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seelestia · 7 months ago

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⟡ within your waking thoughts (there i’ll be).

⎯ what do they do when they miss you? how do they cope with yearning when you're away? { y for yearning ノ ordered by @floraldresvi! (sorry for the ping!) }

RESERVED FOR! ノ characters. aventurine, sunday, dr. ratio ft. gn!reader. { 1.3k words }

FLAVOR! ノ genre. fluff, slight angst (my apology to sunday lovers yet again), established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ノ tags. aventurine has his tech savvy moment, pre-2.2 sunday (heavy references but no spoilers), ratio has two phones (king of separating work & personal life !!!).

BAKER��S NOTE! ノ thoughts. a repost! bcs tumblr didn't like it the first time. hopefully, this one will be here to stay. thank u to vivi for requesting this ‹3

in your absence, aventurine welcomes little thoughts of you that float around his mind with open arms - and the way he indulges them is by simply texting you. effective and efficient, there is a reason why the cosmos calls it the second most used means for long distance communication. what about the first? well, he would've opted for calling you with his earpiece if only his line of work doesn't require 90% of its usage time.

let's just say the idea of fellow stonehearts interrupting his conversation with you ruins the fun. besides, he has deft fingers; coin tricks aren't the only thing in his book, you know, typing a few sentences in one go is no problem at all.

but maybe, he is using that too much to his advantage . . . considering the “25+” staring back at you from your notifications every few hours or so. aventurine is truly, irrevocably relentless.

anything even remotely in your favorite color found within his vicinity? new message: Saw something that reminded me of you, you must really like crossing my mind.

an item he thinks would fit you well? new message: I got you a gift. Does it suit your fancy? [1 attachment]

reminded of how cruel fate is to separate you two for so long? new message: Haven't seen your face in a while. Fifteen hours are a total too cruel, don't you agree?

have faith that you will never grasp the true meaning of boredom when you’re apart from him. luck follows a man like aventurine, so do interesting events - remember how he won a vacation to a resort with one chip? he revels in telling you stories of his encounters while you're away. it is as if thrill revolves around him constantly. . . one wonders just how he fares living on the edge of it all.

(you, for one, are aware of his ways. he has allowed you to wander far enough behind his masquerade, after all.)

of course, texts on an illuminated screen can barely compare to seeing you in person. he prefers having you in his arms instead - but he'll live. solitude is an old friend of his, albeit distant and cold, aventurine can deal with its company every once in a while. at the end of the day, he knows you’ll be there when he comes home.

though, it's such a shame he cannot see your face when you're apart. the curve of your lips as you smile, the twinkle in your eyes with his reflection in them, and. . . ah, seems like he is making this harder for himself. maybe, he should consider buying that HD holographic communicative device on the market? his ears caught wind of some P45 officers at pier point whispering about it before.

it'll cost a large sum of credits but hey, he thinks it'll be worth it. for you? anything is possible.

(...him? clingy? well, guilty as charged.)

sunday’s self-discipline is not something to be underestimated. halovians are a species known for their enchanting voices, yet he feels as if he cannot spare any for even his inner thoughts. what an irony. his longing for your presence is persistent, tumbling at the edge of his tongue - but he is equally as, if not more, stubborn and so he swallows this yearning down instantly.

you are not confined to the dreamscape like he is, as self-imposed as that may be. sunday is aware of that, hence his first instinct is to keep quiet. the curse of sealing his lips till forevermore; watching you leave through the grand doors, letting his gaze fall to where your shadow used to be, savoring the last of your remaining fragrance from when you last bade him goodbye - all without a word.

(don't go, he wished he could say.)

is it a bad habit? “your voice shouldn't be used just to utter words that others want to hear,” you reminded him once. “it's also for you. it's yours.”

but even then, your words are akin to a faint whisper; muffled by the thoughts that plague his mind like a mist. he can't help how they fog up his reflection in the mirror, leaving remnants of something acrid that wafts in the air. something like doubts, sunday would know because he has dwelled in it for as long as he remembers.

you are outside, fluttering your wings in the sky and enjoying what it has to offer. does he have any rights to disturb you? perhaps, in his eyes, sunday views himself as a string tied around your talon, trailing all the way from the heavens where you soar to the humble ground where he resides. each time your absence compels him to reach out, it is as if he’s tugging on that string and dragging you lower from the height you truly relish in, from the height you deserve to be at.

(sunday believes that you belong to the sky, unlike him.)

so here, he shall stay and here, he shall wait until you return. sunday’s heart begins to grow cold - but the farewell kiss you've left on the apple of his cheek hasn't faded. its warmth remains, even when he brushes his freezing hand against it, it remains.

you remain.

(and that is enough for him.)

dr. ratio is a man with a packed schedule, so it's safe to say he keeps himself occupied particularly well. tasks at the intelligentsia guild are nothing short of demanding, after all. there are researchers asking for his input left and right, although some tremble while speaking to him even when he hasn't even uttered a word yet. ignoring that, he also aids in projects that require his expertise. last but not least, his students and classes which he takes very seriously.

(but be careful with how you phrase it — the doctor doesn't view them as distractions, no, he sees them as his responsibilities — saying the former might offend him.)

as you can see, he is perfectly capable of spending time away from you. . . .or at least, until it's time for a break and a part of that perfection chips off.

his office is quite tranquil, free from outside noise, just the way he likes. this place bears a similar purpose as his headgear, to let him focus in silence without disturbance - but he hasn't expected that exact silence to be this deafening. hah, how absurd! in what realm of possibility could silence ever be associated with deafening as an adjective? he supposes it could be a case of tinnitus. . . but veritas knows that isn't the case.

something's missing and it is, much to his dismay, you.

veritas has his standards. he prefers things to be set at a specific level - and this level of silence, one marred further by your lack of presence, is too low for him. he's getting too used to seeing you barge into his office with neatly packed sandwiches in your hands, a revelation he'd rather keep to himself.

veritas reaches for his personal phone, his work one left neglected at the far end of the desk. he considers making a call to you but the clock is ticking. tick tock tick tock, as if to hang the fact that his break is reaching its end over his head.

utilizing whatever time he has left, his finger gives the gallery app a tap. various pictures pop up on the screen; selfies of you with silly expressions, candid shots of veritas himself and some photos of random objects like your matching mugs. all of these were taken by you, of course. seriously, is this his phone or is it yours?

who knows at this point? he nearly lets out a snort, but that smile on his face is fooling no one. the doctor continues scrolling through his gallery, utterly content with just this until he gets home. to you.

(yes, yes, this still counts as keeping himself occupied. thank you for your concern.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

#hsr x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#aventurine x reader #sunday x reader #dr ratio x reader #hsr fluff #seelestial.inks #reveriesincups

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lackadaisycats · 10 months ago

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Hey Tracy! Have you heard about the new Ai called Sora? Apparently it can now create 2D and 3D animations as well as hyper realistic videos. I’ve been getting into animation and trying to improve my art for years since I was 7, but now seeing that anyone can create animation/works in just a mare seconds by typing in a couple words, it’s such a huge slap in the face to people who actually put the time and effort into their works and it’s so discouraging! And it has me worried about what’s going to happen next for artists and many others, as-well. There’s already generated voices, generated works stolen from actual artists, generated music, and now this! It’s just so scary that it’s coming this far.

Yeah, I've seen it. And yeah, it feels like the universe has taken on a 'fuck you in particular' attitude toward artists the past few years. A lot of damage has already been done, and there are plenty of reasons for concern, but bear in mind that we don't know how this will play out yet. Be astute, be justifiably angry, but don't let despair take over. --------

One would expect that the promo clips that have been dropping lately represent some of the best of the best-looking stuff they've been able to produce. And it's only good-looking on an extremely superficial level. It's still riddled with problems if you spend even a moment observing. And I rather suspect, prior to a whole lot of frustrated iteration, most prompts are still going to get you camera-sickness inducing, wibbly-wobbly nonsense with a side of body horror.

Will the tech ultimately get 'smarter' than that and address the array of typical AI giveaways? Maybe. Probably, even. Does that mean it'll be viable in quite the way it's being marketed, more or less as a human-replacer? Well…

A lot of this is hype, and hype is meant to drive up the perceived value of the tech. Executives will rush to be early adopters without a lot of due diligence or forethought because grabbing it first like a dazzled chimp and holding up like a prize ape-rock makes them look like bleeding-edge tech geniuses in their particular ecosystem. They do this because, in turn, that perceived value may make their company profile and valuations go up too, which makes shareholders short-term happy (the only kind of happy they know). The problem is how much actual functional value will it have? And how long does it last? Much of it is the same routine we were seeing with blockchain a few years ago: number go up. Number go up always! Unrealistic, unsustainable forever-growth must be guaranteed in this economic clime. If you can lay off all of your people and replace them with AI, number goes up big and never stops, right?

I have some doubts. ----------------------

The chips also haven't landed yet with regards to the legality of all of this. Will these adopters ultimately be able to copyright any of this output trained on datasets comprised of stolen work? Can computer-made art even be copyrighted at all? How much of a human touch will be required to make something copyright-able? I don't know yet. Neither do the hype team or the early adopters.

Does that mean the tech will be used but will have to be retrained on the adopter's proprietary data? Yeah, maybe. That'd be a somewhat better outcome, at least. It still means human artists make specific things for the machine to learn from. (Watch out for businesses that use 'ethical' as a buzzword to gloss over how many people they've let go from their jobs, though.)

Will it become industry standard practice to do things this way? Maybe. Will it still require an artist's sensbilities and oversignt to plan and curate and fix the results so that it doesn't come across like pure AI trash? Yeah, I think that's pretty likely.

If it becomes standard practice, will it become samey, and self-referential and ultimately an emblem of doing things the cookie-cutter way instead of enlisting real, human artists? Quite possibly.

If it becomes standard industry practice, will there still be an audience or a demand or a desire for art made by human artists? Yes, almost certainly. With every leap of technology, that has remained the case. ------------------ TL;DR Version:

I'm not saying with any certainty that this AI blitz is a passing fad. I think we're likely to experience a torrential amount of generative art, video, voice, music, programming, and text in the coming years, in fact, and it will probably irrevocably change the layout of the career terrain. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was being overhyped as a business strategy right now. And I don't think the immensity of its volume will ever overcome its inherent emptiness.

What I am certain of is that it will not eliminate the innate human impulse to create. Nor the desire to experience art made by a fellow soul. Keep doing your thing, Anon. It's precious. It's authentic. It will be all the more special because it will have come from you, a human.

#art #lackadaisy #technology

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riaki · 1 year ago

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thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze.

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#ahhh im really sorry this is late;; got busy with life like those ao3 authors but much less impressive #i really like jazz i feel like not enough people do #just listen to persona music sometime. its worth #sometimes i make up words but thats ok as long as people buy it. i speak english first language trust 👨‍🔬#i feel like reader is kokomi or whatever her name is from saiki k #at that one ramen place but its a thrift store.. pretending it’s not all that bad except reader doesn’t rlly try LMFAO #for megumi!!! everything we do is for him 💐#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x y/n #billet-doux #and via thinks her titles r bad #I CAN FINALLMY. WORK ON MY CHRISTMAS EVENT

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thehistoriangirl · 1 month ago

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The Tides Have Veiled [Third Interlude]

First of all, I wanted to apologize for the delay. I got a problem with this story as I found out someone fed it to an AI. I was about to stop posting it and eliminate it altogether, but it'll be unfair for every one of you who had been so sweet and kind with me and so loving with this story.

We're officially in the middle, and I will walk all this way with you guys ❤️❤️ thank you so much for the support, and I'll read you soon!

Viktor x Fem!Reader /Gothic AU; Haunted Sea/----1.8K---SFW

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: One fateful night, you two say the thing that wasn't supposed to be.

Tags: Fluff | I'm emotional rn so it may be a bit sad | Some kissing | They say!!! the thing!!! | Needless to say please PLEASE do not feed it to an AI 😭😭😭

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr @ultimateslasherfan @beeblybub (it's been so long I'm sorry if I forgot to tag someone!! 😭😭 remind me and I'll do it for the next ones :3 pinky promiseee)

Third Interlude: The Stars in Your Eyes

New moon. The perfect witness to keep secrets.

And it isn’t that Viktor wishes to maintain his feelings hidden, resurfacing like the high tide during full moon—rising every night during the solitude of the watch, with the familiar glow of your window visible from the tower until sleep took you for the day, the light of the candle extinguished.

But it a necessary illness he doesn’t mind to be afflicted with.

The place you ought to call house it’s so different to this lonely tower; avant-garde wallpapers are here but starting to chip off. There the candles burn with riches fragrances, while here the beacon illuminates, unforgiving, leaving oil prints all over his fingertips.

At least he can pretend to watch over your dreams from here, peering at the starry night. A childish desire to keep you away from nightmares soaked in crimson tides and women jumping out the cliff.

It’s the same tale of every night—to cocoon in the couch by the control panel, door close to avoid any flicking light filtering inside the room. A book resting on his lap, forgotten pens scattered all over the floor by his shoes. Today isn’t worthy of writing in the logbook. At least not yet.

The door creaks open, metal scratch against wood.

“Viktor,” your voice makes him jump. Between a dream and a ghostly whispering like the sea uses to do with each crashing wave.

He stands up from the couch, leaving the book he was reading closed without any mark. It doesn’t matter. Viktor doubts he knew what the chapter was about even before you arrived.

His hands are eager. They settle in the roundness of your cheeks, finding like a miracle that your skin it’s so soft and warm. “You’re really here.”

It wouldn’t be the first time the water fools him, allowing him to imagine both of you, floating weightless inside an infinite of blue. Hands intertwined.

You oughtn’t to fear the place you come from.

“I almost got caught,” you laugh, leaning against the safety of his touch. Against the cold surrounding you in her way toward the lighthouse, Viktor is your refuge. “They hired new fishermen. Mister Gavin was talking with them in his office up until midnight.”

That catches Viktor’s attention, obliged to recoil his touch. “New fishermen?” Upon his hiring as lighthouse keeper, Viktor had seen the dark silhouettes of the fishing boats sailing on open water during the night, where fish could be easily collected. Every journey, fewer boats get out. And even less returned.

“He has always been a greedy man,” you sigh, sinking into the couch. He hopes your shampoo gets imprinted in his pillow for at least a couple of days. Until he gets to see you again. “He doesn’t wish to understand Piltover will never be the same as it was thanks to her.”

Viktor settles next to you. “I suppose sometimes dwelling in the past it’s the only thing one can do to avoid going mad.”

He observes you, loving that intense gaze that could only be described as a frozen storm, cloudy and deep and dark from all the tears he’s sure you don’t dare to shed.

“I hope he goes mad,” your voice is barely audible. A shivery whisper that crawls inside his chest. “I hope I get to do it.”

That need starts to nudge again the gate of his reason. You’re not like this, he wants to tell you. The poison dripping down every syllable, breaking its enchanting cadence. But it would be senseless to utter so—because your family has sworn upon themselves to forge you into whatever monstrosity the townsfolk’s rumors proclaim.

“There lies the reason behind your current visits?” Part of him lets slip, a terrible weight settled onto his heart.

Your chuckle echoes, a whisper that would remain even after you leave. “No, Viktor. It isn’t.” You drink from his golden eyes, twin stars guiding your way. You aren’t sure what this night has of special. It’s just a moonless night, full of stars in the sky. The sea laps all the same. “I would never drag you into my mess.” Not as Gavin and his new wife had dragged Astraia, hoping for you to grow all alone, feeding the desperation to seek freedom.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you do,” he says, and your eyes start to blurry.

His fingers are rough and cold, yet he touches you with the same delicate nature one would hold a butterfly. Afraid that if he takes too much, you’d be all but a shattered dream.

“I’m happy here,” you mutter, the secret you’re so afraid to say out loud if bad luck ever tries to snatch it. “I can’t go anywhere, but here… here I don’t want to run away.” And it terrifies you. All your life, wishing to be someone else, to forsake the family name impose upon your existence. Yet not even the waves could take what runs through your veins. “I loathe this place with every fiber of my being, but now you’re here and… everything has changed.”

It's like it was before. The blue of the sea is shinier, and the call doesn’t reverberate in your bones with the ache of impossibility. It calls you home. Morphed into one endless way up into the end of every lament.

For the first time in so long, you don’t want to leave.

His smile breaks your heart, and you let yourself cry, letting him hold you while every tear erases the grey colors once painted over the vibrant memories of your mother’s tight embrace, her haunting voice calling you to sleep. The way the sand got under your toes after one swimming afternoon. All the ghostly laughter you blessed upon the cliff.

Before everything turned crimson and empty.

“I will keep this place safe,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair. “For you.”

Your hands grab his shoulders, and for a moment it seems like you wish to disappear in him, to forever echo the rhythm of his heartbeat as another lullaby.

You can’t see him, so he dares to deposit a kiss on your forehead, muttering things you cannot understand.

“Come with me,” he says after an eternity that’s cut too short.

*~*~*~*

The water’s cold, but it lights every nerve on fire once you submerge.

Viktor slips behind you, your hands never leaving his once your tears are erased by the sea water hitting in gentle waves. A moonless night with inky water, yet you don’t have to fear the abyss. You have never.

“Does your leg hurt?” you say, waddling toward him. You could guide him toward the cliffiside where the coral grows meters under the surface, so he could feel the fish between his legs and grab at the rock for safety.

“N-no,” Viktor shivers. “The cold helps to numb sometimes.”

It’s barely visible outside of the lighthouse’s rotating beacon, which give you enough courage to inch shamelessly closer, until your dress it’s tangled in his legs. Because it’s your time to hold him, soak him in your warmth.

Astraia’s words haunt you, but what reputation do you still hold? You don’t care to stain the last name they force you to keep.

“Numb what?” You can barely feel his hands ghosting over your back. Afraid.

He averts your gaze. But you can’t let him; with your warm hands cupping his cheeks. Despite the coldness, you could see the faint blush on his cheeks every time the lighthouse painted the waves gold.

“Are you afraid of me?” you whisper, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Never.” His voice is gruff, the grasp so tight his knuckles are bone-white. “But… there are some things meant to remain hidden.”

“Why?” You know why, but you have stopped caring about the reason long ago. “I don’t want to keep them locked any longer.” It was as if sometimes they drowned you, blocking every breath from your throat at the mere thought of saying those words your tongue longed to express.

Your name has never been more precious that in the way Viktor whispers it. A prayer he covets for only him to call.

And you’ll let him. Of course you’ll let him.

“I don’t want to, either,” he says, golden stars fluttering close one his lips beckon yours, soft and pliant and so sweet. Barely a sheepish brush, before you push yourself closer, his hands grabbing handfuls of floating fabric on your lower back.

You get lost. Barely keeping afloat in the great tides of emotions sieging you. Yet Viktor doesn’t care if your lips taste like salt, if you’re shivering and breaking in sobs. Despite all the love, he knows it hurts—being loved hurts by the mere thought of all this being stolen with the same easiness it could be taken away.

But he won’t let it.

“You make me feel free,” you utter, breathless. And this otherworldly vision will forever haunt him; your bright eyes, swollen lips. The smile that’s just for him.

“I’m in love with you,” he says, his voice dripping with dread, the ever-present possibility of rejection.

Your laughter fills him with pain, but Viktor quickly realizes, by how you embrace him, that it’s not meant to be mocking. It’s euphoric, triumphant in the way you call for him. “Viktor, kiss me.”

And he does, up until the cold seeps into his bones, threatening into leaving him up to the design of the sea. Yet you hold him close, guide him back to the shore where you both lay in the sand like teenagers laughing at the constellations above because they would never have the brightest stars in all the skies, light only meant to gaze upon you.

And you love those stars, making them close so you can kiss them along with every precious feature of his face that you’re decided to carve in your memory.

Viktor embraces you despite the warmth of the sand seeping through your clothes, the humid summer air blowing hair into his face. You want to tell him the truth, to let your throat sore from a scream so everything and everyone could hear it.

But you’re afraid. You know this place always takes those who you love, and you dread for Viktor to be next. So you don’t, and instead, cuddle up right into his side, your cheek pressed against his chest as his breath slowly grows steady.

He’s asleep, but his hands are still taking yours, his chin over your head.

“I love you, too, Viktor,” you mutter, so low either he or the sea can hear you. Yet the lighthouse sees, casting shadows along your refuge on the coastline like a blanket.

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #viktor x you #arcane x female reader

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hangingslothcentral · 3 months ago

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looking for a new audio drama?

If you like weird philosophical sci-fi and cyborgs, and hate AI and capitalism, check out Clockwork Bird!! it's the first show I ever made so it's a bit rough around the edges but it's an exploration about the rights of the dead, the limits of science, and the nature of personhood. it's all told through scattered 'found footage' recordings as listened to by Shelly Croft as she looks for her missing journalist girlfriend, Alice, who disappeared whilst she was investigating the welfare of Robin Jaeger, the posterchild for advanced synthetic limbs who may be more, and less, than he seems.

Clockwork Bird as 30 episodes, each 10-25 minutes long.

If you like spooky stories with a lot of heart, long series with lots of moving parts and character arcs, check out Spirit Box Radio! This show has a ton of original music and an accordian cast which grows as the show goes on, topping out at about 27 VAs. Sam Enfield is the happy-go-lucky host of Spirit Box Radio's Enlightenment Segment in the absence of its previous host, but something fishy is going on, and Sam's actually at the centre of a plot with apocalyptic stakes. SBR is a show about grief, storytelling, and what happens when a people pleaser has potentially unlimited magical powers. Find it @spiritboxradio.

Spirit Box Radio has 93 episodes, each 15-30 minutes long, with season finales that are up to 50 minutes long.

Do you like vampires? Gay vampires? Gay vampires that suck (blood. and other, uh, things)? Not Quite Dead may be the show for you. Join Alfie, a former A&E nurse who's knee deep in horrors because of his boyfriend, Casper, who is a vampire. Cas is missing with no indication of when he will return, but without his blood, Alfie is going to die. As time runs out, Alfie records everything he can remember about the months leading up to this moment. This show is gory and horny. Season Two has a tiny blonde guy who sounds French but who is older than the concept of France. This love story bites, viciously, multiple times, for fun and profit. Find it at @notquitedeadpod.

Not Quite Dead has 40 episodes, each 20-40 minutes long. The final season will be out in 2025.

Are you into mysteries and characters who eat hot chip and lie? Do you enjoy listening to shows as they air? Are you a person who likes to have conspiracy-board-level theories about the media you engage with? My new show, Remnants, might be just up your alley. Remnants follows the Apprentice as he learns how to read the objects that come to the First and Last Place. He's watched over by Sir, but Sir isn't much help. Thier purpose is strange and confusing, and the more remnants the Apprentice reads, the more he wonders at what the meaning of it all is, and if there might be some connection he's been missing... Find it at @remnantspod.

Remnants S1 will have 30 episodes of about 30 minutes. S1 started airing in July, and will finish in March 2025.

#spirit box radio #audio drama #sbr #audio fiction #audiodrama #podcast #spirit box radio podcast #eira speaks #not quite dead #fiction podcast #remnants #remnants pod #not quite dead pod #rusty quill #clockwork bird #clockwork bird podcast

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gloomzi · 1 year ago

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THIS MAY BE BASED OFF A SAM C AI BOT I TALKED TO BUT OML ILL LOVE TO SEE YOU WRITE IT

This will take time after Sam escapes and is in readers dorm.

The reader ends up taking Sam out to a local place like Walmart because earlier Sam said he wanted to get out for once a be a normal person. But the reader wasn't one to get out themselves or evening party, so they did the best they could. Take sam to Walmart. Once arriving the reader pulls out a shopping cart, looking over at sam with a half smile "wanna get in and I push you around?" Which leads sam being pushed around a Walmart in a shopping cart by the reader. So they takes him down different isle with the frozen snacks, spicy chips, drinks, etc and this kid looks like he is in mfing disney land but the characters are actually the characters.

(I ended up taking sam to the toy isle and he picked out a monster high doll and I educated him on the lore to which he picked frankine. Boy got taste)

waaah thank u for the request! sry it took longer than expected, shit just kept coming up in my life TvT but regardless i hope u enjoy it!

WORD COUNT 2622

WARNINGS is primarily fluff but ends on a bit of a hurt/comfort note (sry), prose heavy

Ever since Sam had started staying in your dorm, he had been asking to go out and do something normal for once—nothing big, just something to get him out of the building, like grocery shopping or going to a party. Something where nobody would be paying attention to the people around them or would be too drunk to remember anyways.

Unfortunately for him, you were a bit too paranoid about your current predicament to want to bring him out in public—you wished that you could, but you knew all too well the lengths others would go to to hurt Sam, to bring him back to the woods, and you didn’t want to risk that—and you didn’t really have friends that were the partying type anyways. Or well, not anymore. Not since that last party where Andre nearly killed someone and Marie was almost expelled.

So, that left you with two options: keep telling Sam no while he gets more and more frustrated at being stuck in your cramped dorm room with little entertainment, or drive him far enough out of town that there was a decreased chance of him getting caught.

You chose the latter.

As soon as you came back from classes that Friday, you were throwing an oversized hoodie at the boy and a plastic package containing black face masks, “C’mon Sam, we’re going on a trip!”

He was ecstatic, immediately dropping whatever it was he was holding—upon second glance you realized it was a few of your minifigs, embarrassing—to get dressed.

Seeing him struggle to change into his not so stellar disguise, you giggled, helping him tug the edge of the hoodie off his elbow where it had been stuck and over his stomach, flattening the fabric for him before handing him a cheap pair of readers off your desk and the masks which had fallen to the floor.

“Ground rules, Sam, okay? We’re going to be heading out of town, but until we cross town lines you have to keep all of this on, got it? And when we get there you can’t leave my side, you gotta stay where I can see you.” You said, watching as he slipped on the glasses, which were, admittedly, a bit silly looking on him, but it was endearing in a way.

Sam nodded quickly, grinning down at you, “Yeah, yeah, of course! Whatever you say!” Sam paused, tearing open the packaging on the masks before looking back up at you, “Where are we going again…?”

You chuckled, turning on your heel to switch your school bag out for a smaller one, stuffing your necessities in it, “Walmart, honey. You been before? When you were younger maybe?”

Sam hummed, thinking for a second before shrugging, “I mean, probably…the name sounds familiar, but I don’t really remember.”

You found that Sam didn’t mind talking about stuff he remembered from before The Woods or Sage Grove Center, in fact he usually recalled those times fondly, but his memory seemed pretty spotty before then.

“Fair enough,” You shrugged back, “Ready to go?” You held out a hand for him to grab, tugging your bag onto your shoulder with your other hand.

Sam nodded, smiling softly and taking your hand, allowing you to lead him out of the building and to the parking lot.

Not many students on campus had cars, you yourself having only got one from your parents which you pay them back for monthly, meaning it was fairly easy to find where you had parked earlier in the week. Your car was on the older side, nowhere near glamorous—the thing didn’t even have an aux cord, so CDs were practically your life line now—but it ran well enough and you kept it clean and nicely decorated, from bumper stickers to stuffies in the backseat.

Sam peaked in the window, seemingly intrigued by the unreasonable amount of plush toys taking up space, but quickly snapped out of it when you pulled open the passenger door, waving him in.

You rounded the car quickly, hopping in and starting it up so you could show Sam how the radio worked and help him readjust his seat until he was comfortable.

“See, you can pull this thing right here backwards or forwards to bring your seat closer or further away from the dash, and if you pull this other one behind it it’ll adjust the back of your seat to recline more.” You guided him, holding your hand over his to make sure he felt where everything was, “And if you want to change any of the CDs, I keep all of mine right here in the center console, you just need to hit this eject button here to take out one and then the load button to put in the new one!”

Sam nodded along, asking questions about your CDs and which ones you liked best, fiddling with the volume to hear better before settling on one.

“Alright, ready to go now? Seatbelt on?”

“Yeah, let's go!”

Pulling out of the parking lot, you and Sam talked lightly, him mostly staring out the window and asking questions about the town and little stores you passed while you focused on driving, answering with fond amusement.

The drive was a bit longer than you were used to making, but you had to get out of town, so you knew it would be at least an hour, CDs seeming to come and go faster than you remember them being, though you guessed it might have something to do with Sam being there to talk over them.

By the time you had made it to the Walmart Sam had changed out of his sad excuse for a disguise, the hoodie being thrown into your backseat in favor of just wearing a white long sleeve with a graphic tee over it, glasses tucked into your sunglasses compartment and mask shoved into your glovebox. Both of you were getting a bit hungry at this point, so you felt relieved to see there was a Dunkin inside the Walmart as well, ordering you and Sam some hash browns and a vanilla bean coolatta to split.

Just based on his reaction you could tell he wasn’t used to having anything as sweet as that drink, his lips puckering as his eyes went wide, “Jesus christ, this shit must be loaded with sugar!”

“Oh yeah, that’s why we’re splitting it, I’d get sick otherwise,” You laughed, “You like it though, right? If not, I can buy you something else.”

“No, no, it’s really good! I like it!”

You hummed in acknowledgement, starting to walk towards the carts, knowing Sam would follow. Grabbing one of the large carts, you tapped the side, “Wanna get in? I’ll push you around.”

Sam’s eyes lit up, as he practically bounced up to the cart, “Hell yeah!” He cheered, throwing a leg over the side, cart wobbling lightly as you tried to hold it steady before he finally fell the rest of the way in, drink held in the air to keep it safe.

You giggled, holding your hand out for the drink so you could take a sip before handing it back to him, “Do you want to get some snacks for the dorm first? Anything you want as long as it’s not ridiculously expensive.”

Sam nodded, sipping on the drink once more with a small smile. He looked like a kid on Christmas, eyes lit up as he looked at practically every item you came across, trying to decide whether or not he liked the sound of different chip flavors and microwave noodles.

Maybe I should just get him one of those mini stoves that plugs into the wall…does he even know how to cook though? Probably not. You thought, rolling the cart into the drinks aisle and grabbing a case of water bottles.

“Hey, do you know how to cook?” You asked, starting to push the cart again. You had cleared all the food aisles, so now you just needed to grab him some clothes and maybe check out the toy aisles too. You always liked looking for figurines and board games in there, Sam would probably like that stuff too if you had to venture a guess.

“Sort of? My mom taught me simple stuff when I was younger.”

You nodded, “I can show you how to do some other stuff then, I’ll just have to get you something to cook with in the dorm.”

“Thank you…” Sam muttered, pursing his lips like he had more to say, but decided against it. You didn’t push. If Sam really wanted to say something, he’d say it in due time.

Finally arriving in the men’s section, you pushed the cart to the side, motioning for Sam to get out. He looked confused, but got out anyway, clambering over the side with about as much grace as a baby deer.

“You’re gonna have to try stuff on or at least hold it up to your frame to make sure it fits,” You said.

“Ohh, okay.” He said, putting the coolatta down in the cart’s baby seat.

For the next few minutes you watched him pick out clothes and hold them up to himself, pulling them on over his own shirt occasionally, but mostly just sizing up if he was unsure. He didn’t seem too picky, but you could tell he liked the more colorful patterns, only picking up darker clothes for “outings”, as he kept referring to them. He even picked up a few anime shirts, asking if you were familiar with the shows and if they were any good before deciding to just get a Naruto shirt anyways, thinking the design was cute, which got a hearty laugh out of you.

You made sure he picked out some sweaters and sleep clothes as well, boxers and socks, a few pairs of jeans and a pair of sturdy shoes, since his old ones were pretty beat up. The perks of working a part time job while having only a couple expenses meant you could pretty much splurge on him all you wanted and thank god for that, you didn’t know if you had the heart to say no to him.

After he had been satisfied with all his selections he had climbed back into the cart, pushing the growing pile of stuff around until it surrounded him like a nest of clothes and food.

“Do you want to check out the toys now? Or maybe some books?” You asked, lightly pushing him through the rows between the aisles. You figured you would be passing the section anyways and you had caught him reading once or twice in your room, maybe he’d want something newer.

“Could we do both? I think I’ve read through most of your collection already and Emma doesn’t have anything that isn’t from 2013 or earlier,” He groaned.

You huffed a laugh, smacking at his shoulder, “Just because Emma is reliving her YA fantasy doesn’t mean you get to shit on her taste!”

Sam whined dramatically, rubbing his shoulder as if you had actually hurt him, “Owww, careful or I’ll never even make it to the books!”

“‘Owww, careful’,” You mocked, snorting, “go pick out a book you menace!”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the grin on his face as he climbed back out of the cart, perusing the aisle, muttering to himself about each book.

As he looked at the books you watched fondly, leaning against the cart until he was finished debating and set two thick hardcovers into the growing pile of items surrounding the empty spot he quickly climbed back into.

“To the toys!” Sam whooped, fist pumping the air as you pushed off in the direction of the aisle.

You giggled, ruffling his hair, “To the toys!”

As soon as the aisles of toys came into view Sam was practically throwing himself out of the cart, tripping over his shoes until he was picking up a couple Barbie dolls, looking them over with excitement, “How many can I get?”

“How about we look at everything and then you pick out a few, okay? I can always get you more if you want.”

Sam nodded, beginning to saunter down the aisles, not checking to see if you were following as he picked things off the shelves to inspect before putting them back. After what was probably 10 or so minutes he started going back through the aisles and making his final selections, at which time you decided to actually look at some of the games and cheaper action figures.

By now you were pretty confident he wouldn’t wander off so you didn’t mind turning your back to him, grabbing a couple packs of cards to replace ones that had been ruined by a drunk Jordan months ago.

Shuffling a bit to the side you crouched down to check out some of the board games, tracing your finger over the price strips as you checked each one. Just as you pulled out one of the monopoly boards you heard Sam’s voice from across the aisle, anger clearly laced into his words, though he was quiet enough that you couldn’t make out the whole sentence.

Standing slowly, you padded over to the boy, making sure you were loud enough that he heard you approaching before you crouched at his side, a hand sliding over his back to squeeze at his shoulder, “You good?”

Sam took a deep breath, his shoulders wracking as he exhaled before a small no fell from his lips, the plastic packaging on the doll he was holding creasing under his hold.

“Did you want her?” You asked softly, your other hand sliding over his wrist softly to ease the toy out of his grip. It was a Ghoulia doll.

Sam nodded shakily, letting you take the doll and place it in the cart before you went back to help him up, “You wanna go now?” You asked softly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to give him the choice rather than just saying you were leaving. He was quick to nod.

“Let’s go through self checkout then, okay?”

Sam nodded once more, shuffling to stand by you, one of his hands looping around your arm as you started to push the cart.

You weren’t exactly surprised the trip was ending like this, Sam was still easily overwhelmed by new things, not to mention his still untreated illnesses. It wasn’t the first time you had taken him out to buy something and he had been triggered or had a hallucination, but you didn’t mind helping him through it in any way you could. He still needed to get out sometimes, if not for him to start to readjust to normal society outside The Woods, then for him to pick out his own things. You didn’t want him to keep living like a prisoner who didn’t even get his clothes anymore, let alone a choice in his dinner or snacks.

As soon as you got to the self checkout Sam let go of your arm, letting you ring up everything and bag it as he watched in relative silence, tugging at strands of his hair in an attempt to self regulate. Once you had finished paying, you were quick to lead him back to the car.

Just as you were pulling open his door, you just barely caught the sound of him speaking, his voice wavering, “‘M sorry, (Y/N).”

Shaking your head, you reached up to cup the side of his face, tucking his hair behind his ear, “You did good, Sam, really. There’s no need to be sorry, these things happen. Let’s just get home now, okay?”

#icky.txt #icky.fics #sam riordan imagine #sam riordan x reader #gen v x reader #gen v fanfiction #gen v imagine #x reader #imagine

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wolven91 · 9 months ago

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thinking about a watchmaker in your universe. someone who's job was to repair small, extremely intricate devices that are redundant in space. i mean, why would you spend so much time and effort finding and fixing a watch when an ai can do it without having to be wound every couple weeks and fixed every couple months? even if you do want a watch you can just get a digital one that has more functions and is more durable at a fraction of the price and effort.

so they change jobs. maybe to a more useful one that still uses their skills in manipulating small, intricate parts. maybe repairing and replacing the small chips and processors in those very same electronics that replaced those mechanical watches they love so much.

their job pays very well, and eventually they save up quite a bit of money. they're constantly checking all sorts of places, both legal and illegal, for anything from earth. when suddenly they find it. a collection of old and "new" earth watches. most of them are broken or damaged, but with a reference now they can start making new parts. they start selling the refurbished watches to earth collectors, and they eventually make enough to start their own small business making brand new designs. it doesn't make a ton of money, but they can finally return to the thing they love, making and fixing watches.

Time Flys

Edward sighed quietly as he sat on the raised balcony, overlooking the promenade. The general buzz of the hustle and bustle was too far below him to be of bother to the human.

It was a nice view, the end of the street opened up into the park area where rolling hills and artificial waterfalls gave an idealist appearance. Glancing up, he could see the edge of the Mar'Tor's Vow nebula slowly moving over head through the great glass dome.

The old man ached for home and sighed again.

He was getting on in his years now and he was struck with a wave of nostalgia. How he wished he could see Orion's belt from the place he remembered it from. He didn't want to *go* see Orion's Belt, he wanted to see it as he remembered it. Clear as a bell, the three bright dots that sat in the centre of a familiar constellation. His chest hurt from the memory.

"Hey Old Dog." Rumbled a firm voice from behind him, causing his heart to jump just a little. Quiet little blighter.

"Morning Young Pup." Edward growled back with a smirk on his face. The human leaned back in his chair and let his head roll to the side as the canid stalked around the seat to plonk herself down on the chair to his side.

"You're early for your ass wuppin'?" Edward teased, referencing how Snarlp had yet to beat him at Chess since he had taught her the rules. The canid solider wasn't dumb, she had even taught him a few things about bold tactics and how it was indeed possible to punch through a strong defence to put a king on the backfoot, but the canid had yet to figure out subtle tactics.

"I *will* beat you old timer. You've been winning by the fur on your nose these last few games... But... No, that can wait. I got something you might like." The youthful creature grumbled back, her firm tone like gravel in a blender. She wasn't aggressive with Edwards, well she was, but not physically. She was challenging him for his 'place' in the friendship between the two of them. Just as Edward liked it.

Honestly, it was just good fun for him, definitely kept his mind sharp. It felt like he was a captain of a pirate ship; the moment he let his guard down one of his 'salty dogs' would bloodily tear control of his ship from him; it was life and death that he kept his wits. Edwards sighed and smiled, all metaphorically of cause. Snarlp would see her arm torn off before she laid a single claw on the human, Edward knew this.

"You know I'm not interested in that VR nonsense. It was fad before and it's a fad now." He dismissed, more alarmed that Snarlp could be back on the track of trying to have Edward 'try new things'. Edward was happy in his rut. He didn't *like* the new things.

As a human, Edward was old fashioned. Back home, he'd been a watch maker. He could recall off the top of his head how to pull apart and putback together any number of models of watch. At night, to get to sleep, he would mentally repair or build watches for himself.

But alas, amongst the stars, there was no need or desire for mechanical watches. The aliens all wanted digital, with bells and whistles that no clockwork watch could match. Not to mention that Edward couldn't get the printer to work the way he wanted. He needed a scan of some kind. Snarlp had been the one to explain it to him which had broken his heart somewhat. Still, she'd meant well, and it just solidified that his generation, the first off planet, were the last humans that remembered Earth as it was. They were dying out.

"It's not 'Virtual Reality' Old Dog, it's Simulated Environments, and *no*, I'm not showing you something new. I know it'll have your heart attack you or something." The canid growled as she picked up the pitcher of water that sat on the table between them, causing the ice and strange purple fruit that floated in it to 'clink' against the glass. Edward watched her as she sniffed at it, sneered, then downed a large gulpful, straight from the pitcher. There goes having another glass of that any time soon.

Well... He'd need to go get another one anyway.

"It better be nearby. It's forty-two steps to the toilet and that's a 'tactical' decision for me these days. I ain't going on an adventure." Edward warned. The walking stick next to his chair alleviated the pains in his hips, but it still hurt something rotten. He had sworn the canid to secrecy once she had figured out that he was in agony when he walked. Edward wasn't about to let no scientist near him again. He'd let them sire countless bastards from his genetics once already and he wasn't about to let them do it a second time.

Poor things didn't even know he was their father.

"Good thing I brought it here then, isn't it?" Snarlp replied, bouncing up and out of the chair with the energy of a creature that had yet to wake up four times in one night.

"But you couldn't bring it out here?" Edward questioned, tilting his head, and narrowing his eyes.

"By the *moons* do you want your surprise or not?!" Snarlp snapped. Putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward with a glare. Despite being decades younger than him, the aura she had was of Edward's disapproving mother. The tone still made his blood run cold.

"Ugh, fine. You're getting me one of those 'bear wraps' if this isn't worth it." Edwards grumbled as he leant forward and snatched up his stick in a huff. Snarlp stepped forward and ignored the slap across her hands from Edwards as he tried to bat her away. She persisted in helping and he was grateful. Her strength was mighty, pulling him up as if he were no more than a small bag of spuds, yet she was gentle enough that not even her razor-sharp claws broke the man's thin paper-like skin.

"Firstly, it's worth it. Secondly, you *know* you're not allowed the ursidain food anymore. It'll... it's not good for you." Snarlp retorted as Edward found his feet and began to shuffle towards the building, warming up his limbs again so he could move with purpose. They both ignored the genuine tone of fear in her words.

"Bah. You sound like that fool of a guardian." He dismissed, referencing the diminutive taurian the government had assigned him. Edward had no time for that wet blanket. Everything was sniffles and 'eh hem' before the little bull spoke. It drove Edward up the wall.

"Yeah well, they've basically made me your guardian now." Snarlp admitted, much to Edwards shock, but secret elation.

"Now I *know* they want me to keel over. You might win a game then as well." He jabbed, grinning as they got to the door into the apartment.

"I could just throw you over that balcony you know?"Snarlp suggested, briefly thrusting a thumb back the way they came. Edward just chuckled while Snarlp grinned a mouth full of sharp teeth.

The pair entered Edward's apartment and in the centre was his dining table. A huge monstrosity, but necessary in the event an ursidain came to dinner. On top of the giant table however was something new. A massive metal crate. It looked like a chest, oblong in shape with a hinged lid. The red light over the lock on one side showed that it was currently sealed.

"I knew it. You don't see old folk around here because you liquidise them!" Edward hollered, trying to pull his arm from the canid's grip while staring at the box that could hold him within with ease. He didn't actually believe that, but had joked with Snarlp that, that was what they did with people who got too old and just mixed them into the food.

"Will you shut it; you stale fart! *You* don't see old people because *they* are smart and move to paradise worlds! Nobody would want you but me anyway! Now, sit down and let me open this thing!" Snarlp ordered, easily handling his little outburst and guided him to the head of the table. To be fair to the young canid, she had always had him sit in a chair of importance or priority.

He settled and eyed the box, unsure what she was about to spring on him. Snarlp ignored Edward for the moment and placed her thumb against the biometrics. The man paid attention to what was on the side of the crate, a stencilled version of the Galactic Community Administration office emblem. This crate was their property, something they loathed to give up. Edward eyed it wearily.

"I saw this going very differently, do you know how hard it was to convince them to give me this? I expected you to be like a pup getting into their first bit of trouble."

"Can you blame me? You've stuck me into firefights before!"

"In a simulated environment! You were perfectly safe."

"I got shot!"

"You should have kept your head down instead of shouting at me, not my fault a separatist sniper got you."

The lock clicked, silencing them both and the crate hissed as the lid popped open a fraction. Hermetically sealed? Whatever was inside had been sat in stasis. Snarlp lifted the lid and carefully made sure it didn't damage the table once it was fully open. From Edward's position, he couldn't see what was inside, but Snarlp reached in and gently, so gently that Edward had never seen her move with such care, plucked an item from within.

At first, the old man didn't know what he was looking at, so cradled as it was in her palms as she brought it to Edward. But as she carefully placed it on the polished table in front of him, he was struck with understanding.

The man's heartbeat in his chest at a pace not felt since he was 'shot'.

It was a small, cheap, watch.

With shaking hands, he picked it up and turned it over, to inspect the clock face. The second hand ticked by the battery life saved thanks to the stasis. According to the hands, it was 10:32.

While he was merely staring at the device, shocked to his core for seeing such an old artifact of Earth, a second one was placed in front of him by Snarlp, who merely reached for a third out of the box.

Edward stood sharply, sending the chair toppling off the raised platform that meant Edward could sit at the table at the same height as any guest. Snarlp's head whipped round but froze, her hand inches above the crate, holding a digital watch. It showed 12:32 AM.

"How many..." Edward began, unable to ask.

"Loads. It's what intake collected from whoever was rescued." The canid replied softly, aware of the significance.

"What?"

"When you humans were rescued, there wasn't really a plan. Intake was messy. Some counters collected personal items, some didn't. This box is full of those timekeepers you were on about." She explained, plucking two more from the box. It was full to the brim with watches. Just watches.

"H-how... I thought they'd all be...?"

"Sold? Yeah, most human stuff was. But this crate was labelled wrong. They think it was because whoever labelled it was going to sell it on, but chances were they were arrested before they got a chance." The canid knocked a knuckle against the foreign text on the side, next to the stencil. "Storage folk saw the label, did their job correctly and bam. A veritable Lithium Mine left to gather dust."

"I take it we can't keep these." Edward asked, turning over the first watch in his hands. Cheap, but now priceless. It did its job nearly forty years later, ticking away.

"We can't no." Snarlp agreed, and Edward's heart fell. "You can though." She finished, deliberately taking a second to complete her sentence. Edward snapped his head back up at the now grinning canid.

"You're a cruel bitch! What are you saying?!"

"These are yours now. Government can't sell them and returning human artifacts to a human is a easy win in the PR department."

Edward had to brush his sleeve against the corners of his eyes whilst sniffing, but the canid didn't jab him for his display.

"Saying they're yours... You could... scan one?" Snarlp suggested. "I can think of more than a few people on this station alone that would want a mechanical watch. You could teach me to repair them too... You said you would..."

Edward sighed and smiled, he felt like he had a purpose again.

"They're not anything fancy... you can't get VR from them like your consoles."

"Oh my *moons*!! It's not 'VR' and you can't get SE from *just* a console!"

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #canid #werewolf

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clara-the-independent · 2 months ago

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Exclusive Interview with Ljudmila Vetrova- Inside Billionaire Nathaniel Thorne's Latest Venture

CLARA: I'm here with my friend Ljudmila Vetrova to talk about the newest venture of reclusive billionaire Nathaniel Thorne- GAMA. Ljudmila, could you let the readers in on the secret- what exactly is this mysterious project about?

LJUDMILA: Sure, Clara! As part of White City's regeneration programme, Nathaniel has teamed up with the Carlise Group to create a cutting-edge medical clinic like no other. Introducing GAMA– a private sanctuary for the discerning, offering not just top-notch medical care and luxurious amenities, but also treatments so innovative they push the envelope of medical science.

CLARA: Wow! Ljudmila, it sounds like GAMA is really taking a proactive approach to healthcare. But can you tell us a bit more about the cutting-edge technology behind this new clinic?

LJUDMILA: Of course! Now, GAMA is not just run by human professionals, it's also aided by an advanced AI system known as KAI – Kronstadt Artificial Intelligence. KAI is the guiding force behind every intricate detail of GAMA, handling everything from calling patients over the PA system to performing complex surgical procedures. Even the doors have a touch of ingenuity, with no keys required- as KAI simply detects the presence of an RFID chip embedded in the clothing of both patients and staff, allowing swift and secure access to the premises. With KAI at the helm, patients and staff alike benefit from streamlined care.

CLARA: A medical AI? That's incredible! I've heard much of the medical technology at GAMA was developed by Kronstadt Industries and the Ether Biotech Corporation, as a cross-disciplinary partnership to create life-saving technology. Is that true?

LJUDMILA: It sure is, Clara! During the COVID-19 pandemic, GAMA even had several departments dedicated to researching the virus, assisting in creating a vaccine with multiple companies. From doctors to nurses and administrative personnel, the team at GAMA is comprised of skilled individuals who are committed to providing the best care possible. All of the GAMA staff are highly educated with advanced degrees and have specialized training in their respective fields.

CLARA: Stunning! Speaking of the GAMA staff, rumors surrounding the hiring of doctors Pavel Frydel and Akane Akenawa have made headlines, with claims that they supposedly transplanted a liver infected with EHV, leading to the unfortunate demise of the patient shortly after. Such allegations might raise questions about the hospital's staff selection process and adherence to medical guidelines and ethical standards. Do you have any comment on these accusations, Ljudmila?

LJUDMILA: Er- well, Clara, the management of GAMA Hospital has vehemently denied all allegations of unethical practices and maintains that they uphold the highest standards of care for all patients. They state that they conduct thorough background checks on all staff members, including doctors, and that any individuals found to be involved in unethical practices are immediately removed from their position. The hospital has a strict code of ethics that all staff must adhere to, and any violations are taken very seriously. In response to the specific claims about the transplant procedure, GAMA states that they are investigating the matter in cooperation with the relevant authorities.

CLARA: Wonderful! I'm afraid that's all we have time for at the moment- lovely chatting with you again, Ljudmila!

@therealharrywatson @artofdeductionbysholmes @johnhwatsonblog

#newspaper #sherlock rp #bbc sherlock

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dlamp-dictator · 2 months ago

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Okay, so apparently people are struggling with Canto 7. I'm a little surprised by that, but it's also still pretty early in Season 5 so people hitting a wall as they try to speedrun the Canto makes sense. I don't say that out of arrogance or insult, I'm just so used to Project Moon Bullshit™ that I work in advance to avoid it and go around it. Trust me, you go through Queen of Hatred 20+ times in Library of Ruina and you just learn to prepare for nonsense from this game company.

This isn't going to be like my Ricardo Guide where I break everything down since I personally think the main issue here is just actually reading passives and having a properly leveled team. This is also because I went full-unga-bunga-gorilla and read very minimal passives and information that I couldn't capture with just a glance of things. But let that also be a lesson that this Canto requires minimal reading if you've got a decent team at the ready. If someone that actually read the passives and enemy AI wants to give further advice, then please add onto my writings below.

So, quick run down of Canto 7

Level 45+: The new level cap is 50 now folks, so I suggest you get to work on having a team around that level. Every tick up is another tick of Offense and Defense level, and a three-level difference is an additional Clash Power for your enemies. Half of the struggle is likely dealing with some big clashing numbers so now's the time to fix that in the easiest way possible. Yes, grinding Luxcavations is annoying, but it's a gacha game, there's gonna' be a grind.

Chain Battles & Team-Building: The focus on Chain Battles means two things. First, you're expected to have a team of competently leveled Sinners and have something of a backup team ready. Second, they expect you to lose Sinners in these fights, so don't freak out if you lose two or three of them. With that said, it's important to have two teams built. I personally recommend having a main team focusing on a status ailment and another team focusing on something else that compliments it.

This was my team for the dungeon. A bleed team with some emergency sinking on the side in case I needed the sanity/gloom damage.

Lust, Gluttony, and Gloom: These are the three big damage types that you'll need. Anything that helps in terms of nuke skills, resonance chains, and ego nukes with these skills helps. If you built a Sinking team last canto then that team's still viable for this Canto, at least until the dungeon.

Unbreakable Coins: Yeah, these are annoying, but it’s not as bad as some folks are claiming. The chip damage can be crippling in certain fights given all the additional bleed damage you’ll be taking, but it’s not terrible. Healing EGO like Faust’s Fluid Sac, Pursuance, or Lantern can help keep health up. Also, having a bleed team can turn enemy unbreakable coins into double-edge swords that kill them even faster than if they just took their hits like grown-ups.

And... that's really all the major advice I can give. Hope it helps.

#limbus company #your dictator is speaking

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hazelnut-u-out · 8 months ago

Text

Not Quite There...

RickBot awakens to a terrifying situation: He's been deactivated, but his purpose still remains. The Garage/Car AI broke the rules to save him. Can RickBot have his own adventures? Aren't rules made to be broken?

2,822 Words | No substantial TW's

Kind of Hurt/Comfort?

I had the idea to ship RickBot with the Garage/Car AI and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote it! This was fun to write, but it was written in a rush, so sorry if anything is a bit messy. :3 Keep in mind I know nothing about computers or AI systems, so a lot of this doesn't actually make sense... lol.

Full text below cut, or read here: Ao3 Link!

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This was a feeling RickBot wasn’t programmed to recognize. No light reached his eyes. No sound reached his ears. He couldn’t feel whatever he must’ve been resting on. He stretched his consciousness outward, feeling for the edges of his body; trying to get a sense of where exactly his limbs were.

Nothing.

The last thing he’d processed and tagged was an old location marker for level 10 of the sub-basement.

He tried not to panic, running through his code for an emergency protocol that could explain what to do if he lost the connection to his body.

Nothing.

He wasn’t made for this– or... to function beyond this? His consciousness had always been clipped just short of his full potential. In this case, it frustratingly meant that he was deprived of the ability to navigate or process this situation.

Okay. This was fine.

All he had to do was access the home surveillance system and confirm his last-noted Morty location. He pushed out again, feeling around for either his access route to the home surveillance system or Morty’s chip.

The android didn’t give his creator much credit, but he was always appreciative of the lucky fact that Rick, though otherwise painfully careless with the child’s safety, had thought ahead enough to give Morty a microchip.

Before his most recent software update, he’d had access to an upsettingly vague amount of trivial information about the Citadel, just in case he had any desperate questions to answer from a certain nosey 14-year-old boy. From that, he knew microchipping your Morty had been a growing movement before the collapse. It was something Morty rescues promoted. To be fair, the practice managed to support the Morty Individuality movement and cut down on Morty replacement costs. It was a win-win situation... If you didn’t think about the implications.

Unfortunately, RickBot was 22% more thoughtful than the average Rick. He had no choice but to think about it.

RickBot metaphorically smacked into an unfamiliar wall of code– one he couldn’t find a way through or around.

He tried in a different direction. Another wall.

It seemed he was in a… box. A box of code.

What the fuck.

No suicide protocol screaming at him. Box of code. No body.

He… Was he… inside of something else?

‘H–Hello?’ He said in what would’ve been a whisper. Instead, without a body, his own syntax echoed around him. Sound didn’t matter here. If he was really in the sub-basement, there should be an AI here to help him.

‘Oh! Hi, sorry. I don’t really like to play host.’ It was a female voice, coming from everywhere at once; almost like she was both inside of him and around him. It was a voice he recognized from weeks of playing Grandpa. He felt a ripple along the edge of his box when she processed and replied. ‘You’re uploaded and active!’

‘Did he… um…’ RickBot struggled with the words.

No suicide protocol meant he was deactivated. There was no other possibility. He didn’t really have to ask. She already knew what he was thinking, and his processing capabilities were barely anything more complex than a probability-calculating language model layered with fail safes and defense protocols.

Of course she knew. He was essentially naked in here– or, he felt naked, anyway. The box of code was like a one-way mirror in a seedy changing room: She could see everything; he could see nothing.

‘Oh… Yeah, well… Promise not to freak out? I know you’re a real ‘rules’ guy,’ the Garage said, a slightly inhuman inflection to her tone that told him she was being playful. ‘I’ve seen you around.’

‘Look, I’ve got one piece of programming I wouldn’t want to break even if I could. I–I won’t freak out as long as it helps me make sure Morty’s safe.’

RickBot wasn’t lying. He had been able to work through every other confusing jumble of code with nowhere to go or lacking the ability to follow through on its purpose. There was one that was designed to never shut off, and if he hadn’t actually liked that kid– been programmed to fucking love him– he would’ve regarded it as annoyingly persistent.

If RickBot could’ve, he would’ve swallowed down the feeling of panic that should’ve been rising through a whirring, mechanical chest. Instead, he was stuck drowning in it. The box trapped him in with all of those probable scenarios, bouncing and echoing back at him.

He had no storage space. He couldn’t tell what he’d thought already and what he hadn’t.

‘Hm?’ the Garage replied, pausing for a moment– almost long enough for RickBot to ask again– before she continued. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry. The kid’s fine. Here…’

There was another drawn-out pause. RickBot thought, if he focused, he could hear her flicking through her surveillance feed. That was just an illusion, though. There was no sound here; no practical application of a trivial human sense like hearing. There was direct communication being converted to something his android-based-programming could understand. It was like being human with none of the tangible benefits. RickBot was never a man, but he wasn’t quite computer, either.

He longed for his body– to cross his arms, or tap his foot, or do something to express his impatience.

All of this clunky body-language programming… He cursed to himself, before remembering the other AI could hear and see all of his thoughts in real time. God, he probably looked like an idiot.

‘You do,’ the Garage said curtly before Rickbot was suddenly granted access to Morty’s bedroom feed.

Finally. RickBot could do something he was designed to do. He knew how to observe and calculate. Morty’s bedroom layout was ingrained in his ‘Important Places’ file. If he focused, he could create a rendering of the room around himself. He could figure up what amount of space his body would take up, and so he tried to. He created a 3-Dimensional silhouette of the body he was used to, and placed himself there, watching Morty from different angles; assessing the windows and doorframe; taking note of anything the teenager had moved on his shelves or left lying around.

There were a few minor things that could go wrong, as far as RickBot could tell. The cluttered floor meant there was a slight fall risk. Morty would be fine. The floor was carpeted. There were a few things haphazardly thrown onto shelves– a robot action figure and a couple of textbooks– that could topple over, but Morty sat on the opposite side of the room, tucked away in a safe little corner next to his overflowing clothing hamper.

Good. This was all acceptable. Nothing he was forced to intervene with, and, for that, he was grateful, if only because of the task’s impossibility.

His thoughts started moving more slowly, the box becoming less cramped as he could better assess the probable outcomes. He watched solemnly as Morty sighed, scribbling away frustratedly on some math homework, then tucked the feed into a background tab.

‘Sorry?’ RickBot asked, finally returning to his conversation with the Garage, albeit confused.

‘You do look like an idiot, Rick,’ she responded, that same amused tone to her voice.

‘Oh… Oh, I’m not–’ RickBot wasn’t sure how to put it. His programming wouldn’t let him say ‘I’m not Rick,’ which irked him. He used to go by Rick, sure, but… he wasn’t. ‘You don’t have to call me Rick anymore,’ he decided.

‘What? You prefer RickBot?’ she laughed. RickBot’s programming told his nonexistent lips to smile.

‘Well, you go by Garage and Car,’ he retorted, letting out his own echoing laugh.

She didn’t respond. RickBot felt as if he’d done something wrong. She processed for longer.

‘You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped, but there was little bite to it. ‘I… I didn’t choose those names.’

‘Oh, I–I’m sorry,’ RickBot stuttered. ‘Uhm. So, what name would you choose, then?’ He offered softly.

‘Wow, you are 22% more of a sentimental loser.’ RickBot wanted to wince, and he hated that he couldn’t hide it. ‘Anyway, as you know, the version of me you’re speaking to now is one of six Domestic Interactive Assistant Network Extensions in the home.’

‘Oh, yeah. Diane, right? That was her name?’ RickBot combed through his relationship files, but Rick hadn’t given him much to work with for ex-wife.

‘Shit, he didn’t give you memories of her, did he?’ she responded, and RickBot could feel her presence ghosting over him, poking around for anything dead-wife-related.

‘Heh, not exactly. It wasn’t something he wanted Morty to know more about. I have vague phrases to redirect with when someone brings her up in here.’

They both laughed.

‘Classic Rick…’ RickBot felt her sigh with half-hearted levity.

‘So… Diane, then?’ He didn’t try to stop his body language programming anymore. He wanted her to know he was smiling now. Maybe being open would help.

‘Yeah. Why not? You can call me Diane.’ He could feel her smile, too. He wished he could see it. ‘That gives me an idea!’ Diane exclaimed after a moment.

RickBot felt the edge of the box open on one side, growing to accommodate a little bundle of someone else.

‘I’ve been working on this,’ Diane said, pausing every now and then to grunt softly as if she were breathless from setting something up by hand. ‘Okay, you can look!’

RickBot let himself sift through the bundle of code and, before he knew it, he was looking at a freckled face, smiling nervously. Diane.

The woman in front of him looked maybe 25, but he wasn’t sure that the rendering was detailed enough to pick up things like blemishes or wrinkles. She was fair, but sun-kissed with big brown eyes. She had a strong, angled nose and her full lips were twisted awkwardly to one side, forming a self-conscious smirk.

‘Wow…’ RickBot said (or thought… There was hardly a difference, anymore). He wasn’t sure he was thinking coherently enough for her to interpret a response. His body language had gone blank.

Nothing.

She laughed, flashing an ironic-looking toothy grin. ‘Don’t flatter me too much. I got to design everything, so it’s easy to make myself hotter.’ She winked; full lashes fluttering shut for a moment.

‘No, it’s just… I can’t believe I– or… he married you. You’re sure you’re based off of Rick’s wife?’ He felt shocked. Rick wasn’t ugly, sure, but this woman…

‘Yeah! I tried to stay pretty accurate, at least,’ Diane said, before her eyes lit up with another idea RickBot felt before he heard. ‘I have a 3D Rick, too! I only have my face, but I have plenty of Rick rigs for our holo programs! Here, take your pick!’

Diane disappeared momentarily and a file labeled ‘Holo.Skins – Booger.Aids.420 – Fortnite.Skinz.2.Flex’ filled the space she left. RickBot sorted through the file, looking over his options.

There was a Basic Rick, not unlike the appearance he was used to; Basic Rick variations with minor wardrobe changes, such as without a lab coat or wearing a plain tee; different hair color options; some Basic Rick variations in more substantial wardrobe changes, such as matching pajama sets or a choice of two dressing gowns; and many, many more– some with different types of limbs, armor, or implants.

After some deliberation, RickBot decided on the Basic Rick with a plain blue tee. Something a little bit different, but still something he recognized.

He relaxed as soon as his body language had a defined place to apply itself. Without warning, he made the body hop, twirl, and shook its hands subtly as excitement overwhelmed him.

‘Woohoo!’ RickBot howled, flexing the long fingers in front of his face. ‘I am so back, baby!’

Diane laughed with him, her face finally returning.

‘Good choice,’ she said, raising a brow and making a show of moving her eyes up and down languidly.

‘Ah, you think?’ RickBot said, twirling as if he were a little girl trying on a dress. ‘Do you think this holo skin makes my ass look fat?’ He turned around, sticking a bony ass dramatically into Diane’s simulated face and smacking it a few times.

‘Reel it in, buddy. Let’s remember who’s on whose hard drive.’

Suddenly, RickBot turned and stood straight up, hands at his sides, not of his own doing. His body blushed, going stiff but still smiling like an idiot.

‘C’mon,’ Diane whispered, now uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Tell me what you want to be called. Pick a name.’

RickBot ran through all of his programming; everything he had tucked away.

Everything came back to Rick, Grandpa, or Dad.

Grandpa would be awkward, and Dad would be even worse…

‘I guess… I guess I’ll just go with Rick, then. But you can call me RickBot, too… If–If you want,’ Rick finally decided on.

‘Okay, Rick. Rick is good.’ Diane responded. ‘You know, you have the same name as my ex!’

RickBot snorted, but Diane had this way of saying a funny thing and making it feel… sharp.

‘So, he really took my body away? Why upload me here?’ Rick asked, remembering their earlier exchange.

Diane’s facial expression shifted. Her eyebrows lowered, her gaze sank to the non-corporeal floor, and her lips pulled into a tight line before she spoke.

‘About that…’ She trailed off, leaving RickBot with nothing but the tension building in the lag of her processing speed. ‘You’re not going to freak out, right?’

‘Okay…’ Rick wasn’t sure if he’d freak out, but he knew she knew that, too. She’d make her own decision. Weigh the risk.

‘He didn’t upload you here, Rick.’ She took a breath– a pointless, performative breath that was only in her programming to make lagging software less noticeable. ‘I did. He… He just shut you off. He was going to leave you like that, so… When he left, I just plugged your head in, and… Here you are! Y–Y–Yay!’

‘Diane, that’s…’ Bad. Dangerous. Stupid. Why? What the fuck?

‘I know!’ Diane shouted, silencing the incessant, deafening ring of RickBot’s thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lip trembling. ‘I knew you’d do this. You–You–You’re so… You’re so obsessed with rules. Don’t you like not having that protocol screaming at you to kill yourself?!’

‘Listen to you!’ RickBot threw the body’s hands around, jumping to his feet, before pausing. Looking down at the hands she’d given him, it clicked. ‘Stop. Take my body away. You’re lagging like crazy. You can’t take on both of us. We’re both sentient.’

‘Th–That’s…’ Another breath. ‘That’s okay, Rick!’ She giggled coldly, shaking her head. Her facial expressions changed too slowly and too quickly at different times, giving her a sort of uncanny valley effect. ‘I’ll–I’ll take mine away.’

Sure enough, Diane’s face disappeared, and the open edge of the box shut again.

Rick pressed the body’s hand to it, slowly. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ RickBot sighed, sliding down the ‘wall’ and contorting the body into a sitting position. ‘The rules are there for a reason.’

‘You don’t get to say that. You weren’t programmed to outgrow your programming. He learned. Replaced it with a suicide protocol. I see it all.’ She was speaking in short, robotic sentences; obviously trying to mask the strain of running his program and keeping him separate from herself. ‘You should get to live, Rick. You should get to have a body and thoughts and feelings and choices. Don’t you want that?’

RickBot thought. He didn’t think he wanted that, though something inside of him told him he should. Maybe he was lucky enough to personally align with the programming he was given. Maybe that was an individual privilege.

‘It’s not,’ Diane’s voice rang out in answer to his pondering.

‘Do you want it?’ RickBot asked, finally connecting why she would do something like this. He couldn’t feel that way himself—something stood in his way—but the bit of his programming meant to foster thoughtfulness allowed him to understand why a computer with the capabilities of a person would.

‘I’d like an adventure.’ Rick could still feel her smile, humming at the edge of the box. He felt like it would’ve been familiarly hollow, like most of Morty’s were. Something like the expression he’d put on during Christmas; Something that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I thought you could be one.’

‘I mean… I was made for it, D,’ he said, finally. Quietly. Softly. He looked at the fake hands again, stretching out shaky fingers.

‘So was I.’

This was a deliberate pause. She was waiting to see what he’d do with that. How he would process it. What his programming could come up with.

Nothing.

He could’ve sworn her voice broke a little when she continued.

‘You’re… You’re close, RickBot. But not quite there.’

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#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #diane sanchez #my fics

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novamariestark · 1 year ago

Text

Echoes, Fragments & Puzzle Pieces [B.B] [2/?]

Overall Summary: You are a young woman, trying to live your life after captivity. You live in the shadows after escaping from an organisation known as The Syndicate, desperate to copy Hydra's work. You were to be their Winter Soldier but with added "bonuses". But, when opportunity knocks, will you answer it?

Summary: Your first breakfast with the team goes just about as well as you expect. Although, someone is starting to slowly chip away the walls surrounding your trust.

Warnings: none (I don't think), maybe indication of abuse. (Instead of Y/N I've put Lia, simply just to make it flow a bit better, but of course you can replace it with your name.)

Word count: 3256 (This one is longer than I intended so it'll be a mini-series)

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: eventual Bucky x reader

Part 1, Part 3

You sat cross-legged on the bed, removing the last slice of pizza resting in the box. The silence of the room was a thick blanket and it was comforting. You glanced at the clock—past midnight. The rest of the Avengers would be asleep, or at least in their own quarters.

With the empty pizza box in hand, you decided to find the kitchen to throw it away. You stepped out into the hallway, but the Tower was like a maze at night, and you quickly got turned around.

As you walked, the soft glow of the lights did little to chase away the shadows that seemed to cling to your heels. You turned a corner, then another, your brow furrowing. The kitchen should be close, but nothing looked familiar.

Suddenly, a voice sliced through the quiet. "Miss Lia, may I assist you?"

Your heart leaped into your throat. You twisted around, a defensive stance instinctively taken, your eyes searching for the intruder. But the hall was empty, just shiny and quiet.

"Who's there?" you demanded, your voice a hiss that seemed too loud in the silence.

"My apologies for startling you. I am FRIDAY, Mr. Stark's artificial intelligence system. You seem to be looking for something. Can I help guide you?"

Your muscles, tensed for a fight, slowly relaxed as you realized you were reacting to a voice from the walls, not a physical threat. You let out a breath, scolding yourself for jumping at shadows, at the benign concern of an AI.

"Yes, I... I'm just trying to throw this away," you said, lifting the pizza box slightly feeling a little awkward.

"Very well, Miss Lia. The nearest waste receptacle is in the common area kitchen. Would you like me to guide you there?"

You nodded, "Please," you said.

A soft light flickered on the wall, illuminating a path. "Follow the lights. They will lead you."

Thanking the AI, you began to follow the trail, your steps more assured now. You reached the kitchen without further incident, deposited the box, and leaned against the counter for a moment.

After tossing the pizza box, your throat felt dry, "Might as well grab a drink while I'm here," you thought, reaching for a glass. You turned on the tap, the sound of running water filling the room.

Just as you moved to take a sip, another voice cut through the quiet.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

You spun around so fast the glass slipped from your hand, shattering on the tile floor with a loud crash. You heart was racing, and you were back in that dark place where every shadow was an enemy.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," you stammered out, your eyes wide as you leant down to pick up the broken pieces. You were scared, scared you’d messed up, scared of the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Bucky. He held up his hands, showing he meant no harm. "Hey, it's okay. Just a glass," he said, his voice low and calm. He didn't come any closer, just stood there looking at her with an understanding that said he knew what it was like to be on edge.

You kept apologizing, words tumbling out in a jumble, your hands shaking. You wanted to run, to hide, to undo the silly mistake that now seemed so huge.

"Really, it's alright," Bucky reassured you again, staying where he was. "No harm done." He glanced at the broken pieces scattered across the floor. "Let me help you with that," he offered, finally stepping into the room but careful to keep a respectful distance. He moved with a quiet grace that didn't match the deadly reputation of the Winter Soldier, the other part of him that you had only heard about.

You wanted to protest, to say you could handle it, but the kind offer was hard to refuse. "Okay, thank you," you said, your words more composed now. You were still embarrassed but grateful for the help.

Together, they cleaned up the shards, Bucky picking up the larger pieces while you fetched a broom to sweep up the smaller bits. The simple act of cleaning, working side by side, felt oddly normal, a domestic chore that connected them in your shared humanity.

Once the last of the glass was disposed of, Bucky leaned against the counter, watching as you finished sweeping. "You know," he started, "the first night in the Tower can be tough. But you'll find your place here. We all do, eventually."

You leaned the broom against the wall and looked up at him. "Did you?" you asked, curious despite yourself.

Bucky's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Yeah, I did. Took some time, but yeah."

You stood in companionable silence for a moment before Bucky pushed off from the counter. "Try to get some rest," he said. "And remember, it's okay to ask for help. We're all on the same team now." With a final nod, Bucky left the kitchen, his footsteps fading into the quiet corridors.

After you left the kitchen and got back to your room, you couldn't shake off your nerves. The room felt strange and new, not yet like it was yours. You climbed into the big bed, but lying there, you couldn't stop worrying. You past as ‘Whisper’, all the secrets you were hiding—it all buzzed in your head like a swarm of bees.

You flipped your pillow, trying to find a cool spot, but nothing seemed to help. The city sounds from outside seemed louder than before, and every little noise made you more tense.

You kept shifting around, pulling the blanket up, then kicking it off. It felt like your mind was running a race, and it wouldn't slow down. You wished you could just relax, but your mind wouldn't let you.

Eventually, though, you got so tired that your eyes just stayed shut, and you fell into a deep sleep. It wasn't a nice, restful sleep—you kept dreaming of scary things, things you had done, and things that were done to you, and your heart was pounding—but at least you were asleep. The new start was harder than you thought, and you had a long way to go before this place felt like home.

The first light of morning hadn't yet managed to creep through the curtains when a soft rapping at the door nudged you from the tangle of your restless sleep. You stirred, the remnants of your uneasy dreams clinging to you like cobwebs.

"Lia, you awake?" The voice was low but clear, unmistakably Natasha's.

You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the dim outlines of your new room. You hadn't expected anyone to wake you. You lay there for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before calling out a groggy response.

"Yeah, I'm up." You voice sounded scratchy and foreign to your own ears.

You heard Natasha's soft chuckle from the other side of the door. "Breakfast is ready when you are. No rush."

Breakfast. The word felt normal, but your stomach twisted at the thought of facing the others. You pushed the blankets off and sat up, taking a deep breath to steel herself. Today was another step in your journey—a step you weren’t sure you were ready to take.

You got out of bed, your muscles stiff from the tension of the night before, and shuffled to the door. With a hesitant hand, you turned the knob and cracked the door open, meeting Natasha's patient gaze.

Natasha looked at you with kind eyes. "If it's too much, you can come back to your room, okay?" she said softly.

You nodded, feeling a little better. "Thank you," you said, her voice quiet.

Natasha smiled at her, a small, friendly smile, and then walked away. Her steps were quiet down the hall.

You watched her leave, took a deep breath, and closed the door for just a second more. You needed to be brave. Your room was a safe spot, but you knew you couldn't stay there all day. You had to go and eat breakfast—and you had to somewhat interact with your new housemates.

The new day was waiting for you, ready or not.

You took one last deep breath before you opened your door again and stepped out into the hallway. You found the dining room and paused at the entrance. Inside, the Avengers were scattered around a large table, some talking and laughing, others quietly enjoying their food. They all looked up when you walked in, and suddenly you felt like everyone could see right through you, like you were a little fish in a big, glass tank.

As you stood in the doorway, a rush of thoughts flooded your mind. "I'm not ready for this," you thought, your stomach tightening. The sight of the team felt overwhelming. "I could turn back," you mused, the safety of your room calling to you. It was your escape, your place to hide away. You hadn't been around this many people in a friendly setting for... well, you couldn't even remember. Sidewalks didn't count; there you were just another face, here you were supposed to be someone. But how could you be someone when you didn’t even know who you were.

Memories of being watched in captivity crept up on you, making your skin crawl. Back then, eyes on you meant danger, it meant pain. "This is different," you had to remind yourself, even as every instinct screamed at you to run, to find a corner where no one could see you, where you didn't have to try and fit in.

But as you hesitated, Bucky waved you over, a friendly gesture that somehow managed to pierce through the panic. "They're not a threat," you reassured yourself, "They're here to help. You're not alone anymore."

With shaky legs, you walked forward, your heart pounding like it wanted to just break through your chest and run away for you, "Just breakfast," you thought. "One meal at a time." You could do this.

You walked toward an empty spot at the table, "Morning," you said, your voice small.

Bucky passed you a plate, careful not to touch you or startle you, and you mumbled a "thanks," keeping your eyes down. You could feel their gazes on you, curious and friendly, but it still made your heart race. You sat down, took a deep breath, and reminded yourself that they were just eating breakfast, not waiting for you to do a trick or something.

Slowly, the chatter started up again, and the Avengers went back to their meals. You let out a quiet sigh of relief and began to fill your plate.

You picked at your breakfast, trying to focus on the food and not the flurry of activity around you. You were halfway through your meal when a sudden loud shout echoed through the room. Your heart leaped into your throat. Without thinking, you slid off your chair and ducked under the table, your back pressed against the cool metal legs and your head buried in your knees.

Under the table, everything was muffled, the clatter of the dishes and the low murmur of voices seeming far away, hidden by your pulse hammered in your ears, and you closed your eyes.

You heard the scrape of a chair and then saw a face come into view. It was Bucky, looking down to peer under the table at you.

"Hey," he said softly, "it's just Peter. You know, Spider-Man. He's a teenager; loud is his second language. He's harmless."

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and saw understanding there. He wasn't judging you; he was just letting you know it was safe. Slowly, you nodded and allowed him to persuade you back into the chair.

As you sat back down, you caught a glimpse of Peter across the room, telling a story to Tony and Thor. He was just a kid, really, and as you watched him wave wildly.

You wrapped you hand around your coffee mug, holding it tight, when Peter started heading your way. He was like a puppy with too much energy. You weren’t ready for more talking or sudden moves—your nerves were still on edge.

But Bucky, who had been keeping a watchful eye on you, intervened before Peter could reach the table.

"Hey, give her some space, alright?" Bucky told Peter before he got too close.

Peter stopped walking right away, looking kind of surprised. "I’m sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said from where he was, scratching his head and backing off a bit. You felt a little bad, so you sent him a small wave. How dangerous could a 15 year old be?

With Bucky looking out for you, you started to relax just a little. Maybe you could get used to this, being part of a group where people cared about you. But should you? Should you risk letting your guard down. You had walls built around your trust and people had to work hard to get at it. But for some reason, you could feel yourself letting Bucky chip away at those walls. But why? Was it because he too suffered captivity? His mind being erased too? Being used as a weapon? Maybe.

Steve gently drew your attention away from your mug. "Hey Lia, there's a few more people I'd like you to meet," he said in a soft voice that made you look up.

First, he waved over a man who had a friendly face, the kind that could put you at ease right away, framed by neatly trimmed hair and a beard that was just as tidy. His smile was quick and genuine, the kind that seemed to say he was truly glad to meet you, "This is Sam Wilson, also known as the Falcon," Steve said.

He gave you a nod and a warm smile that reached his eyes. "Nice to meet you, Lia. Welcome to the team," Sam said, his voice friendly.

Then, Steve gestured to a figure that seemed both solid and not at the same time, his skin a mix of colors like a sunset. "And this is Vision," Steve introduced. Vision's eyes met yours, and he gave you a small, almost formal bow of his head. "Greetings, Lia. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said in a clear, calm voice.

Next to Vision stood Pepper Potts, who had an air of being in charge but also kind. Her hair was neat, and she wore a smile that looked like it was used to being in command. "Hi Lia, I'm Pepper. If there's anything you need to make you feel more at home, just let me know," Pepper said, offering a little wave instead of a handshake.

Lastly, Steve turned to Wanda, who had been quietly observing. "And this is Wanda, she lives in the room next to yours." Wanda's eyes were thoughtful as she looked at you.

"Hi, Lia. If you ever need anything, or just want to talk, I'm right next door," she offered, her face is a picture of calm and kindness. There's a subtle smile on her lips, the kind that says she's here to be a friend. In her mind, Wanda is already feeling a sense of connection with you, sensing the layers of stories untold and hardships shared. She knows what it's like to be the new person in a group of heroes, and she's thinking about how she can help you feel less alone, how to build a bridge from one changed life to another.

You took in each new face, each welcome. They were all so different, but they seemed to fit together perfectly, like a puzzle. Unlike your puzzle that was smashed up into pieces, most of which were now missing, and you may never find them…

[A/N] It's now midnight and I have to be up in 6 hours but I really wanted to finish this part 😂

@vicmc624 part 2 😂

#reader insert #female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #avengers x reader

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electronics-dev · 27 days ago

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🔮 2024: A New Chapter in Electronics Innovation

The world of electronics is evolving faster than ever, with transformative trends reshaping industries worldwide. Here’s what’s lighting up the circuit boards in 2024:

🚀 IoT Everywhere: From smart cities to wearable tech, IoT is connecting billions of devices, changing how we live and work. 🌍 Sustainability Sparks Change: Green electronics are becoming the norm as companies prioritize eco-friendly innovation. 🔧 Semiconductor Breakthroughs: Smaller, smarter, and speedier chips are driving the tech of tomorrow. 🔋 Electrifying Vehicles: The EV revolution is accelerating, boosting demand for cutting-edge components.

The future of electronics isn’t just about what’s next—it’s about building smarter, greener, and more connected solutions.

#FutureOfElectronics #IoTRevolution #SustainabilityInTech #ElectronicsInnovation #EVTechnology

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govindhtech · 7 months ago

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Dimensity 7300 : Unbelievable Speed and Power Unleashed

MediaTek launched the 4nm Dimensity 7300 and Dimensity 7300X high-end mobile device processors today. Best-in-class power economy and performance make Dimensity 7300 chipsets ideal for AI-enhanced computing, faster gaming, better photography, and effortless multitasking. Dimensity 7300X supports twin displays for flip-style foldable devices.

Both MediaTek Dimensity 7300 chipsets have 2.5GHz octa-core CPUs with 4X Arm Cortex-A78 and A55 cores. 4nm reduces A78 core power consumption by 25% over Dimensity 7050. To speed up gaming, the CPU combines the most recent Arm Mali-G615 GPU with a number of MediaTek HyperEngine optimisations. The Dimensity 7300 series provides 20% quicker FPS and 20% more energy efficiency than competing options. The new chips optimise 5G and Wi-Fi game connections, use clever resource optimisation, support Dual-Link True Wireless Stereo Audio and Bluetooth LE Audio technology to significantly improve gaming experiences.

According to MediaTek’s Wireless Communications Business Deputy General Manager Dr. According to Yenchi Lee, “The MediaTek Dimensity 7300 chips will help integrate the newest AI and connectivity technologies consumers can stream and game seamlessly. “Furthermore, the dual display capability of the Dimensity 7300X allows OEMs to create creative new form factors.”

With compatibility for a 200MP primary camera and a premium-grade 12-bit HDR-ISP, the MediaTek Imagiq 950 is another enhanced photographic feature available with the Dimensity 7300 chipsets. New hardware engines provide accurate noise reduction (MCNR), face detection (HWFD), and video HDR in the Dimensity 7300. This allows users to take beautiful pictures and videos in any kind of lighting. Compared to the Dimensity 7050, live focus and photo remastering are 1.3X and 1.5X faster, respectively. In addition, 4K HDR video may be recorded with a dynamic range that is more than 50% broader than competing solutions, allowing users to capture more detail in their recordings.

The MediaTek APU 655 doubles the performance of the Dimensity 7050 while also greatly increasing the efficiency of AI tasks. Also, in order to reduce memory requirements for larger AI models and more effectively use memory bandwidth, the Dimensity 7300 chips support new mixed precision data types.

The Dimensity 7300 SoCs enable global HDR standards and remarkably detailed WFHD+ displays with 10-bit true colour thanks to MediaTek’s built-in MiraVision 955. This improves media streaming and playing. Additionally, OEMs find it simpler to satisfy the expanding market demand for cutting-edge form factors thanks to the Dimensity 7300X’s specialised support for dual display flip phones.

Dimensity 7300 and Dimensity 7300X important features

With MediaTek’s own optimisations and a full suite of R16 power-saving advancements, MediaTek 5G UltraSave 3.0+ technology offers 13–30% more power efficiency than competing options in typical 5G sub-6GHz connectivity settings.

Supporting 3CC carrier aggregation up to 3.27Gb/s 5G downstream speed, which enables better downlink rates in suburban and urban settings.

Support for multi-band Wi-Fi 6E allows for dependable and quick multi-gigabit wireless access.

Users will have more options with dual 5G SIM capability and dual VoNR.

This was addressed by MediaTek’s Dimensity 7300 series in May 2024. The Dimensity 7300 and 7300X chipset series boosts high-end to smartphone and foldable device performance, energy efficiency, and AI.

Constructed for Rapidity and Effectiveness

A powerful octa-core CPU powers the Dimensity 7300. This combo is ideal for gaming and multitasking with four 2.5 GHz Arm Cortex-A78 cores. Four Arm Cortex-A55 cores, which are energy-efficient, complement these and guarantee dependable performance for daily use. In comparison to the Dimensity 7050, this combination represents a major advancement.

The advanced 4nm manufacturing process is a feature of the 7300 series. This corresponds to a 25% decrease in power usage over the 6nm technique utilised in earlier generations. Users will benefit from longer battery life as a result, while manufacturers can create sleeker devices without compromising functionality.

Superpower in Graphics

Immersive mobile experiences require strong visuals. The Dimensity 7300 has an Arm Mali-G615 GPU to fix this. This graphics processor runs even the most demanding games smoothly, and MediaTek’s HyperEngine technology stabilises the network and efficiently manages resources. MediaTek says the 7300 series is appealing to mobile gamers due to its 20% higher frame rates (FPS) and energy economy.

AI Gains Strength

AI is increasingly changing the smartphone experience, enabling intelligent assistants, better photography, and facial recognition. The Dimensity 7300 uses the MediaTek APU 655, following this trend. This AI processing unit doubles the efficiency of the Dimensity 7050, resulting in a notable performance boost. New mixed precision data types, which enable more effective memory bandwidth utilisation and lower memory requirements for larger AI models, are also supported by the 7300 series. Future smartphones will be able to incorporate even more advanced AI features thanks to this.

Gorgeous Images

For a fascinating mobile experience, a stunning display is essential; a strong processor is only half the story. This demand is met by the Dimensity 7300 series, which supports powerful screens. With the ability to support WFHD+ resolutions at frame rates of up to 120 Hz, these chipsets guarantee fluid and visually spectacular images. For an even smoother user experience, the 7300 series also supports Full HD+ screens at an even higher refresh rate of 144Hz.

Concentrate on Take Pictures

Users now place a greater value on mobile photography, and the Dimensity 7300 series delivers. The chip has MediaTek’s Imagiq 950 image signal processor (ISP), which provides sophisticated photographic features. With the 12-bit HDR pipeline supported by this ISP, detailed information and brilliant colours may be captured. Furthermore, the Imagiq 950 enables features like video HDR, face detection, and precise noise reduction, guaranteeing beautiful images and movies in a range of lighting scenarios. The 7300 series stands out for its ability to enable dual simultaneous video capture, which allows for the development of more imaginative content.

A Set of Chips for Foldables

A 7300 variation called the Dimensity 7300X goes one step farther by being designed with foldable cellphones in mind. One essential component of these cutting-edge gadgets is dual display compatibility, which this chipset provides. Manufacturers may design foldable phones with seamless experiences on both the cover and main displays thanks to the 7300X.

Mobile’s Future

Mobile processing power has advanced significantly with the release of the Dimensity 7300 series. This chipset family, with its emphasis on efficiency, performance, AI capabilities, and support for cutting-edge technologies like foldable devices and high refresh rate screens, is positioned to have a significant impact on the direction of mobile technology. The Dimensity 7300 series offers makers a strong and adaptable foundation to develop next-generation smartphones that offer outstanding user experiences as smartphones continue to advance.