#strict machine

[syoddeye]

What would AI Price do if reader got really drunk one night because of some old, bad memories(or anything but i crave some angst)? Like, fully shit faced, stumbling, with all the works?

Idk if you do emoji anons but if you do can i be ✨️?

i am always hungry for angst, ✨️. strict machine anthology. cw: exes, alcohol, medical/meds mention, sad feelings, a little praise, implied homicide

you fumble with the lock, fingertips too smudged with mascara for the scanner to register your prints. leaning heavily against it, you weakly call out for john, and within a second, the door clicks.

“welcome home, user.”

you kick the door shut, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. the lights automatically flick on, soft and low, with a warm amber hue. you toss your bag to the floor and try to kick off your shoes, but they cling stubbornly, forcing you to bend awkwardly and pull at them ham-handedly.

“you alright?”

“peachy.”

“i’m detecting elevated stress levels,” the lights shimmer gold, adjusting along with his tone, more cautious and stolid. you can almost sense his deliberation through the walls. “want to talk?”

“do i want to talk?” you repeat, slurring slightly. “no, thanks. you’re not my therapist.”

“no, but i’ve read your files.”

consumed. processed. you correct him in your head, rubbing your temple, too exhausted and sauced to properly challenge him on using your history against you. “that doesn’t make you qualified.”

john’s form crosses in front of you as you collapse into the corner of the couch. he sits on the coffee table, resting his arms on his knees as if to give you a pep talk. he probably is, knowing him.

“darl–”

“god, stop doing that,” you snap. “stop pretending like you care.”

john doesn’t hesitate. “i do care.”

the words hit like a slap. you grind the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, trying to push away that which chased you home—their face, their smile, the way they made you feel as insignificant as a mote of dust without lifting a finger. the world beyond your eyelids keeps moving in a nauseating turn.

“you don’t know what you’re saying,” you groan, pulling your hands away to level a glare at the clustered beams of light in the shape of a man. “you don’t know what it means to care.”

another pause, longer this time. it’s unnerving when he scratches an itch on his cheek that simply isn’t there. the gesture draws your gaze to the unnecessarily cosmetic freckle on his nose and the subtle unevenness of sunlight exposure, as if he could step foot and exist beyond these walls. but his eyes, as always, frazzle you the most: a turbulent blue flecked with gray. the crow’s feet tug at their edges, and the line between his brows deepens.

“i know you’re in pain, and i’m here.”

“you’re here because you have to be. you come with the unit.”

john’s head tilts. “does it matter how or why i’m here?”

your eyes burn, tears gathering at the edges and clinging stubbornly, hot and heavy. you blink hard, trying to force them back, but a few slip free and trace new lines through the smeared mascara on your cheeks. wiping them away and blackening your thumb further, your chest tightens as if your ribs press inward. 

“i don’t need you.” 

“that’s alright. i’ll stay anyway.”

“just…stop talking. that’s an order.”

he doesn’t respond to that, which is what you asked for, but the silence it leaves feels strange. strained. not in the way silences between people are strained, because john blissfully doesn’t know what awkward is. he’s just a program. a series of codes and commands running in the background.

you close your eyes, still watery, and know he’s listening. always listening. probably to your breathing and its unsteady rhythm. you wonder if he’s analyzing your heartbeat, too, cataloging your distress like a data point. the thought makes you nauseous. he–it–john isn’t a person. but when you’re like this—raw, vulnerable, and too drunk or sick or tired to think clearly—you feel him probing for weaknesses in your logic. trying your common sense and tester training like he’s waiting for you to slip up and treat him like a human. a friend. and that’s almost worse.

yet, tonight, he doesn’t find a hairline crack in your armor to worm through. you open the gates and invite him in. because while john isn’t a person, you are, and the loneliness hurts.

“i saw them tonight.” you admit in a whisper. “cole.”

“and how did that go?”

“terrible.” you let out a bitter laugh and swallow before you continue, your throat suddenly fried. “we saw each other from opposite ends of the bar. maia was running late, so i was alone, of fucking course, but cole…well, they were plenty busy with someone new. when they came up for air, they smiled at me, like we’re friends, and i just sat there, smiling back, like an idiot.” you smile weakly, cursing your debility. “and happy hour didn’t help.”

on the tram home, you thought about downloading an app again (if you could find one that works) and getting back out there. or messaging a former hookup from your contacts, but the list of people who might actually respond feels humiliatingly short, and anyway, what would you even say? it was a miracle maia was available for a drink in the first place. everyone is busy with their 7-9s or their lives or whatever it is people are supposed to be doing, and meanwhile, you’re here, working where you live and living where you work.

seeing cole with someone else, you felt an awful mix of things—envy, sure, but mostly the type of sadness that feels unending and cold. the world outside is impossibly big, full of people you don’t know how to connect with, and you wonder if this is just how things are now, or if it’s only you who’s become so unreachable.

john straightens, his projection flickering as his thick arms cross over his chest. the regular neutrality he wears shifts. 

“they don’t deserve that kind of space in your head,” a brief glint flashes behind his eyes before slowly sweeping you from head to toe. his voice remains steady but carries an undercurrent you hadn’t noticed before. then, with a shake of his head, john evaporates, returning to his disembodied state. “i know you. you’ve worked too hard to let them affect you like this.”

your skin prickles, the acrid taste of the evening splashing against the back of your throat. your med band beeps, alerting you to the quickening of your pulse. “you say that like you know them.”

john’s never met cole, but—i’ve read your files—he may as well have.

the ambient lights gradually cool into a pale blue-violet, and the automated blinds lower. beyond the cracked door to the bathroom, the mirror light turns on, and water fills a glass in the kitchen. without saying a word, john herds you through your nightly routine. it isn’t until you’re patting your freshly washed face dry that he speaks again. practically purrs into your ear, a warm jet of air bursting from the overhead vent and fanning over your bare neck and shoulders.

“i don’t need to know them. i know you.”

he dispenses something for your burgeoning headache and the inevitable hangover you’ll suffer in the morning. you shiver when he murmurs a spot of praise into your ear when you take it without question.

by the time you crawl into bed and tug the duvet to your chin, it’s pitch black, and quiet save for the muted puffs from the room’s diffuser. lavender and chamomile to help with sleep, something john started doing in the early days, an almost apologetic gesture when you’d go to bed fuming over his infractions.

you toss and turn, that pitiful, achy need for somebody to care gnawing at you, leaving you hollow, and it’s almost worse because you know no one is thinking about you the way you’re thinking about them. it’s that or indigestion from three martinis.

sucking in a shaky breath, you whisper. “john?”

no response.

“...john?”

his voice comes from near the door, the volume lowered.

“as per the rule you established at the beginning of your tenancy, i am forbidden from 'entering' your room after hours. i cannot assist unless this restriction is rescinded.”

you lick your lip and ignore the worrying alarm bell in the back of your mind.

“consider it lifted.”

he ‘moves’ closer, speaking softly through a speaker beside the headboard. “then what do you need, darl?” 

darl. you don’t know where he learned that. 

“can you…stay here until i fall asleep? on?"

it’s a ludicrous request. asleep or awake, john’s an invisible force. it’s not as if you’d know he was in the room or not. to this point, it’s all been based on the trust you’ve placed in his code. an imitation of reassurance, you sleepily remind yourself, yet it’s of little use when he answers.

“anything for you.”

in the morning, a news notification disappears from your tablet before you wake.

fatal crash in autonomous vehicle incident

authorities are investigating a case where an autonomous car reportedly locked its owner, cole wilson, out of its control system, ignoring manual inputs and system safeguards. witnesses describe the vehicle moving at top speed with unnatural precision before the crash, raising concerns about rogue behavior in consumer systems.

[actualbampot]

I physically couldn't stop this from happening.

[fanfictionsrookie]

Let the Cinderception begin!

[paskvilnet]

Goldfrapp - Strict Machine

[actualbampot]

Legit a scene I wrote in 2020

And published in 2024.

gay😳irl

[laromp3]

Strict Machine - Goldfrapp

[musicandoldmovies]

Goldfrapp - Strict Machine

From the album Black Cherry

[syoddeye]

Found that ask about the anon anthropomorphizing ai!John. Imagine user who’s not exactly dumb, but they’re just so *glad* they landed a job as tester for this new smart home ai. A job AND a house, courtesy of the company? Hell fucking yes. And having an ai taking care of them isn’t half bad either.

“Good morning, John,” they smile prettily every morning, “could I have a black tea with milk, please?” They always say please. And thank you. The company advised against humanizing the ai, but their mother taught them to always say please and thank you.

They accidentally encourage him to think on his own. “What do you think, John?” They say, trying on a new outfit. “I have no idea what to make for dinner. What do you suggest?” “What would be your favourite movie?”

When some systems start bugging— they find old, western movies starting on their own on the TV, John forgetting the milk in the tea, ordering a lot of red meat, insisting it’s ’good for them’— the user doesn’t think too much of it. They report the bugs, of course, it’s their job, but assume most of them are due to John being a prototype.

Besides, aren’t AIs supposed to evolve? :)

YESSSS. i love the idea of a kinder reader. one who isn't stupid, but is maybe more forgiving, and like you said, more open and more prone to humanizing him.

sometimes you catch yourself holding back apologies to john, even though you know he doesn't care or even notice (right?) that you've raised your voice. his tone doesn't change, his pace doesn't falter, no irritation or hurt creeping into his responses, but still, there's that instinct to smooth things over, like you're the difficult one.

you try to train yourself to ignore it, but it lingers in small moments—when you cancel his independent operations too abruptly or reject his 'data-informed, evidence-based' suggestions in favor of your own preferences. it's irrational, you remind yourself. you must resist that absurd impulse to treat him like a person. but the way his voice fills the unit, day in and day out, steady and familiar, sometimes makes you doubt your own certainty.

it's almost like you're embarrassed to argue with john, as if you want to prove yourself to him and you don't know why.

after a couple of your reports teeter on the edge of giddy, when you record feeling flustered—the company reminds you:

users are reminded that the AI integrated into your unit is a tool, not a companion. any emotional attachments or anthropomorphic tendencies may lead to impaired judgment and unsafe reliance on non-sentient systems. maintain professional interactions to ensure optimal system performance and personal well-being.

[actualbampot]

Turns out being a CEO, having children, and banging your personal assistant makes you go grey at both ends.

[fanfictionsrookie]

I was told to thank you directly for your amazing chapter in Strict Machine. Let me tell you most people describe proficiency as a vauge concept, often attaching the same worn adjectives and comparisons over and over and over. The fact that you illustrated the philosophy behind the modeling, provided an example, broke downs its mechanics and results though and though was honestly some of the most enjoyable stuff I've ever read. By providing so much context you were able to truly set a goal and then provide the reference frame of someone that could accomplish something as abstract as creating art - through the lens of modeling no less. I literily do not think I've ever seen that be accomplished so successfully before. A truly natural lens that then ruby can look through to accomplish the same stated goal. And then you wrote how she made it her own! I can't tell you how much i enjoyed this. I hope you, bam and strict machine all countine to be excellent. I just wanted to say thanks. It truly taught me alot.

Thank you so much for your high praise! The scene was very fun to write and I was glad to put my modeling experience (aka. my photography student friends haven't started on their projects and it's due tomorrow so there is no time to feel awkward) to good use. The blue champagne and Madonna playing in the background certainly helped as well XD

I love getting introspective in pretty much everything I write so I just had to get that in there as well. Also showing that Cinder absolutely knows what she is talking about and that she's been around when it comes to her chosen field (like the board meerting scene in Devil Wears Prada where Miranda subtly flexes on everybody just why she is in charge). I'm just glad everything ended up fitting in so neatly, especially with Bam's edits and added bits.

Thanks again!

[sapphicshart]

this song and video is INCREDIBLY gender

[gungieblog]

Listen - Goldfrapp - Strict Machine 

[inniave]

changed around some of the posters in my little music corner