space exploration, to find better ways of traveling through space or surviving on other planets

statistical analysis, to help policymakers take a more objective look at whether solutions are actually working as intended, as opposed to being blinded by wishful thinking, bias, hubris, or ideology (I recognize this point is controversial since AI can be biased as well)

Even though you work in the field, you're still only one person, so you don't have that much more power than anyone else to change its direction. There's no putting the worms back in the can at this point. I agree with you that, for the sake of your well-being, staying in the field means choosing your work carefully. However, if you want to work for an organization that doesn't sacrifice people at the altar of profit, it might be slim pickings and the pay might not be great. Staying true to your values can be costly too.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 9 (Part 1)

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, light angst, implications of nudity

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

A/N: I see this chapter as the first half of a two-parter. I split it in half for ease of consumption and because when I originally wrote it, I hadn't been able to post in ages. Enjoy these two little vignettes! You will get two more in the next "half."

___

The Refresher

After your conversation in the cockpit on your way to Trandosha, life aboard the Razor Crest returned to normal almost startlingly quickly. Mando permitted the ship to travel on autopilot for once, allowing the flight computer to calculate your path, and spent hours researching the last known locations, backgrounds, and crimes of the newest batch of bounties he had received from Karga. You fell right back into your routine of splitting your time between ship maintenance and occupying Grogu; the boy seemed positively thrilled to be back in his leather carrier strapped to your back as you puttered around the cargo hold. He was full of chatter, cooing and babbling and squealing more than you had ever heard. Not for the first time, you wondered whether he might eventually speak Basic or if perhaps his species simply didn’t communicate that way, but you decided that regardless, you liked the extra noise. You could almost imagine what he might be saying, and you found yourself filling in his half of your conversations in your mind as you went about your work. It passed the time, and it made you smile.

Now that you felt confident that you would be spending the foreseeable future in this way, with the Razor Crest as your home, it took you less than a week to come up with a draft for your largest improvement project to date.

“Hey, Mando – do you have a minute?” you asked, poking your head into the cockpit where the Mandalorian sat, bent over one of the computer consoles in concentration.

“What is it?” he replied distractedly. He did not meet your gaze and instead remained focused on the screen before him, which appeared to be a topical map of a dense, verdant forest.

You tucked the datapad you were holding close to your chest, rubbing your thumbs over the edge nervously. Stepping fully into the cockpit, you said, “I have a proposition for you. I’d like your support to start on…kind of a big project in the cargo hold.”

That was enough to get his attention. Pausing his perusal of the map, he turned in his chair to face you, planting his hands on his widespread knees. “What kind of project?”

His voice sounded cautious, and you could understand why. Most of the work you had done on the Razor Crest up until this point you had done without his involvement. He had purchased supplies for you when you requested, and he was always happy to review the reports you generated to demonstrate any efficiency gains you had achieved, but otherwise, you each had kept to your own activities. This was the first time you were asking for his blessing on something before simply doing it.

You took a steadying breath and explained, “With both of us living here for the long term, I really think we should invest in installing a fully functioning refresher.” You paused for a moment then added, “And an additional bunk, if I can figure out how to make one fit in the space we have.”

Mando was silent at first, appearing to consider the idea. “Is that possible?” he asked, his helmet cocked to the side skeptically. “The water storage and recycling systems on ST-70s weren’t designed to support full ‘freshers.”

You nodded in agreement. You had thought of this. “Yes. With the size of the water tank we have right now, you’re right – we could maybe support a running water sink and a privy, but never a shower. But I’ve been taking a look at the schematics, and I feel like there’s a better way to organize the forward space in the cargo hold.” You tapped through a few controls on your datapad and pulled up your sketch of the design, which you had laid over a copy of the Razor Crest’s blueprints. You held it out to him to examine. “It would be tight,” you added, “but I think, if you’re comfortable with it, I should be able to rearrange the hardware that is currently there in such a way that would allow us just enough space for a water tank one size larger than our current one and a ‘fresher.”

You watched, your lower lip between your teeth, as Mando zoomed in on your sketch, silently making note of all of the proposed changes. “Sounds…cramped,” he said after a moment.

You shrugged reluctantly. “It would be, a bit. But it would have a fully functioning door, instead of a curtain,” you argued. “We’d have somewhere to actually brush our teeth instead of using those chalky cleaning tabs. We’d have somewhere to store our toiletries. And we could take showers.” You almost groaned aloud at the thought. How long had it been since you had experienced such a luxury? “Actual, real, hot showers.”

On the space station that orbited Chardaan where the workers’ barracks resided, rows of sonic showers in communal bathrooms had been the norm. Sonic showers were efficient and generally more practical for space living, as they required very few resources to power, and at the very least, they removed dirt and oil and kept everyone from smelling like they had been living in a metal sphere with recycled air for months at a time. However, to you, something about sonic showers never left you feeling fully clean, and after months without access to even that, you were starting to feel truly uncomfortable in your own body. You yearned for the sensation of hot, soapy water sluicing down your skin and foaming up your hair, and if that was your experience, you could hardly imagine how Mando felt, wearing that suit of armor all day every day.

The bounty hunter nodded slowly as he silently reviewed your plans. “And the bunk?” he asked.

You grimaced. “That one I haven’t quite figured out yet,” you replied hesitantly. “I’m still sketching some ideas. I feel much more confident about the ‘fresher.”

“Hm,” he hummed, passing the datapad back to you. “Well, I approve of the refresher idea. Your design looks sound. Make a list of the materials you’ll need. I’ll see what I can do about getting them during our next stop.”

“Ugh, thank you, Mando!” You sighed heavily with relief, excitement buzzing in your chest. “You won’t regret it!”

A week later, after a successful first hunt, the Mandalorian returned to the Razor Crest with a large, male Trandoshan in binder cuffs and a repulsorlift sled laden with bins of supplies dragging behind him. It was all you could do not to fly down the gangplank and fling your arms around him at the sight. Instead, you managed to funnel that energy into just bouncing in place on your tiptoes as you began unloading the sled, your fingers positively itching to wrap themselves around your new toys.

You could have sworn you heard a rasping chuckle filter through your companion’s helmet as he watched your unbridled enthusiasm, and although it made your cheeks burn, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

From the time you took your plasma torch to the first piece of durasteel bulkhead to the time the refresher was complete and ready for use ended up being about two weeks of constant labor. But Maker, if it wasn’t a labor of love.

Piece by piece, inch by painstaking inch, you systematically disassembled everything to the left of the bunk, starting with that heinous multi-species vacuum ship head (which you had despised since your first day on board) and going all the way to the forward end of the hull. Water filtration? Enhanced. Clean water tank? Replaced entirely with one of a larger size. Scanners, jamming devices, antennae, even the ship’s headlights – all of it got taken apart down to its components, condensed, rewired, and fit back together to make room for the new space. Aside from the work you had done with Peli on the carbonite unit, it was easily the most challenging work you had ever done on a ship of this age, and you relished every second of it. You had always enjoyed puzzles, ever since you were a small child, and fitting each one of these systems back into the reduced space while still ensuring that everything functioned as it was designed was an especially rewarding puzzle.

Once you felt confident with your modifications, you began installing the refresher itself. Mando had been correct in his assessment when he evaluated your plans – the space was cramped, and due to budget constraints, it was almost excessively utilitarian. You had selected plain durasteel for the walls, privy, and running water sink. A single pane of transparisteel separated the shower from the rest of the room, left open on the far end to allow for easy entry without needing the space to accommodate a swinging door. You had managed to convince Mando to spring for a box of tiles of industrial, anti-slip flooring that would keep you both from sliding around in there, particularly when you were in flight, but other than that minor upgrade, everything you requested was about as economical as you could find.

It was far from glamorous, but by the time you finished waterproofing all of your seals and stepped back to admire your handiwork, you felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight. The Razor Crest was Mando’s ship, Mando’s home, but for the first time, you thought that perhaps one day, she might feel like yours, too.

When you finally felt ready to give everything a true test, Mando was out on a hunt. He had landed the Razor Crest on a remote planet in the middle of a humid forest, well-hidden by a copse of trees hung heavily with vines and moss, and you had neither seen nor heard from him in several days. You and Grogu had just finished your dinner for the evening, and the boy’s wide, dark eyes were heavy with fatigue. Seizing the opportunity, you tucked your little green charge into his hammock above the bunk, gave him a couple of gentle rocks until he began to nod off, and then eagerly dove into the newly-finished ‘fresher.

It was even better than you had expected.

The water from the shower was hot on your skin, almost shockingly so, and steam collected quickly in the cramped space, the fan you had fabricated working overtime to draw the excess moisture out of the room and into the exhaust vents. You had come across a lone bar of soap and a singular bottle of shampoo at the bottom of a storage bin one afternoon, and you used them both liberally. With how long it had been since you had last done so, it took multiple washes of both your hair and your body before you felt fully clean, but you couldn’t say you minded the extra time. It was an unspeakable luxury, to be able to stand under running water like this in a pre-Empire gunship that spent most of her time in hyperspace, and you found you couldn’t begrudge yourself the opportunity to bask in it.

Besides, the soap was clearly Mando’s. It was rich with the warm, spicy, masculine fragrance that you had first smelled in his bunk, and surrounding yourself with it like this had your skin flushing and your nerve endings buzzing. Perhaps you ought to have been embarrassed by your body’s reaction to nothing but a scent, but something about being tucked away in this tiny, little room, with its close walls and its own door that locked, knowing that Grogu was fast asleep and Mando wasn’t on board, had you feeling a bit bold. A bit shameless.

So caught up were you in your own enjoyment that you completely missed the sound of your comm link going off in your jumpsuit pocket, left crumpled in a pile on the bunk. On the other side of the door.

It was several more minutes before you found the motivation to turn off the water and step out of the shower. The prolonged heat (and perhaps also the arousal burning between your legs) had left you feeling a bit light-headed, so you toweled yourself off only briefly before wrapping the soft black material around your body and sliding open the door to get some cooler air.

However, to your great surprise, rather than being greeted by an empty cargo hold, you instead immediately met the impassive gaze of the Mandalorian.

His beskar was caked with mud, though he appeared uninjured, and he was in the process of freezing what looked to be an unconscious female Zabrack in carbonite. The gases were just beginning to dissipate and reveal her serene face outlined in matte gray, and although his body was facing her, his visor was fixed intently on you.

“Mando!” you gasped, your hands flying to your chest to grip your towel.

Silence, dense and significant, hovered between you. The bounty hunter continued to stare in your direction, and you could feel your throat begin to dry out and your heart speed up as you suddenly became acutely aware of your state of undress. Your towel was a little thing, a maintenance rag hardly meant for this purpose, and although it managed to cover from your breasts to the very tops of your thighs, that was hardly comparable to your typical boilersuit. And you had barely taken the time to dry yourself off. Your exposed skin shone in the dim cargo hold lighting; your long, unbound hair dripped a puddle onto the deck near your bare feet.

You felt strangely caught out, almost ashamed, as though the Mandalorian had discovered you in some compromising position.

A familiar, ill-timed wave of arousal flashed through you, raising goosebumps across your body and tightening your nipples as you caught a whiff of the scent that now clung to your damp skin. His scent.

Perhaps he had caught you.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the weight of this silence anymore, Mando replied simply, “Apologies.” Even through his vocoder, his voice sounded dry and deep, as though he had pulled the word from the depths of his chest, as though it had been a struggle to do so.

You swallowed thickly and shifted on your feet. “The, uh…” You cleared your throat, awkward and positively burning up from the inside. “The ‘fresher’s done. And the shower’s perfect. You should, uh…you should really give it a try.”

He offered you a single nod. “I will.”

You nodded, too. Your head felt loose on your neck, your mind spinning. “Okay. Good.”

Another silence, and you chewed on your lower lip as you cast your eyes around the room, searching for something, anything to look at that wasn’t Mando’s piercing gaze. Eventually, you landed upon your work boots, stacked neatly at the foot of the bunk, and the rumpled mess of your clothes spilling out of recess in the wall.

“Um. If…if I could just – ” you began, gesturing toward the pile of clothing with a little jerk of your head.

That, it seemed, was finally enough to pull the bounty hunter out of whatever shocked trance your appearance had seemed to inspire. He physically startled, turning away from the bounty in the carbonite chamber and drawing himself up straighter, and he dropped his satchel to the floor with a thud.

“Of course. Yes,” he said curtly, already moving toward the ladder up to the cockpit. “I’ll…start the take-off sequence. Let me know when you’re – ”

You found yourself nodding again. “Yeah, for sure. I’ll meet you up there in a bit,” you replied. Your voice sounded overly bright and forced even to your own ears, desperately eager to move past the heart-racing, thigh-clenching self-consciousness of the last few minutes.  

You watched then as Mando retreated up the ladder with a speed that you had never seen before. Tightening your hold on your towel, you slumped back against the ‘fresher doorframe, weak-kneed, and let the durasteel cool your flushed skin.

You weren’t ignorant to the tension that had been building between you and the Mandalorian over the last weeks, but it had never felt like…that. Like his gaze had been a physical touch on your skin, like your core had melted into liquid heat.

Like the delicious, warm slickness now coating the insides of your thighs.

Nothing had ever felt like that.

___

The Bazaar

Din supposed he ought to have known the question was coming sooner or later, but he still found himself somewhat taken aback the first time you asked to leave the Razor Crest during a hunt.

He had been guiding the ship in a steady descent through the atmosphere of Trevi IV, aiming for the spaceport port outside of Trevi City, when you broached the subject.

“I…really desperately need of some new clothes. And hygiene things. Now that we have the ‘fresher, you know,” you had explained haltingly, a charming flush burning high on your cheeks at the mention of your most recent project. “If you’d be willing to give me an advance on my pay, that is. I won’t need much – promise.”

The Mandalorian had found himself almost needing to bite back a groan at the mention of the ‘fresher. You had been correct, of course – the addition of that space had been a marked improvement to the quality of life on the Razor Crest since its completion, but no matter how many times either of you managed to use it without incident, he couldn’t help but recall the sight of you standing in the doorway – cloaked in steam, clothed in nothing but the mere suggestion of a towel, miles of soaking wet skin on display, and smelling unmistakably of him. The vision had nearly unmanned him in the moment, and still it continued to haunt him, even many days later.

It was entirely unprecedented, the way you had come to affect him. The lilt of your laughter at Grogu’s antics, the scent of your hair on the pillow in his bunk, the strong, capable grip of your hands on your hydrospanner, the dark, glossy shine of your eyes as you ran your gaze over his body when you thought he wasn’t looking. All of it had burrowed into the very depths of him, nestled itself near his heart, immoveable. He had never experienced anything like it in his life.

However, rather than confessing any of that, Din had instead simply nodded.

“Sure,” he had agreed. “I need to go to the bazaar district first on a lead anyway. You and the child can join me when we land, get what you need.”

The grateful smile you had sent his way had the Mandalorian feeling his face heat up even under his helmet.

It looked to be around midday local time when the Razor Crest finally landed, and by the time Din was ready to depart, he found you already waiting by the rear blast doors, Grogu strapped to your back in his favorite leather carrier and an eager expression on your face. You had dug an old satchel of his, threadbare and dusty, out of one of the storage compartments, and it hung limply across your body, empty and ready to be put to use. With a wordless nod and a hidden smile, he gestured in the direction of the doors. After you.

It occurred to him as he watched you descend the gangplank that this would be the first opportunity you had had to explore any of the planets he had taken you to thus far. Of course, your time with Peli had certainly been a change of pace from daily life aboard the Razor Crest, but that had been months ago now, and you hadn’t been permitted to leave the hangar at the time. And since then, he had all but insisted that you stay on the ship when he left to hunt. For your safety, and for the child’s, but regardless of how well-intentioned the reason, it wasn’t lost on him how little of the galaxy you had been allowed to see in your life.

Din resolved himself then that although today you would only be visiting a market, only purchasing some necessities, and although he was technically in Trevi City on a hunt, he would not allow you to return to the Crest until you had had your fill of the experience. He was on your timetable today. He would ensure you made the most of it.  

It had been some time since the bounty hunter had made his way to Trevi City, but he found it mostly unchanged as he led you and Grogu out of the spaceport’s docking yards and into the city proper. Trevi IV was a desert world, featuring miles of dusty plains and dramatic plateaus, but Trevi City was an oasis. Nestled against the craggy shores of the largest body of water on the planet, cooling, salty breezes wound their way through flagstone streets and buffeted against sundried brick buildings. Shops, stalls, carts, and tents of all shapes and sizes stretched in every direction, around every corner, and the crush of people was truly remarkable. Merchants – both local and traveling, customers of every age and walk of life, street performers in bright costumes, children and small animals darting in and out of the throng. At first glance, it seemed incomprehensible – the epitome of chaos.

And although Din had never been particularly fond of crowds, he couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction at the look of pure joy that spread across your face as you took in the bazaar.

First on your list, he knew, was clothing, so with a gentle nudge to your lower back, the Mandalorian steered you in the direction of the textile district – a few blocks down and to the left. The stalls there were draped in sumptuous fabrics, decorated with gold tassels, and staffed by women with sun-worn skin and friendly, welcoming smiles. You looked back at him then, uncertain, but Din gave you a wordless nod and scooped Grogu up and out of his carrier without preamble.

“Go on. I’ll keep an eye on the child. Just explain to one of them what you need, and they will help you,” he said, inclining his helmet toward the line of vendors. He wanted you to feel free to browse, to mingle unencumbered.

After a few halting introductions and some hesitant questions on your part, you did just that. From several yards away, the bounty hunter listened to you describe your needs to one of the women. He watched you tug self-consciously on the collar of your well-worn boilersuit, the olive green fabric now heavily stained with blood and engine oil and Maker knew what else, and he watched as the merchant woman nodded along, kindness in her eyes. Before long, she was looping your arm through hers and leading you deeper into the line of covered stalls, pulling items from racks and tables as she went.

Din kept his distance as you shopped, tracking the top of your head as you wound through the merchandise but never following. Only when you ducked behind a heavily embroidered curtain with an armload of items to try on did he look away, instead finding his attention captured by a display of colorful scarves and handkerchiefs fluttering in the ocean breeze. Before he could consider it further, he found himself in front of the display, running his gloved fingers over assortments of linen, cotton, and silk.

Mere moments later, he left the booth, a cotton scarf decorated with a delicate floral pattern in his pocket and a few credits less in his purse.

By the time you were ready to move on to the next items on your list, your borrowed, threadbare satchel was nearly full to bursting. Your face glowed with pride as you showed him your selections – a brand-new boilersuit (this one in a fetching deep blue), a pair of brown cargo pants and a matching jacket, a stack of undershirts, and two sets of soft, black sleep clothes. Din also tried desperately not to notice the new sets of undergarments hidden at the bottom of your bag as he dutifully handed the total payment over to the vendor.  

He, of course, was unsuccessful. The images of those scraps of fabric, revealed accidentally as you dug through your sack, were now burned onto the backs of his eyelids, ever-present whenever he closed his eyes.

“Hygiene next?” you asked eagerly, rocking back and forth on your feet like a small child. Grogu giggled from his perch in the bounty hunter’s arms, and the latter nodded, clearing his throat.

“Hygiene is this way,” he replied with a gesture to the east.

His voice sounded suspiciously strained even to his own ears.

Your time perusing the toiletry stalls was much briefer than your time with the textiles, but it left Din perhaps even more disquieted. Your first purchase was a pair of full-sized terry cloth towels, which in turn called to mind the image of the miniscule one you had clutched over your breasts in the doorway of the ‘fresher and caused his brain to short-circuit. You also picked up a wide-toothed, wooden comb for your hair, saying casually, “I don’t know if you have hair under that helmet, Mando, but if you do, you’re welcome to borrow it if you need to! You must get awful tangles,” which left him utterly speechless.

However, perhaps the most taxing of all was the booth boasting hand-made soaps and haircare products. The Mandalorian watched, his throat dry, as your capable, calloused fingers floated gently over the many colorful bars and bottles, occasionally picking one up and lifting it to your nose to give a delicate sniff. Without fail, you would always then extend the item to him, placing it directly below the edge of his helmet.

“What do you think of this one?” you asked. “Or how about this? Too fruity? That one’s too much for me, I think. Oh, this one smells like nightblossoms!”

And on and on.

It wasn’t really that he minded being asked for his opinion. On the contrary, he found your enthusiastic chatter pleasant, and something inside him warmed at the idea that you might actually care about his preferences when it came to your body products. However, there was a singular thought that refused to leave him alone every time you asked for his input, one he dared not voice.

On perhaps the tenth bottle of shampoo that provoked a noncommittal response, you sighed heavily.

“Come on, Mando, give me something here,” you whined, clearly exasperated. “You’re the one who has to be cooped up with me on the Crest every day, the one who has to share a ‘fresher with me. I’d think you might care about whether the shampoo I buy gives you a headache or not.”

Din cocked his head, considering. He thought of the dark, blown-pupil looks you sent his way when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the burning flush that extended down your chest coming out of the ‘fresher, the way you leaned into his touch the few times he had dared run the back of his fingers across your cheek.

Perhaps…perhaps you might welcome him being a bit more candid with you than he had been previously.

“Well?” you pressed. Irritation crept into the edge of your voice then, and the Mandalorian found himself nodding.

“Very well,” he murmured, soft and gruff through his vocoder. “Follow me.”

Without another word, he led you to another stall, this one carrying similar products as the previous but with an aesthetic that clearly intended to be marketed toward men. The stall was draped in tactical netting with wares hanging from the ropes, and the tables were dressed with simple black cloths. The various bars and bottles were fashioned in more neutral colors, earthy and cool, and the merchant manning the till was dressed in an austere black suit. He nodded in your direction once but said nothing.

It did not matter. Din knew precisely what he was looking for.

Barely a moment later, before you could give voice to the questions that were clearly in your eyes, the bounty hunter plucked a single bar of soap and single bottle of hair wash off the table and extended them both to you.

You glanced from the proffered toiletries to Din’s face and then back again, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “These? You think I should buy these?” you asked dubiously.

He inclined his helmet in the affirmative. “Yes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What are they?”

He simply continued to stare at you, silent, willing you to reach out and take them. Eventually, you did. Your fingers brushed his as you took the bar and the bottle into your hands, and if Din did not know better, he would have been certain that he could feel the warmth of your skin through his gloves.

Skepticism still apparent in your expression, you raised the bar of soap to your nose and sniffed lightly. Instantly, your eyes widened, and Din watched with liquid heat in his gut as your pupils expanded.

“This – ” you started, then paused and cleared your throat loudly. “This is your soap.” Your cheeks darkened, your lower lip disappearing between your teeth.

“Yes,” the Mandalorian confirmed.

“You – you think I should buy the same thing? The same as you?” You were stammering, seemingly struggling to maintain eye contact.

“It suits you,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie. As much as he enjoyed the scent on himself, it somehow was only enhanced on your skin, your hair. It was comforting, warm and inviting.

It spoke to a primeval part of his psyche, something that purred at the thought of you being marked as belonging to him. Only him.  

“Well, it’s all I’ve had ‘til now. You don’t think it makes me smell like a man?” you asked with a forced chuckle, a clear attempt to inject some levity into what had suddenly become a very weighted conversation.

At that, Din could not stop himself from taking a step closer, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head back on your neck to keep looking in his eyes. His breath came short in his chest at the proximity, and his voice crackled through his helmet modulator as he replied, “Trust me. There is nothing about you that could be mistaken for a man.”

An almost bashful expression came over you then, and you dropped your gaze. “That a good thing?” you murmured.

The bounty hunter could only manage a nod in response.

You left the booth with three new bars of soap and three bottles of hair wash in his favorite scent, the haul quickly added to your satchel with a secret smile and a heavy blush.

At that point, Grogu began to fuss in Din’s arms, whining softly and smacking his lips in the way that you both had learned meant that he was getting hungry, so the three of you ended the afternoon hopping from vendor to vendor sampling a variety of Trevi street foods. Well, perhaps more accurately, the Mandalorian watched as you and Grogu enjoyed the local fare – he packaged up his own to take back to the Razor Crest.

First, you selected an almost comically large wrap from a stall run by a male Bith – a pillow-soft flatbread wrapped around some variety of savory meat, a relish of pickled vegetables, and a bright orange sauce with a heavily spiced aroma. The sauce left broad, messy streaks across your nose and cheeks as you ate, but you paid it no mind. Instead, you simply laughed and plucked a few choice bits of meat out of the flatbread and passed them over your shoulder to Grogu, who was once again strapped to your back in his carrier. The boy babbled and munched happily, and Din took it upon himself to go back to the stall and request a handful of napkins.

Next, you followed the unctuous scent of fry oil to a tiny cart staffed by a Truishii woman. This one was peddling small paper bags filled to the brim with an assortment of deep-fried vegetables, coated in a thin golden batter and soaking the bag with grease. You groaned under your breath at the first bite, and Din immediately purchased a second bag.

Finally, after a bit of leisurely meandering and browsing, you stumbled across an open-air cantina just as the sun was beginning to set. A hired band played a lively tune from one corner of the cantina’s patio, and barmaids wove gracefully between rickety tables carrying trays laden with tankards. The Mandalorian looked on as you watched the band, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips, your body swaying unconsciously to the beat.

Before he could think better of it, he placed a gentle hand at the base of your spine to get your attention. “Would you like to sit down? Have a drink?” he asked, bringing his helmet down close so you could hear him better over the music.

You startled slightly under his touch, but Din could not ignore the way you seemed to lean into it, or the deep breath you took at the sound of his vocoder in your ear. You nodded silently in response, and the Mandalorian took that as his cue to lead you a table, flagging down a barmaid on the way.

He ordered you a tankard and Grogu a cup of bone broth as you settled into your seat, and the wide-eyed look of overwhelm as you took in the tankard’s contents made Din laugh out loud.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice tinged with awe.

He smirked. “I’m not sure what it’s called. It’s a local brew, made with honey.”

You swallowed heavily, giving the cup one more once-over before taking it in both hands. “Well. Bottoms up!” You inclined the tankard in his direction then brought it to your lips, drinking deeply.

In mere minutes, it was empty, and you were ordering a second, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed.

It was well past sundown by the time Din helped you stand from your seat at the cantina and led you back through the winding flagstone streets to the spaceport. Grogu had long since fallen asleep in his carrier, his little head resting on the back of your shoulder as he snored gently, and you had polished off nearly three full tankards of that honeyed beverage, leaving you giggly and wobbling on your feet. You were singing softly to yourself, humming one of the songs the band had been playing and grinning from ear to ear, and the effect was so charming, it was all the Mandalorian could do to keep himself from joining in.

When you arrived back at the Razor Crest, however, you seemed to have finally burned out all of your energy. You stumbled and lurched up the gangplank the moment it touched the ground, pausing only briefly once inside the ship to drop the bag full of your purchases unceremoniously onto the deck floor. Din called out your name like a question, but rather than answering, you simply removed Grogu’s carrier from your back, still holding the sleeping child, and passed it into the Mandalorian’s waiting arms.

“I have to lay down,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Din nodded and gently steered you in the direction of the bunk. “This way,” he replied, just as softly.

At the entrance to the bunk alcove, you toed off your boots and then, to Din’s great surprise, stripped off your boilersuit, leaving you clad in nothing but a black breast band, a worn pair of gray undershorts, and a pair of crew-length socks. Everything else was left haphazardly piled on the deck, sure to be a tripping hazard when you woke, but you clearly couldn’t be bothered. Muttering to yourself, eyes half closed, you clambered into the bunk.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked after a moment.

“‘M fine,” you murmured, your voice thick and muffled by the pillow. “Never drank that much before. Not allowed in the barracks. Couldn’t afford it when I ran away.”

Din nodded even though he knew you couldn’t really see it. “I understand. Alcohol was discouraged during my training in the Fighting Corps. It…takes some getting used to.”

You hummed in response, snuggling deeper into the bunk’s barren mattress. Something inside him warmed, and he smiled softly at the sight.

The bounty hunter took a moment then to carefully extract the sleeping Grogu from his carrier, settling him in the little hammock he had fashioned for the boy that stretched across the bunk alcove. It was only when he was preparing to walk away and settle himself in the cockpit for the night that he heard you speak again.

“Mando?” you called softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For today,” you whispered. You were nearly asleep, your words slurred and slow. “It was wonderful. You’re wonderful. Best day of my life.”

[yakourinka]

so I had to hand in a group project/thesis for graduation right. I was working with two other dudes under a male supervisor. computer engineering, but the project was pure software stuff

there were weekly meetings - first meeting there were discussions about dividing work, what to learn, scope and whatnot of the project, a whole bunch of documenting that needed doing to pass etc. and I remember at the end the supervisor turned to me, completely nonchalant, and said, "I guess you'll contribute something too."

I knew this was going to be a problem, but I didn't give a shit at the time. I had good grades in this man's courses and was fairly older than the dudes. so I was like, this is nothing to me.

eventually I realized the supervisor wouldn't bother remembering my name, or at least addressing me by it. during meetings I was just kinda there. my questions were answered, but my suggestions were ignored entirely. the supervisor would not look at me, or speak to me unless I spoke to him first. outside the meetings the two dudes would go MIA and leave me to chase after them to stay updated on their side of work. they changed the framework early into the semester. I found out three weeks later. I didn't see any of the early builds, nor did I see the final build until literally the last day where they were desperately trying to bug fix and had to get me to help

halfway into the semester I realized I was not going to be doing anything for this project beyond filling out paperwork, and arguing was a hopeless endeavor, so I decided to not contribute anything whatsoever. that last day where I saw the final build was because it had to be presented, and all members had to contribute to this presentation, and the build was faulty as shit so I had to see the code. during the presentation one of the dudes tried to throw me under the bus, but I cracked a joke right after that about something or other; I think I poked fun at myself and at the current state of the project which was lacking like, 70 percent of its intended features. the jury laughed at it, nobody paid attention to what he said and he didn't struggle further, and the topic moved on. obviously I graduated. women in stem experience tm. also the supervisor dated and married his TA

[kafus]

SO... do you headcannon anyone in horizons as autistic?

OH BOY DO I

so dot is the most obvious choice. there is no universe in which she is not autistic to me. this is one of my strongest dot headcanons actually and one of the main reasons i enjoy her as a character. there are so many reasons for this i could go on endlessly but i'll just list a few big ones here

her extreme passion for her interests at a disregard for almost everything else & her ability to self teach those topics (not to mention her interests have to do with computing)

her difficulties with food overlap a lot with food sensitivities autistic people often have, also her latching onto donuts as a sort of samefood after finally trying them once

the tendency to wear loose, comfortable clothes and more recently she has complained while wearing tighter clothes (the orange academy school uniform) so it's not just that she prefers loose fabric, she also is put off by the alternative. girl your sensory problems

irritable outbursts when struggling to articulate herself/make herself understood

her connection with kanuchan (tinkatink) felt really neurodivergent to me. she wasn't offput by her behavior, even after stealing her prop mic, and was immediately able to understand her when no one else could or was willing to. not sure how to articulate this one right now but i hope you see what i mean

her tendency to sit cross legged and lean over herself reminds me a lot of my personal autistic tendency to need a pressure/weighted feeling while i sit or have body parts touching

social exhaustion, the need to be alone sometimes even when she cares

the list genuinely goes on i have to stop myself LOL

as for other characters,

so for liko i'm more loose about the headcanon, it's definitely more of me projecting than her being overtly autistic in canon but i still think it lines up if u wanna view her that way. i'm autistic and i personally relate to liko a lot becauseee

she is giving hyperempathy autism to me. the way she is overly empathetic and compassionate to her own detriment and yet still has to have her hand held through articulating & dealing with that or putting the logical parts of empathy together

the way she absolutely fucking Explodes with excitement sometimes

the way in which she relates to cats, and her whole thing about having a hard time getting other people to understand her. these two things go hand in hand

there's something neurodivergent about her trying to connect with sprigatito by studying her and writing notes about her behavior lol

while this is kind of just on the account of her being an anime character and a protagonist at that, liko's facial expressions and body language can be pretty exaggerated sometimes which reminds me of my own body language, i'm cartoonishly animated in real life often LOL

so like basically dot is so obviously autistic to me it's like breathing but for liko it's kind of a hc i apply to her for projection purposes & fun but i think it's reasonable

and lastly so i'm not just talking about solely liko and dot for the millionth time,

ORIO!! honestly we don't even know that much about orio but the one episode where she was helping pokeball lady i forget the name of fix her machine. the really narrow attention to detail/seeing the smaller parts instead of the bigger picture. also her expertise in engineering contrasted with her struggling with tasks outside of that (like when she was trying to sew holes in the brave asagi and for the life of her could not do it so she called murdock for help lol)

and actually one more - while i don't necessarily headcanon amethio as autistic, i think it's a fun headcanon/au idea to not only give him a redemption arc but an autism unmasking arc at the same time. representation for all my repressed autistics out there. in my mind

thanks for asking i'm so autistic about horizons so of course i headcanon them with autism too JOISJOIFD

[indohyus]

some of my favorite chill internet activities that aren't just passive scrolling:

organize my Pinterest boards, delete irrelevant pins, plan crafts & art projects

go thru my likes & follows on tumblr, curate my blog, tag posts

take quizzes on sporcle lol

find local artists on Bandcamp, listen to new music, download free albums & tracks

read articles that my mutuals have reblogged, explore their substack and deviant art pages

make lists of books, movies, and shows I want to watch that I've discovered thru the internet

watch trail cam, aquarium, nest livestreams

go thru my watch later on YouTube and find something I wouldn't normally watch, find a video that teaches me something new

send my friends music and videos and articles I think they'll like

look for free/cheap events in my area and add them to my calendar

look for & read webcomics

boredbutton

play games from the flashpoint archive

look for books on the internet archive

watch music videos for songs i prominently remember from childhood

brainstorm fan fiction, headcanons, essays on any topic

investigate the life story of a public figure I'm interested in

general housekeeping for my files & storage, run disk cleanup on my computer

Tumblr ask games, tag games, and bingo cards

find & download/bookmark pirated media

try and find that fic I read one time

search topics on the marginalia search engine and fall down a rabbit hole of blogs from 10+ years ago

"if x fictional creature was real, how would it's physiology work?"

make memes and edits using photopea, canva, imgflip, etc.

model buildings on the free browser version of SketchUp

[megbritt]

Ok last job journal/productivity/studyblr-esque type post I promise ! Then I will return to my whimsy and return to the usual broadcast. Moving forward, posts like this will end up being on their respective blogs, but I digress. But for now, please bear with me.

I GET ASKED LIKE THE SAME THREE QUESTIONS ALL THE DAMN TIME (instagram dms, tumblr asks, even irl at every tech meetup imaginable what have you; im just directing you all here to this post from now on LOL)

questions like "how did you get into software engineering professionally"

"what is your technical background"

and arguably, more importantly "did you go back to grad school"

in this essay, i will sksksk

-

how did i get into swe

i have a bachelors degree in comp math, also known as applied mathematics - computer science emphasis. despite the name, i didnt really feel like i was a cs major regardless since most of my electives i chose as an undergrad were mainly theory.. I didn't take a lot of swe-centered courses. My courses in undergrad primarily focused on topics such as combinatorics in latex, n-color cyclic compositions, and linear algebra in r.

after my bachelors degree i ended up going to grad school to obtain a masters degree in theorical physics since i fell so daymn hard in love for physics as an undergrad- oof im !

missed coding for a few years.. ended up going to coding boot camp to sharpen my skills here we are <33

-

what is my technical background

basically answered above !

-

did i go back to grad school

no.

I currently am enrolled in a grad school level computer science course at the moment. But I'm enrolled as a "non-seeking degree grad student", or at least that's what it says on my transcripts. Currently, I'm still trying to figure out if I'm ready to commit to a second round of grad school for a second masters or phd.

May or may not take a few more grad level cs courses in the fall & spring; we'll see!

I am enrolled for the fall to take a bunch of random community college courses, one of which is cs, the others of which are like art lol.

The programming language class will be quite nostalgic, cause it's the same programming language i learned as an undergrad.. aww 🫶 It's quite unfortunate I don't really use that language at any of my jobs though.. One of my jobs primary focuses on C# backend so yeah c:

-

how am i going to focus on all this whilst working multiple jobs

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

WE'LL SEE LOL

Quite frankly, I'm barely holding on as it is. Have already contemplated either deferring to the next cohort or dropping the class entirely and waiting until next year but LOL

Somehow it's working out rn !

I kind of blame this on the fact that no one told me classes started two weeks ago??? I basically registed for this class thinking it would start in about two weeks or something NOT THE VERY NEXT DAY I MEAN LOLOL we're like three weeks into the course already as I'm writing this

I kinda do feel like I was just thrown into the fire with this one. It didn't help that I answered a skills survey maybe a bit too accurately i mean x3 kind of regretting answering it TOO honestly.. I should've put I was a beginner at everything cause level 1's group project is to get a front-end only project up and running. easy peasy why cant i do that. BUT IM IN THE HIGHEST LEVEL at level 3 we're all professional devs and we have to turn in a fullstack app with aws lambda and the works.. a working database and everything WHYY?!? LOL

It's nice though that we all have similar schedules though cause we're all working devs in the team but

-

The transition from not going to school for a few years bc of work to full blown working full-time with multiple jobs on the side AND going to grad school again but this time its part-time

HAS BEEN ROUGH LOL no denying

But I will admit I'm having a lot of fun.

I'm glad that before this I was, ya know, going to disneyland on the reg, and/or raving, going to as many raves as I can. Attending concerts like the concert junkie I am lol

I still plan to do these things of course, but I think it'll be a significantly less amount than before.

-

tl;dr im a massive nerd (but i prefer scholar ! it sounds better lolol)

-

Lastly, I just wanted to plug my two new tumblrs I made recently!

You can find me there on those two, probably talking about my classes or work or other news. And productivity! megbrittstudies.tumblr.com & notreallystudyingcs.tumblr.com

　

Thank you for reading this far !! ily ! ♡

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

New data model paves way for seamless collaboration among US and international astronomy institutions

Software engineers have been hard at work to establish a common language for a global conversation. The topic—revealing the mysteries of the universe. The U.S. National Science Foundation National Radio Astronomy Observatory (NSF NRAO) has been collaborating with U.S. and international astronomy institutions to establish a new open-source, standardized format for processing radio astronomical data, enabling interoperability between scientific institutions worldwide.

When telescopes are observing the universe, they collect vast amounts of data—for hours, months, even years at a time, depending on what they are studying. Combining data from different telescopes is especially useful to astronomers, to see different parts of the sky, or to observe the targets they are studying in more detail, or at different wavelengths. Each instrument has its own strengths, based on its location and capabilities.

"By setting this international standard, NRAO is taking a leadership role in ensuring that our global partners can efficiently utilize and share astronomical data," said Jan-Willem Steeb, the technical lead of the new data processing program at the NSF NRAO. "This foundational work is crucial as we prepare for the immense data volumes anticipated from projects like the Wideband Sensitivity Upgrade to the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array and the Square Kilometer Array Observatory in Australia and South Africa."

By addressing these key aspects, the new data model establishes a foundation for seamless data sharing and processing across various radio telescope platforms, both current and future.

International astronomy institutions collaborating with the NSF NRAO on this process include the Square Kilometer Array Observatory (SKAO), the South African Radio Astronomy Observatory (SARAO), the European Southern Observatory (ESO), the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan (NAOJ), and Joint Institute for Very Long Baseline Interferometry European Research Infrastructure Consortium (JIVE).

The new data model was tested with example datasets from approximately 10 different instruments, including existing telescopes like the Australian Square Kilometer Array Pathfinder and simulated data from proposed future instruments like the NSF NRAO's Next Generation Very Large Array. This broader collaboration ensures the model meets diverse needs across the global astronomy community.

Extensive testing completed throughout this process ensures compatibility and functionality across a wide range of instruments. By addressing these aspects, the new data model establishes a more robust, flexible, and future-proof foundation for data sharing and processing in radio astronomy, significantly improving upon historical models.

"The new model is designed to address the limitations of aging models, in use for over 30 years, and created when computing capabilities were vastly different," adds Jeff Kern, who leads software development for the NSF NRAO.

"The new model updates the data architecture to align with current and future computing needs, and is built to handle the massive data volumes expected from next-generation instruments. It will be scalable, which ensures the model can cope with the exponential growth in data from future developments in radio telescopes."

As part of this initiative, the NSF NRAO plans to release additional materials, including guides for various instruments and example datasets from multiple international partners.

"The new data model is completely open-source and integrated into the Python ecosystem, making it easily accessible and usable by the broader scientific community," explains Steeb. "Our project promotes accessibility and ease of use, which we hope will encourage widespread adoption and ongoing development."

[formula-fun]

all of them have me terribly curious but i’d love to know about car museum or thot. or both!!

ookoko so

thot is a piarles political au that i have not touched in like 3 years but it was based on bodyguard and the basic premise is charles' uncle took the monegasque throne after his dad died and charles is preparing to claim the throne now that he's of age, which....people do not like. so pierre is his bodyguard. i don't really remember why it's named thot, but i tend to reuse google docs from previous fics so it was most likely the name of some old draft and i just never changed it dfkjfdkjfdkj

car museum is an au where charles is an architect and max is a structural engineer and theyve both been hired onto the Project From Hell aka Lewis Hamilton's car museum. it's kind of an enemy to lovers slow burn type of thing where they're traveling around europe trying to get the project underway. they have really different ways of seeing the world and a lot of the themes revolve around them not only learning to understand that, but coming to appreciate it

theres an extremely sappy passage where max goes on a rant abt gothic architecture that i will spare you from, but i WILL give you another part

“I read your thesis, too,” Charles tells him, his eyes bright and his lips swollen. “‘Computational Applications Of The Material Point Method In Cellular Composites’. It does not have as catchy of a title.”

“Oh?” Max says. He interlocks his fingers at the small of Charles’ back and rocks the two of them gently back and forth; a dance. “It’s honestly a pretty boring topic, Charles.”

“Don’t lie. It’s not boring to you. You cared enough to write eighty pages about it.” 

Max smiles, grudging. “What did you think, then?” 

“The diagrams were very ugly, and I also did not like the font,” Charles says, bone dry. “The math, I think, was probably correct.” 

It startles a laugh out of Max, honking and graceless, and a grin spreads over Charles’ face. “Thank you,” Max says. “Yes, I would hope that the math was correct.”

“Also, I liked the postword,” Charles adds, looking down at Max’s mouth. His cheeks are pink, his eyelashes casting shadows across them. “The…the chaos of studying the world in Lagrangian particles, something like that,” he adds, and Max’s eyebrows shoot up, “instead of in fluid mechanics, when everything is treated as continuous. You said everything balances in harmony. I liked that part. I want to know how you see the world. I want to know what you mean when you say it sings.”

“You want to compare?” Max jokes. “See which one of us sees the truth?”

“No,” Charles says, startled. “No, no. It’s like you said. No truths, only languages. I want to find…” he trails off, thumbing over Max’s cheek. “Talk. I want to talk to you.” Then he giggles, swaying their bodies together. “God, I had too much wine.”

[rabbiteclair]

continuing the topic of 'managers who oversee websites make wild decisions':

In my old job, I dealt with the quality software used by Large Manufacturing Company. This software was an ancient desktop application, so for several years, my team was focused on making an app that could reproduce its most vital features on a tablet, so that QA types could perform inspections and stuff without being at a computer.

And, for a long time, the main message coming down from the director overseeing this project was: it needed Gamification.

Gamification, for those of you who are unfamiliar, is all of the badges, achievements, progress trackers, leaderboards, etc in software. Stuff that gives you some goal to work toward and makes using the software itself into kinda a game. In the opinion of this director, what we really needed in this app that was used by 55-year-old mechanical engineers to document 'panel #12 on unit 321 has a chip in the paint' was to add cheevos.

So, for probably about a year and a half, that was a big part of what my team was focused on. We could've been adding, like, useful functionality, but instead we had to think about things like 'how do we make a leaderboard to track who has documented the most defects caused by holes drilled at the wrong size.' The 55-year-old engineers hated it, and on at least one occasion somebody thought that the badges and stuff were a sign that the app had been hacked.

my hero in all of this was my one coworker who, when asked to make it spray confetti over the screen when somebody finished submitting a defect report, wrote a script to do that... and then she jacked the confetti volume up by like 5x before a demo to management. So we did our demo as normal, and then when we submitted the document, the screen was covered by ten billion pieces of overlapping confetti, which crawled down the screen as the entire system was slowed to a chug by the sheer amount of bullshit it was trying to draw.

[autoacafiles]

Human Mechanoids

In the fourty years since the Transformers came to Earth, humanity has advanced a lot. They've invented a widespread information exchange platform. They've made screens that react to human touch. They've created high-speed transport on rail lines. And perhaps the most dramatic expression was the creation of the humanoid mechanical walker, more commonly known as a Mech.

While the idea of a robot war machine had been around for years prior, with the earliest example in fiction a topic of debate suggesting it happened at least as early as 1940, the arrival of Cybertronians on Earth led some scientists to start developing their own mechanical humanoids. At first they were relying on computer technology for their creations, such as Dr. Fujiwara's Project Yorutori, but between the comparative lack of adaptive ability of Algorithm-Processed Intelligence and the sheer number of incidents involving processing failures, it soon became clear that if humanity wanted to make something that can walk alongside their robotic protectors, they'll have to build something they can pilot.

The vast majority of mechs used today look fairly similar, designed on the same frame design that was made open source by its anonymous developers. While some developers op for larger cockpit sizes or differing proportions, even leaving out the external sensor array that some often mistake for a head, without the armor, most mechs look identical.

In the case of mechs, at least, clothes really do make the man.

And now the moment of truth - do mechs change the tide of war for humankind?

Turns out humanoid walkers stick out like a sore thumb, so the majority of nations opted for more classic forms of mechanized warfare, like jets and tanks.

That doesn't mean that mechs were sidelined, however.

As humans are easily entertained, mech combat became the modern gladiatorial games, with the exception of fatalities. Many aspiring engineers and pilots have made names for themselves in these mechanized melees, be it directly piloting their mechs or remotely controlling them.

Lately, however, some of the most dynamic and efficient of these mech fighters have been sponsored by a group calling themselves the Earth Defense Corp, which raises some eyebrows. Plus there are some reports of less-then-reputable groups using mechs for their own goals, including the Forever Knights and [REDACTED]...

[vexacarnivorous]

robotics: a few resources on getting started

a free open online robotics education resource! includes lots of lessons in video forms, which have transcripts and code sections that allow you to copy + paste from it. each lesson tells you the skill level assumed of you in order for you watch it (from general knowledge -> undergrad engineering). has lots of topics to choose from.

an open-source collection of exercises and challenges to learn robotics in a practical way. there are exercises about drone programming, about computer vision, about mobile robots, about autonomous cars, etc. It is mainly based on gazebo simulator and ROS. the students program their solutions in python.

each exercise is composed of (a) gazebo configuration files, (b) a web template to host student’s code and (c) theory contents.

with each free e-learning module you complete, you earn a certificate!

stanford university has this thing called stanford engineering everywhere which offers a few free courses you can take, including an introduction to robotics course!

some lists on github you can check out for more resources.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

A Letter From Yancy

Another year on from the events of Heist and meeting you for the first time, Yancy wants to mark it. Easier said than done when you are in a spaceship millions of miles away.

But, strange things have happened on this ship.

Word count: 1,643

-

It was a quiet day on the Invincible, a rare relief for you. After your morning duties, you found you had free time to do things that you wanted to do.

That, of course, started with a nap. 

The nap was exactly what you needed after a busy week, and you felt rejuvenated to properly check in on various teams on the ship. You kept a professional air, but everyone seemed to know you were in the mood for casual chat. For once, it was nice to lower your guard a little and let the crew see you as a person rather than some mysterious, looming figure.

Well… Mostly. Gunther had gleefully pointed out how members of the ‘Captain Fan Club’ had been lingering around, peeking glances into whatever room you happened to be in. When you tried to look at them, the club members quickly spun around and tried to play it cool through random topics of conversation or pointing out different features like they were on duty. You weren’t exactly sure how a member of the ADS was supposed to give any professional opinions on what were actually oxygen pipes, but you left them to it.

Eventually, you gave them the slip and went down a small side corridor. The engineering department had a workshop dedicated to reparations and other projects. Mark had mentioned he had been building a prototype of a ‘cool idea’, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious about it.

-

“Captain! You’re just in time! Come here, come here!” Your Head Engineer was in high spirits as he grabbed you by the arm and yanked you across the workshop. “So I was talking to Burt a few weeks ago and - you know how he does the whole poetry thing? Turns out? He writes it! And not on the tech pads. On paper! I didn’t think anyone even did that these days!”

You raise an eyebrow, deciding not to point out that writing on paper was not fully extinct. Best to let him be excited as he showed off the large machine with tubes poking out of it.

“So it got me thinking. What if there was an automated postal system? Once you’ve written your letter and sealed it, you write the number code of the person you want to send it to. Then, you’d put the envelope in here.” A handle was pulled to reveal an opening. “From there, the computer scans the code, sorts it, and sends it zipping to its destination! The tubes would go in different directions, with the aim to bring it directly to the person’s cabin. Or! If you’re out, you can pick it up from over here.” He waved at you to follow him, where there was the end of a tube just over a small platform. “You type in your code here, scan your hand here, and it’ll send it right back here. Like this.” Stepping around you, Mark followed the steps. Three short, aggressive beeps followed, accompanied by an automated message saying there was no post available. “You try! I’ve only tested it on my code so it’ll be good practice to see if it will recognise anyone else.”

You nod, and follow Mark’s instructions. First, the code. Then, the scan.

One long, less aggressive beep was heard. 

“That’s not right-”

‘Please Wait. Your post will be with you shortly.’

“Hold on. There shouldn’t be anything!” Mark put an arm out, stepping in front of you protectively as you both waited to see what would arrive. A tube to the left rattled. The main body of the machine lit up in a sequence of lights. Mark braced himself as the tube in front of you shook and spat out… A letter.

You lean forward, peering over Mark’s shoulder as you stare, dumbfounded at the post that was successfully delivered.

“Captain…? I think this is a trap. What do we do?”

Two options appeared before you: destroy the letter, or examine it.

Curiosity got the better of you as you moved around Mark to open the hatch. There was a brief, childish squabble as he attempted to block you from getting there, but your strength guaranteed that you could simply lift him up and place him behind you.

“Er… Sorry, Captain. You do know what’s best…”

Satisfied that he wouldn’t cause another ruckus, you finally claimed the letter and examined the envelope. As expected, it was addressed to you, but not how Mark said it should be. Rather, it was for your old address on Earth. Had you been there still, it would have arrived safely. A different handwriting had your number code in the top corner, just beside the stamps, with a small moustache drawn underneath.

“So… Is it safe?”

You nodded as you reread your old address. The handwriting was messy and scratchy, but it was so familiar. You had seen it a dozen times before. 

The question is… How did a letter from Yancy get here?

-

With Mark distracted on his mission to figure out who onboard sent the letter, you sat at his desk and opened the envelope. Everything was untouched, meaning that the second sender didn’t peek inside. Yancy knew about ‘space camp’ and how you were inaccessible, yet… he wrote anyway?

Your name was on the top of the creased, lined paper. To the right, you could see it was dated from the start of October. Everything was the same as always - from the scratchy pencil he over-sharpened, to the bad spelling and grammar. It was quintessentially ‘Yancy’. 

-

I don’t even know why I’m doing this. You isn’t living here. You moved out ages ago. But i has been thinking.  It’s the middle of the night here. Still in Happy Trails, still on the slow path to a parole hearing. And I has been looking at the sky. There ain’t many stars out there but they make me think of you. You doing okay out there? Bet you is so fucking far away by now. Maybe you found new planets or something. Doubt this little rock is even on the back of your mind but… it’s been quiet. Not being able to see you, I mean.  Look, I gotta be honest. It’s october, and that’s the month when we first met. It’s hard to let the month pass and not mark that somehow, even if its through a shitty letter that ill get back in a week or two. Things ain’t easy right now. The parole thing? I know its the right thing to do, but it’s intimidating now that im in the middle of it. When that hearing comes itll be the first time i has seen my brother and sisters since the incidents. Ain’t looking forward to that. And they can say that they don’t think me fit to leave too. Not that i blame them. Dont think they can get my sentence upgraded to the death penalty but theres a real big chance that im gonna be rejected.  I know i should give up while im ahead and save the embarasmant. But then i gets to thinking that it ain’t the right thing for me no more. I might fuck up and get refused but i gets to say i tried. That’s something, right? And anyway, i ain’t letting you down. You believe in me. You always said you believe in me when you came to visitation. Giving up is quitters talk anyway, and im no coward. You dont get scars like mine from hiding all scared!! But i aint that kid no more. The person who did those things is me but isnt me. Does that make sense? Hes me, but im not him. I think ive grown up more than i realised. Im not that trapped kid. Im Yancy, and im going to do right. Once i get out……. Itll be a good thing. Maybe I could get up to where you is. Or maybe by then you is back and maybe we could… do something. I dunno. Im still proud of you for all you is doing, even when you is having one of them bad days.. Dont forget that. Except if you is a nosy shit who this letter ain’t for. You can fuck right off. Or send me a letter back so i can see whether i should be proud of you too. Oh! Remember. Back or side of the knees is a GRATE weak point if you needs a quick escape. Not that i want you to get in trouble or nothing. Just giving some good advice! Wait. I should probably go back to bed. fuck. Hope you is safe. Yancy.

-

You couldn’t stop the wistful smile as you finished the letter. At the bottom, you noticed an addition written in pen, the same one that was used to address the envelope.

-

PS. Nearly sent this in but someone brought in one of them instant camera things! Asked them to take a photo of me so you dont forget this handsome mug!

-

That caught your interest, and you lifted the envelope to peer in. Sure enough, there was a Polaroid tucked away at the bottom that was swiftly retrieved.

Yancy was certainly a little older than you remembered. He still had a pompadour style, but it wasn’t held back as tightly and allowed the curls to loosely fall. His eyes were squeezed shut to accompany the wide, goofy smile and two thumbs up. You chuckled at the conversation that must have happened when the photo was taken about what pose to do. Instead of one to remind you of how tough he was, he instead opted for one that proved that, despite everything, he was still a friend you valued.

You were proud of him too, even if you couldn’t tell him.

[bitstitchbitch]

I am required to use ai for a few assignments in my class. The professor has admitted that she wanted to make the whole class ai based but got pushback from other professors which. Thank god that would have been so annoying and I need this class for my research. So instead she did an introductory assignment and then the final project will be on a specific application of ai

which I’m not totally against depending on how it is done. I’m not using ai in my coding like she suggests (ugh), but I do think that ai has use in advanced research, so I can see the value of teaching graduate electrical engineering students how to use AI. And the topic (computational electromagnetics) is very computationally heavy and could potentially be improved with AI - though I don’t trust chatGPT to have a good database.

I still hate it though.