#external keyboard WHERE

[booksandpaperss]

there is a decent amount of queer ppl online who are seemingly out but still deeply hate themselves and their community without even realizing and it really shows

[moodycarcass]

Opened the chassis on my old desktop for funzies bc I've never looked inside it and it has moisture damage where something dripped down from the power supply. Chat is that bad. Should I be worried

[you-have-made-a-fatal-error]

need to shell out for a new laptop before the end of the year - for a lot of reasons but mainly bc support ending for win8.1 makes fixing the current beast rather pointless :/ (and. admittedly. there is a lot to fix. she's old and she has suffered.)

but my current beastie is from the last gen of laptops with a disc drive and the thought of using an external/usb disc drive is enough to make me cry tears of blood

[prismit]

<- their ass has NOT been shiny hunting mew (23 days remain)

[httpsserene]

Heyy

Can you please to from the kink list (toys) with lando, Oscar, Lewis , Charles and alex

Don’t feel pressured to do this if u don’t want to thank you

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. sorry that these are on the shorter side :( i got kind of stumped on how to transcribe my thoughts on it but i did my best! happy 3k🤍 babe ! tysm for requesting, xoxo :p

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬 fem!bipoc!reader x ln.4 | cl. 16 | aa. 23 | lh. 44 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

somebody take my keyboard, i couldn't not bring up pegging in charles' blurb.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

oscar isn’t mean. nevertheless, there are times where you push him to a point where he has to treat you like he is. he has a high tolerance for your attitude but not disrespect, and you know that well—which is how oscar knows you’re purposefully pushing the boundaries and hoping for a correction. each time, you whine and sob for his cock, already knowing that he won’t give it to you. he has a lot of fun pulling orgasm after orgasm from you with an assortment of toys—except, he angles them just so, to make sure they never do more than ghost by your most sensitive spots. when you’re close to the edge, he never lets you cum around a dildo, pulling it out to watch your cunt desperately clench around nothing as he ruins your orgasm. you can apologize and beg for him to properly fuck you as many times as you’d like, but the unsatisfying stimulation will be the only thing he offers you. 

sex toys make a regular appearance in the bedroom with lando. he probably has favorites and names for specific toys. he’s got a locked album on his phone where he saves all the videos of you getting yourself off with toys, his favorite clips being the ones featuring the dildo affectionately named Lando III—not II, because his dick is technically Lando Jr.—because it’s a near perfect replica of him. mutual masturbation is commonplace as well; he picks a toy for you and you pick one for him, and the two of you direct the other on how to get off. 

alex supports you using sex toys to take care of your needs—he’s not the type to be jealous of an inanimate object or try to tell you that you can’t have toys. he hasn’t realized that toys are something that can be used together yet. alex knows you use them when he’s not home, but he’s never seen you use them or used them on you. well, there was one time he arrived home earlier than expected and stumbled on you using a vibrator. he froze in the bedroom doorway, and when you noticed him watching, you tossed the toy to the side and told him to get naked. if you wanted sex toys to be used together, it would be something that you need to bring to his attention.

lewis only uses toys to tease and drive you crazy. most women would see a vibrator in their partner’s hand and think that’s their ticket to an easy orgasm—but, lewis masterfully manipulates it into a tool for orgasm denial. if there’s a toy that provides you with external or internal pleasure in lewis’s hands, he plans to never let you cum. he’s more of a bondage man, the art of tying intricate knots and pretty silk ties is a hobby for him. 

charles almost cried when you asked if he would be comfortable using sex toys in bed. the insinuation that he might enjoy using toys on you was a disguise for the thing you’re too afraid to tell him. you asked if he wanted to try sex toys because he’s clearly not satisfying you, he wonders how many orgasms you’ve faked to satisfy his ego—his eyes are watering, you’re going to make him cry, and oh. he’s afraid, now. because you may have laughed as you jokingly commented that you thought you at least have to peg him to see him cry, but the look in your eyes seemed serious…

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[ms-demeanor]

Amy tips for getting 30 prebuilt pcs for 1500$ each

We're going to play a game where I show tumblr what I do at work by doing it on tumblr. You can answer my questions in successive anonymous asks. My responses to you will be bracketed by dashed lines, with instructions and commentary before and after.

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

Hi Anon!

I can definitely help you with your desktop needs. Can you tell me whether you're looking minimize your costs, or get the maximum amount of computer that I can get you for a per-unit price of $1500?

Here are some details that will help me narrow down options that are a good fit for your situation:

Very generally, what will these be for? Basic office use (browsing, office suite)? Video Production? CAD? Finance? Medical providers? Educators?

What date are you looking to have these machines in place?

Is there a specific type of software that you know will be installed on these devices, and if so can you get me the hardware specs required by the software vendor?

Please let me know if you've got any questions, or if there is anything that I can do for you.

Thanks! - Ms-D

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

The average cost of business desktops that I sell at work is $700-$900; these are devices that I would give an anticipated lifespan of 7 years, with hardware upgrades planned at 5 years. This is for a mid-range desktop with a 3-year next business day onsite warranty, no software, and does not include the cost of tax, shipping, or configuration. The cost of labor can come close to the cost of the machine for configuration. If I were *PERSONALLY* deploying these machines (pulling them out of the box, debloating, creating profiles, installing software, reboxing, transporting to the site, installing and connecting to peripherals) I'd probably charge around $200-300 per device. My work charges a lot more. Because of that, a 1500 computer is quite likely to be a 700 computer with three hours of estimated labor. If you've got an in-house IT department and aren't going to be paying through the nose for setup, you can get *a lot* of business-class computer for $1500.

If someone at work asked me for a $1500 computer, I would assume that was the cost of the machine ONLY, no peripherals, no configuration, no installation, no software, though I would try to consider both tax and our markup and would look for devices that would maximize performance while under-but-close-to the mark. If I found something that was slightly over (say by up to $70), I would drop our markup to get closer to the client's budget.

What this means for YOU, the computer consumer, is that when you're looking at a computer you need to consider the following in your budget, NOT just the sticker price.

Computer Cost

Software Cost

Setup Cost (if you're not doing it yourself)

Shipping Cost

Tax

Peripherals (computers almost all come with a mouse and a keyboard, these are usually inexpensive but very sturdy; if you want a nice keyboard and an ergonomic mouse you have to buy your own)

Whether you will LOSE peripherals when you replace your current device - do you need to buy an external optical disk drive if your old machine had a CD drive but the new machine doesn't?

Those things can add hundreds of dollars to your total cost, so figure out how much that will be so that you can figure out what your ACTUAL budget for your computer is.

(Also your computer shouldn't be plugged directly into the wall; if you're getting ready to replace a machine and you don't already own a desktop UPS, a desktop UPS should be part of the cost of your next machine!)

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 03

CW: A high level of caffeine consumption, don't do this at home. Mild flirting.

5.2K words

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

03 - Photoshoot

“Oh, I hate you.”

“Shut up Mandy, you love me” I mumbled without looking at my cell phone screen.

The 16-year-old was one of the most avid Star Wars fans I know, and the news that I had spent the afternoon with the actor who played her favorite character came to light. She freaked out like I had never seen before and asked me to tell her every detail.

It was Sunday morning, and I had to deliver the photos from the previous day by lunchtime. So, sitting at the kitchen table, I rushed through the edits to deliver my best, and while I was working, I called the little punk on my cell phone.

Kate was still sleeping, since today was officially our last “free” day, she wanted to make the most of it.

“What does he smell like?” The blonde asked with the greatest excitement in the world.

“I was working, I'm a fucking professional, a little respect would be good” I looked away from my computer screen to her.

She grunted my name loudly “It's a valid question” She pouted like a spoiled child.

“I... I didn't notice” I looked away this time, feeling my cheeks getting warm.

“Oh, okay.”

“Seriously…”

“You’re lying to me!” Her green eyes were both excited and amused.

“He smells like any rich fucking person in this industry, expensive perfume I can only dream on buying” I gave up and revealed what was partially true.

“Oh, how annoying, my own sister is still fucking lying to me” She pretended to be unnecessarily dramatic.”Where’s Kate? She’s the fun one in that apartment”

“If you keep up this nonsense, I'll hang up, and the only news you'll have about Pedro Pascal will be on the internet like everyone else” I said calmly and she raised her hands as if surrendering.

I sipped the coffee that was next to me and adjusted the color settings on the preset I was using. We let silence fall over our conversation, which was super common when I was working.

“How is dad?” I asked, still focused on the editing I was doing.

“He misses you, but he tries to hide it.”

“Typical” I rolled my eyes quickly, making a face.

“He'll be fine.”

“I know. Thanks for taking care of him.”

“Yeah, yeah, my job and all of that…” She made a gesture of disdain.

My fingers moved nimbly across the keyboard and mousepad. In the meantime, Kate woke up and walked through the kitchen, going straight for the coffee pot. She murmured a good morning to me and another to Mandy, going to sit on the couch.

“I have to go, little punk. I'll call you tomorrow after work.”

“Give Pedro a kiss from me.”

“Fuck you” I showed her the middle finger, and she returned the gesture.

I hung up the call laughing and put the cell phone next to my computer.

“So your sister has a crush on your hero?” Kate had her lips hidden by the coffee mug, but from afar I saw her eyebrow raise suggestively.

“First of all, he's not my hero” I pointed out, knowing she was only doing that to tease me “I wouldn't drown with the vest.”

“But you also wouldn't get out of the water without his help” She pointed out the obvious.

“He did nothing more than his duty” I shrugged, wanting to avoid the subject of yesterday's outing “And yes, my younger sister is one of his biggest fans.”

“She's going to freak out when she comes to visit you.”

“I know” I sighed, finishing the last edit and already started exporting my work to the external SSD.

“You know she just revealed your name to me, right?” Kate said like she was being caught doing something she wasn't supposed to "I wasn't eavesdropping, but that was loud"

“Yeah, I figured I can’t hide that from you.”

“Don’t worry, your secret will be safe with me, Still”

“Thanks”

“Left me thinking: Should I get a cool nickname for me as well?”

“Kate, your business has your name on it. I think it’s a bit too late for that?”

I snorted as she made a disappointed face.

We took advantage of the morning to set up the equipment we would use in the photography studio the next day. Along with the one-year contract, I also managed to close a deal to take the promotional photos that would be used to show the characters to the world.

The time was scheduled for right after the last costume fitting that the main actors would have. The productions were starting to get into a hectic rhythm. Exciting and scary at the same time.

At the end of the afternoon I received part of the payment for this second contract for the studio photos. I set aside Kate’s share, who would be my assistant, and I used the rest to pay for a portion of the house that my father had financed.

Here is the receipt for this month's mortgage. Don't let dad see it, and use his money for the monthly groceries.

You know that if he finds out you're doing this, he'll freak out, right? It was a promise I made to myself when I got this contract.I'll pay for Matt's rehab tomorrow, and I'll send you the receipt here. Hey, you don't have to do this. Relax, Mandy. The contract is way more than I’m used to charge normally. It's okay. Really? Really!

I turned off the phone screen and focused on enjoying the rest of the day with Kate. And that included a night of watching movies, eating a store-bought pizza and a cheap wine.

The anxiety took hold of my mind, preventing me from enjoying a good night's sleep, and instead, I just dozed off a few times, tossing and turning in the warm bed.

I thought about what I had to do, about the huge responsibility that would be leading a photoshoot with several actors and actresses. When I closed my eyes, imagined myself failing, over and over again, not knowing what to do, feeling embarrassed for doing something wrong, and then I woke up again.

My hands felt cold, my heart raced every time I remembered some detail. My mind went back and forth, going over the possibilities. And when the clock struck four in the morning, I decided I wasn't going to stay there lying down any longer.

I made a huge cup of coffee, sat on the couch with my computer on my lap and went over some details about studio lighting. I sketched on some sheets of paper the poses that each actor would need to do, based on the script I had in hand. I described the expressions and the scenes, since I would compose the rest of the scene in Photoshop later.

The sun rose so slow in that morning, the sky that was pitch black gainned some rays of light, the colors were soft, a pastel pink, and then some orange, maybe a little purple in the middle. Beautiful as aways and bringing life back to the city that was starting its day. Ordinary traffic noises, some birds, people talking, all a little distant due to the height of our apartment.

A cold shower was what I needed to fully wake myself up that morning, a real shock to my muscles. And then I went on to make a hearty breakfast, since I didn't know what time I would be able to have lunch, didn't want to be grumpy during such an important day.

Kate woke up confused as hell on what I was doing, pacing back and forth in the kitchen.

"How long did I sleep?" She mumbled hoarsely, rubbing her swollen eyes.

"It's aham, six thirty?" I looked over the clock on top of the oven "We need to be at the studio by eight."

"How long did you sleep?" She emphasized, seeing that I was already more agitated than usual.

"I couldn't sleep well," I explained, focusing on our breakfast. "Bacon?" I pointed to the pan.

She rubbed her left eye and nodded. I gave a weak laugh at her lack of communication that morning and prepared breakfast for both of us. I was already on my third cup of coffee before eight in the morning, my heart started racing every time I remembered that in a few minutes I would be inside a studio with a huge responsibility.

I checked the equipment once more while Kate got ready to leave and soon we were on our way to our first official job for that production.

We set up everything we needed in no time, I moved quickly, the caffeine doing an exceptional job after a bad night of sleep.

I had two lighting assistants and Kate by my side to organize everything. My creative mode pulsed, taking over my directions, coordinating the small team at my disposal with mastery.

I smiled broadly when the first person I wanted to meet walked through the studio entrance. Craig Mazin came towards me accompanied by Neil Druckmann. A few people by their side, all with their proper masks, even though everyone there had already taken the COVID test to enter the studio.

“Still and Kate, it's a pleasure to meet you both” Craig smiled under his mask, still walking towards us “Let's create something amazing together today.”

“Craig and Neil, welcome” I greeted them, feeling my hands cold and sweaty. “Welcome everyone”

“We are big fans of your work” Kate said pleasantly.

“As are We of yours” Neil made what seemed to be a bow.

A fan of my work? One of the best creative minds of our generation?

Are You fucking kidding me?

“I can't wait to create art with you” I pointed to the table where my laptop and notebook were open, directing them there.

“I see you worked hard,” Craig said, impressed with my sketches.

“The scripts helped me a lot, the details are very impressive.”

“The characters are unique and full of details too” Kate added.

“It was easy to understand their essence,” I said too focus on showing that I knew what we were doing.

“I'm glad We made your job easier,” Craig said with a laugh.

We managed to sit down for almost twenty minutes to talk about what needed to be done today, and also throughout the year. It was like a dream coming true, and the calm that came from both of them was just what I needed to calm my own nerves.

The fact that the first session would be with someone I had already met also helped a lot and brought my nerves at ease.

Gabriel walked in smiling, dressed from head to toe as Tommy, his hair slicked back, a denim jacket and a fake rifle hanging on his back. He stopped in front of our small group and turned around proudly showing off the details.

“Wow” I said, applauding him.

“Thank you, thank you” He bowed in a playful way of thanking me “Tommy Miller at your service, ma'am.”

“Tommy Miller from the first episode” Craig pointed out, his eyes shining as he saw the first character come to life in the smallest details.

Gabriel pointed to the director as if to say “good point” and smiled in Kate’s direction.

“Gabriel, this is the other photographer I mentioned to you on Saturday.” I pointed to my friend who was trying to contain herself in place “Kate, this is Gabriel.”

“Nice to meet you Kate” He gave that huge smile he has.

Kate smiled back shyly and said an almost inaudible “likewise.”

“Shall we begin?” I pointed to the place where all the lighting equipment was positioned.

“So, first episode, right?!” Gabriel looked to Neil and Craig for confirmation.

“Tommy, overprotective of his niece, trying to escape somehow with his older brother, ready to face everything and everyone” Neil described what he wanted Gabriel to play at that moment.

I saw the actor gradually change as he listened to the description, his look going from playful to entering the character’s emotions. And with that, I prepared my camera, connected by a cable that went into the USB port of my computer, where Kate positioned herself.

As soon as Gabriel was fully immersed in the new emotions, I started clicking the photos I needed. I positioned him a few times, first visualizing what I wanted in my mind and then trying to describe it to him.

Craig and Neil were with Kate pointing out the photos that turned out good to use, impressed with the result. And after thirty minutes the second person entered the studio, accompanied by a small team. Nico was dressed as Sarah in a way that made it seem like her clothes had come straight out of a video game. She looked much younger than she was, assuming the identity of a pre-teen.

“Nico, we’re finishing with Gabriel and I’ll be right with you,” I said with a smile in her direction.

“No problem, you can take your time with the old man,” she teased, amused.

Gabriel grumbled something and changed to the position I had asked for. I only spent ten more minutes with him, and I already asked my team to change the position and temperature of the lights to what I had imagined for the photos of Nico as Sarah Miller.

For the rest of the morning, I had soft music playing in the studio, and conversations flowed naturally. A totally pleasant atmosphere settled in with everyone. The directors helped me a lot by trying to set the scene for the photos, and they almost jumped in their seats with the results. They looked like two kids on Christmas Day, receiving the presents they always wanted. Only the presents were the actors finally dressed as the characters that until then only inhabited a video game, or within the roles of the scripts.

After Nico, I met Lamar Johnson, probably the only Canadian among the actors. In the story he would be Henry, and he seemed very excited to finally be able to get into character.

I managed to get someone to get me another cup of coffee, since my energy was waning a little.

After Lamar, we were graced with the presence of Kelvonn and his team, including his ASL interpreter. His face marked with red paint, his clothes dirty and torn, bringing a realism to his character Sam. It was a surprise to me that one of the actors was deaf, but I saw it as the perfect opportunity to put my old sign language course to the test.

Kelvonn signed to his interpreter and she turned to us at the same time.

“Nice to meet you, my name is Kelvonn, but you can call me Kelv,” she said immediately and prepared to sign our responses.

This time I looked straight at him and timidly started to sign and also verbalized what I was doing with my hands.

“Hi Kelv,” I said slowly. “People here call me S-t-i-l-l.” I signed letter by letter. “But I’ll give you my real name later.” I saw his eyes light up at the same moment I signed. “Nice to meet you.”

The entire room was focused on our conversation. The silence was palpable and everyone’s curiosity was apparent.

Kelv signed something again and I was able to understand some parts, then his interpreter smiled as she spoke.

“I already like you.”

“This is my friend, K-a-t-e” I signed again and he made a nice to meet you sign “And you know C-r-a-i-g and N-e-i-l.”

“It’s good to finally be here” The interpreter said following Kelv’s signs.

“Shall we begin?” I signed and pointed to the place where the hot lights were being directed by Mark and Thomas, my two young assistants.

He smiled broadly and followed my directions. My sign language was a little rusty, but it was good to know that I could still communicate with those who usually don’t have much accessibility in the world we live in. Neil and Craig were very impressed and I could hear Kate comment something about there being nothing I can’t do.

Lunch was served right there, a requirement of mine so as not to waste too much time, since I still had to photograph seven more actors in the afternoon. Everyone was dragged out of here by their agents as soon as they were done, because they had to go through the cinematography crew to film some lighting tests on their costumes.

My energy was dropping as the hours passed by. I was still excited to meet people like Merle Dandridge, Murray Bartlett, Anna Torv and the fucking Nick Offerman. With him I almost let my obsessed fan of The Office speak louder. His sense of humor made everything there feel lighter, and even though it was four in the afternoon on a day when I hadn't slept at all and was spending all my energy on creativity at work, I felt good, as if it was the only place I belonged.

The headache was my first sign that I was using my spare energy to finish the day. The coffee was no longer working, the mask that I had been wearing for almost nine hours was irritating me a lot, and I was aware that the mark on my nose was deep from the tightness.

“Mark, for the next one, the light needs to come from above, a back light on the right side, and we'll rebound it a little to reveal the details of the shadow” I pointed to the lights that needed to be operated and he nodded, already obeying me.

“We have three more mandatory photos,” Kate pointed to my notebook. “The last three.”

“Long day…” Neil stretched in his chair.

“It would be longer if it weren't for your professionalism” Craig said kindly “I'm very impressed, and I don’t impress easily.”

“That's the most you'll hear from us during the year” Kate was sincere, since our work was usually more spontaneous.

“We work in the shadows” I joked, making them both laugh “All so as not to get in the way of the work that really matters” I gestured as if pointing something out in their direction, implying that the most important work there was the creation of the TV series.

“Based on your perception of lighting, I'm almost getting you to work with Kesnia and her team" Craig said as a joke, but with a hint of truth.

“Very kind of you, but I prefer to leave that part to the professionals.”

“Seriously, I might seek an opinion or two from you” The director admitted, and that made my smile widen.

A small crew entered the studio door, conversations already going on between them, and in their midst I saw the two protagonists laughing together. Bella Ramsey, a prodigy in the world of TV productions, already very comfortable in Ellie's clothes. They talked and laughed with Pedro.

He seemed to have aged at least ten to fifteen years with the makeup they had applied. His hair and beard were much grayer. A fake revolver on his waist and a fake rifle also hanging on his back, and to top it off he had two layers of coats, carefully faded jeans and hiking boots. The famous "apocalypse" style.

His eyes met mine for half a second, making me look away immediately.

"Joel and Ellie, you look perfect," Craig said, opening his arms, excitement escaping him at finally seeing the final product.

"They've been annoying me for ten minutes now," Pedro bumped into his co-star's shoulder. "It's going to be a long year." This made everyone laugh in the room.

“Shut up, you’re going to miss us by the end of this,” Bella replied.

Kate was next to me, and it felt like she was seeing two people from another world. It was our first time with a production that had actors who are truly well-known in Hollywood, so the fan inside of us was ready to fight it’s way out

“Bella and Pedro, these are Kate and Still, they’re responsible for capturing today’s photos, and they’ll be with us for the rest of the year,” the director formally introduced us.

I swear I saw a mischievous smile escape him before he regained his composure to greet us. Bella was very kind, curious about my nickname, but let it go when I just shrugged and said “for mystery purpose only”.

“Shall we start?” I pointed to the place they should take.

Had to positioned the two of them together, being watched by the entire crew. My hands were shaking a little now, the result of unnecessary nervousness and an amount of caffeine that not every human being can handle. 

Neil was guiding the necessary emotions in that photo of the two of them together; I could see their breathing change as they got into character, their playful expressions being replaced by seriousness.

Right there I saw a little girl who needed to be protected, and a father figure who would do anything to achieve his goal. He was looking to our right, while Bella's gaze was directed at us behind the lens.

I took at least ten photos of them in that position, asking the boys to adjust the lights as I saw fit, until I was satisfied.

"This is perfect," I heard Neil's voice from behind the monitor.

My smile came out tired, and a yawn escaped me, pulling the mask that had to be repositioned on my face, and revealing the sleepiness that had been haunting me for a while.

Pedro noticed my state right away, even before I could pull myself together to guide them into another position. This time, Bella was the only one in the photo. And while I was guiding Kate with the adjustments, he was pulled by a short, brunette woman, apparently her personal makeup artist and stylist.

I talked to Bella, making everything more comfortable for the photos. I focused as much as possible on the details, the way the light made an almost perfect silhouette in their messy hair, the small knife her hand gripped, the details of their jacket... Everything to bring out the best of the character.

"How many of those cups of coffee are yours?"

I almost jumped when his voice was so close. I was so focused that I didn't notice him moving, staying a few steps away. Pedro was observing, not letting my tiredness slip by, and I let out a smile at his curiosity.

"As many as it takes to keep me standing after almost ten hours of work!" I replied, my lips, even though hidden by the mask, was curled upwards.

"Did you know that there's a limit to that?" He asked, trying to peek at my camera “For coffee, I mean.”

“When I reach that limit, I'll let you know.”

“Will the warning be you fainting in the middle of work?” He was amused.

I had to ignore him for a second to adjust the jacket Bella was wearing, but I soon went back to where I was.

“How's that hero's ego after Saturday?” I asked quietly, still taking the photos I needed, but almost finishing the - Ellie - part “Are you trying to save me from myself and my coffee addiction?”

“Ha” Pedro let out a laugh, which caught the attention of several people in the room “I can't even save myself from this addiction” He shook his head in denial.

I waited for people to start talking among themselves again before turning to him. His face had some scars, a smile tugged at his lips and his dark eyes watched me as I did my work, attentive to every move.

“Bella, your part is done” I declared, looking away from him “Thank you for your patience and cooperation.”

“No, thank you” They replied sweetly “I can't wait to see the result.”

“I'll make sure to send you a copy when it's ready.”

“Perfect, I'll see you on set?”

“It'll be the only place they'll find me for a year” I winked at them, causing a laugh.

“We're really going to spend a lot of time together. I can't fucking wait.”

“Me too, I'm excited as shit.”

With that, their mother, who was following the process with their agent, guided them to the cinematography staff at the studio next door. Bella said goodbye to everyone and went on to the second part of their work.

“Now it's the old man's turn” I said, looking in Pedro's direction. He rolled his eyes with one corner of his mouth in an almost imperceptible smile and followed my directions.

“Where you want me?” Pedro asked in his deep voice before guided him into the lights and stood there to fix the details of the photo.

I was close enough to fix the rifle strap he was carrying, as it was completely twisted. I muttered “excuse me” before running my hand over the collar of the second jacket he was wearing, and only then I realized that I had somehow been holding my breath.

Remembering my conversation with my younger sister yesterday and I came to the realization that I had lied to her.

His scent wasn’t just rich people’s perfume, he had something familiar, a woody scent with a touch of nicotine. Something very masculine, almost intoxicating.

I adjusted the edge of his pocket that was at the height of his chest and I could feel the hammering of his heart, strong and fast... Or was it my own heart echoing through my senses?

“You know that in the apocalypse my clothes are supposed to be messy, right?” He asked softly, his breath blowing near my nose and then I moved away as quickly as I could.

“If I don’t fix these things now, I’ll waste my precious time later on Photoshop,” I explained, going to get my camera.

“So you’re one of those people who prefers to do it live rather than using effects,” He said as if he was making a mental note.

“Everything is always better live,” this time I focused on my camera so as not to give my reaction away.

It was so obvious he had an effect on my body, and I just hopped I was a good enough liar that no one notice it.

Pedro was an incredible professional, serious when he needed to be serious, and joking when he needed to lighten the mood. I got the best photos of the day with him alone. His ease in getting in and out of character impressed me a lot.

When we finished the work, he seemed to want to say something to me, but he held back and was taken to the studio next door.

Craig and Neil congratulated me on the result of a hard day’s work and said goodbye very satisfied with everything they had seen. I dismissed the boys who had helped me with a grateful smile on my face.

My head was killing me now, heavy with sleepiness, and as soon as the adrenaline went down a little, I felt the pain in my shoulder from the tension that had been in me all day, but I hadn't noticed it until then.

Kate, who was packing our things to leave, came over with one last cup of coffee for today as a way of celebrating. She took off the mask that covered her face and I did the same, feeling relieved.

"You're the best!" She held out the drink to me.

"I wouldn't have made it without your help." We toasted the coffee and I finally sat down.

"I still can't believe the day we had."

"I know right? I'm exhausted, I'll need at least a day to recover," I admitted as I sipped the hot drink.

"Going to call an Uber, and we need to eat something before bed. How about that Chinese spot across the street?"

"I know that if I go home now, I won't even touch these photos, and I need to at least give the first edit a once-over. I'm going to stay here a while longer."

She was even more impressed by that, and she already knew me well enough to know that there was no point in trying to convince me to leave with her. It was a losing battle.

With my best friend, coffee, by my side, I stayed alone in that studio for a while longer. Between one edit and another, I let my gaze run over the lighting equipment, the infinite background, also unable to believe that everything had turned out as expected, I managed to impress people with such a huge responsibility.

A feeling of pride filled me. Pride for having gone through everything I had, for having overcome such a dark time as the pandemic, for having recovered my mental health well enough to be here, almost whole, almost feeling like myself again.

Had to bite my lower lip and let a tear or two fall down my cheek while I continued to work hard on post-production.

"Am I disturbing you?" I heard three knocks on the door, and from a distance I saw only his head looking into the room, like a child waiting for permission.

"Not at all. I'm almost done here” I wiped away the salty traces of tears and sat up straight in my chair.

“I thought you had left, until I saw the light on...” Pedro came in, shy.

He was already wearing his normal clothes, and the only trace of Joel he had was the exaggerated white in his hair and beard.

“I wanted to get some things done before I literally collapsed on my bed,” I explained, my voice soft with exhaustion. “But I'm leaving now.” I closed my laptop and notebook, putting them in my bag.

“Can I give you a ride?”

“No need, I'll call an Uber...”

“Your apartment is on the way from the studio to the apartment I'm staying at.” He cut me off immediately and gave me a half smile. “I insist.”

I remained silent for a few seconds, watching his anxious gestures, and I couldn't help but smile too.

“Okay, but only because I'm in no condition to argue,” I said, giving up.

Pedro punched the air in celebration, always with a hint of joke on it. He came towards me and picked up my bag to help me.

I could easily be mistaken for a zombie from the series, with my sunken eyes and white skin. But he was patient, following me closely until we reached his car.

He stepped forward when he saw we were close enough, and opened the passenger door for me to get in. I couldn't say anything, I just walked past him, collapsing on the soft seat. The door next to me was closed carefully, and he quickly came around to take over as the driver.

"I'm sure you don't live on coffee alone," he said quietly as he started the car. "Do you want to stop somewhere so we can grab something to eat?"

"I don't want to bother you, Pedro. You can just take me to..."

"Come on," he cut me off again. "You're not bothering me. Just… pick a place. I bet that the headache you must be feeling is also from not eating well enough."

“How did you know I had a headache?” I turned to him, curious about his perception.

“Every time someone said something in a louder tone in the studio, you closed your eyes and frowned” He said as if it was normal to notice things like that in people.

“I didn't sleep well last night, I'm functioning on coffee and sugar” I admitted, receiving a weak and low laugh “How about…”

I paused, thinking about something in the area, and decided to suggest some fast food, because I wanted to rest as soon as possible.

“Five Guys?” I finished, and his smile widened, his tongue between his teeth in a mischievous way.

“You read my mind” Finally he said, putting in the address of the fast food closest to us.

[hoiststowline]

monday

_ x reader | prologue

"You don't notice it?"

Perhaps he could have waited for a slightly better situation to discard all of his gathered information, but it was one of the only times he's caught Sunstreaker alone and willing to discuss it in the past couple of days. Every instance he brought it up, the conversation didn't last long until they were interrupted or commed. It was becoming increasingly frustrating, especially since the bot in question was more than just aloof, none of them really knew much in reference to him or his reputation.

Bluestreak was on the verge of just blurting it out, the curiosity building until it was too far gone, temptation overflowing to just ask Hoist himself. Sure, he'd appear unhinged, but he also wanted to satiate the distracting curiosity. Bluestreak had felt that he'd been everywhere, at least within the twenty mile radius that they had all agreed upon until they had their bearings. So wherever Hoist went, it must be so much better, at least for him to frequent it so often.

"No," Sunstreaker finally answers, not even looking his way, hardly entertaining the question. He was becoming increasingly irritated, but not toward Bluestreak's rambling.

For the past ten minutes or so, he had his arm deep in the wall, attempting get the overhead lights functional after the circuits fried. It was bad enough that he could barely see anything, mumbling swears as every couple of moments when would get mildly electrocuted by the exposed wires. He wasn't maintenance, he had no idea how to fix anything aside from what he's been forced to learn.

“I've never noticed it. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,” He continues, unimpressed, but willing to humor a friend.

Bluestreak had felt confident in bringing his observation to Sunstreaker, but that conviction was slowly dwindling with his indifference. “You aren’t a bit curious where he goes? Not at all?”

Pausing, the yellow mech slowly tugs his hand free before turning to address the bot to his right. “Why are you asking me? If it's bothering you so much, why don’t you just go ask Hoist?”

“I needed validation that I was correct before I go and look like an idiot.” He complains, leaning up against the wall right beside the area that was being worked on, arms crossed. “I know, it's none of my business-”

“Correct, it’s not.” Returning to his work, he began twisting and yanking some different wires around in a last ditch effort. "Is this a concern thing? Or are you just being nosey,"

Ignoring his inquiry entirely, Bluestreak presses onward. “Do you think he maps it? Like he’s supposed to?”

After a short moment to contemplate it, Sunstreaker responds candidly. "No, but neither do you."

"Where are you going?"

It had never been a topic for discussion before, so without a second thought Hoist had walked straight past the lobby and had begun down the corridor. Not out of defiance, just needing the space to clear his head and not be confined to the metal walls of the seemingly irreparable ship. The situation was aggravating some old wounds, and in order to keep his composure, Hoist found himself needing the silent company of others that didn't include those here.

Not thinking anyone was stationed there at the hour, he pauses and then backtracks, visibly confused. Unprepared for the unexpected question, he bides his time with a simple tilt of his helm. To his surprise, Blaster was sitting in the chair at one of the computers, but had spun around so that it faced him and not the keyboard.

It wasn't a secret that Hoist left almost every night, as Blaster saw who came and went just by the external security cameras, unbothered. There was no hierarchy within the ship, they were all friends and trusted each other to do whatever tasks needed to be completed. Some more compliant than others, though none of them would argue that the circumstance could be far, far worse.

Blaster perceived early on that Trailbreaker knew Hoist a lot better than the rest of them did, but it wasn't out of disinterest. The engineer just kept to himself, impartial to divulge information about him or his past, at least without being asked. Yet, Blaster didn't know if the tow truck just assumed that nobody would care that he left, or if they did, just didn't bother to bring it up.

"What?" Hoist returns, not quite answering the question.

"Where are you going?" Blaster repeats, leaning backward into the cool metal of the chair.

Though his posture remains dumbfounded, he finds himself replying honestly. "For a drive? The same as I do every night."

Hoist wasn't hiding anything, but this interrogation felt unwarranted since none of them were adhered to any strict set of rules. He hadn't found it necessary to request permission because he surmised he wasn't bending any orders, firm or not. And who would he ask? There was only a few places he could be at any given moment, and he was never away for very long.

"Where do you go, though?" Blaster prompts, brow raising slightly. He isn't being pushy, but is searching for an answer. "You never log anything. For someone who drives a lot, you'd think you would have some information to input,"

"Across town and up the highway." He reports without a moment of hesitation, not wanting to spark untrustworthiness. "Same route every time. Nothing worth recording."

Blaster wasn't being accusatory or critical, it was more of an approach out of blatant curiosity. Perhaps they had all taken notice of his nightly disappearance, and the red mech was the one who decided to confront him in reference to it. Blaster was extremely laidback, but also fiercely protective, especially of this small group who are now all stranded together.

"Fair enough." He shrugs, making a motion with his servo towards the door. With a satisfactory shrug, he even sincerely adds: "Enjoy."

It seemed too good to be true, but Hoist took it, waving awkwardly goodbye before departing from the base.

The harsh and relentless storm hadn't really hindered him much, headlights blinking to life as he takes off through the woods. He never minded the mud that caked along his tires and settled within his joints, but Sunstreaker always did. If it was going to rain at any point in the rotation, the yellow lambo would hunker down inside, far away from anything so much as brushing his outer plating.

It felt invigorating, the cold rain bombarding against his windshield only to slide down his hood unceremoniously. Being left to his own thoughts wasn't so much the same, but a familiar dismissive nature erases that burden for another time. For now, he navigates the path that his treads have woven into the ground, the one that leads up a short incline and onto the main road.

Street lamps alight, he ponders momentarily if Blaster had sent someone out to follow him. It would be crossing a line, a obvious display of distrust, even amongst Hoist's honesty. Oversuspicious, he coms Trailbreaker if only to ease his nerves.

"Y'ello," Trailbreaker picks up his call immediately, sounding a little distracted. "Where'd you go?"

"Famous question of the night," Hoist counters, amusement slating into his words. "I'll be back soon. What are you up to?"

"That dumbaft Sunstreaker blew out all of the lights down by our room," An scoff follows, then a clang of metal on metal. "I've been tryin' to fix it for the past coupla' hours, and all I've done is electrocute myself. Twice."

"Sorry," Something he wholeheartedly means, as that is likely something he should be working on and not Trailbreaker. "You can leave it. I'll be right back, I can work on it."

"Nah, I think I got it." There's a silence and then a staticky noise, followed by a satisfied ex-vent. "Aha. Got it."

Hoist relaxes, feeling a little less guilty. "Good job."

"Why'd ya comm me?" Trailbreaker circles back, taking a step back to admire his work. "Somethin' the matter?"

"To see if anybody else left after I did?" A little sheepish, but he genuinely trusted Trailbreaker. "Blaster was a little wary when I left."

"Ah. Understood."

He waits patiently on the other end of the line for Trailbreaker to scout the base, but it wouldn't be that difficult to account for everyone. It was just the five of them, and the three in question were usual suspects to either the command center, or their respective rooms.

"All present." Trailbreaker announces after some time, just as Hoist approaches the highway. "You'll be back soon?"

"Thirty kliks. Maybe sooner." As he's finally able to shake off the unease entirely, he graciously thanks his friend.

"Can do. Anytime." And the line clicks dead.

Somehow the highway is even poorer conditions than the town roads, the asphalt mostly empty aside from other vehicles speeding by here or there. Hoist takes his time, knowing that once he departs down his exit off the interstate, that would end his evening, at least until he could get some of the heat off his back.

The weather only worsened, visibility almost negligible as he takes the right lane all the way towards the toll. As the rain hit the pavement, his mood only worsened, somewhat unwilling to return back to base knowing he may be in for another round of cross-examining regarding his nocturnal activities. He hated feeling like an outsider among friends, but it was just by nature to be distant with those who he didn't fully trust.

Maybe it was more likely that they didn't trust him in full.

Trailbreaker did, and Hoist ensured he was well aware that it was a mutual feeling.

After too many long minutes with his overwhelming thoughts, he's preparing to take the exit when he spots a pair of tail lights, flashing dimly against the haziness. Slowly, he crawls to a stop, wheels jerking against the slippery asphalt as he spots a car somewhat nosedived, front wheels wedged in a decent amount of mud.

Instantly, he scans his surroundings, defensive at first to establish it wasn't some egregious setup. Yet, his perception is interrupted at the sound of someone scrambling around the vehicle, attempting to get into the trunk with several hums of vexation.

Hoist is hesitant. If he was given any instruction, the one he can recall vividly is to blend in and not draw attention to himself. He feels downright slimy observing the human, them unsuccessful in opening the trunk, more dirt on their armor than the car. They were still unaware that he was even there, their back to him, so he realistically could just carry on and pretend he hadn't seen any of it.

But his mission was to help those in need.

Ever so gently, his tires roll forward, going to call out to the human but then promptly halts. What was he going to say, and what if he startled them-

Carefully, he rolls down the driver-side window and tries to amplify his voice without sounding intimidating.

"Need help?"

Hoist jolts as they spin around, hand raising to push some hair aside from their vision that had matted there. There's a fear in their eyes, somewhat obvious before their focus settles on the towline on the end of his bumper.

Perhaps if he wasn't a tow truck, they wouldn't have agreed. He would appear as a suspicious vehicle in a world full of people who may want to do you more harm than good.

"Oh, can you?" They call, climbing up from where they were. Sounding so soft-spoken over the deafening rain. "That would be amazing,"

With their permission, he hastily reels his window back up before they could get any closer, pivoting so he could reverse over to the shoulder of the highway. In his mirrors, he catches how they shuffle rearward, tripping some on the greenery that had gathered off the side of the road.

With utmost patience and care, Hoist cautiously hooks the bumper of the stuck car, and with some force, tugs it free.

They watch with awe, alongside a sense of relief since only Primus knows how long they'd actually been stranded out here. It feels good to do some good, and Hoist can feel his sense of purpose returning, even if only in short kickbacks.

Feeling as if he's somehow going to get chewed out for this, he wastes no time in gently setting the car back on the road before removing his towline from beneath the bumper. Hoist surveys the area, they should have no issue getting back home, aside from the rampaging storm.

Perchance he should have waited to ensure that they had gotten back to the car safely, without any more problems. But, he would have no way to assist, so instead, he takes off, only his red taillights in the distance distinguishable by the time they had made it back up the incline to stand beside their car.

Hoist returns to base, soaking wet and cooling fans lively and loud. He heads straight for his room, fumbling to punch in the code until the door slides over to reveal Trailbreaker on his respective side of the room.

"Woah, where's the fire?" Trailbreaker watches as Hoist paces the room, the panel sliding back over with a loud thud.

"No fire," Hoist responds, gaze trained on the mud he'd trailed inside. "Yeah, well. Maybe a small fire."

Vastly perplexed, Trailbreaker searches for any sort of explanation. "What for? I thought y'were only going for a ride?"

Maybe he shouldn't have been so hasty, he was more than bothered with himself for not ensuring the human was alright after that entire ordeal. He was already knee deep in it, what was the harm of taking another step further?

"This stays between you and I, yeah?"

[slyandthefamilybook]

Who is the antisemite?

I've made many a post about the nature of antisemitism, and I don't expect I'll ever stop. But I've made relatively few posts about antisemites, who they are, and why they are. I don't mean to make a list of every antisemite in the world; I wouldn't be able to finish it before I died at my keyboard. Instead I want to explore a bit into the nature of antisemitic belief and what draws people to it, in the hopes of helping people recognize their own behaviors. This won't be a thorough taxonomy, but will focus on something I believe is at–or close to–the heart of the issue.

When I tell people antisemitism can have a racial component the response I usually get is, "but Jewish isn't a race so you can't be racist against Jews!" Now it's true that "Jewish" is not (currently) one of the accepted racial categories (up until some time in the 1950s you could list your race on U.S. censi as "Hebrew"), but that's not exactly what I mean. What I mean is that there's a pattern of thought that's part-and-parcel of racism and racist ideas, even if it's not always deployed against what we would consider a race. That pattern is bio-essentialism–the belief that there are certain inherent and largely invariant differences between discrete groups of people. This, for example, explains the significant overlap between racism and transphobia, if not always in practice than in thought. If you believe these differences exist along racial lines, it's simple enough to map them onto sex as well. Bio-essentialism is not the only driving force behind racism, but it is a significant one, and one that can be reasonably used as a predictor of racist thought. In this sense, focusing on phenotypes common among Jews (prominent noses, dark curly hair, olive skin) can have a racial component, and can result in behaviors and attitudes that behave like racism, even if Jews aren't a "race".

So we have racial antisemitism, and from here we can sit around and postulate on other alchemical combinations; the intersection of antisemitism and sexism, for example, resulting in stereotypes about nagging Jewish wives, overbearing Jewish mothers, and the Jewish American Princess. The intersection of antisemitism and patriarchy, creating anxieties about weak or effeminate Jewish men. Antisemitism and classism; antisemitism and homophobia; antisemitism and anti-theism; and on and on. But what about anti-Jewish antisemitism? What do we find that makes people hate Jews for being Jews?

I'm going to lean fairly heavily on Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition by intellectual historian David Nirenberg. It's a fantastic albeit excruciating read, and I highly recommend everyone–Jewish and not–pick it up from their local library.

Much like the habits of bio-essentialism characterize much of racism, obsession with blame is (I believe) the core driver of anti-Jewish antisemitism. Specifically blame of the other, although that's generally merely step two in the process. Jews occupy a fairly unique position in the world in that in the vast majority of places where we live we don't really belong. We're treated as guests, reliant on the grace and magnanimity of our hosts to ensure our protection and survival. Part of this is our own doing; throughout the Diaspora our struggle to cohere to our identity has set us apart from everyone else. We don't like to assimilate any more than we have to. But it would be wrong to place the blame for our status entirely on our shoulders, so I will not do so. For the purposes of this post let us take it prima facie that Jews maintain a role of perpetual outsiders–among the nations of the world but not of them.

Throughout history this status has allowed our hosts to define themselves in opposition to us. Jews, who never really belonged, became emblematic of whatever ill the current society, religion, or philosophy decided was most pressing. We gave people opportunity to externalize their own faults, to shift blame from themselves and their comrades to nefarious interlopers. To recontextualize their responsibility to themselves into a Manichaean (I use the word deliberately) struggle between darkness and light. If the anxieties of the day centered around hypocrisy, Jewish Rabbis were the hypocrites you should strive to be unlike. If it was infidelity, it was the Jewess temptresses who were to blame. If it was greed, it was certainly the Jewish bankers who were at fault.

Perhaps my use of past-tense verbs is misleading; this is still the nature of antisemitism today. But this is certainly also how it began. The urge to excise culpability is a fairly common one. It crosses cultural boundaries and expresses itself in toddlers the world around. And so whither the Jews went, childish vindictiveness followed.

When we understand how antisemitism is used as a tool, we can begin to understand the work it does for those who use it. Antisemitism is the antidote to critical thought, to skepticism and self-reflection. It creates a "them", not in reality but in the mind. It explains failure not through any self-conscious rumination, but in the creation of vagrants, infiltrators, and saboteurs.

It now becomes clear why nearly every conspiracy theory is antisemitic, or rapidly hurtling in that direction. One of the cornerstones of conspiratorial thought (as expounded by Michael Barkun in A Culture of Conspiracy: Apocalyptic Visions in Contemporary America) is the belief that the conspiracies are composed out outside forces. When neo-Nazis compose their "Every Aspect of _____ is Jewish" flyers, they can hardly focus on the fact that the vast majority of the people they blame are American. Americans are the in-group and as such cannot be at fault. Jews are an easily accessible out-group, in part because Jewishness is so "sneaky" (you can be Jewish and not even know it! Even Wikipedia can't seem to decide when someone is Jewish or not!). When people believe that the CIA was responsible for assassinating John F. Kennedy, it's never in their capacity as red-blooded patriotic Americans; it's always the result of insiders from Russia, China, and ultimately, Jews. Even conspiracy theories that don't explicitly name Jews are engaged in antisemitic thought, so long as they seek to pin events on the actions of "them". There's a reason "they" has become memetic in neo-Nazi circles; those who are "them" are most assuredly not "us".

It also becomes clear how and why antisemitism traverses political boundaries, and infects discourse left, right, and center. The extremes–the far-right and far-left (for all the usefulness of the political spectrum, which is not much)–are more prone to antisemitic thought precisely because they are so far from the norm. The more you see wrong with society the more you seek those who are responsible. (Again it's important to note that "antisemitic thought" in this context refers to the habit of looking for outsiders to blame, and does not always map perfectly onto open bigotry toward "real Jews".) When England is close to being a perfect country, it is only through the actions of the Jews that it is prevented from becoming so. When Sovyet communism begins to collapse in on itself, it is certainly the Jews who are accused. It is never "us" or "we"; it is always "they" and "them". And in a fit of cruel irony, when antisemitism becomes un-fashionable, the "no-true-scotsman" fallacy is often deployed, assigning the use of conspiratorial bigotry to impersonators and pretenders.

So what can we do? What can we learn, and how can we change? We can start by resolving to think critically, to not take the easy answers. We can look inward, not outward, and find things to improve in ourselves, rather than assuming that our faults are not our fault. We can be skeptical of conspiracy theories, of people who want to direct our anger in ways that serve their own goals. As always, we can protect and uplift Jews and Jewish communities worldwide. We can orient ourselves toward finding solutions, instead of finding reasons for why we can't. We can unlearn the thought patterns, cliches, and habits of antisemitic thought, or that lead to antisemitic thought. We can stop trying to look for the bad people, and start trying to be the good people.

[michanvalentine]

I was asked if I had any thoughts on Astarion's character development in terms of taking responsibility and making choices. And him coming to terms with that part of his past he's ashamed of. In the past I didn't dwell on it in detail, normally I write down on the keyboard what spontaneously passes through my brain. But I think they are excellent food for thought, so I will try to express what I think about it.

Here’s a little ramble, just because I love psychology and think it’s something to always keep in mind when discussing Astarion. If you’re not interested, feel free to skip ahead!

(Let’s talk a bit about the self.

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

I’ll stop here, or this will turn into a full-blown psychology lecture, diving into every possible personality disorder! xD)

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador. He was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

This is why, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. Astarion is a follower, not a leader—not yet, at least. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him; they terrify him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc. For instance, I think his lack of attention to detail reflects this to some extent—not just his tendency to be dismissive or distracted. In fact, Astarion isn’t stupid at all; his intelligence and wisdom stats in D&D terms are above average. He knows how to move in the shadows, remain unnoticed, and is highly skilled with his hands. Additionally, we shouldn’t forget that Astarion is an excellent observer of bodies, particularly body language. This is especially common when someone has lived in a stressful environment with abusive parents or partners. Recognizing the early signs of what they fear most—abuse—is crucial for trying to avoid getting hurt. The inflection of a tone, the light in someone’s eyes, the posture of their shoulders, arms, torso, etc. Body language is the most direct and primal form of communication and reveals intentions.

This is a skill Astarion has naturally refined, not only through survival but also by interacting with countless partners. It inevitably helps him sense certain things before others do, often saving him from trouble. So, he’s far from just some clueless fool, no matter how frivolous he might seem at times.

Sure, stress kills neurons, but the issue is deeper than intellect. To execute a plan, one needs to make decisions and lead a group—something he simply isn’t equipped to do yet. This also ties to accountability, an inherent part of decision-making—especially when others are involved.

Throughout the game, Astarion grows and begins to reclaim his rights as an individual. He realizes he’s more than an object to be used (he is no longer small, weak, useless, incapable), and he starts to establish boundaries and discover what he truly wants or doesn’t want to do, always alongside Tav/Durge. By the good ending, he even states that with Cazador gone, he can finally find out who he really is and what he wants from the life he’s regained. He’s still afraid—the road to healing is long, and the trauma is deep—but he’s willing to work on himself, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t do before.

A significant part of Astarion’s defense mechanism is dissociation, the ability to separate himself from the terrible things that have happened to him—or that he has done.

This, in my opinion, is how he managed to survive without completely losing his mind. In the game, there’s even a dialogue choice that highlights how Astarion simply repressed everything inside and kept going—a deeply unhealthy way of coping. And rightly so, the vampiric spawn retorts that it’s easy to judge when you haven’t lived through such a situation.

However, when Astarion comes face to face with his victims, that mechanism begins to falter. This time, he’s forced to confront what he has done directly, with all the consequences it entails. He has to look them in the eye, listen to their harsh words, and endure both their pain and his own—without filters, without excuses. The sequence is heart-wrenching, as we all know, but what I particularly love is Astarion’s comment about the Gur children and how, when he delivered them to Cazador, he felt nothing. I love it because it’s followed by an “oh” that speaks volumes more than all the discussions about ascension up until that moment. That “oh” seems to say, “How the hell is that even possible?!”

Astarion is surprised, first and foremost, because what he felt then isn’t what he’s feeling now. Before, he was numb, alienated—a ghost wandering the streets. But now, he’s not. He’s more awake and lucid than he’s been in the last 200 years. This concept is crystal clear when, upon setting foot inside Cazador’s palace, the vampiric spawn states that everything feels different, even though the place hasn’t changed. It’s not the palace that’s different; it’s Astarion!

And at this point, after speaking with Sebastian and Chessa, Astarion is torn.

On one side, there’s ascension, with all the rational explanations—or justifications for Tav/Durge and himself—about why it must be done. The vampire spawn are too many and too hungry; they’ll cause a massacre, etc., etc. On another side, there’s the need to erase the evidence of what he was, of what Astarion endured, and what he inflicted upon others—what these wretches represent as a mirror reflecting his own helplessness and pathetic state. A victim, essentially. And that, for him, is humiliating because he was, in fact, humiliated for 200 years. He’s deeply ashamed of it.

But yet another part of him holds the desire to do the right thing.

In fact, if asked about the prisoners and what he intends to do, Astarion will say he’s weighing his options. Not only that, but Astarion also gives his approval when Tav/Durge tells Sebastian that their freedom depends on whether or not they know how to control hunger. Adding immediately after that they can succeed. Anyway, at this moment, for the first time, the choice and the responsibility are entirely on Astarion's shoulders—and on his conscience. There are no orders from Cazador to carry out, no Tav/Durge acting on his behalf. The most Tav/Durge can do is help him think clearly in a moment when, between fear, the scent of blood in the air, and power within reach, Astarion might not be the most clear-headed being on the planet. But ultimately, the decision is his to make. The first of many more to come.

However, I believe Astarion truly takes responsibility for his actions when, after freeing the vampire spawn, he becomes the leader of the coven in the Underdark in the ending. In this particular case, the transformation is complete—Astarion is a leader who plans, makes tough decisions every day, manages resources, takes care of his people (his old victims, let's not forget), and continually grows in his independence.

Naturally, returning to the concept of the self, each of the endings—whether he travels across Faerûn with Tav/Durge, becomes a nocturnal vigilante in Baldur’s Gate, or even ascends—offers a perspective on how Astarion has changed and how new experiences have added positive aspects to his self-concept. These enable him to increasingly perceive himself as competent and valuable. At this point, I’m afraid I might have gotten lost in the flood of words, and I’m not sure if I’ve managed to address the proposed topics thoroughly. My apologies—I tend to lose myself in my thoughts and ramble on freely! If needed, feel free to let me know, and I’ll add a follow-up! xD Anyone who made it this far is a true hero, just so you know!

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, suspense ?

Part 1

Novel Attraction - Part 2

The morning sun spills through the slats of your half-closed blinds, painting soft golden stripes across the wooden floors of your new apartment.

The place is small but cozy, tucked into a quiet corner of Santo Padre where the sound of traffic hums faintly in the distance.

The apartment was part of the re-location package that came with your appointment at the library. You stretched at the window, lifting one of the slats with your finger to peer into your small courtyard, already baked in sun.

This apartment was more generously appointed then you'd expected, a dishwasher, full sized fridge, fresh paint, and the blessing of a full tub which was large enough that it submerged both your knees and your breasts simultaneously.

To be fair the tub alone would have sold you on the job had you've known about it.

Your bed is still half-unmade from where you kicked off the covers in the night, a reminder that even in new places, old habits linger.

The scent of fresh coffee drifts through the air, mixing with the warm, sunbaked scent of paint mixing with your second hand furnishings.

You fill your mug with the dark nectar from the coffee machine and stir in a generous teaspoon of sugar as you pad your way to the shower with a yawn, clicking on the radio as you pass it.

You stand in front of the small, foggy mirror in your bathroom, running your fingers through your damp hair. The town is still new, still unfamiliar, but you’re starting to settle in—little by little.

Dressed in a soft blouse and black slacks, simple but both professional and comfortable, you glance at the time before grabbing your bag.

Another day at the library. Another day sorting through the past, bringing lost history back to life.

You lock up and step outside, the heat already heavy against your skin, you shove your keys into the front pocket of your bag before you start at a brisk pace down the street.

The library is silent, save for the occasional click of your keyboard and the soft whir of an old external drive struggling to keep up.

You sit hunched over Santo Padre's excuse for a workstation in the archive room, deep in the process of decrypting and transferring data from outdated storage devices.

Some of these records haven’t been accessed in decades, forgotten by time and technology alike.

The scent of old paper and ink lingers in the air, mixed with the faint scent of dust that clings to the tomes stacked around you.

Fragments of history sit at your fingertips—old financial records, handwritten letters, even grainy black-and-white photographs of a town that barely resembles the Santo Padre your familiarizing yourself with.

You work in silence, completely absorbed.

There’s something soothing about this—the meticulous work of restoring the past, of piecing together fragments of lives once lived. You may not know much about the world outside these walls, but here? Here, you have purpose.

The hours slip by unnoticed.

The library’s archive room is a sanctuary of dust and forgotten time, filled with the quiet hum of old machines and the whisper of delicate, yellowed paper.

The air is thick with the scent of aged ink, and the only sound accompanying you is the rhythmic tap of your fingers on the keyboard.

You sit hunched over your workstation, fully absorbed in your task. The old external drive whirs sluggishly beside you, its faint mechanical clicks struggling to keep up with the process of decrypting and transferring decades-old files.

You bang your fist agasint the hard drive as it weases under the weight of use.

"Don't you dare" you threaten the device, narrowing your eyes in an attempt to be menacing.

Shit, I need to meet more people.

You think to yourself as you realize you were actually waiting for the drive to answer you back.

1936-1966—Property Ownership Records

1937—El Informador, Arizona

1942-1972—Council Financial Ledgers

1958-1988—Missing Persons Reports

1964-1994—Immigration Records

1973—Santo Padre: La Jornada

1987-2007—Import records, Galindo holdings.

1999—El Informador, Sonora and Arizona.

You pause.

The words blink up at you from the screen, innocuous in their placement among the other files, yet something about them prickles at your subconscious.

You hesitate for just a moment before clicking it open, revealing a list of handwritten names, the ink faded and smudged.

Your brows furrow.

As you move to extract the hard copy old paper crinkled and frayed at the edges, your fingernail flicks along the smudged edge of the ink.

Once.

Twice.

A third time a small fragment flicks off the page, curious ... it's not a smudge of ink, but a spill. Pulling the magnifying loupe over you place it in front of you.

You dip a swab into a small bottle of solution, making small circular motions over the spill.

After a few minutes of careful work letters come into view under the spill.

P A R A D A

Parada ? "Welcome back from history, Parada" you mumble to the page as you set it aside to dry.

Resigning yourself to work on it again another day instead of risking tearing the weathered paper.

There is a fleeting unease as the name seems to stare back at you from the page, but you brush it away under the weight of logic.

These are just records, nothing more.

Ghosts of the past with no place in the present.

You return to your work, but can't help the lingering sensation of being watched by the shelves themselves.

After hours buried in history, your stomach finally reminds you that you’re still part of the present.

You push back from the workstation, stretching out stiff muscles, and glance at the old clock mounted on the wall.

1:37 PM.

A little later than you'd planned, but there’s still time for a quick lunch.

Grabbing your bag as you pass your office, you step outside, blinking against the sharp contrast of bright afternoon sunlight after the dim, shadowed interior of the library.

The town of Santo Padre is sluggish in the midday heat, the streets half-empty except for the occasional slow-moving car or the distant, lazy growl of a motorcycle passing by.

You don’t notice the man standing in the alleyway across the street.

Dressed in dark clothing, hood up despite the heat, his face is mostly obscured. He leans against the wall, the angle of his body casual yet deliberate, as if watching something.

His gaze follows as you walk toward the small café down the block, but you remain blissfully unaware.

The café is a quaint, family-owned spot, filled with the comforting scent of fresh bread, pastries and spiced coffee.

You settle into a bright seat by the window, grateful for the momentary reprieve from the weight of records and groaning hard drives.

You don’t realize how much you’ve missed this, the simple pleasure of eating in a quiet, sunlit space, watching the world go by through the wide front window.

Your mind drifts as you stir a spoon absently through your drink, eyes scanning the pedestrians outside.

You see a couple walking hand in hand, an elderly man sitting on a bench feeding the birds, a few kids laughing as they dart across the street.

Your gaze glides over the alleyway across from the library—and for a fraction of a second, your stomach tightens.

There’s someone there.

Still.

Unmoving.

The moment is gone almost immediately, the figure stepping back into the shadows. Maybe you imagined it.

You shake off the feeling, finishing your meal. The savory tang of your sandwich taming the growling beast in your belly.

But when you step back outside, walking back toward the library, you can’t shake the feeling of eyes on your back.

The library feels different when you return after lunch.

Maybe it’s the subtle tension in your shoulders, an echo of the unease that had clung to you outside the café.

Maybe it’s the way the light has shifted, golden afternoon spilling through the high arched windows, painting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves.

Or maybe it’s just the lingering thought of that old record with the odd ink spill?

You shake it off, stepping back into the cool, dim sanctuary of the archive room, where time seems to move differently—slower, heavier, woven through with the weight of forgotten history.

Deep breath.

Focus.

You settle back at the workstation, restarting your work on the old drives. The encryption process is meticulous, time-consuming, requiring delicate hands and patience.

Some files are damaged beyond repair, their data fragmented, lost to time.

Others—old census records, council budgets, police reports—reveal glimpses into the past, into a Santo Padre that existed long before you arrived.

Your fingers hover over a file labeled

1983-2003—Municipal Fund Allocation.

Something about it tugs at your curiosity, but before you can open it, the soft laughter of a child drifts through the room.

You blink, drawn back into the present.

Stepping out from the archive room, you find a woman standing near the children’s section, her back to you as she scans the shelves with practiced ease.

She’s polished, even in the casual setting of the library—her tailored sundress effortlessly elegant, blonde hair styled neatly despite the heat of the day.

She holds a young boy on her hip, no older than one, his tiny hands gripping onto the fabric of her dress as he babbles softly to himself.

You hesitate, unsure whether to interrupt, but she senses your presence before you speak.

“Oh—hello.” She turns, smiling warmly.

There’s something familiar and friendly about her.

She adjusts what you assume is her son on her hip, offering a small, polite smile. “You must be the new archivist,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “I'm glad the library filled the position.”

You nod, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s me. Just finished my first week.”

She looks genuinely pleased. “That’s wonderful. Santo Padre’s lucky to have someone passionate about preserving history.”

She gestures toward the shelves. “Libraries are so important for communities like ours. Access to knowledge, resources for families—it’s something I try to advocate for as much as I can.”

You relax a little, appreciating the sentiment. “It’s why I took the job. There’s so much history here that people don’t even realize exists.”

"Forgive me, I'm Emily" she says as she adjusts her son so she can extend her hand, which you politely shake.

"And this is Cristobal" she chuckles as the boy gurgles with a grin in her arms.

Emily bounces her son slightly as he fidgets. “It’s easy to forget what came before us. But places like this help connect people to their roots—to the past.” She continues.

Her words feel strangely weighted, though you can’t pinpoint why.

You glance at the little boy, who’s now reaching out toward the bookshelf. “What’s he looking for?”

Emily laughs, the sound light but careful, like someone used to weighing every response before speaking.

“He’s obsessed with animals right now,” she explains. “Lions, elephants—anything big and loud.”

You step closer, pulling a colorful children’s book from the shelf. “How about this one?” You hold it out, smiling as the boy eagerly grabs for it, babbling excitedly.

Emily watches the exchange, expression unreadable for a moment before she says, “You had a relocation package with the job didn't you?”

The question is casual, but something about it makes your stomach tighten.

You nod. “Yes, im quite lucky, I moved a week before starting.”

Emily studies you carefully, her gaze sharper than before. “And you like it here?”

You hesitate, then nod again. “So far, yeah. It’s… much quieter than I expected.”

Emily’s smile is polite, but there’s something knowing behind her eyes.

Something unspoken.

“This town has its own rhythm,” she says lightly. “It takes time to understand it.”

She adjusts her hold on her son, casting a quick glance toward the front entrance of the library.

You follow her gaze, noting a sleek black SUV and a man with long braids, but see nothing unusual.

When she looks back at you, her expression is warm, but careful.

“I hope you enjoy it here,” she says finally. “Just… be careful, get a car ... if you can afford too"

Before you can ask what she means, her son tugs at her dress, and she shifts her attention back to him, smoothing his hair affectionately.

“It was lovely meeting you,” she says, her tone returning to its effortless charm. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

And with that, she turns, walking toward the exit, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.

You stand there, watching them climb into the waiting SUVfeeling like you missed something important.

[lovemyromance]

SJM:

Writes "If anyone can sense something amiss, it would be a mate"

*Azriel figures it out*

SJM:

Writes Azriel & Feyre question the Elucien mating bond

Writes the words "Elain had hoped for love that would trump even a mating bonds

Writes the words "What if the cauldron was wrong"

*HOFAS: Proved the Cauldron to be indeed, wrong*

SJM:

Writes "Elain was the only one who guessed." She nodded towards Azriel. "I think she has you beat for secret-keeping"

Writes Nesta wondering if Elain had been "taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or those two shadow-wraiths she calls friends"

Can y'all not see where this is headed orrrrr...?

Foreshadowing for Elriel is clear. Has been done. Repeatedly. No interpretation involved. No "well you seee 🤓 - Elain says she is happy in the NC but actually she is miserable bc she wears a black dress " level twisted analysis involved.

And people are still out here sitting behind their keyboards analyzing pages upon pages of sparks and sunlight? Here's a hint: SJM is very obvious with her foreshadowing. If you do not immediately see it - chances are - your interpretation of "foreshadowing" is not accurate.

We have had 3 books of slow Elriel buildup in the background, SJM barely lets a single scene of Elain or Azriel go without mentioning the other one in some capacity (*cough* potatoes), there has been a romantic coded rescue, a scene where the trusted hero offers his love his most prized weapon/possession, a secret tryst under the moonlight, a clear set up of external obstacles (*cough* thank you Rhys for the forbidden love trope)

AND Y'ALL are still sitting here like HM. 🧐 I wonder🧐 who the next FMC could be 🧐 Who is the next couple 🧐 What could possibly happen next in SJM's overly complex and game of thrones level intricate writing and plotting for Fae Smut? 🧐 mayhaps have we even been introduced to the next FMC?

Please end this clownery 🤡🤡 Or just start practicing your shocked Pikachu faces now, ig.

[delta-orionis]

tell me abt your fucked up laptop

Oh god where do I even begin.

It looks normal at first glance, but this thing has been through hell.

I've easily had this laptop for over a decade at this point. I can't remember when I got it- 2014 or 2015 I think. When I first got it it was pretty beefy for the time but it's definitely showing its age now. It's pretty heavy and sturdy- I've definitely dropped it once or twice.

This thing got me through all of college. It worked well for a while, but in 2018 the hard drive died. To this day I'm convinced that a Windows update is what bricked it. Thankfully I was able to get the hard drive replaced on very short notice because I was literally leaving for an internship the next week. It behaved for the duration of the internship.

At some point the screen started to malfunction- it behaved for the picture I took, but it likes to randomly flicker and even cut out entirely. It eventually got so bad that I stopped taking it places with me, and I just hooked it up to an external monitor and keyboard on my desk.

I eventually had to replace both the power cable and battery because it was neither charging nor holding charge. That worked well for a while, but eventually that battery died as well. It currently has no battery, and is directly hooked up to wall power. If I unplug it, it instantly dies.

At some point during all this, Windows forced an update to Windows 10, which absolutely throttled this poor thing's performance. I think it might have actually shipped with Windows 7 but it's been ten years and I honestly cannot even remember. Either way, it was already chugging on Windows 8, and 10 wasn't much better. I think updating this laptop to Windows 11 will actually kill it.

At this point it permanently lives on my desk as a glorified desktop computer. I don't even keep the lid open anymore. The few times I've tried to lift or move it while it's turned on, it will decide to randomly freeze or shut down, so I try not to touch it.

I'm absolutely terrified that the hard drive will randomly die again, so I also have this laptop permanently hooked up to an external hard drive that backs up the entire computer on a regular basis.

Oh, and among all of these other issues, a few weeks ago it randomly started making some very loud and concerning noises upon startup. They eventually die down though so I'm ignoring it.

TL;DR, my laptop is actively dying and is basically hooked up to permanent life support. I refuse to let it die, at least until I can afford a new computer.

I have a second low-spec laptop that was given to me a while ago for free because it basically didn't work- it was trying to run Windows 10 and literally took more than 45 minutes to boot up. That's not an exaggeration. When it did boot up, it ran so slowly that it was basically unusable. I couldn't even use it to check my email. So basically I was allowed to keep it if I could even get it to work in the first place, it was going to be thrown out otherwise.

I was able to revive it by wiping it and installing Linux (Lubuntu, a lightweight version of Ubuntu, to be specific) on it, and now it works perfectly fine. When I actually need a portable laptop for something I just use my Linux laptop instead.

When I finally get a proper PC I fully intend to wipe my Windows laptop and install Linux on it the exact same way, just to squeeze a few more years out of it if possible. I will not allow this thing to die on my watch.

(P.S. Before anyone asks, I use Stylus for my custom tumblr dashboard theme. I use the Old Tumblr Dashboard and Custom Background themes.)

[weirdmageddon]

with the help of a friend i successfully transfered everything from my PREGNANT surface 3 tablet from 2016 high school with swollen batteries after some frustrations and scares.

the battery swelling and screen warping had happened over a month ago and i hadn’t had plugged my tablet in since then. but today i wanted to get my paint tool sai brushes and textures off of it, only to be reminded of this. so i talked to one of my newer friends who happens to work at a computer repair shop and he swung by my place since he does home visits anyway.

i didn’t actually know how volatile bloated batteries truly are in reality. especially if they’ve been discharged for over a month. people online say theyre dangerous and you shouldnt even turn your device on, but i have a feeling they’re saying that so people don’t get carried away continuing to use them. but i’m smart and know this thing is finished, but i need data that is on here.

my friend says that he’s had customers use laptops with swollen batteries exclusively on the charger for over 6 months after he told them to get it replaced.

when he comes over we plug it in. the fearmongering internet says you should NEVER EVER plug in a device with swollen lithium ion batteries, so i was scared something was gonna happen or the batteries were going to get hot and swell as chemical reactions happen in them. but nothing happened. the internet lied to me. nothing happened. plugging it in was actually necessary to get past the 0xc0000225 blue screen error which i had been receiving even before the batteries swelled so much they opened the screen. it was unpredictable if it would boot up with that or not, sometimes it did sometimes it didn’t. my tablet would also sometimes shut down at random with no warning in the middle of drawing and that’s when i knew i needed to start looking for something else. but yeah so nothing happened and having it plugged in was essential in order for my tablet to not shut off in the 3 hours it took to transfer data to a USB stick.

and my tablet didn’t even get hot the entire time. (though i turned the screen brightness down to 0 in order to protect against any potential source of excessive heat during the process.)

over a decade’s years worth of paint tool sai brush settings …. welcome back on my main laptop where i use my intuos pro to draw now. i will probably be more inclined to make more art now :D

this post was originally a lot longer and more detailed about the technical scares if something were to have gone wrong but tumblr eated it with a background refresh :\ e.g., the memory chip in this device is soldered on, not removable like a m.2 SSD, so if something happened to the hardware, then my data would be unrecoverable.

my friend even bought a portable windows drive to boot into WinPE but thankfully it wasn’t necessary. he brought the USB keyboard since my surface 3 doesn’t recognize the finicky external keyboard attached by magnetic pins until the boot-up process is over and you’re at the lock screen, so it wouldn’t have been possible to do advanced boot during startup with the F8 key (which we also didn’t actually need anyway, since plugging it in got rid of the blue screen booting error).

[catenary-chad]

thoughts on cyborg Electra

(quite a few dark themes discussed non-graphically. Not a dark AU, there’s just a lot of health practicalities that can’t be ignored.)

-child star origins ala MJ, notoriously cute kid in a… very publicized and dramatic car crash where they resorted to some rather experimental means to recover. In the decades that follow they have various related health issues that lead to further mechanical enhancement and conflict between “all press is good press” and encouraging weird gossip vs “I have HAD IT with you demonizing me based on sci fi cliches”

-has zero qualms on the whole human vs machine identity thing. They’ve been a little freak their whole life and outright embrace being even more uncanny. Their metal parts are just accesibility things or tools to them and decisions to replace flesh with the artificial are purely practical. It’s no different from wearing skates, it has its advantages and disadvantages and is just an extension.

-unusually good at physically adapting to the clunkiness and limits of it. They’re just good at getting used to the “feel” of things compared to most and will openly admit this when asked. Very open and blunt about both the positives and negatives of it all because they have nothing to gain or lose. It was just something that worked for them.

-tentative setup: legs are artificial from the knees-down, possibly hip-down later in life. Most other things are internal and not very noticeable unless you put your head on their chest and hear them. The chest monitor is removable and externally mounted and mostly an aesthetic choice/make things easier to monitor for caregivers. Backpack and thigh-mounted bags carry additional batteries and supplies.

-Yeah I have to give in and make them battery-powered for this case. I just hate doing it with trains because they’re uniquely suited to NOT needing those vs a direct supply. I think Electra prefers to be directly corded (like a vacuum cleaner lol) at home or onstage where they want more power.

-Actually has above-average medical and mechanical knowledge because there is so much potential for medical abuse/neglect. They have a dedicated nurse because yeah you can’t just roll into an emergency room or mechanic shop as a cyborg. It just makes sense to have a loyal long-term medic due to the specialized knowledge, cyborgs are not common in this world (less than 1%)

-Also has just typical age-related/typical rockstar health issues like hearing loss and multiple joint replacements. Blows out their voice eventually and permanently sounds like a vocoder with an electrolarynx. Genuinely loves that vs the raspy whisper alternative, has some kind of Vocaloid setup based on old samples if they really want to use their old natural voice somewhere.

-Perpetually on tour, they get really depressed when not performing because it’s been such a lifelong thing. Despite the kind of dark backstory, cyborg Electra mostly just deals with Spinal Tap-esque rockstar antics. Questionable concept albums, narrow escapes from stage accidents, being asked the same questions in interviews time and time again, falling in and out of love with being known for being Makeup Guy with 50 Pounds of Gear, cranking out extended lore for all their albums, etc. Surprisingly worldwide popularity but not big in the US. DEFINITELY Big in Japan

-Keyboard warrior because it’s the one place where they’re semi-anonymous. Defends their own wigs under a pseudonym on forums/comments. Electra is open and honest about being bald and wearing wigs, they just have questionable taste in them that they will militantly defend.

[tanadrin]

all of my complaints about dwarf fortress's interface now are of the "this is actually a problem interesting enough to be worth engaging with" variety rather than the "this is too terrible to even think about where to begin" kind. like i cannot stress enough how much new DF's interface is a 10,000% improvement over the old DF interface. in every conceivable way. just not having to run an external program just to manage your dwarfs' labors is huge.

but there are ways it could be better. clicking on a dwarf in one menu should be able to take you to that dwarf in-game. clicking on food categories at the top of the screen should take you to stocks. i hsould be able to see at a glance, like, how many empty bags there are in my stockpiles, without having to tally up each bag of every type. i don't need to have dingo leather and capybara leather and llama wool and rope reed bags sorted differently. every button in every screen should have a keyboard hotkey. stocks and trading menus and other screens should allow you to select all items by quality/material/type/etc., and make specific assignments like melt/trash/forbid/etc from there. if my planters stopped planting cave wheat because they ran out of seeds, i probably don't need a cancellation notice for that *every time*, and it doesn't need to hang around in the notification list for a year, and be shown to me every time i mouse over the little cancellation icon to see what *new* jobs have been cancelled. can make it hard to tell what's actually a new notification and what isn't at a glance.

there are inconsistencies too--"make iron bookcase" and "make zinc bookcase" are two different jobs so when making work orders i can just search for "make zinc bookcase" directly. but i can only search for "make rock bookcase," and then i have to manually specify the stone (i don't know why you can't make a stone object out of stone, the fact it uses "rock" only in the names of jobs is v silly). it's not a huge pain in the ass, but it doesn't make sense that you specify the material for some jobs in different ways. also you can make too many things out of rock. i'm sorry but you just cannot make a rock book binding! it would be too heavy, and it would break the instant you dropped it. books were usually historically bound in wood or metal or leather. you cannot bind a book in granite or glass.