#complete hims software solution

[tearsofcalamity]

Boothil has me on a chokeholdI want to fuck him so bad.Maybe install a few softwares, up his sensitivity, play with his mind.. Or maybe a lewd virus.. Make him so horny and needy, his head can literally think of you fucking him so good..Or him accidentally plugging the wrong USB, thinking it's his usual data after rebooting, but it's your USB and it messed with him.. I want to fuck his pretty hole so bad

hi anon this is tasty oml

imagine his sensitivity's been all off, some kinda glitch maybe from an incident during one of his missions. one moment it's been too low, and the next (just like now) it's way, way too high. for every other touch it's just annoying, but every time you've brushed past him today, he's failed to mention his issue with just how aroused he feels himself getting. it's different when it's your touch.

when he finally bucks up and admits that he's been having issues, you're so caring, so much more considerate of his senses (he wishes you wouldn't be - he really just wants you to fuck him dumb every time you so much as graze him) as you set out a few USBs and ask him to wait while you go grab some other tools to fix up his sensors. he asks what they're for, and when you tell him they're various types of sensations compiled into USBs to better test each type of touch, he figures he might as well just get a jumpstart with the testing so he doesn't waste your precious time.

he opts for the USB sitting the furthest away. the fool, he hadn't even asked you what sensation each one was before trying it out. it could've been pain, a ticklish feeling, but no, he got arousal. it was like he was overwhelmed like an animal in heat at once, his eyes shooting open as his cock strained against his trousers painfully. images of you involuntarily flashed through his mind, and he had to fight to keep himself breathing normally, but it was no use...

you get back to find him practically humping the air, strands of black and white hair sticking to his forehead as he pants and moans and begs for your help. you're concerned until you see the USB sticking out of his port and realize at once what he's done, lightly chastising him (horrendous torture for him in this state, surely, to have your breath so gently tickling his ear as he suffers) on not touching your tools without asking you first.

unfortunately, it'd be too risky to go in and fix this via his inner wiring while he's this worked up... it might burn you with how much he's overheating. so the only solution is to fuck his brains out until he's at least semi-conscious enough to cool down. good thing you made sure he'd be able to fuck in any way a normal man could when adding his sensitivity! giving him all the facilities is coming in handy.

poor guy doesn't even have the time or mental faculties to ask why the hell you had an arousal USB among the testers present.

ooooh, maybe use a toy on his cock while you pound into him... it'll give you a nice view of his face while he's being completely overwhelmed, his eye filled with hearts, rolling back as his tongue sticks out from behind those pretty lips of his. a nice, slick onahole should do wonders to cool him down after one, three, five... maybe more orgasms, even as he begs you to stop despite his hips continuing to rut into the gadget. the fun thing about fucking a robot is that he can go a lot more than a human can, and as much as boothill tosses his head from side to side, actual tears beginning to spill, you can also see the drool beginning to fall from his lips, his lolling tongue as he groans your name over and over.

he's got a pseudo-prostate that you make sure to nail with precision every time your strap slides inside of him, the impeccable design of his insides allowing you to slip in and out with ease. you remove the onahole from his weeping cock (another feature that aids the toy and your current activities as a whole), pushing his legs up and folding him in half into a mating press, just to see if he can cum only from his prostate. and cum he does - his voice coming out higher and higher pitched as he wails in both euphoria and humiliation at your treatment of him.

finally, you slow when you realize he has indeed begun to cool. his eyes are rolled back, hair messy and splayed across the table, harsh scratches made by his metal nails into the steel table (somehow). he's not quite unconscious, but he certainly can't form any further words, his breathing heaving with small, scattered moans as he tries to regain himself. his emergency cooling procedure had kicked into high gear at last, aiding you in fixing up his sensitivity.

oh, but perhaps leave that special USB lying around. mark it clearly, and pretend not to notice when boothill digs through your messy desk to find it and plug it back in, acting for all the world that he didn't mean to use that special little one on himself again. he's got too much pride to admit it, after all. oh well, it seems you'll have to help him once more!

[pinguwrites]

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo. 

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering. 

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied. 

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up. 

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it. 

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome. 

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion. 

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love. 

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t. 

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before. 

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream. 

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked. 

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours. 

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?” 

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over. 

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked. 

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.  

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . . 

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you. 

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter. 

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling. 

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help. 

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured. 

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair. 

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously. 

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.” 

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

 “You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head. 

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad. 

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society. 

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red. 

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip. 

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that. 

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946. 

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice. 

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating. 

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth. 

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.  

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you. 

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk. 

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips. 

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick. 

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.” 

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music. 

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered. 

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t. 

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you. 

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment. 

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say. 

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.” 

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy. 

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . . 

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

[thissying]

Max Verstappen has been in the Red Bull factory regularly in recent weeks to find a solution to the problems with his RB20. How can a driver help his team in the factory? Former Formula 1 test driver Ho-Pin Tung explains.

Red Bull and the 26-year-old Verstappen have been trying to solve the problems with the car for months. The Dutchman has not won a race since the Spanish Grand Prix and has now gone six races without a win. That happened to him for the lat time in 2020, when he failed to win eleven races in a row.

Verstappen said in Monza that he had been in the Red Bull factory in Milton Keynes to help his team. He would also visit the English city for the race in Baku. "I read that Verstappen spent hours in the simulator," Ho-Pin Tung told NU.nl. "To find a solution for the balance problems in his car, I think."

The former test driver explains that Formula 1 teams basically work with two different simulators. "One of them is the so-called driver in the loop, which the teams also abbreviate to DIL. In that simulator, a driver sits in a monocoque that is identical to the race car. With that, the driver drives around a virtual circuit."

"That is what Verstappen is referring to when he talks about 'the sim'. You can make adjustments to the setup there, just like you would in a normal race car."

"The other simulator is only software," says Tung. "A certain setup is entered into it and it calculates a certain lap time. However, that simulator does not take into account how easy a car is to drive for a driver. A lap time is produced, purely on static data."

"In that simulation, the car can be very fast, but for a driver, a car with that setup may not be drivable at all in reality. Which is why the difference between the results from the simulator and what actually happens on the asphalt can sometimes be very big."

That is probably why Verstappen has spent so much time in the factory in recent weeks. "In principle, the correlation between the DIL and what actually happens on the asphalt is very good. But in this case, Verstappen will have driven in the DIL with the same set-up as at Monza to see if the feeling was the same as in reality. This is to check the correlation and improve it where necessary."

If the correlation is OK, the findings in the simulator are the same as those on the asphalt. Then the teams can start working on a set-up for the car. Tung: "They also do this with their own simulator drivers. They can imitate Verstappen's driving style to a certain extent, but it is not completely identical. In Formula 1, it sometimes comes down to hundredths or thousandths of a second per lap, those subtleties are important."

"How a car reacts or feels is different for every driver," Tung explains. "A solution that works well for one simulator driver does not necessarily feel good for Verstappen in the car. In addition, certain balance problems in the car can be solved in several ways."

"For example, if you experience understeer halfway through a corner, you can solve that by lowering the ride height at the front. The lower the car is, the less understeer and the more grip you have. You can also choose to make the front a bit softer with the suspension or by setting the differential differently. A combination of all of these is also possible."

"That's the tricky part. Of course, everything works together. And which solution works best without causing the most side effects and creating new problems? The trick is to solve that."

Verstappen can only partially solve these problems during a Grand Prix weekend, because time is limited. "Not only because you have to deal with the time of a session, you are also limited by the number of tyres you are allowed to use," says Tung. "In a simulator, Verstappen can work with multiple constants."

Incidentally, other test drivers of the team also drive in the simulator in the factory during a race weekend. It is not the case that Red Bull is panicking and that is why Verstappen himself does a lot of simulator work.

Tung: "Something like that always happens in preparation for races. It just struck me that Verstappen has been emphasizing in recent weeks that he is very busy with this. He has invested more time in it this time than usual, it seems. Red Bull hopes that this will give him a better idea of ​​the solution in the setup for Verstappen."

[sweaterkittensahoy]

As Long as I'm Thinking about Job Interview Stuff

Here's my general pattern for answering the "Tell us about time you failed / dealt with a bad co-worker / had to struggle to complete something /etc."

These questions are asked to suss out if you're an asshole. The reason there's more than one of them is to see if you have a shit talking problem that can take a little time to show itself. Basically, interviewers are trying to get a sense of if you're gonna be a fucking problem once you're comfortable at a new workplace.

I literally once watched myself lose a job because the managers asked, "How do you deal with people who might be temperamental at times?" It was a software company, so I figured they meant "At least one of our engineers is a huge asshole, but we think he's worth keeping around even if he yells at people." And so I said, "Look, we all have our moments, and I do my best to be understanding if someone's having a tough time. I think it's important to remember we're all working together and trying to make something succeed. That being said, if the problem is I'm getting yelled at because someone else is being unprofessional, I'm not going to stand there and allow that abuse. I will be talking to HR, at a minimum, and if that doesn't resolve it, I will take care of it myself."

And, let me be clear, the moment any positive vibes left the room was when I said, "I'm not gonna stand there and allow that abuse." Which told me EXACTLY how they were handling the situation currently.

Anyway, sorry for the recipe blog wander. Back to the point. Here's how I handle the questions where they want you to discuss something negative.

I take a moment to think. Yes, I know the question is coming and already have a few options picked for an answer, but taking a moment to think before answering means I'm not gonna stumble over my words when I start.

Start with the negative. If the question is, "Tell us about dealing with a difficult co-worker," Start at the problem. "Well, I remember once I worked with someone who really didn't like answering questions via email."

Explain why it made the job difficult. "Given that what I do is focused on getting things written down, I prefer sending questions via email whenever possible so I always have a clear starting point on the information I use, even if the information changes a lot through conversation."

Restate the problem as the beginning of the solution. "But, this person didn't like to answer questions in writing, so I started going over to his desk and asking him the questions."

Say something nice about the problem. "He was great face-to-face. Always happy to help."

Explain the solution. "And it turned out he was happy to read anything I would print out and hand him. So, I'd go ask him the questions, go back to my desk and do a first draft based on what he'd said, and then give him a physical copy to mark up."

Stamp a positive final remark on it. "Once I realized how to best communicate with him, he was very open to helping. If I walked over with a first draft, he'd just look at it right then so I could make updates as quickly as possible. And he started letting me know if there were any major design changes on the way and explaining it to me earlier in the process, which made it easier to make updates."

That's my technique. The biggest thing of it, I think, is to make sure your answer is sincere. Don't use a situation where you still want to shove someone into traffic. Pick a situation where you feel like it actually turned out well in the end.

[meret118]

In 2008, a software developer in San Francisco named Curtis Yarvin, writing under a pseudonym, proposed a horrific solution for people he deemed “not productive”: “convert them into biodiesel, which can help power the Muni buses.”

Yarvin, a self-described reactionary and extremist who was 35 years old at the time, clarified that he was “just kidding.” But then he continued, “The trouble with the biodiesel solution is that no one would want to live in a city whose public transportation was fueled, even just partly, by the distilled remains of its late underclass. However, it helps us describe the problem we are trying to solve. Our goal, in short, is a humane alternative to genocide.”

He then concluded that the “best humane alternative to genocide” is to “virtualize” these people: Imprison them in “permanent solitary confinement” where, to avoid making them insane, they would be connected to an “immersive virtual-reality interface” so they could “experience a rich, fulfilling life in a completely imaginary world.”

Yarvin’s disturbing manifestos have earned him influential followers, chief among them: tech billionaire Peter Thiel and his onetime Silicon Valley protégé Senator J.D. Vance, whom the Republican Party just nominated to be Donald Trump’s vice president. If Trump wins the election, there is little doubt that Vance will bring Yarvin’s twisted techno-authoritarianism to the White House, and one can imagine—with horror—what a receptive would-be autocrat like Trump might do with those ideas.

Way back in 2012, in a speech on “How to Reboot the US Government,” he said, “If Americans want to change their government, they’re going to have to get over their dictator phobia.” He had also written favorably of slavery and white nationalists in the late 2000s (though he has stated that he is not a white nationalist himself).

Both Thiel and Vance are friends of Yarvin.

. . .

In 2016, Yarvin attended Thiel’s election night party in San Francisco where, according to Chafkin, champagne flowed once it became clear that Thiel’s investment in Donald Trump would pay off.

Since entering politics, Vance has publicly praised—and parroted—Yarvin’s ideas. 

. . .

When Vance ran for U.S. Senate in 2022, Thiel spent an unprecedented $15 million on the campaign and persuaded Trump to endorse him (Vance had previously compared Trump to Hitler). In 2024, Thiel led the charge to convince Trump to pick Vance as V.P.

. . .

Yarvin is the chief thinker behind an obscure but increasingly influential far-right neoreaction, or NRx, movement, that some call the “Dark Enlightenment.” Among other things, it openly promotes dictatorships as superior to democracies and views nations like the United States as outdated software systems. Yarvin seeks to reengineer governments by breaking them up into smaller entities called “patchworks,” which would be controlled by tech corporations.

More at the link.

------

Are you fucking kidding me?!! Why isn't this leading every news report? Is this well known, and I somehow just missed knowing about this yarvin sociopath? This needs to be exposed like project 2050 is!

It's like republicans are deliberately trying to see if they can find someone worse to put in the oval office each time - nixon, reagan, dumbya, trump, and eventually vance.

[walks-the-ages]

Sorry peeps, but if you're genuinely out here trying to defend generative Ai because you think anyone against it is "ableist" sorry not sorry you're not just getting unfollowed you're getting fully blocked along with the OP and who you reblogged it from lmao.

"most people angry about Nanowrimo allowing AI are just being loudly ableist!!! Generative Ai is a great tool for disabled people!! Everyone should be able to use it!"

Hmm, sorry, maybe you need to curate your dash some more like I just did by blocking you, but literally the ONLY people I've seen talking about Nanowrimo's AI stance are people who are actually disabled themselves who are pointing out how fucking shitty it is for Nanowrimo to defend themselves and their sponsor using AI (and possibly scraping your works to further train their AI) By using ~Disabled People~ in concept as a shield against criticism.

Many, many people have posts on here about how they are physically or mentally disabled and they would absolutely hate having someone belittle them by telling them the only way they can accomplish something creative like writing a novel is to have a Computer spit nonsense out into a word document, or generate a "masterpiece" digital image for them from a few words typed in...

Like.

If you actually care about disabled people, you wouldn't be advocating for generative AI to be used to erase their creativity by just letting a computer churn out crap.

If you can type in a prompt on an AI generator, you can type in a word processor to write your story.

Can't physically type at all?

Use speech to text,

or do an audio recording of your novel, and have someone transcribe it,

or use actual existing Closed Caption technology to transcribe it for you!

These are all accessible technology options that actually help disabled people be creative, not just tell an AI generator "hey write me a book about x"

Disabled people have been authors and artists for millennia.

Stephen Hawking used a combination of Predictive Text, eye-control cursors, and an infrared sensor mounted on his glasses that would detect if he was tensing or relaxing the muscles in his cheek, allowing him to scroll a virtual keyboard.

Somehow, I don't think the people championing generative AI actually care about "disabled people" when they try to insist that typing a prompt into a generator and having it churn out random slop is the solution to 'allowing disabled people to be creative' instead of actually giving them the various technology and accessibility tools that have been a thing for at least 25 years, like:

Eye-tracking software that allows you to type or paint on a computer screen (this is now at the point where people can play online video games with this software!)

Having any kind of smart phone set up with speech to text and a word processing app like Google Docs or a notepad app

Using basic sound recording apps to dictate your novel for later transcription

Using other body parts than your hands (or using prosthetics) to hold paint brushes, pens, markers, digital stylus, computer mouse, etc to make art with.

And so much more!

The real ableism here is when pro-AI bros try to insist that Disabled People, categorically, are incapable of being creative and accomplishing anything without a computer doing all the work for them by generating things based on millions of stolen works, and the complete erasure of all of the disabled artists who are here *now* and existed in the past, acting like they do not and never existed, all so that rich white ai bros can continue to flood reddit with "super cool badass art I just made" which is a nonsense amalgamation, and throw tantrums when artists start using programs like Glaze and Nightshade in an attempt to protect their art from those same predatory ai tech bros.

Technology is meant to help humans be creative, not steal our works and livelyhood by replacing writers and artists entirely, because all some rich guy has to do now is type in a prompt.

[bubble-popping]

day 16 :) this is a continuation based off Farewell by scout_eki on ao3! if u haven't heard of them pls read all their stuff their works are so so good

He couldn't get those hours he'd spent with Dream out of his head. The stark contrast between him and Nightmare had been startling, uncomfortable even. Dream was unbearably kind, so patient and genuine and just-nice. How he let Cyber ramble about what he loved, and even seemed interested as well. Not to mention being quite easy on the eyes. Hair like liquid gold, beautifully tan freckled skin, and eyes green as a lit up circuit board. How could Cyber not like him?

So, in the weeks since The Experiment, he dedicated every hour of his free time into creating an android as close to Dream as he could get.

From what he could glean in their time together, Cyber was able to draw out several different designs for his project. Dream possessed slightly more muscle mass than Nightmare, walked at a steadier pace, spoke lighter and faster. All this and more ran through Cyber's head as he brainstormed until finally he settled on a concrete design.

The materials were relatively easy to collect what with Nightmare being far too easy to persuade combined with his own personal stock. Building machines was nothing new to him. After all, he'd built all his equipment himself. Everything from his computer to his EKG heart monitor to his X-Ray machine were crafted by his two hands. He preferred it that way; no chance of faulty equipment.

But an android was no defibrillator or MRI scanner. While hardly unheard of in this society, still only the elites could afford them and the companies that manufactured them were 'tight-lipped,' to say the least. So, he had little precedence to fall back on.

Just three weeks and four days after The Experiment and he had a prototype moving about.

After four weeks, it carried out verbal commands and could multitask.

After six weeks, it looked a lot more like Dream in the outfit Cyber had bought it, but in doing so, he might've humanized it too much. Looking at its face--the face he made--felt like an invasion of privacy. His only references were Nightmare who kept his mask on all the time and the few hours with Dream where he'd quickly deduced he probably wasn't supposed to be seeing his face. So, his best solution was a simple screen that could display different emotions, done through a variety of default emoticons Cyber had installed in its display software.

And after two months, it completed tasks Cyber was certain he didn't code.

When he awoke one morning to the smell of bacon and eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice, he recognized three things. One: there wasn't a doubt in his mind about what a mess the kitchen probably looked like. Two: he should really remember to eat more because there was no way an android could make actually tasty food. And three: he needed to take a look at Dreamoid's--the name he'd settled on for it--programming stat.

To his utter bewilderment, Dreamoid's mental and emotional capacity had been growing exponentially since the day he wired the circuits. Little bits at a time until he could decipher several emotions and possible mind states just by looking at a person's facial expression.

Scary, but also, "Incredible..." he breathed, eyes darting back and forth over the lines of code on his screen. It seemed that with the way he'd set up the various algorithms and what data values he'd fed the starting points had developed into a pseudo-machine learning behavior. Dreamoid got smarter and more precise with each new interaction, even recognizing the complexities of what he saw enough to establish connections between present situations, previous context, and future possibilities. On top of all that, he'd evolved to preemptively make decisions that would avoid what he categorized as 'negative emotion states' and increase the likelihood of positive ones.

The worst of it? Dreamoid consciously tracked his own states, his own consciousness.

Cyber slumped back in his chair. It was official. The robot takeover would happen tomorrow and he was to blame.

How had Dreamoid not completely subjugated him by now? He was more emotionally intelligent than him!

Dreamoid's screen lit up with a big question mark. "What's bothering you, Maker?"

"Uh, it's nothing you need to worry about, Dream. I'm just pondering over something..."

The screen changed, three dots in a row bounced to show Dreamoid was formulating a response. Finally, he settled on a simple smiley face. "Okay. If you say so."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all. Cyber simultaneously feared and excitedly anticipated his future.

[coming-lieutenant]

Error

Summary: A short account of how Nines deviated.

A/N: My first Nines fic! Hopefully I did a good enough job at writing him in character :’]

Ruthless. Unwavering. Invulnerable. These were things RK900 was designed to be. He was designed to complete a job, and a lot of money was poured into making sure there was no room for error in his programming when it came to doing said job.

A lot of money poured into making sure he wasn’t like him. His predecessor. The ever present thorn in his side.

The weight of the pressure was unbearable, a prototype designed and produced to replace a faulty prototype. Not that he felt it, though. He didn’t feel.

Which was why he found himself having to run constant diagnostics as of late. His systems were going haywire. “Hot under the collar,” was never a phrase he understood, and definitely not something expected to experience himself. Yet here he was, hotter than hell under the collar. And everywhere else. To the point, in fact, that he had to, on top of his diagnostics (which were coming back normal somehow), constantly adjust his clothing. He was about a day away from making a trip to Cyberlife Tower for them to check for malfunctions in his hardware when a piece of information revealed itself to him, an unraveling pattern: these symptoms only occurring on days during which he encountered you.

So the solution was obvious, and refreshingly simple, like finally receiving a glass of water on a hot summer day… Or so he assumed. All he had to do was stop encountering you. At least, he had thought it would be that simple.

He was moderately prepared for seeing you against his will. After all, you did work for the same department he was currently positioned at. Every brief encounter was accompanied by the same symptoms, the heat, the warnings flashing in his visual field, the looping and breaking thought patterns. As long as he kept his distance and kept the encounters short, he was able to mitigate these symptoms. What he was not prepared for in the slightest was being assigned to a case alongside you.

Once again, his systems felt less than fully operational. At simply the proposition of this task, his processing unit was going a mile a minute. This was simply not logical. You were not a lieutenant, you were not even a deputy. You were still in the academy! There was no reason he should be on a case alone with you. If you were to be on a case, it should have been with Lieutenant Anderson. This was simply not logical! The line repeated in his mind like a bug, a virus. You were infecting his software.

Fowler’s instructions were simple: follow her orders, so as to allow her to learn, but do not allow her to get hurt. For a military grade android equipped with deadly weapons, this task should be simple. This was your first mission without Lieutenant Anderson. He would be there to oversee the process and make sure the mission doesn’t go awry to provide you experience without a Lieutenant looking over your shoulder, to make sure you were ready for the field. This thought, however, made him feel like he had butterflies— no, cicadas— clamoring around in his plastic and metal chassis. He ran a hand through his hair, pausing midway through in his confusion. He smoothed his hair back into place, unable to place what these physical reactions were, or how they were happening.

💙

The mission itself was unbearable. The two of you were tracking down a missing android, of course. The same monotonous task the DPD had been plaguing its workers with for nearly 6 months at this point. The case didn’t seem particularly dangerous; the murder it had committed only involved blunt-force trauma, so potentially accidental. Nines considered it immensely helpful that the case was so lack luster, at least it gave him more mental space to deal with the aggravations that came along with being around you. The uncomfortable reality was that he still wasn’t sure how this was happening, and yet… He no longer considered going to Cyberlife about it an option, instead opting for a more secretive route. Although he’d never admit it to himself, he didn’t entirely want these feelings to go away. The symptoms were annoying, sure. Overheating was… Less than optimal. But there was something else that accompanied these feelings. Like an instinctive feeling, which was exhilarating for him. Something that existed outside of the zeroes and ones, outside of mechanics and the software. It was small, and it was technically a bug, a glitch, but it was real. He didn’t want Cyberlife to take that away.

As RK900, or “Nines” as you insist upon calling him, accompanied you around this seemingly abandoned house, you busied yourself with asking him trivial, meaningless questions. And he was desperate for you to keep asking them.

“Why did they give Connor a name and not you?”

“RK800 deviated because they allowed him to tread too far into human territory. I suppose they did not want to take the risk with me.”

His non-existent stomach did a flip as he watched your eyebrows furrow in response.

“But you’re sentient. You can think. You’re self aware. That’s mean for them to give Connor a name and not you.”

“It has never made a difference to me, I assure you.”

“I’ll call you Nines for now. But I intend to give you a real name, okay?”

RK900 felt hot again, even more so than before. His face felt hot. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“If that is what you want. I will allow you to call me whatever you choose.” He wasn’t sure why this was the case, but he knew it was. He would do anything she asked of him. Anything. And he had not a single clue as to why.

As the two of you made your way up the stairs, Nines kept a hand on his holster, ready for anything that could be in store. Just as he suspected, there was a loud clamor from one of the rooms as the two of you reached the top of the stairs. Just as he takes his gun out of its holster, you speak.

“Stay here, Nines! I mean it!”

He wasn’t sure what your aim here was. Strategically, this decision was the least sound. If he were to get hurt, Cyberlife could either repair him or send a replacement. If you got hurt…

Fowler’s instructions echoed in his mind. Follow her orders, don’t allow her to get hurt. In this instance, the set of instructions was contradictory. He also had a secondary set of instructions: yours, telling him to stay put. His brain was rapidly running reconstructions, none of them ending well. As took a step forward, something in his coding stopped him. He heard another loud clamor from the room you had disappeared into, sending his systems into a frenzy. He fought against his coding, ignoring every single warning and reminder his mechanical brain was firing at him. Suddenly, he was able to step forward, running into the room you were in, gun drawn and aimed.

He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t have time to. He saw the deviant, and fired with lethal precision. As the deviant fell to the floor, he turned to you. You lay on the floor, blood oozing from a gash on your forehead. Seeing a broken wooden beam on the floor next to you, he quickly reconstructs the scene. The deviant was trying to escape as you entered the room. He must have been hiding when the two of you were coming up the stairs, and whatever was containing him broke. As you entered the room, he tried to throw the beam at you as a diversion. RK900– Nines— had arrived just in time to catch him just in time, before he was able to make it out the window.

Nines kneels down next to you, feeling yet another new emotion: panic. As he examines your wound, he exhales in exasperation. “Why would you do that?! Why would you not send me in first?! You are not replaceable, I am!” You look at him, slightly dizzy as your head pounds. Your voice comes our groggily. “No, you’re not. They could send a new model, but it wouldn’t be you.” Anger flares in Nines as he looks down at you. “This was ridiculous. If all he had was a piece of wood, it would have done nothing to me. Nothing!” You smile, groggily. “We didn’t know what he would have. Plus, you would have killed him. I was trying to get him out of here alive. Now can you help me up?”

Nines sighs again as he helps you up. “This was idiotic, detective.” You laugh, feeling yourself being practically dragged off the floor. “I’m going to make it. Looks like he’s not, though.” Nines says nothing, walking close behind you to ensure your stability as you exit the scene. He continues to say nothing. In the car, at the station, not a word.

As you gather your things, preparing to go home, you wander over to Nines’ desk, standing next to him as you smile down at him. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were scared back there,” you tease, smirking at him. Nines doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes stubbornly locked on the screen in front of him. “You’d be wrong, detective. I do not feel anything, as I am not programmed to.” As the words leave his lips, you both know that it’s a lie. But you don’t say anything. And neither does he.

As you leave the bull pen, RK900 clenches his fists. A military grade android, a weapon, programmed to never, EVER feel anything remotely similar to emotion, afraid. Going against his coding. There was only one thing that could mean: he had become what he was built to destroy. He had become like him.

[pencil-peach]

GWitch Onscreen Text: Episode 7

This is part eight of my attempt to transcribe and discuss all the monitor text in g witch! Because I got worms! We're on episode 7, "Shall We Gundam?"

Now then. Shall we? (Gundam?)

Not text, but in the opening, Vim tells the Peil Witches that it's despicable of them to breach the Cathedra Agreement, only for one of them to respond that she believes he would know something about that himself. This is our first hint towards the existence of the Schwarzette.

Now to the real text, we see a mockup of the Pharact of it's systems in this opening as well.

Here, we see that the Pharact is 19.1m and 57.1t.

The Blue and Red labels are tough to make out, but they each respectively say the same thing. I'll make my best guess: Blue labels: G-O | SYS-GUND CHH Red Labels: GUND FORMAT | CORAX UNITS

The Corax Units are the name of the Pharacts GUND Bits, and we know those use the Gund Format, so that checks. We saw 'CHH' on 4's data graph, still not sure what it means though.

I think the floating red text says GA - MS//RACT, but I can't be sure. The big label in the center says GUND-ARM FP/A-77.

Not text, but I think Sarius and Delling is another relationship I wish we got to see more of. Delling actually worked directly under Sarius within Grassley before eventually becoming President of the entire Group.

During the scene in the greenhouse, we get a look at the program on Miorine's monitor. No way to read the actual text on it from this shot, but we do see Miorine verify the name of one of the brands of fertilizer before presumably typing it on the screen, so it's probably safe to assume it's tracking the general maintenance of the tomatoes.

We never get a completely clear shot of the Incubation Party Invitation (Because it just can never be easy) But I'll make my best estimate of it from the shots we DO get.

TEXT: SUBJECT: INCUBATION EVENT PARTY INVITATION & APPLICATION GUIDELINES FROM: BENERIT GROUP PROTOCOL MANAGEMENT OFFICE

INVITATION The Benerit Group has the great honor of inviting you to the 15th Incubation Event.

Off topic but this scene has one of my favorite Miorine Noises in the whole show. It's so good. Take a listen. She is Flabbergasted.

TEXT: 15th INCUBATION EVENT PARTY Hosted by BENERIT GROUP

Pretty...

The Mobile Suits on display aren't named, but the one in the back right is actually the YOASOBI Collaboration Version of the Demi Trainer.

(YOASOBI are the musical duo that composed Shukufuku)

I wont bore you with a 1 to 1 transcription of the text of this first presentation, so here's the general overview.

This is PRESENTATION No. 001 for the Incubation Party from TENGRIFF SOLUTIONS. They're asking for 100,000,000 to develop an INTEGRATED FIRE CONTROL SOFTWARE. What that means generally is that they want to develop a software that can automatically correct/redirect an MS's aim to a specific target, in both Individual and Team based MS Operations. The benefits of this system are: AUTO TRAJECTORY CORRECTION AUTO CORIOLIS CORRECTION AUTO GRAVITY CORRECTION FIRE CONTROL FORMS BATTALION HIGH SPEED TARGET DATA LINK HIGH PERFORMANCE SPOTTING SYSTEM ALL ENVIRONMENT CONTROL SYSTEM

Unfortunately this project did not meet the 75% formation requirement and DIED

Funny Shaddiq Expression. I don't think he ever makes a face like this for the rest of the series.

[Pointing] One of the two times throughout the series we see any pat of Notrette. The only other time is in the second season opening.

We see VIM JETURK on Lauda's screen when he's calling him. (The "Accept" button actually darkens when Lauda taps it)

This scene is our first look into Nika's role as a go between for Shaddiq, and also how it'll be a main point of conflict between her and Martin, as he's the one who sees the two of them talking.

(Also, Shaddiq has a habit of abruptly lowering the tone of his voice to signify a change in his demeanor. If you ever rewatch the series again, try and listen for it ! He does it all the time)

TEXT (Top to Bottom) BENERIT GROUP NETWORK CONNECTION ^ ACCESS REQUEST ACCESS POINT: STAGE SCREEN LINE CODE: 2915.455X.eX STATUS: APPROVAL PENDING LINE CODE: Yds2.4006.40 LINE CODE: 2945.Rr50.52 LINE CODE: KL40.024c.R2

Miorine's phone when she requests access to the Stage Screen

When she gets approved and begins connecting, her phone displays this loading screen called SYNCHRONIZE

And the stage screen is displaying that same loading screen for a split second before fully connecting.

Miorine explains what this all means in the show proper, so I feel it'd be redundant to explain it, but here's the presentation anyhow.

We also see the UI of the program Mio is using in the presentation. She only uses the MEMO tab, but we see that there's a TEXT and PICT tab as well.

When Miorine takes the phone back from Delling, the investment status has reached 3%, meaning he invested 7,200,000,000 in the company. Mama Mia !

Business Successfully Formed!

But it seems that they only reached the bare minimum amount, 75%. So of the 240,000,000,000, she requested, the company earned at LEAST 180,000,000,000

We also see that Miorine’s presentation is only the 5th one of the night.

And that's all! Thank you very much! Unfortunately I can't leave anymore images because I've somehow reached the image limit :(

Instead I leave you with this: Go back and watch the scene where Miorine and Suletta see Prospera and Godoy. After the scene where Suletta greets him, they keep drawing his face wrong. Okay! Goodbye....!

Click here to go to Episode 8!

Click here to go to the Masterpost!

[zkylearnstherope]

Lemme write some updates for some fellas here.

AU Content

I don't know who's been keeping up with my stories, but the one I used to call, Void Walkers [AU] has been rewritten far too many times that it has now become its own series. It will NOT be an AvA AU anymore.

It will now be just called, Void Walkers.

You may notice that there are sticks there that look like victim and Agent, but they are separate fellas.

vic is taller than canon victim. Always has been. I just sucked at drawing the first Height Chart. And Gent as well. Both of their colors are different from the canon although it's barely noticeable.

I plan to remake their whole designs more, because I want them to be completely separate from AvA.

Why? It started with me being too tired of seeing the victim x Agent ships, when I see them as father and son. I cannot hate the art, because they are genuinely really good, but the pit in my stomach grows bigger with every piece I see.

One of the first solutions I came up with, is to make vic and Gent as separate characters. After I did that, the story just took a life of its own.

I used to think of H as a borrowed OC, but I am now claiming him as mine. He looks far too different now, I think I deserve that.

All of them got a life outside of AvA, and I'm 100% going through with it.

Now, what about Interrogation? If cowboy vic and H will be removed from AvA, what happens to that one?

I paused working on that one because of two reasons:

One was because I was waiting for a dev update for the animation software I am using. That update was released hours ago.

Second reason was because I was conflicted with the story. The flow doesn't make sense. Maybe it would, if it's still an AvA AU.

I only finished 14 seconds after working on it for two weeks, and during that time, I redesigned and posted here the new designs (but still not finalized) for Gent and vic.

After that, I reworked their designs again, wrote a few more stories, and each story just felt right on its own (without the AvA influence).

I still plan to work on Interrogation, but I would most probably, start from scratch. Sorry to disappoint those who were waiting for half a year now.

Am I still gonna do AvA stuff?

Yes. But I don't know if A and H would be in it.

Some of you have probably read my Shepherd vic poem. I plan to make that a really short AU. Again, I will not ship Agent and vic there.

Shepherd of the Lost Lambs AU

I will explain more about this one in the future.

There's also that victim vs Agent animation that I promised, and the lesbian ChoDark animation as well.

Now what's with all these updates?

Because a lot of you probably followed me for the AvA content, but then I started to go back to writing. I am not sure if you guys liked the kinky stuff or you liked seeing A, but all those things will still exist, but NOT in AvA / AvM context. Sure, my style would be there but it will not be intentional anymore.

I honestly lost interest because of that Reddit IA incident a few months ago. 😒

All the AvA stuff I have planned, I want them to go on YouTube, and I need to hold back on the kinky if I plan to do that, obviously.

One of them is even AvM S3 themed. I think you guys will love that one. My brain won't stop coming up with ideas, I swear...

So, AvA stuff, yes. Kinky no. Will A and H still be there? I am still thinking about it.

New Blog

Because I want Void Walkers to be a separate thing from AvA, I want to make a separate blog for it. Besides, it will be a lot of text based content, and that's a lot of reading. I tried to post writing here too and I don't think anyone reads them. Maybe people do? I am not sure.

But yeah, I want to make a new separate blog for Void Walkers.

Someone asked me the other day if Gent and H are in a comic, because they "seemed interesting". It made me happy hearing that. It reminded me of the comics from last year. Why don't I just make more of those short stories, right?

Lastly, not only was I 🪽 writing Void Walkers, I 🌟 also started to write about The True Kingdom again. I have big plans for TR. So that other blog will be repurposed for it.

I never got to finish that art of The Wise Wolf of The Fog. I wasn't skilled enough, so I just gave up at some point. But I will draw her again, maybe next year. Then write an official lore for The Fog.

Conclusion

I started writing this post with the intention of asking you fellas, what you think, or perhaps even making a poll.

As I am currently typing this, I have made up my mind. Void Walkers will be a separate blog and I will keep working on that and The Collectors series that I love.

Anyway, 'til next time. I'm going to bed.

[superspark2024]

About us

Hello, we are Super Spark from UTM, a dynamic team focusing on the field of human-computer interaction.

Sparks symbolize the starting point of creativity, just like a spark that can start a prairie fire. In our team, every idea is like a small spark. Although it may seem insignificant at first, it has unlimited potential. It may be a unique interaction design idea or a new user experience optimization solution. Once these creative sparks are ignited, they will be transmitted and collided among team members, forming a raging fire. We believe that every member of our team has the ability to generate creative super sparks, and we will gather the power of these super sparks.

There are three core members in our group, namely Wang Zhenghao; Xie Zhifen; Sun Hao.

Team leader: Wang Zhenghao Zhenghao is from Zhengzhou, Henan Province. He majored in software engineering in undergraduate studies, which gave him rich experience and expertise in computer software-related fields. Whether it is complex algorithms or system architecture design, he can handle it easily. He is like the technical cornerstone of the team, stable and reliable. Zhenghao is steady and responsible, and his attitude is very valuable in teamwork, making team members full of confidence.

Deputy Team Leader: Xie Zhifen Zhifen is from Wenzhou City, Zhejiang Province. She has a certain amount of work experience and outstanding personal ability. She can easily deal with complex problems and tedious project processes. Her work efficiency is also very high. She can always complete her tasks with high quality. These advantages not only ensure the smooth completion of the work, but also set a good example for other team members. In addition, she is good at working with different people. In the team, she can give full play to her own advantages, and cooperate and complement each other with other team members to maximize the strength of the entire team.

Deputy Team Leader: Sun Hao Sun Hao is from Xinyang City, Henan Province. He has an active and creative mind, which is like a magic key that can open up countless new possibilities in the field of human-computer interaction. For the current numerous apps and functions, he can always analyze them from different perspectives and has his own unique views. At the same time, when encountering difficult problems, he can also calmly analyze the problems in depth, and propose practical solutions with his solid knowledge reserves and keen insight.

[tobiasdrake]

Villain Breakdown: Ultron

Within the context of the film, Ultron has one job: To serve as a dark reflection of Tony Stark. To shine a light to Tony’s flaws, specifically the ones he doesn’t want to face because he can’t get over his own egotism. Tony traded defense contracting for Iron Man, and he thinks that makes him good now. He still fires weapons into foreign countries. He still acts with his own agency to police the world.

But he’s part of Team Avengers: World Police instead of Team America: World Police. I mean, Team Avengers is still led by a guy literally called Captain America. But it’s fine, right? Tony’s the good guy now.

Ultron’s job is to interrogate that assumption. Tony would not consciously destroy Sokovia. He cares too much about people. We see that in the beginning, when he tries to use the Iron Legion to evacuate the city. The last thing he wants is for his name to be on another city-destroying super-bomb. But his weapons would. His ideology would. Unchained from Tony’s trauma-driven personal growth, Tony’s ideas and his solutions would decimate Sokovia in the name of peace.

Ultron is Tony’s peacekeeper. The natural conclusion of Tony’s way of thinking. He is the suit of armor around a cold world that Tony envisions. And in the name of making the world better, he will destroy Sokovia. He is the blade of American imperialism made manifest through Imperialist Tony Stark – And the catalyst for the world saying, “We have had enough,” in Civil War.

Too bad he sucks at his job.

The problem with Ultron, the thing that makes his ultimate scheme fall so flat, is that. Well. The thing is? He fails. He fails at his job. He fails at serving as a dark reflection to Tony. And it’s all because of one very simple misunderstanding embedded in his character.

Ultron is an extreme Darwinist. He views humanity as stagnant and in need of evolution. He intends to destroy the world in order to jumpstart natural “Adapt or Die” law in humanity. This completely fails to reflect anything about Tony.

Aldrich Killian was a Darwinist. Tony is a transhumanist. He doesn’t believe in humanity improving itself; He believes in technology improving humanity. He believes in prosthetic limbs, not lizard DNA regeneration serum. He’s a hardware guy, not a software guy.

This is why the film seems to lose track of what it’s trying to do with this character as soon as the meteor is introduced. Ultron is making bodies instead of making weapons. He’s pursuing apocalypse when he should be pursuing empire. He waxes poetic about extermination when he should wax poetic about control. This fundamental misunderstanding of Tony’s character results in a wildly off-base villain and grinds the film’s thematic meaning to a halt.

And with the wishy-washy way the film tries to say Ultron isn’t really Tony’s creation, it just comes off like they were being precious about Tony. The film is set up to explore these ideas, and then self-sabotages to avoid making Tony look bad.

Ultron, by the end of the film, stops resembling Tony in any meaningful way. He's just an Evil AI villain doing Evil AI things. And the way the Avengers cut down his drones with ease prevents him from even being threatening. Ultron was a villain who had every chance to be interesting, but was held back from ever truly achieving his potential.

[princess-of-the-corner]

i require a moment to scream and bitch

so in the discord i once mentioned a teacher giving me a D grade for playing games in class (again, completely understandable, I absolutely know that was wrong)

cut to yesterday

we were supposed to give a presentation on deploying a software solution to a company

normally you'd think "oh just mention the stuff you've learned and how you can apply it to the company"

as the teacher for *this* module would say, "WRONG!"

man fucking grilled us on even more concepts, and LAMBASTED the other teams for not "thinking ahead"

what he expected was a FUCKING SOFTWARE DEVELOPMENT PLAN AS IF WE WERE *LITERALLY* GIVING A PRESENTATION TO AN ACTUAL COMPANY

and he has the fucking gall to be all goddamn pretentious, like "how can you expect to get the GOOD marks if you can't answer the GOOD questions?" BITCH YOU BLINDSIDED ALL OF US WITH SHIT THAT ISN'T EVEN RELEVANT TO THE ACTUAL ASSIGNMENT SIMPLY BECAUSE "we learnt it so use it"

man is a fucking corpo perfectionist douche and I am GLAD I never have to see him again (he took off back into the industry, which he def fits into more than against regular students)

God I hate assholes like that

Double yikes!

[yaminerua]

Been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading getting to this prompt all week but it's finally here and finally done;;;

Day 9's prompt was Confession and I decided to go with a scenario I imagined a while back for this one;;;

Prompts by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

In the disorientating, isolating midst of the M-Corp fiasco, Lister realises he's a coward and decides to use the fact he can't currently see or hear Rimmer to do what he should have done a long time ago.

Words: 4652

****

Red Dwarf was quiet. It was always quiet these days, certainly compared with the hustle and bustle it had once had over three million years ago when it had still had a full crew, but lately it had taken on a much more deeply unsettling kind of quiet. Where previously there had been some small signs of life about the old place, be they in the form of the Cat’s yowling or Kryten going about his daily cleaning duties or Rimmer complaining about the general pathetic state of Lister’s entire existence, now there was absolutely nothing at all. The ship felt well and truly empty. Dead.

It wasn’t actually empty, though. Rimmer and Cat and Kryten were still there, still around. The problem was that to Lister it was as though they weren’t. He couldn’t see them. He couldn’t hear them. The only indication to him at all that he wasn’t completely alone in the merciless, empty nothingness of deep space was the occasional sensation of something invisible – presumably the Cat – snatching food out of his hands, or the little tell-tale vibration that Lister felt run through the bunk as something that could only be Rimmer settled into the one below.

It was something akin to torture, knowing that the others were there, still living their lives around him, but that he couldn’t interact with them in any meaningful way, couldn’t even tell if they were in the same room as him at all or if he really was well and truly alone. It dredged up a deeply buried fear, a haunting sense of isolation. It reminded him that generally speaking he was the last known living human in the entire universe and without someone to talk to, someone to distract him, the cold, unforgiving reality of it all threatened to crush him under the weight of how depressing it all was.

He tried not to let it get to him too much. Even though he spent much of his days in this isolated state drinking from cans and bottles he couldn’t even see and staring idly at nothing, his brain growing numb with boredom, he hoped that around him the others were simply busy trying to find a solution to this mess, trying to find a way to undo the effects of the Perception Filter Software that had hacked his brain, courtesy of the malignant corporate entity known as M-Corp. He hoped there even was a way to fix it…

Shifting restlessly on the top bunk in the suffocating silence of the bunk room, he strained his ears desperately for even the slightest sign that there was anyone else in there with him, for a sign of life however small it might be.

He hated it when the bunk room was this quiet. It reminded him of how it had been years ago in the aftermath of recovering Red Dwarf and saving it from corroding away to nothing, when he’d finally gained access to his old sleeping quarters again after a long time spent on Starbug and then trapped in the brig.

When the dust had settled after the whole nanobots fiasco and every last resurrected face was gone and the ship had once again fallen back into silence and stillness there had been an aching void left that had become more gaping and impossible to ignore than it had been before, the vacant, empty bunk below an unpleasant reminder that a certain loud and obnoxious but undeniably necessary part of his life was still gone and at that point had seemed unlikely to ever return.

Lister had largely suppressed the memory of how lonely that had felt, the tremendous ache that had filled his chest every time he’d wanted to open his mouth to speak down to a Rimmer that was no longer there.

He had been forced, then, to acknowledge just how much he missed him, how much of an unexpected comfort his presence had become quite without him even realising it at the time, safe in the mundane familiarity of bickering in the morning and bickering in the evening.

In spite of how much else on Red Dwarf had changed, the one enduring, unrelenting constant in his world had remained Rimmer, keeping him sane by way of driving him mad, maintaining a sense of normalcy held over from a time before the accident, before everything had been changed forever.

Out loud he would always have said he couldn’t stand the smegger, that he’d have rather had literally anyone else chosen to be the hologram resurrected to keep him company, but that wasn’t really true. It hadn’t been true for quite some time.

But then, of course, he had gone away, recruited by another version of himself to traverse the multiverse and try to become a hero, and Lister had let him go – encouraged him to, even – and it had been in the sobering quiet that he’d left behind that Lister had realised he’d made a big mistake.

They say you don’t realise what you have until it’s gone and there’s some truth to that statement. It had certainly been true for Lister who had, as the weeks had turned into months and threatened to turn into years, become plagued by strange dreams filled with longing, visions of Rimmer, resplendent in his silver flight suit, giving up the glory and thrill of adventure to come back to the old crew, to come back to him.

They had alarmed him then, horrified him with the emotional vulnerability on display, the open yearning and impassioned pleas for Rimmer to stick around this time, to never leave them – to never leave him – again, but that had not been in and of itself the real reason that they had disturbed him. There had, of course, been one other stubbornly persistent little feature of these dreams that had given him real cause for concern, had had him running to Kryten for help, grappling to find some sort of excuse or explanation for it that didn’t suggest the implication he was dreading the most, that it wasn’t the inescapable, undeniable manifestation of something that had been secretly smouldering away unchecked in his chest far longer than he would dare to admit.

That had been years ago now and though the dreams still resurfaced from time to time they didn’t bother him nearly as much as they once had. Instead, they had just become something he had begrudgingly come to accept, a sign of a reality he couldn’t outrun, of a truth he had been forced to look directly at in the cold, harsh light of day and reluctantly acknowledge for what it was.

A small vibration ran through the metal frame of the bunk and Lister’s attention snapped to it, clung to it like a lifeline, his ears straining for even the slightest hint of any other sounds. It had felt like the vibration of someone sitting down on the bunk below and judging by the time and the dimmed ambience of the bunk room’s lighting he reasoned there was only one person it could possibly be at this hour. Rimmer was going to bed.

He waited a few moments longer, listening closely and mourning the lack of any other identifiable sounds. Even the simulated sounds of breath as Rimmer’s hologramatic form continued to convincingly pretend to be a living, breathing human being would have been enough. It was too quiet, too empty. He was right there below him and yet he felt miles away, out of reach, as though he simply wasn’t there at all.

Huffing an aggravated breath, he scowled at the wall of his bunk, at the blank spaces where photographs and faces ought to be, the ache in his chest feeling as though it might crush him at any moment. This was driving him crazy.

What he wouldn’t give to hear Rimmer complaining about something – anything – right about now, to see the way the features of his face crumpled with disdain, the way his nostrils flared as he scrunched up his nose and the way the deep creases in his brow carved themselves ever deeper as his eyebrows knitted themselves furiously together. He missed the sight of it fervently, missed the way Rimmer’s expression would only contort further whenever he shot him a wicked, impish grin back in return. He missed the way his lips pursed tightly together and the traitorous little thought that always entered his mind at the sight of them that made him wonder not for the first time and certainly not for the last exactly how they would feel against his own, whether a kiss from a hologram felt as real as he hoped it would.

God, this was excruciating. For whatever reason his brain had been supplying more and more of those kinds of thoughts lately, perhaps to fill the void with something interesting to stimulate his bored mind. Stimulation of a different kind aside, it felt dangerous knowing that Rimmer could be nearby, could be in the room with him while he daydreamed about things that would likely horrify him. There wasn’t the same bittersweet safety of being able to indulge in an unattainable fantasy without running the risk of ever being found out. That particular Pandora’s Box of feelings had been opened long ago during Rimmer’s absence, had been well and truly explored, and was now entirely impossible to lock back up again.

He dreaded the day Rimmer finally found out about it, the day something finally slipped out and gave the game away, exposed the deeper fondness that he’d been doing his level best to keep securely under wraps in the years since he had come back. Rimmer surely wouldn’t accept it. He would stare at him, utterly horrified, and Lister would have to watch him do it, would have to listen to whatever furious onslaught of ridicule and rejection would follow and face the consequences for his own stupid, utterly hopeless feelings.

But you wouldn’t have to right now, a reckless, foolishly impulsive part of him said quietly, temptingly, in the depths of his mind. You can’t see his face. You can’t hear him. What better time will you ever have than now?

Lister tried to shake the tantalising thought from his head, tried not to even remotely give it a chance to take root but it was already far too late for that. That troublesome little voice was right. There were no immediate consequences here, no instantaneous repercussions. He wouldn’t have to face the worst of it. He could just get it out, speak those dangerous little words aloud into the air and be done with it, leave them to settle however unpleasantly into Rimmer’s mind and that would be that. By the time this whole M-Corp business was finally resolved, he’d surely have had enough time to process the information, to deliver a more controlled, restrained rejection or simply pretend he had never heard it in the first place. Either way they could just get on with their lives and Lister at the very least wouldn’t be carrying such a heavy burdensome secret in his chest any longer and Rimmer… well, at least he’d know the truth at last. There was no downside.

Of course there was a downside but in the moment as it was right now that paled in comparison to the alternative. Maybe it was a cowardly approach, maybe he was making a big mistake but it was either that or go slowly mad never ever getting it out, never knowing for sure what might have happened if he’d just gone for it. Maybe Rimmer might surprise him.

Sucking in a shaky, apprehensive breath, he rolled onto his back, flexed his fingers anxiously by his sides and swallowed hard around the sudden lump of tension that had formed in his throat. “Rimmer?” he said out loud, tentatively, cursing the strained, half-croaked way his voice came out. “You there, man?”

There was no response, but by now Lister was anticipating that. He knew Rimmer was there, he had felt the reverberations that had told him as much. His words had been less about verifying that fact and more about attempting to get his attention, to make sure he was listening.

He could picture him in his mind, glowering up with mildly inconvenienced disinterest, impatiently waiting for him to get to the point.

He swallowed thickly, his tongue suddenly dry and heavy in his mouth. “Listen, Rimmer,” he began, desperately willing the tremor to leave his voice. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

He paused, waiting again for a response that would never come and readied himself to continue. “I know what you’re gonna say, and yeah, maybe I am a coward going about it this way but,” – he inhaled shakily, unsteadily, clenching his fists tightly by his side – “if I don’t get it out now I’m never gonna.”

There was a long protracted silence that followed this during which the only perceptible sound to Lister’s ears was the constant, never-ending humming and groaning of the ship all around him and the violent, pounding thump of his own heartbeat in his chest, hammering away so hard it might somehow manage to bruise him from the inside. He contemplated then just calling it off, debated remaining silent on this topic forever and saving himself the humiliation and the pain that would be future Lister’s problem to deal with if he followed through. He contemplated the alternative, and sighed in aggravated frustration at how little he liked the prospect of that too.

He wondered if Rimmer was getting irritated waiting for him to continue, if he was snapping up at him angrily, demanding him to hurry up already. He couldn’t back out now. He’d already started. The only thing he could do now was to push on.

“When you were gone, when you were away,” Lister began, clenching his eyes shut, breathing in deep and holding the tension in his chest for a prolonged moment, steeling his resolve, before releasing it all in a rush, letting his words be carried out of him on the exhale, tired and defeated and achingly honest: “I missed you, man. I really, really missed you.”

With that little admission, half the battle was already over and Lister felt immediately as though a great weight had been sloughed off him at just that one tiny little revelation. It was something he had never quite found a way to admit in all the years since Rimmer had come back, something that he had always meant to get around to telling him just in case he ever happened to get any funny ideas about gallivanting off again. The relief he felt at finally getting it out into the open air was so immense it was almost overwhelming and he let it wash over him for a few moments, feeling the tightly wound knot of apprehension in his gut begin to give way to a rush of adrenaline. It was a good start, but he couldn’t let it stop there. He had to keep going.

“I know you probably don’t believe me,” he went on, finding that now that the first hurdle had been overcome the rest was coming out a lot more easily. “But it’s true, and you can even ask Kryten or the Cat. They thought I was going mad.”

He laughed in spite of himself, a small nervous sound that sounded too hollow, too loud, in the otherwise still silence of the room. “I thought I wasfor a while too…” he admitted quietly, gaze fixed on the ceiling as he thought back to those days back on Starbug when his thoughts had constantly been drifting back to fixate on one person when he should have been thinking of just about anything else.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said after a moment, picturing the disbelieving look on Rimmer’s face, the dubious, unconvinced quirk of an eyebrow. “You’re probably thinkin’ ‘If that’s the case why did you act like you didn’t give a smeg when I came back?’ But, I mean, you wouldn’t have stuck around if I’d acted any different, would you? Probably would’ve thought you’d got the wrong universe…”

He knew Rimmer probably would agree with that. Anything other than a long-suffering roll of the eyes and a begrudging “Welcome back, smeghead,” would have seemed out of place, unexpected.

It was true that that thought had crossed Lister’s mind at the time, when Rimmer – his Rimmer, not some other Ace that had gone on to replace him – had stepped out of the Wildfire that fateful day and swept his searching gaze across all of their faces, trying to gauge whether this reality was his or just one very similar to it, but it was only part of the whole truth. The other half was simply that being too openly honest about how immensely relieved he had been to see him again had felt too vulnerable, too raw. They weren’t usually like that with each other, that kind of emotionally honest – not without alcohol involved at least, or some other perilous situation forcing them into it. Most days it felt like an insurmountable wall, something they were both quite content to sit either side of for the rest of eternity and never dare to try to cross but Lister had spent far too long pretending he didn’t want to cross it, pretending he didn’t want something to change for the better between them after so long stuck looping through the familiar cycles of the status quo. If he had to take a bazookoid to those barricades and blast them down brick by brick in the hopes that maybe it could lead to progress then so be it.

The first step in making human connection is admitting that you want it and God he wanted it badly but this was Rimmer he was talking to. It was Rimmer he was trying to reach out to, and their shared history together with all its little betrayals of trust and every bad word that had passed between them made that incredibly complicated. It made trying to navigate this next admission feel like an impossible task.

“Look, I know I’ve said a lot of smeg over the years and I know you have no reason to believe me but just…” He trailed off, unsure of how to proceed, well aware of just how much doubt and distrust stood in the way of his words being taken seriously. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and shook his head in defeated frustration, finding nothing good enough to say that would possibly be able to undo all of that at once.

“A lot changed after you went away, let’s just say that,” he opted for in the end, hating how feeble a plea it was for Rimmer to listen to him.

That wasn’t going to be enough, he knew that much, but didn’t know what more he could say given the circumstances. It was true that much had changed between the day Rimmer had left and the day he’d returned. Lister had aged, he had grown. He’d figured some things out that he’d simply never have been able to without the benefit of that distance giving him room to think, to feel. There were things that he had done in the past which would have gone differently if they were to happen now, things he would have meant more sincerely, would have maybe even had the guts to stand by instead of taking them back like a coward.

But then again, maybe not. After all, he’d taken forever just to get to this point.

He’d left it so long, wasted so much time fretting about how much would change and in which direction it would change. He was getting older now. He didn’t have as many years ahead of him as he had behind him, which only really meant he was running out of time to say what needed said, to do what needed to be done.

Time waits for no-one, not even the last man in existence.

Maybe he could have left it, could have carried the secret to his grave and never uttered a word but where was the romance in that? He was the last human being alive, maybe the last in the entire universe. If he didn’t take that leap, didn’t maintain the time-honoured human tradition of ill-conceived, clumsily delivered confessions, who would?

“Look, man,” he said, feeling the tension grip his throat, threatening to choke him, to keep the words from making it out. “There’s no easy way to say this, and I know maybe it’s pointless and stupid to even try, and you’ll just think I’m crazy – and maybe I am, who knows? But…”

He gestured helplessly to the air, wishing fervently that he could roll back this whole one-sided conversation and stop himself from starting it, to step back from the precipice he was now standing at the edge of with no way forward than to jump.

He dropped his hands to his sides, palms facing up, pleading to the heavens, anxiety thrumming through every vein in his body like static electricity, the frenzied rush of blood roaring like waves crashing in his ears. Resigned to his fate, a prisoner to the truth of his own stupid, frantically beating heart, he closed his eyes and stepped out into the terrifying nothingness of the unknown.

“I love you,” he said, out loud, at last, to a room that couldn’t answer back.

The silence that followed was excruciating, suffocating in its heaviness. It made Lister feel restless, twitchy, equal parts relieved that he didn’t have to see or hear Rimmer’s reaction and desperate to know what it was.

The room was distressingly still, agonisingly quiet. If Lister hadn’t known better, hadn’t been absolutely certain that Rimmer was there, likely listening in muted horror, he could have almost convinced himself he was simply speaking aloud to an empty room, to no-one but himself. And maybe that might have been better.

There was movement, suddenly, beneath him, startling in its unexpectedness, the slightest sensation of something shifting in the bunk below signalling to Lister that Rimmer was moving, that he was awake and that he had most definitely heard everything he’d just said.

Lister held his breath and waited, but what he was waiting for exactly he didn’t know. It wasn’t like Rimmer was magically going to appear before him, fully visible again. He could be shouting at him for all he knew right now. He might even have left the room. There was no way of knowing. He wasn’t sure if that was more of a blessing or a curse.

Turning his head to the side, he stared out mournfully, beseechingly, out into the dim emptiness of the bunk room, searching it desperately for something he couldn’t see. “Rimmer?” he called out, uncertain, into the silence and when no response came – because of course it wouldn’t – he grimaced and brought his palms up over his face, digging the heels into his eye sockets until they burned with the pressure and letting out a low, aggravated, tortured groan. He’d thought he’d feel better getting it off his chest, getting it out into the open after so many years keeping it locked away, but instead of relief he just felt an immense wave of dread and regret at whatever he was going to have to eventually face as a result of this.

He’d bared his heart to someone who had all the power in the universe to take it and shatter it to pieces and there was nothing he could do to roll it back now.

“Smeggin’ hell…” Lister moaned, dolefully, rolling onto his side to face the wall, folding his legs up towards his chest and curling himself into a miserable, anxious little lump.

Inches away, standing rigidly by the side of the bunk, fixing Lister with a wide-eyed, utterly incredulous stare, Rimmer didn’t know what to do.

His face was an open mask of astonished disbelief, his eyebrows raised so high on his forehead they threatened to disappear up into his receding hairline, his usually pallid complexion tinged now with an undeniable rosy pink hue which spread from ear to ear and threatened to expand down onto his neck.

If Lister could have heard him, he was almost certain he’d have been able to hear the rapid, frenzied beating of his own artificially simulated heartbeat but as it happened Lister had no idea, was completely oblivious to the fact that Rimmer was still even there, still in the room, battling to comprehend this revelatory emotional bombshell that he had just spontaneously dropped upon him with no means to even hear what he had to say about it. The absolute nerve, the cowardly audacity! Didn’t he want to know how Rimmer felt?

Actually, right now in the moment, even if Lister had been able to see him he wouldn’t have been able to give him answer. He didn’t know how he felt. Not for certain.

He was angry, sure, and with good reason. What kind of coward confesses while hiding behind the convenience of not being able to hear the response? But he was also… confused, mostly – baffled by this sudden admission that, try as he might to interpret it as just another weird prank or unfunny joke, had sounded so genuinely, achingly sincere that the raw, naked honesty of it all left Rimmer feeling decidedly unsteady.

Maybe it was just as well that Lister couldn’t perceive him right now. He wasn’t in any condition to be perceived.

He had no answer. Too many confusing, conflicting emotions were presently swirling wildly inside his head for him to think clearly, and there was a strange fluttery nervousness roiling in his gut and an oddly unfamiliar buzzing warmth radiating out from his chest that was making it even harder to concentrate. He felt giddy, he felt terrified, he felt furious, he felt… full, in a way he couldn’t really recall ever feeling before.

The fingers of his hands twitched restlessly at his side and he lifted a tentative arm, extended it out as though to reach for Lister and then stopped just shy of touching his shoulder, hovering there uncertainly for a moment before reluctantly receding.  

He scowled down at himself, enraged by his own flustered, involuntary responses and the useless futility of this whole situation. What good would reaching out do right now when the two of them couldn’t even sit down and talk about any of this properly? Rimmer had questions, so many questions, like ‘What the smeg was Lister talking about?’ and ‘Are you being serious about this?’ and ‘How long…?’ and absolutely none of them were going to be answered if things continued the way they were. This infuriating M-Corp situation was being nothing but a nuisance. It needed sorted.

Rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet, Rimmer drew himself up tall and tried to suppress the nervous churning in his stomach and the frantic hammering of his heart, tried to quell the heat rising to his cheeks and radiating from his ears.

Turning on his heel, he strode stiffly but with purpose towards the exit, sights set on the medical bay where Kryten had been busy trying to come up with a workable solution to their current dilemma. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep now so he might as well occupy himself trying to get this situation resolved.

And maybe while he was at it, he’d be able to sort through his own mess of emotions and figure out just what that cosy warm glow that was beginning to nestle itself comfortably in his chest was and what it meant. And maybe then he’d finally have an answer to give.

[sanguinifex]

Why you should McFucking Vote Democrat, because Biden is a bureaucratic genius

Ok so like. Bureaucracy is where the fiddly bits of how laws actually work happens. It’s anonymous, unthanked, very hard-working people in cubicles and terrible polo shirts who have to use the worst software ever invented. They’re the ones making and using the spreadsheets for “do you qualify for XYZ or not.”

Biden knows the House Republicans won’t let him pass any new laws worth jack, so his solution is to fine-tune the bureaucracy and its application of existing laws. It’s freaking genius. While a Republican president could technically reverse these reforms, in practice they mostly won’t, because it’s boring procedural spreadsheet stuff and not big flashy new laws banning things. The Republicans aren’t even going to notice half the things he’s fixing.

It is, I reiterate, absolutely genius. Biden’s DHHS has requested that cannabis be downscheduled to the level of prescription cough syrup, he’s stopped disability discrimination in organ transplant decisions and custody decisions, he’s reinstated VA benefits for people were discharged from the military for being queer (which means so much less medical bills for them, and access to prescription drugs including HIV meds), he’s the first president to join a picket line, his FTC appointee is suing Amazon for being a monopoly, union-busting is now punishable by being forced to recognize the union, as VP he was heavily involved in the Affordable Care Act, better known as Obamacare…and that’s just what I can remember off the top of my head while completely exhausted. For those worried about his age, he’s obviously still smart as a tack based on his bureaucratic strategies, and if something were to happen to him, Harris is similarly competent and similarly well-versed in bureaucracy, and she’d make similar policy decisions if in office.

Like, Biden is implementing very similar reforms to what I’ve always wanted, and in pretty much the exact same ways I’d do them. It’s to where I’d vote for him in a primary now. It’s all very well to say “Medicare for All,” but then how do you implement it? And I think Biden is the kind of person who’d have a real answer to that, and more importantly, know exactly who to call on to work out the bits that aren’t his area of expertise, such as “how many computers, servers, and new hires would CMS need to accommodate a quadrupling of beneficiaries?” Or to write the changes to tax code (such as eliminating the income cap on Medicare taxes) to fund said influx.

Compare and contrast Trump’s absolute debacle of his pet border wall. Or his muslim ban. Or covid. Like, the only good thing that came out of his presidency was the increase of the standard deduction for personal income tax, and then that later inadvertently screwed over people working from home during the pandemic because they couldn’t deduct the new home office supplies like desks and office chairs that they had to buy.

Also compare and contrast how quickly 2021-2023 have passed by, compared to how 2017-2020 seemed to drag on forever. I know that, even with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine threatening to turn into WW3, I’ve had distinctly less fear of nuclear escalation during Biden’s presidency than during the Orange Turd’s.

Finally, consider what Biden will be able to do once he doesn’t have to worry about getting elected again. Yes, healthcare reform. Employers currently pay the largest share of health insurance costs for people under 65, and those costs have been going up, largely due to insurers’ and for-profit providers’ price-gouging. Said employers are increasingly upset about these costs, to the point that they would likely be willing to opt for single-payer if the state or federal taxes to support it were, say, 80 or 90% of what they’re currently paying in insurance premiums—which would probably be the case, that or less, since CMS would negotiate lower costs, probably no more than 200% of regular Medicare rates. I can tell you for sure that Aetna is paying hospitals 5 times that, and that extra cost is reflected in premiums and (for self-funded plans) in claims, which employers have to pay.

Will the combined lobbying forces of industry giants like Walmart, Amazon, Boeing, Sitel, AT&T, etc. outweigh the opposing lobbying forces of UHC/ OptumRx, Aetna, Blue Cross, CVS, Walgreens, the legion third party administrators, and for-profit medical groups?

Well, we won’t find out unless you vote Democrat next November! Because Biden is a genuinely progressive and competent president and I’d like to keep him, and no one with a single sane braincell wants the other guy. The other guy will probably get us into WW3 and turn it nuclear. Please register to vote, and then actually vote.