#surface finishing software

[proplatepro]

Choosing the Right Plating Process: Factors to Consider

When choosing the right plating process for a project, several factors should be considered to ensure the best result in terms of durability, functionality, and appearance. The plating process involves depositing a metal coating on the surface of a substrate, providing benefits like corrosion resistance, wear resistance, and enhanced aesthetics. Here are key factors to consider when selecting the appropriate plating process:

1. Material Compatibility

Substrate Material: The type of material being plated (e.g., steel, aluminum, plastic) plays a significant role in determining the appropriate plating process. Some plating methods are better suited for certain substrates.

Common Plating Materials: Copper, nickel, gold, silver, chromium, zinc.

Compatibility Concerns: For example, aluminum often requires an undercoat before certain metals can be plated on it.

Adhesion: Ensure the plating process provides good adhesion to the substrate without peeling or flaking.

2. Corrosion Resistance

Environmental Conditions: Consider the environmental exposure of the plated part. Will it be subjected to moisture, chemicals, or extreme temperatures?

Coatings for Corrosion Protection: Zinc, nickel, and chromium are often chosen for their superior corrosion resistance.

Thickness of Coating: The thickness of the plated layer can also influence corrosion protection. A thicker layer may provide better protection but at the expense of cost and processing time.

3. Wear Resistance

Friction and Contact: If the part will experience significant wear or friction, choose a plating process that offers strong wear resistance.

Hard Plating Options: Hard chrome, nickel, or cobalt coatings are commonly used for improving the wear life of components like gears and bearings.

Surface Hardness: Evaluate how much the plating process increases the hardness of the surface to resist mechanical wear.

4. Aesthetic Appearance

Finish and Color: The desired finish (e.g., bright, matte, satin) and color are important in industries where aesthetics matter, such as jewelry or consumer electronics.

Decorative Plating: Gold, silver, or chrome plating may be used primarily for their visual appeal.

Uniformity of Finish: Some plating processes yield smoother and more uniform finishes than others.

5. Electrical Conductivity

Electrical Requirements: For components that require electrical conductivity, such as circuit boards or connectors, the plating material should offer low electrical resistance.

Conductive Plating Materials: Gold, silver, copper are often chosen for their excellent conductivity.

Oxidation Resistance: Consider materials like gold that resist oxidation, which can degrade electrical performance over time.

6. Cost Considerations

Material Costs: Precious metals like gold or platinum are more expensive than other plating materials like nickel or zinc.

Process Costs: Certain plating methods, such as electroplating, may involve more complex equipment and higher operating costs compared to simpler processes like electroless plating.

Balancing Performance with Budget: Weigh the trade-offs between cost and performance to meet the budget while achieving the desired durability and appearance.

7. Plating Process Type

Electroplating: Uses an electrical current to deposit metal onto a substrate. Suitable for producing even coatings, but may require careful control of conditions.

Examples: Nickel electroplating for corrosion resistance, gold electroplating for conductivity and aesthetics.

Electroless Plating: Does not require an electrical current and relies on chemical reactions. Useful for plating non-conductive materials and achieving uniform coatings in complex shapes.

Example: Electroless nickel plating for even, hard coatings.

Hot-Dip Plating: Involves immersing a part in molten metal (e.g., zinc) to form a thick coating. Often used for large parts needing heavy corrosion protection.

Physical Vapor Deposition (PVD): A vacuum-based process used for decorative and functional coatings, offering thin, durable layers.

Applications: Frequently used in tool coatings and luxury goods.

8. Environmental and Regulatory Compliance

Toxicity of Materials: Some plating materials, like hexavalent chromium, are toxic and regulated. Make sure the plating process complies with environmental and safety standards.

Alternatives: Trivalent chromium is a less toxic alternative to traditional chrome plating.

Waste Disposal and Recycling: Consider the environmental impact of waste generated by the plating process and whether the materials used can be recycled.

9. Thickness and Precision Requirements

Precision Parts: If the part requires precise dimensions or tolerances, the plating process should be able to control the thickness of the coating accurately.

Electroplating: Can provide very fine control over thickness.

Hot-Dip Galvanizing: May result in thicker coatings with less precision.

Post-Plating Processing: Some processes may require additional steps like polishing or machining to achieve the desired thickness or finish.

10. Chemical Resistance

Exposure to Chemicals: If the part will be exposed to harsh chemicals or solvents, choose a plating process that enhances chemical resistance.

Nickel or Teflon Plating: Often used for parts in chemical processing industries due to their resistance to corrosion from acids or solvents.

Conclusion

Choosing the right plating process involves balancing several factors, including the substrate material, environmental conditions, desired appearance, and budget constraints. By carefully considering these factors, you can select a plating process that enhances the durability, functionality, and aesthetics of your product.

[slavetomyheadcanon]

Sometimes the best way to learn a raid is to clown around repeatedly

[dendrobium-writes]

"It does not snow anymore."

Executor 1 shifted to face the other occupant of the room, filling the air with a strained creak from her chair. The previous fifteen minutes of silence left her unprepared for the sudden vocalization.

"What?" She asked. This was... Different. One's never spoken to her before.

"It is nearly the end of winter." The doll answered. "There has not been any snow." It clarified.

Executor 1 pondered this for a moment. Practically, she understood why that was the case. With the growing intensity of fighting on the surface, orbital weapons platforms saw more and more use.

As a result, the planet was getting hotter.

But before she could form a reply, the soft voice hit her aural implants again.

"This one likes the snow." It spoke, turning to face her. Its orange eyes fixed themselves on hers. "Do you?"

She stared back into the doll's eyes. Her facial analysis software couldn't make heads or tails of what might have been written on its face.

"I think so." Executor 1 hedged. She tried to recall the last time she had seen snow. Vague visions of white flecks in the sky, a girl smiling beside her. The warm clutch of another's hand in hers.

The feeling of lips pressed together.

"Do you? Or do you not?" It reasserted its question, snapping her back to the present.

"I d--" she began, before being cut off by a third voice. Another figure had snuck into the room. It was impossible to conceive how they could have snuck in, wearing such a gaudy uniform and large hat.

"Citrus, leave the woman alone. I'm sure she's tired."

The doll snapped to attention, seemingly losing all interest in Executor 1. "At once, my lady." It said, standing and moving to join its witch's side.

"Oh, it wasn't a bother at all, lady..." Executor 1 trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the witch.

"Juliana." She finished. "But you are to address me by my rank, pilot." She nearly spat out the word.

"My sincerest apologies, Major." The pilot drawled after peeking at her insignia.

The Major sneered and turned to leave, seemingly only here to retrieve her doll.

"Citrus?" Executor 1 called.

The doll turned to face her as the witch strode on.

"I enjoyed our little talk. Maybe we'll have longer next time." She said with an earnest smile.

The doll's face lit up. "Yes! I hope so!" It beamed.

"Citrus, now!" Juliana called, annoyance echoing down the corridor.

Executor 1 waved goodbye.

Citrus waved back, turning to catch up with its witch.

[fairyofshampgyu]

Now Live ! Stream: 3

Genre: smut, camboy au, college au, crack

Pairing: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: camboy, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, solo beomgyu, jerking off, humping

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he even goes to the same uni as you, is in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 2.2k

You’d been meeting up with beomgyu a fair amount now, going to each other’s dorms or library to sort out the christmas performance. You’d finally chosen 5 songs to arrange and had already finished arranging 3 of them. You both would arrange a song each and then show it to the other for feedback and then work on it together.

It’s not that horrendous working with him surprisingly. And you’d thought he’d be an actual ass but he hasn’t. He was actually pretty quiet and not that talkative most of the time. It seems that even Beomgyu realises the opportunity to be the only two picked in the music department isn’t something to be taken lightly and you guys really had to live to expectations or raise the bar higher this christmas concert because you remember all the previous years before and they were always so amazing.

Beomgyu’s not bad at all at music like how you thought he was. You’re beginning to understand why your professor chose him as well. Honestly, you’re impressed. You almost feel bad for making assumptions about him. He still is definitely the campus playboy though, flirting incessantly with people and even jokingly to you at times to which you completely dismiss, having people gushing and whispering and giggling about him whenever you guys are at the library and sometimes he can’t meet up with you because he has numerous parties to attend and get drunk and fuck people at.

He can be a bit dense at times but he isn’t all that bad. He’s tolerable. It’s clear one thing he’s good at and passionate about is music. And so are you. And so with that, you can get along with him on a surface level in the small time you’ll be working together. After that, you won’t need to talk to him again.

You’re currently on the way to beomgyu’s dorm, needing to know his opinion on the brass section of a part of one of the Christmas songs you’ve arranged. Arranging isn’t too hard and doesn’t take that long since you’re not necessarily composing a whole new song but you want even the most famous and basic Christmas songs to have a really unique style and so you’ve been changing up lots of parts and adding more instruments, changing chords and keys, reharmonising and adding virtuosic solos that didn’t already exist or extending and cutting short on them.

And right now, you weren’t quite sure if the brass section worked, needing the critique of your partner. Laptop in hand with your music software that’s saved your life countless of times since first year for your compositions and made you want to smash your whole laptop and rip out your hair, ready and open.

Just at that moment, you get a notification that Angel313 was going live. It wasn’t his usual time but you’re guessing he decided to do a surprise/bonus one this week. No one was around whilst you walked and if you put your headphones in? You’ll just watch the very first few minutes whilst you make your way to Beomgyu’s dorm. No harm. Then you’ll stop.

Today, he’s humping his bed, brutally and un-rhythmically. Rutting against the sheets like a desperate puppy in heat, one hand tightly gripping and fisting at his sheets, and the other on his mouth, trying to conceal the noises he’s making, whimpering adorably, prettiest moans coming out of him. The sight making you want to run back home so you could enjoy it properly. You loved the sounds he makes. You could probably get off to just that. His bed seems a little familiar though but you can’t put your finger on it. It looks like just another university dorm or something to be honest.

You’ve made your way to Beomgyu’s dorm, knocking on his door, still watching the live from your phone. You hear a knock on the live too. That’s funny. You knock again since you don’t think he heard you the first time and you hear the exact same sound of a knock from the live again. That’s quite strange. You press your ears to the door trying to make out any sound and that’s when you hear it, moaning. The same ones coming from your headphones from Angel’s live. Your eyes go wide in shock. From the second knock on Angel’s live, their own eyes widen and they hurriedly switch the live off. You can hear beomgyu shout from the door “in a minute!” immediately after Angel stopped. He sounds distressed. He also sounds exactly like Angel’s voice.

But this is all just a really funny coincidence right now. You’re not even sure what Beomgyu’s actually doing behind the door. He could be doing anything. It’s just a weird coincidence. How could Beomgyu and Angel be the same? That’s not possible at all and makes absolutely no sense. They’re both completely opposite people. Out of everyone in the whole world, both of them would be the least you’d expect. It makes you laugh because of how outrageous it is. Why would you ever think that? It’s a coincidence. Yeah, yeah.

Beomgyu finally opens his door for you, looking like he ran a marathon.

“Y/n?”

“Hey-” That’s when you see it at the back in a corner stuffed with other piles of clothes, pink and white thigh highs. Identical to the ones Angel wears. But maybe that’s just someone’s he’d fucked recently and they accidentally left it there. Then beomgyu reaches his hand up to lean higher on his door frame, attempting to be nonchalant but in doing so, and from the already quite short shirt he was wearing, you have a clear view of beomgyu’s stomach. It had a pink piercing. Identical to the one Angel has.

You don’t have anymore excuses. It’s beginning to make sense yet absolutely no sense in your brain, gears turning in your head, about to drop your laptop in shock on the floor but you regain some sort of conscience. The hair, saying he’s not free Thursday nights, the piercing, the thigh highs, his voice, even his physique you realised, were the same.

“Y-you’re-you’re…Angel???!!!”

And then you zoom out and make a quick exit with a horrified expression. Beomgyu equally as horrified.

Fuck.

Beomgyu is absolutely fucked. He’s done for. You saw. You fucking saw. You know. You know he’s a camboy now. And you’ll tell everyone and everyone in the whole universe will know about it. What will happen to him?! Everyone on campus will ridicule him, especially with his ‘reputation’ to ‘uphold.’ He may as well start digging his grave now whilst he still has the chance.

But how did you even know? Sure, he didn’t hide his thigh highs that well he figures, just trying to stuff them anywhere and also the nearest shirt to put fast just so happened to be quite cropped so you could see his piercing. He curses that shirt. He doesn’t even know why he still has it. It’s ugly. But even then, that didn’t give away he was a camboy! The only way you could figure it out is if you watched him and he highly doubted that. So how did you figure it out? He’s been constantly freaking out about it, the essay he hasn’t done due in a few hours not even crossing his mind once.

He’d tried looking all over the place for you but you’ve been avoiding him like the plague, only increasing and adding on to his fear day by day. Did you think he was a freak now? It kind of hurt. How many people had you already told? You’d think it’d be easy to get to you if you’re both in the same class but apparently not. Beomgyu is so stressed. By now you could have told your whole music class.

You sigh as you applied to yet another job this week. Why was finding a job so hard? You didn’t even care at all what it’d be, you just need some money. You are broke. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent most of your student loan on eating out pretty much every day at overly priced restaurants with your friends. But you’re a foodie.

You think back on a few days ago when you found out Beomgyu was actually Angel313, you can’t get it out of your mind. It just feels so wrong. For the longest time, you watched every one of his streams, completely infatuated. You always wondered who he actually was and what he looked like. Now that you know, you wish you didn’t. To think that he actually was in the same city, in the same university as you, taking the same major and someone you talked to just seems so impossible. Really, what a small world. And for them to be the choi beomgyu?! Goes to show really just how little you know of people on screens.

You still get notifications of whenever he’s live but it feels so incredibly wrong to watch them. You could never watch them again. You feel kinda disgusting, knowing you’ve watched beomgyu jerk off and jerked off to it as well multiple times. You can’t look him in the eyes knowing you did that. You haven’t talked to him since, avoiding him at all costs, sitting far, far away in the lecture room and then making a speedy beeline to the exit before he even has the chance, avoiding him around campus as well and ignoring the texts he sent you. He must think you’re an actual pervert or something. You don’t know how on earth you’re supposed to arrange and direct this whole Christmas performance yourself but you’ll try.

It seems the universe is not in your favour however because whilst you were in the library, searching for a book your professor recommended, the place where you least expected beomgyu to step foot in and so felt less of the need to be wary, he happened to be there. You were just about to pick up the book off the shelf since you finally found it, but someone else swipes the book off you before you can. Beomgyu. And then he’s blocking your way of escaping, forcing you into a corner.

“Y/n! Please! Just listen to me! We need to talk!” He pleads.

It’s not like you can really run away now, pent up thoughts bursting out. “I just-HOW are you Angel313?! I don’t get it at all! You’re completely different. You once knocked someone up and forced them to get an abortion! You’re literally a-a….manwhore!”

“Excuse me…?”

“Yeah! You’re literally just another dumb fuckboy who drops people as soon as you’re done with them! You’ve probably knocked so many people up! You probably have so many like….like STDs!”

“That’s not even possible!”

“Yeah? Why isn’t it?!” You cross your arms.

“Because! B-because…-I AM A VIRGIN!!” Beomgyu’s eyes go wide and his hands smack his mouth. He cannot believe he actually just admitted that.

“WHAT?”

The librarian restocking books gives you both an appalled and scarred look, not even bothering to tell you to be quiet, scurrying away. Beomgyu puts his head in his hands in humiliation, ears turning red at that.

“What?!” You whisper shout. “That’s probably the biggest lie of the century.”

“I’m being serious…I’ve never had sex…” He winces, embarrassed at his own words.

“But—but you’re literally known just for that. Even I have seen you with multiple people at parties!”

“Making out and flirting with people are different things! I’ve done some stuff! But I’ve never…fucked anyone…”

He’s supposed to be the notorious player on your campus and an absolute douchebag to everyone he came in contact with, hated by many but also wanted and wanted to be fucked by many. But the boy who was shying under your gaze right now did not fit that description at all.

“I genuinely cannot believe this…”

“Look, you can’t-you really, really can’t tell anyone that I’m,” His voice lowers, “a camboy! No one else can know. I’ll do anything, anything you ask just please don’t tell anyone! My life would be ruined!”

Now, you’re not an asshole. You weren’t planning on telling anyone he was a camboy at all. You know people aren’t that accepting of anything to do with sex work. He’d most likely get humiliated. He might not even be able to get a job since people care so much for stuff like that for some reason. You’re sure everyone would go mad especially if they found out Choi Beomgyu was a camboy. But him saying he’d do anything if you didn’t reveal his little secret intrigued you so much so, that he didn’t need to know you were never going to tell anyone in the first place.

“I want in.”

“Huh?”

“Your camboy business. I want to be a partner. I’ll be your manager, I’ll help you film stuff and get more money. As long as I’m getting some too.”

Please actually reblog and comment if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated tysm !<3🙏💕😊 It’s discouraging when fics have such little reblogs 🤨👎Feedback is always appreciated it makes me happy :)

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[eoieopda]

blindsided (myg)

After years of dating, you thought you had Min Yoongi all figured out - you didn't. And when he flipped the script on you, you never saw it coming.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: Sequel to darksided. Word Count: 6K Content: SMUT (18+ - Minors DNI,) established relationship au, POV switch, softbf!yoongi turned dom!yoongi, sub!reader, sex tape, oral sex (f receiving,) v fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple orgams, over-stimulation, spanking, biting, blindfold, praise kink, pussy slapping, general depravity, aftercare, fried chicken. A/N: Seriously, go read darksided (linked above) if you haven't yet. This takes place approx. two weeks later, and while the context isn't necessary, things will make more sense! Check out the playlist while you’re here. Tags: @exhibitachol @sstarryoong @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @miraculous-disaster @wakeupinahaze

For the first time in his life, Yoongi was avoiding his studio.

He had a mountain of work left to do on his mixtape – and, importantly, the drive to finish it – but that was precisely why he’d stayed away. Anytime he stepped foot inside over the past two weeks, his mind wandered far, far away from the task at hand. His previously unyielding discipline fell by the wayside the second he crossed the threshold.

Instead of focusing on the tracks he had yet to write, or perfecting the ones he'd already recorded, his eyes would roam over the surface of his desk on the other side of the room. It'd since been returned to its usual state, covered in various notebooks, and recording equipment. But it looked so much better with your bare, sweat-slicked body writhing on top of it.

And when he'd finally muster the willpower to look back at his computer, his gaze would pass over - and then jerk back to - the wall he’d pinned you against as his fingers fucked a river out of you. His blood pressure would spike as he pictured you there, relying on him to hold you upright, and any hope of accomplishing anything would drop dead on the floor.

The very same floor you’d fastidiously scrubbed to erase the mess he’d made of you, no less.

And then he’d think to himself: This isn’t a workspace anymore - it’s holy ground. 

Yoongi was running out of time, though, and he had to do his best to keep his mind on his work, off of you. Catching himself once again rewinding through recent memories, he let out a groan and forced his wandering eyes back to the screen in front of him.

He realized as he scrolled through his editing software that he’d done a piss-poor job of labeling his masters lately. This, of course, made it impossible for him to remember which track was which. On a whim, he chose the file in the middle of the folder and brought it up.

If he’d paid attention to the size of the file, he could’ve prepared himself for the consequences of pressing ‘play' - but he didn’t and he wasn't. 

“I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” "Should I shut it off now until you're ready to start?" "I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though - when I signal you."

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he secured his headphones over his ears. He’d never been less interested in hearing his own music; so, without a second thought, he skipped over the next three minutes. As he did, his hand dropped down to palm his hardening dick through his jeans.

“Is it me, baby? Have I got you dizzy?”

Your little whimpers were barely audible in the recording, but they still managed to ignite a fire in the pit of his stomach. The blaze spread throughout his body when he pictured the way you looked below him then - so soft and shy, but with such carnal desire sparking in the dark of your eyes.

“I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Anticipating your next line, his hand tensed around his cock. It was a pale imitation of that vice grip he found between your thighs, but it was something; and he would've taken anything.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I - I know that you -”

Even caged between the walls of unimaginable heat, the irony of it all wasn't lost on him. The best recording he'd ever produced was created purely by accident -

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

- and it wasn't music at all.

“Get up.”

With Yoongi working hard on his creative pursuits, you begrudgingly committed to addressing your own. Like him, you had a to-do list long enough to circle the globe; but unlike him, you weren't buried in projects because you wanted to be. 

When Yoongi crossed off a task, he scribbled five more in its place. His mind never idled because he found inspiration everywhere. A half-remembered vignette from childhood that shook itself loose to become something beautiful. A word he encountered in passing that he’d transform into some modern-day epic. He generated this much work solely because his passion - like his potential - was limitless. 

To the contrary, you generated this much work because you were easily distracted. You’d start one project, and before you could finish it, your attention would flutter off on the wind like dandelion seeds. All those half-starts would stockpile until you eventually boxed yourself into a corner - and then, somehow, you'd keep stacking. 

Today's task was simple: you needed to transfer your recent photos from your camera's memory card to your laptop. Easy. Drag files from one folder to another, and then your contribution to this month's magazine spread would be finished. It should've only taken an hour - at most - for the upload to complete. 

Instead of doing what you intended, you ended up where you always did: happily lost in the weeds. This particular distraction was a folder from four years ago, when Yoongi took you on an anniversary trip to Paris. If you really had to defend this tangent, your scattered brain's game of word association wasn't far off - the photos you were supposed to tend to were from Paris Fashion Week. 

That counts for something, right? 

You snorted as you toggled through your archive. Had you taken a single photo of the stunning architecture, or countless historical sites you’d visited? Of course not. But you had snapped approximately one-hundred shots of an unaware Min Yoongi - buying you macarons; befriending a stray cat by an ATM; grimacing as he sipped wine you both hated but spent too many Euros on to waste. 

Wait, what were you supposed to be doing? 

Whatever it was, you’d swear up and down that you really did intend to finish it, but then you heard familiar, muffled footsteps. And then you felt the mattress dip slightly under the tops of your thighs and the elbows you’d propped yourself up on.  

And then the same Min Yoongi whose face beamed on your screen - slightly older, and even more adored - slid over the backs of your outstretched legs until his knees came to rest at either side of your ass. His body was warm as it loomed over you, but you shivered, nonetheless. 

Leaning in, he pushed your hair over your right shoulder and pressed a warm kiss into your left. Though he'd targeted an area several centimeters away from your spine, the aftershocks of this chaste contact rippled down its length. From there, the current divested and shot through each of your limbs, paralyzing you. 

You hummed and let your eyelids flutter shut. He ascended the arc of your shoulder, then your neck, leaving a smattering of kisses in his wake until the trail went cold. His quiet exhale tickled the skin below your ear, but he hovered in place - too far away. 

Reflexively, you whined and tilted your head to look at him. Effectively pinned, all you could do was survey his profile in your peripheral vision. “Baby?” You nudged. 

The hand he wasn’t using to hold his weight snuck under the hem of your tank-top and caressed the bare curve of your waist. His hypnotic ministrations on your side might’ve lulled you to sleep if you weren’t so intrigued by his so-far wordless affection. 

Thoroughly spellbound, your lids closed again while your lips remained parted. There was a moan building slowly in your chest, taking its time, but it was a gasp that tore out of you when his teeth nicked your lobe. His tongue was quick to soothe the pinch, and even quicker to solicit a mewl. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. Moreover, you didn't know what additional surprises this man was capable of. Though Yoongi had always been affectionate with you, he'd only recently unearthed some rare, raw sensuality that you never expected. In the time since this discovery, his touches became more frequent. You felt more of him underscoring each one, no matter how brief. 

The fingers skimming over your waist disappeared and left you cold, but before you could process the loss, they reappeared - lower now, pushing up the bottom of your underwear, and gripping the doughy cheek of your ass. Hard. Instantaneously, your hazy eyes re-opened. 

Min Yoongi truly contained multitudes. 

"Have I told you that you're my muse?" He purred into the shell of your ear as his hand massaged the skin he'd likely bruised.  

Enchanted once again, your sole response was a breathy moan. Only after his hand raised and smacked back against your ass did you realize he'd lulled you into a false sense of security. 

"When I ask you a question, I want an answer. Do you understand, baby?" 

Your shuttered breaths and accompanying nod weren't sufficient replies. His palm collided with your delicate cheek a second time, and it stayed there. The sting was muted by his fingers digging in and pinching; but it wasn't the pain that stole your attention. 

Instead, it was the wetness gushing between your clenched thighs when he whispered, "Use your words, angel." 

"I do," You muttered urgently, "I understand." 

The grip on your ass dissolved. You knew better now than to trust the warm hand kneading your cheek, but you couldn't resist moaning. Fuck - his touch was perfect. 

He contradicted the gentle caress below with a nip at your neck; and the kiss placed at that same spot preceded the true kill-shot. He hummed against your skin and your soul threatened to leave your body: 

"Good girl." 

The noise that escaped your mouth was stranded between a gasp and a cry. Oh, this man would be the death of you. 

"You inspired my next project today," He murmured between kisses to your neck. The tip of his nose was cold as it brushed across your skin and that disparity in temperature left you in shambles. "Not something I've done before -" He paused to suckle at your neck, no doubt leaving a mark when he released you, "And I need your help, baby." 

Another whimper escaped when his index finger snapped the elastic waistband of your boy-shorts; and you felt his mouth curve into a smirk. "I'll do anything -" You meant it. "Just - please, Yoongi, I need to feel you." 

"You will," His mirth left him in a breathy chuckle. It vibrated through your body and formed goosebumps as it went. "But not yet, angel. I want to savor this." 

Confused, you pouted - another exhaled laugh against your neck - and then, in a tiny voice, you asked, "What do you mean?" 

His hand slid up the back of your neck. With the base of your skull held gently captive between his thumb and middle finger, he guided you to turn your head to the left, then down. 

It didn't click right away. Silently, you blinked down at your camera. Is this what he wanted you to see? Why did - "Oh, no," you groaned as your head drooped forward. 

"Oh no?" He repeated, and though he tried, he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone. You quickly realized that he mistook your reaction for disinterest. He couldn't have been more wrong.  

Your sudden, complete deflation was simply your body buckling under the weight of unspeakable arousal. It anticipated the world-endingly perfect way he was about to fuck you; and it couldn't process the fact that it would all be memorialized. He really would be the end of you. 

Your head tilted until it rested against the side of his. "The memory card inside it is full, but there's a new one in my bag." 

Although you couldn't see it, you knew the corner of his mouth would twitch excitedly upwards at your words. At his, your mouth dropped open: 

"Any clothes you're still wearing when I come back to this bed will be ripped off. Got it?" 

It was difficult to tell which part of this exchange made your legs quiver the most: the stern warning itself; the contradictory soft, husky tone in which he said it; or the kiss the top of your head received when you responded - out loud - in the affirmative. He was gone before you could figure it out, making his way to the camera bag in the corner of your bedroom. 

He'd barely taken two steps when you frantically pulled your oversized tank-top over your head. It landed somewhere out of sight, and it was swiftly joined by your underwear - grey fabric soaked black. Your laptop was more carefully dismissed, tucked gently under the nightstand to avoid being ruined the way you were sure to be. 

When your head hit the pillow, your heart was already racing. Suddenly, you felt shy as you lay naked in your own bed, like you hadn't been in this position so many times before. There was a long-forgotten anticipation turning flips in your stomach. It bent your knees and brought your arms up to rest over your bare chest - you hadn't felt it since the very first time Yoongi saw you like this. 

As if he'd been summoned by your thoughts, Yoongi walked towards you with his focus trained on the camera in his hands. The tip of his tongue poked out through pursed lips as he carefully slotted the new memory card into the bottom, but it disappeared when the compartment clicked shut again.

He froze when he looked up at you, and your hammering heart threatened to make a break for it. 

"Baby," He was frowning. You raced to figure out which of his directions you failed to follow; but he interrupted the frenzy in your brain with that maddeningly soft, stern voice, "Why are you hiding?" 

Mouth open and poised to respond - with what, you weren't sure - you were cut off by the extended finger he raised to silence you. You clamped your jaw shut; his mouth curved ever-so-slightly at your quick compliance. 

See? You wanted to say, I'm learning! 

He removed the lens cap before his eyes flitted back up to you. "Hands above your head -" You did as he asked, though you didn't know where this was going. "- Close your eyes -" Again, you obeyed. "Don't move." 

And you didn't.  

You laid there with your eyes closed and listened for any sign of what was coming next. You could hear the muffled tread of his bare feet on the rug; and you expected further instructions - none came. Then you waited for any familiar noise from your camera - there was silence. But you smelled his cologne as he came closer, and the warmth you suddenly felt at your side told you that he’d reached you. 

“Lift your head up – but keep your eyes closed.” 

The eyebrow you raised in question was covered with some cool, silky fabric before Yoongi could have registered it. You received your answer in his actions. Gentle fingers adjusted the way the blindfold fell over your eyes, and then – even more gently – they tied a knot at the back of your head. Not too tight, but firm enough to keep it from slipping. It was no surprise to you that he’d handled this without disturbing a single hair on your head. 

His hands, once behind your head, now cupped your face. “You listen so well, angel,” He murmured before plush lips brushed against your forehead. “Lay back down the way you were.” 

Your head returned to the pillow and your elbows bent to allow your hands to meet above it. And you waited like that, trying to sense what his next move would be.

His footsteps padded off, and you figured he was seeking the best place to set up the camera. He paused, though, after only taking a few steps. The camera whirred – the auto-focus, you recognized immediately – and then it clicked. 

“So beautiful – you know that, don’t you? How stunning you are?”  

Click. 

“Perfect -” 

Click. 

“Mine” 

You couldn't help wondering how his photos would turn out. If your cheeks weren’t red under the blanket of his praise, it’d only be because you’d turned into a puddle. Your arousal had strayed far enough to slick the insides of your thighs, and if he didn’t touch you soon, you might liquify entirely and seep through the mattress to the floor. 

In the distance, plastic settled on wood. The strap affixed to your camera slithered over whatever surface he’d chosen; you could hear it slip over an edge, then it was silent. The bookshelf, you decided, third row from the top. Maybe second, if he liked the angle better? 

Without speaking first, he crawled up onto the foot of the bed. He paused there, likely kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped under your bent knees, and the only warning you got was him purring, “Come here,” mere seconds before you were pulled forward. You imagined that your gasp was still hanging in the air when you slipped out from under it. 

As soon as he was satisfied with your proximity, his hands found the insides of your knees and encouraged your legs to spread. “Now, baby -” He started, the heat of his breath indicating just how close his mouth was to your weeping cunt. “You’ll make sure the camera can hear you, won’t you?” 

The word was caught in your throat, suddenly bashful, but it eventually slipped out, “Yes.” 

You knew you’d failed as soon as you heard it, and you didn’t need to wait long to face the consequences. You jolted when his flattened fingers collided with your cunt - the sensation was a surprise, but the sound was what shocked you. Fuck! You could hear how wet he had you already.

Sodden, pooling, dripping. 

“Don’t be selfish, angel,” He tutted after withdrawing his touch from you, “Those sounds might come out of your mouth, but they don't belong to you, do they?” 

“No -” Your desperation was palpable when you responded with your whole chest. “They don’t. I – I won’t be selfish, I promise -” 

You cried out when he slapped your cunt a second time, an obscene chord formed by surprise, torment, and unbearable need.

“Whose are they?”

“Yours!” You choked, “They’re yours. I’m yours.” 

His arms hooked under your thighs and your pulse skyrocketed. “See? You are learning.” 

And then he lurched forward, flat tongue dragging upwards over your core with a pressure so perfect, your entire body tensed. He squeezed your legs harder when your back arched, and it prevented you from inadvertently slipping away from him.  

That devilish tongue swirled over your clit, and all you could manage was a whisper of a moan. He corrected you wordlessly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. The groan he pulled from you ricocheted off each one of your ribs on the way out. Satisfied, he hummed in approval against your cunt before he proceeded to flick dizzying circles over your increasingly sensitive bud; alternating paces in the way he knew would drive you mad.  

Both of your arms reached out, and your hands carded through his hair. You pulled him ever closer, which prompted him to shake his head furiously with the flat of his tongue pressed against your heat.  

“Oh, fuck!” you wailed. As much as you wanted to watch him, you knew that – even without the blindfold - the way his mouth moved so expertly against you would have made it too difficult to keep your eyes open. They were already covered, but you squeezed them tight enough to see stars as he suckled your clit. “Shit, baby – ah – feels so good.”  

The thread holding you together frayed further and further with every brush of his tongue against your most sensitive spot. The sound of his breathing, ragged and muffled with your thighs pressed harshly against the sides of his head, would have done unspeakable things to you - if your mindless gasping didn't threaten to drown him out completely.  

He shifted without removing his mouth from you, and he unhooked his right arm from under your leg. The heel of his hand glided up over your pelvis, your navel, and your breasts before stopping at the underside of your jaw. Two fingers tapped at your chin; you took the hint and took them into your mouth.

His tongue never let up on your clit as you slicked his fingers, suckling on them the way he did you. Once he was satisfied with the work you’d done, he pulled his hand back down to your cunt.   

Tongue still relentless at your clit, his middle finger swung the focus to your entrance, which was drenched by his saliva and your own slick. Meticulous and slow, he slid his finger inside of you. He moaned at the way you constricted around him; you melted. 

He never struggled to find that secret spot hidden behind your pubic bone. He'd proven time and time again that he was more in tune with your body than you were. Every curve, dip, and line had been committed to muscle memory.  

He could anticipate your reaction to every touch, even when those reactions varied based upon your mood or your energy level - and it was automatic. Unthinking but knowing. He teased this spot without mercy, and as he likely expected, you began to shake under his touch.  

The growing feeling in the pit of your stomach was one you knew he strived for. His favorite trick, once he knew the secret. And whenever you tried to resist – still uncomfortable with the way your body reacted to him – he gave you no choice. 

No poet could adequately describe how completely your orgasm consumed you. With the way you jolted against his mouth, he could’ve electrocuted you. You wriggled and writhed in his arms as you came, but he didn’t stop, even as your walls clenched around his fingers and your thighs pressed even more tightly against the sides of his head.

Your familiar moans devolved into some desperate sounds you’d never made before, curse words spilling out over your lips as you just kept cumming – but he still held tight to you as you bucked wildly in his arms.  

There was unbelievable pressure until there wasn’t.  

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” He growled with his face nestled into your quivering, dripping inner thigh. His teeth nicked the skin but were swiftly replaced with a kiss from his ravenous, open mouth. “That’s my good girl.” 

He let you collapse back onto the bed, but he denied you any time to recover.  

“I think you can do it again, baby. What do you think?” He teased, alternating words and quick kisses along the interior of your thigh. “Should we see how much more you can take?”  

You babbled something in response, but neither of you could’ve interpreted what you meant. Your limp neck rolled to the side while you tried to catch your breath; there wasn’t time. You felt him coat his fingers in the remnants of your orgasm moments before he slid them inside of you and curled them upward.  

The combination of relentless pressure and a feverish pace dotted stars across the insides of your eyelids. Breathless, dangling at the edge of a precipice, you stammered, “Yoo-Yoongi -” 

Despite the obscene squelch of his ministrations, his voice rang through, clear as a bell. “What, angel? Do you want to come again?” Stupidly, you nodded, but he didn’t scold you. Given your fucked-out state, he seemed to forgive your mistake. “Then come.” 

The blindfold covering your eyes was black, but your vision went white. As you spasmed and gushed uncontrollably around his fingers, there was a moment where you could’ve sworn your soul ejected itself from your body. If it was floating above you now, it would’ve seen how thoroughly you’d drenched your boyfriend; and how perfect he still looked with your juices dripping off his chin. 

His weight was shifting at your feet when you returned to your body. It took everything you had, but you lifted one, limp arm out in his general direction. No words, just an outstretched hand begging to find him. When it did, he slotted his fingers perpendicularly under yours, rubbed the pad of his thumb over your knuckles, and kissed the top of your hand. 

“What color?” he murmured against your skin. 

You sighed softly, exhausted but not yet entirely spent, “Green.” You paused and chewed on your bottom lip. After a moment of quiet, you asked, “Yoongi?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

It was pitiful how your request barely rolled off of your tongue, but the answer would surely be no if you didn’t ask. “Can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment – so, the answer would be no even though you did ask – but then you heard his soft chuckle. Even after he pulled the blindfold off, your eyes were useless. Somewhere in the bright white haze was Yoongi, though you couldn’t confirm that the shadow in front of you was truly him. Maybe you truly had died. 

Blinking furiously, you refused to stop until your eyes remembered how to focus. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the dark figure before you took a familiar shape. Shirtless, with damp, black waves clinging to his cheekbones – there he was. Concern was etched into his features, but his narrowed eyes relaxed when you shot him a smile. 

“Color?” You inquired with a squeeze of your hand. 

When he dropped your hand, your heart fell with it. But he sat up on his knees, placed that hand on your cheek, and captured your lips in a kiss. It was perfect, but it was torturously brief.  

“Green,” He replied. He backed away from you until he was standing at the foot of the bed. One hand dropped to his belt buckle while the index finger on his other hand beckoned you. 

You crawled towards him until his palm silently instructed you to stop. 

“Elbows on the mattress, ass up,” He ordered as he made short work of his belt. It slid easily through the loops of his ripped jeans and clattered as it hit the floor.

You leaned forward as he instructed, knees and elbows digging into the comforter you’d absolutely need to wash later – especially considering the way your mouth watered when his jeans and boxers were discarded and kicked aside. Were you drooling? 

Your body buzzed with anticipation as he crossed to the side of the bed. You wished he took his time sidling over to you, so your eyes could continue to devour his lean, snow-white frame; but if the stiff cock encircled by his hand was any indication, Yoongi wasn’t interested in wasting time. Instead, he pushed himself up onto the bed, out of sight, and the next thing you felt was his hand collecting your hair, pulling, and forcing your face up to the camera. 

His free hand squeezed your ass cheek when he said, “Eye contact, baby. Show the camera how I make you feel. Can you do that?” 

With his tip teasing at your entrance, you weren’t confident that you could – but you’d sure as hell try. “I can,” Your determination was clear, even if the voice conveying it wavered. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” He hummed. He released your hair and placed a kiss on the same shoulder blade he had earlier - when he last had you in this position. “Now, take a deep breath for me.” 

It wasn’t graceful, the way you sucked in air as he penetrated you; it was an unholy, strangled sound, and it crashed through the quiet like a wrecking ball. Every instinct begged your head to droop forward, and your back to curve up upwards, but you fought them off. Praise for your efforts tumbled out over your spine between Yoongi’s shuttered moans. His noises had you clenching around his cock, and the tightened grip of your cunt transformed them into something guttural. 

He paused when he bottomed out. Like you, he seemed to be at a loss for words. The hand gripping your hip was holding on for dear life; and the one curved over your shoulder kept you in place, allowing him to bury himself as deeply as possible.

He didn’t speak until he slowly started withdrawing himself from you, “I love the way you take me, how that tight pussy fights me whenever I leave.” 

As his cock dragged over your g-spot, your entire body shivered. He felt it and chuckled; you hiccupped, “Still so s-sensitive.” 

“Green?” 

“More -” You begged, “Please, baby.” 

You asked for it, but you weren’t ready for it. His hips snapped forward and drove him back into you before you could process what was happening. And when he kept up that ravenous pace, rutting over and over and over your detonator, it took everything you had not to explode.

All your willpower was spent trying to withstand his thrusts, though – nothing could keep you from collapsing forward onto the bed as your white-knuckled fingers gripped the comforter below. 

Before your body could fully settle over the mattress, his hand on your shoulder evolved into an arm hooking over you. He pulled you upright as his arm crossed over your heaving chest; he didn’t stop until he had you pinned to his. 

Fucking upwards into you with shallow, staccato strokes, he scolded you. “What did I tell you?” His hand dropped from your hip and dipped between your quivering thighs. His rapid thrusts didn’t falter as his middle finger began to assault your clit. “Hmm? What did I just say?” 

“Eye conta -”

The end of that word mutated into a scream. He snapped his hips forward so suddenly, you never anticipated being shoved off the edge of the world. Your orgasm ripped through you, shutting off your brain and forcing your entire body to convulse around him. 

You went limp when you fell from your high; Yoongi’s hold on you tightened to keep you from collapsing. Unrelenting, he just – kept – rutting. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

You wailed when that fourth wave crashed down over you. Caught in its riptide, you spoke in tongues; writhing and shrieking and imploding. Could a person die from coming this hard? 

Yoongi’s panting pulled you out of the abyss he’d thrown you in. “Shit,” He hissed, “I’m so close - fuck, you feel so good -” You felt it all over when he growled into your ear, “Tell me where you want it, baby.” 

You answered, but it was impossible for your hazy brain to know for sure if you’d replied verbally or telepathically. Either way, he understood – he always understood – and his break-neck speed was replaced by deep, deliberate thrusts. He groaned out your name as his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls white. 

The kiss Yoongi left in the crook of your neck didn’t wash away with the water cascading down over the two of you. You could still feel the uniqueness of its warmth, even in a cloud of steam - under the hot, heavy droplets hitting your skin.  

Your eyes were closed to avoid the conditioner he was massaging into your scalp, but your exhaustion was likely to keep them that way. The only reason you hadn’t slipped down the drain yourself was your unspoken refusal to be separated from him. Though, with that invisible string tying the two of you together, you’d never be able to stray very far, even if you wanted to.

“Can you tilt your head back, love?” 

This one was a request, not a command, and he made no effort to move it for you. The weight of your sleepiness caused your neck to roll more clumsily than you intended; it gave up, and your head bumped against his clavicle when it dropped backwards.

“Sorry,” you murmured, but he was already chuckling. “My motor skills seem to have clocked out early.” 

His laugh ricocheted off the tile. “You won’t need them,” He mused as his hands gently worked the remaining conditioner from your hair. “We can use mine.” Then he kissed the crown of your head, not once but twice. You could feel his smile spread against your scalp when you giggled. “All done, baby.” 

He’d taken his time with you; and he’d taken great care to clean – then kiss – every sore muscle he encountered. And when he was done, he used a large, plush towel to wick the lingering droplets from your skin. His hands on your waist steadied you as you stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and he smoothed the damp waves that you disrupted in unceremoniously tugging an oversized sweatshirt over your head. 

Once the two of you were fully dressed, he cupped your face in his hands, kissed you deep, and asked, “Do you need a lift back to bed?” His eyes sparkled at his joke – of course, he meant lift literally – and his eyebrow arched when you meekly shook your head. “I’m not sold. Is that your final answer?” 

You, once again, shook your head. He exhaled amusement through his nose at your indecision. Then, he placed his hands on your waist. Perfectly coordinated – as always – he lifted as you hopped, pulling you into his chest while your limbs wrapped around him. He carried you easily back into the bedroom and set you down gently on the bare mattress. 

All of your bedding was spinning in the washing machine on the first floor of your home, but he had a fluffy, full-sized throw waiting there for you. You held up one side of it, silently inviting him to join you. When he settled at your side, your head ducked down and came to rest under his chin. As soon as his arm curled over your back, your heavy lids finally closed. 

You were both quiet, one foot in a dream, when the growl of his stomach startled you both awake. Erupting into laughter, you each craned your neck to see the other beaming back. 

He wiped the mirth pooling in the corner of his eye and sighed as his laughter petered out, “Delivery from that fried chicken place?” 

“Oooh, yes, please.”

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! The response to the first post was so incredibly overwhelming, I simply had to write a follow-up. I might continue to add one-offs to this darksided cinematic universe (lol) simply because I love their relationship dynamic. And the sexual journey they seem to be on, hahahah. Please leave feedback so I know what you liked and what you didn't! Also, lmk if there’s something you’d want to see in any possible future installments 👀

[xenosagaepisodeone]

I was complaining to alex about how printers have remained user unfriendly since the dawn of time for tasks beyond the most basic streamlined print/scanjobs, despite being a necessary appliance. he pointed out that printers are always going to be tricky machines because they are technically doing very difficult tasks. On the surface, I do understand; moving paper reliably is a very delicate process with many moving parts, manufacturers often stiffle innovation by viewing printers as a merely conduit for selling ink cartridges, not to mention "user friendly" touch screen software present in modern printers introduce a host of problems on their own. In accordance with my ideals however, I believe that the STE(A)M fields could combine the specialized knowledge relevant to their respective disciplines in order to create a wholly unique printer/scanner device. naturally, this would involve revolutionizing the way we think about the way we think about these machines, as well as the labor that goes into interacting with them. here's what I made alex listen to:

we need a printer you can have sex with and it will in turn use your genetic material over a short gestational period to produce it's own paper and refill it's own cartridges. the actual contents of the print would still be determined by the connected desktop, but the printer would sustain everything you need to produce the document until it was time to refill it again.

the printer serves a similar function as a watercooler in that it serves as a reprieve from labor while not actually being a reprieve from work. when you idle, sip or chat by a watercooler, you are exercising subordination to the social norms of your job vis a vis Congenial Coworker Conversation or rehydrating/taking a breather to maintain job performance (on top of ensuring you get back to your desk on time). your individual personality is digested and repurposed by the microbial culture of your workplace. Refilling the printer by extension is a display in the ability to separate intimacy with a partner from simply doing a printjob (<- colloquial name).

in the interest of alienating the process of refilling the printer further from sex, the printer will remain located in it's usual open area. the employee however will be forced to wear a uniform to indicate they are on "printer duty", and will be afforded a curtain to obscure the body from the shoulders down, encouraging socializing while emphasizing the task as something akin to conventional physical labor. the bleak harmony of the workplace evaporates any post-finish euphoria, finalizing the printjob's designation as merely another task.

once more like the watercooler, the printer will play a role in maintaining relations among coworkers. as one already tends to refer to personal possessions in human terms, the unique features of the printer coupled with it's flawless utility will only beckon employees to refer to it affectionately. "my work wife" and "my work husband" (<- a feminist spin) for the machine itself, and "my baby" for prints (as one already does with important docs). indeed, the printer is family, like all coworkers are.

"is the printer....alive?" not anymore than the lobster at the grocery store or the customer on the other end of the line at a call centre. don't think about it, you aren't being paid to.

"What if someone who is in charge of fucking the printer or watching someone fuck the printer develops a fetish for this rigidly defined process" well that means that my true plan is coming to fruition.......which is:

Are White Collar Printer Fuckers Sex Workers discourse in 2030

[cjgladback]

So this blocking thing! It's good for more than just nuisances. I haven't knit a lot of garments yet with fiber that responds to blocking, and what I have has been like...socks where it seems unnecessary because the whole thing will be in tension while worn. But also I just don't have large pinnable surfaces, as one typically needs when the point is to soak a piece of fabric and then stretch it out to pose in the shape you want it to be until next soaking. What do I have? The ability to stack waterproof objects on a small patch of flat counter space. And thank goodness because that definitely saved this hat.

Anyway! I am happy to have used my extremely inconsistent first skeins of support-spindled yarn (see the post with them all laid out here) for a project I'll probably actually use once it's chilly again. It is comfortable, even if I'm a bit disappointed in the colorwork legibility. This is how the chart looks:

But I didn't quite manage matching gauge yarns, I'm low on practice/experience keeping tension for stranded colorwork, and probably just aiming for too loose a fabric anyway (should've found a path to increasing stitches and using smaller needles on that section) so it's very blobby.

I do have some of that green and "matching" oyster skein left, as well as a little of the finest oyster yarn I used for the ribbing. So if I use them together again, I'll probably hold the two oyster threads as one. Speaking of, I had way too much of the underplied lace yarn and wasn't happy with my first run at an even more open lace panel, so ended up frogging that back and making these sections with the lace yarn held double. Worth it! Much happier with this result. And I can see why underplied yarn has been said to do lace well; was cool how open it already was before blocking.

Image descriptions below:

[ID: Four photos of a slouchy, off-white beanie with some green colorwork being knit, blocked, and worn. The hat is constructed with a solid top of thicker yarn, strip of lace, a strip of green colorwork (meant to be jumping frogs), a matching strip of lace, and finally a long section of ribbing, broken into four strips by inverting the knits and purls.

In the first photo, with a blurred background, the beanie is still in process with a green string holding the live stitches while it's tried on, partway through the first section of ribbed brim; it fits like a misshapen mushroom, the top lace panel collapsing over the relatively tight colorwork, all under the lumpy increases of the densely knit crown.

The second photo also has a blurred background but shows the hat being blocked, gently stretched over a tower of stacked containers, widest at the top around the curved base of an upside down plastic coffee canister from crown to colorwork, the gradual taper of a hair bleach tub easing the lower lace panel into the ribbing before the very end hangs free around a peanut butter jar pedestal.

The third and fourth photos show the finished hat from the side and front, being worn by a pale-skinned brunette woman with a braid and orange t-shirt in front of painted wood paneling on an overcast day. The hat is slouched but not bulbous, blocking having stretched the colorwork horizontally and the lace vertically; a twice-rolled brim covers the lower lace panel but leaves the still not very legible frog colorwork visible. End ID]

[ID: Chart of green on white colorwork made in the Google Sheets spreadsheet software; a section in the middle is selected, though there are repeated motifs on either side. Every cell with an X in it is colored green and makes slightly horizontally stretched pixel art of a frog hopping from the right to the left; the rightmost frog is crouched under a flower or star made of four dots, to its left is a frog pushing off the ground and to its left a frog leaping horizontally through the air. The repeat is 39 stitches wide, 10 rows tall. End ID]

[heallearngrow3]

a complicated enigma

part 4 | a complicated enigma

pairing: Connor x f!Reader

summary: “But somehow you managed to get under his artificial skin”

warnings: swearing

notes: I’m currently bedridden and have so much time i’ll probably write a lot for this series. also this is slow slowburn, like so slow you can’t even see it coming, so you’ll need all of the patience in this world for this

chapters: 1 , 2 , 3

The androids on the market were imprints of you. Straightforward, indifferent. Everything you’ve implanted in their software was a carbon copy of your own self, an outstanding remake. The qualities that made them the obedient, intelligent machines were concepts of your genius.

You remembered the planning of Connor. It was an unique proccess, one of its kind and you overachieved your own expectations with the outcome. He was a never-seen-before android, one that offered crucial insights and analysis on crime scenes, one that never got tired of the chase. Infact, his mission was above anything else. Your uncle’s face was in front of your eyes when you finished putting him together, his badge resting on the table next to you. He was the greatest investigator you’ve ever met: He was obsessed with his work and saving others, and that was the irony of it all. His life was lost, wasted, because of a drug addicted nobody who valued his poison more than a human life. When they arrived to your family home that night to tell you that your uncle was shot dead during a house search, you were devastated and angry. So angry that you wanted to kill that asshole with your bare hands, and keep the blood on your palms as a permanent reminder.

Connor was the very first android to take the lead as a detective but he wasn’t the last. You’ve had plans, dreams for many others to follow, but you had to put it to the side for the time being, mainly because there was a more pressing issue to deal with.

You locked your storage room, and found models to replicate the broadcast androids. The JB300’s laying on your table, their biocomponants spread out on the surface looked exactly like the ones you were hiding, except they were never activated. You had to put on an act to keep the three androids - and yourself - safe from the hungry hands of the repining humans starving for gratification.

You made fake reports with made-up calculations and false numbers. Your file ended with the cause of their conduct being inconclusive and you wrote remarks on their so-called interference and accomplice, calling it questionable. There wasn’t any iron clad evidence of it, and their software was compact and undamaged, leaving it up to you to decide if they had any role in the attack or was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. The substitute androids were put in a container, with their wires and limbs carefully separated, and you sent your report to Fowler, ending the message with expressing your pity for not being able to find out more.

After cleaning up your laboratory, you opted for your much more comfortable office, and turned on the TV. The news were all about the Stanford Tower invasion, debating the terrorist threat, and you watched as they replayed Markus’s speech over and over again, his face solemn and determined even without skin, his eyes never leaving the camera. His tone was confident yet gentle, and you’ve wondered if he had a somewhat leader position, fight with his people for justice. Your phone was buzzing, your colleagues worried, and you were sure that these events definitely had an effect on the outlook of the company and made the public reconsider if the utility of the machines was worth the risk. It was fascinating, even amusing, how one instance could overshadow years of hard work and time invested, destroying the image of a futuristic company dedicated to progression.

You needed a distraction to take your mind off the present moment and to forget. Alcohol was never your posion of choice, but smoking? Oh, you could never say no to a cigarette, especially after such eventful few days. You also had to go home: do laundry, check on the lady in the house next to yours, and eat something more substantial than granola bars. At the back of your mind your father’s worsening condition was also encouraging you to pay him a visit, but you were unsure whether it was a good idea.

On the way back, you were driving on autopilot, your legs moving independently, hands turning the steering wheel from memory. Lafayette Avenue was on the blatantly pompous side of the city, the street always busy and well-kept. The trees were cut, the bushes were incised, and to the naked eye it was the american dream materialized. The number 8941 was engraved into your mind, and you could not mistake the mansion for another. Carl Manfred’s home reminded you of a warm hug, and his paintings decorating the whole place made it even more welcoming. He was a celebrated, world-known artist after all, despite his troubled past. A past that you were a part of, an unfortunate consequence, and an uncomfortable reminder of his past life that he tried so hard to get out of.

You didn’t bother with knocking, the wooden doors opened before you with the always present gentle female voice.

“[Name] detected. Welcome home.”

You crossed the hall, going straight into the living room. The giant giraffe statue standing in the corner was glaring at you with accusing eyes, following you until you stepped into the studio, and you felt your muscles loosen a little bit.

“What a pleasant suprise!” Carl’s voice ranged genuinely, his eyes locking on yours. “I haven’t seen you in ages, [Name].”

Your father’s impending death loomed over him, his features slowly fading, the bags under his eyes getting darker and his coughing less bearable. In front of you wasn’t the shaken up man you’ve met ten years ago but a living corpse, clinging to his brushes and canvases with shaky hands and rotting nails.

His accident and weak health was just a fragment of his suffering. He was hunted by his memories - you were sure of it - and was forced to relive it day by day. You couldn’t pity him: it was his own doing. His decisions led to his fate and considering how he had no problem with abandoning his own children, his mutts, and years later try to recandle long dead realitonships, you were positive that he deserved his drawn-out agony.

“Yeah, it’s been a busy month.” you weren’t entirely lying. It really was eventful. “How have you been?”

Carl wheeled himself closer to you, seemingly lost in thought.

“I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick it up.” he put down the brush he was holding. “Markus was shot. Leo broke into the studio and tried to steal a few of my artwork. I thought he was dead…turns out he wasn’t.” you could tell it was entertaining to him. “Markus…it was inevitable. Just a question of time. I always knew he was more than just a servant.”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your eyes on him. Markus was never just an ordinary android to him. He was the perfect son, created for him by Elijah in the name of their friendship, and he filled in the position of a nurse, a companion and a child all at the same time. Markus was fascinating, you knew that, always curious, always willing to engage in Carl’s banters, always learning. To many, treating a machine like family was foreign, but your father has been a peculiar man his whole life, shedding off the expectations and choosing his own strange ways.

“I saw the speech…” your drifted off. “He made quite an impression on the public. I wonder where all of this will lead to.”

Carl turned his wheelchair around, rolling to a cabinet and opening one of the drawers, picking out a brush.

“I told him to paint something. Something from his soul, not his memory.” he held up the small piece of wood and horse hair like a trophy. “He made that.” he pointed to a canvas in the corner. “He has talent. Just like you.”

You ignored the last bit of his sentence, measuring up the painting. It was impressive, the shadows and strokes in a perfect mess of order. The screaming face, the LED on the side glowing like a beckoning light of the lost was gut wrenching and peaceful at the same time.

“The police is looking for him. And eventually when they find him, he’s gonna be destroyed.” you stepped in front of him. “You had a hand in this, Carl, and don’t you dare deny it. Markus’ deviancy is rooted in your lessons.” your last word sounded like a hiss. “Your dreamland means hell for him and his kind. Your ideas…they are venom.”

You backed away, keeping your eyes trained on his form.

“I can’t be everyone’s hero.” you said and without casting another look at Carl you stepped out of the studio.

You were the result of a drunk one night stand, a mistake, but you had something that Leo didn’t possess.

Dignity.

You decided to smoke and treat yourself with a burger downtown that definitely didn’t pass the health regulations. Chicken Feed was no better than a bodega, but Gery definitely had a talent to make the oily food full of fat taste like heaven.

Parking right next to the food truck, you got out while tucking a string of hair behind your ear. The best burgers in town - you thought, and readied yourself to resist Pedro, who was standing nearby. His bets were a losing game, you’ve never won and called his business crap one time, which didn’t leave the best impression.

“[Name]!” he already started to walk towards you, and you thought about getting back into your car to run him over. That might have shut him up. “I got a shit-hot tip for you, girl!”

You shook your head.

“I’m giving you jack shit, Pedro. Get off my ass.” you ignored his shouts, trying to convince you to invest in another bet. “Hey Gary!”

You leaned on the counter, looking at the menu.

“Got something for me?” you raised your brows playfully. “Something high in calories, I’m begging you.”

He smiled widely at you, already picking up a bun.

“Of course, sweetheart. Give me five, and you’ll get the best burger you’ve ever had.” he winked at you, turning to the stove. Your heart fluttered at the term of endearment, grateful for Gary’s easygoing nature.

“Thank God. I’m starving.” you sighed. Your eyes scanned the area and immediately noticed the two familiar silhouettes.

Connor and Hank were standing next to one of the tables under an umbrella, too far to hear their conversation, but judging from Hank’s pained expression, it wasn’t a nice chat.

“Hank’s got a new buddy.” you whipped your head to Gary, who was also looking at the pair. “He called the android a fucking poodle. Fitting if you ask me.”

Knowing what Connor was capable of, the comparison was strange. But from what you’ve learned about Hank, he wasn’t a fan of technology and machines, not after what happened to his son, therefore forcing to have a partner - an android, nonetheless- was less than ideal and certainly irked him.

Your burger was truly ready in a few minutes and biting into it felt like a long awaited relief. You edged closer to Connor and Hank, listening in on their conversation.

“Why did they make you so goofy and give you that weird voice?”

Hank’s sarcastic question was answered by the unartful Connor. His wording was your making, and hearing his carefully chosen words, you’ve wondered if you had done a better job than you’ve thought.

“[Name]!”

The RK800 was always aware of his surroundings, paying close attention to the details, and it didn’t come as a surprise that he noticed you.

“Hello Connor.” you looked at the gray haired man beside him. “Hank.”

The older man seemed to be too busy with his burger, disregarding you with a small nod. Connor was infatuated with your presence though. He knew who you were, your position at CyberLife was impressive and your hand seemed to reach far, but he was made to ignore non-important humans and details, his focus was supposed to be solely on his mission. But somehow you managed to get under his artificial skin, always appearing to be a complicated enigma, leaving him to wonder if you were truly who you showed to be or if it was just a well created facade, made for distraction and deception. He was troubled by you, and the software instability notifications in his vision didn’t help his case.

“How’s the investigation? Found anything?” Hank’s mouth was full, his chewing louder than his words.

“I’ve just finished the report, I’ve already sent it to the captain. I found nothing.” you shook your head in false disbelief. “It’s weird. How about you? Do you have anything new for me?”

This time Connor was the one to answer.

“We didn’t locate any other deviants.” he was scrutinizing your face, looking for a reaction.

Just a short nod, that was all you had to offer.

“But you are not giving up, are you?”

Connor was staring at you with wide brown eyes.

“I don’t intend to.” he replied. “My mission is important, and solving these cases can lead to preventing a war.”

You accepted his response without a comeback, not wanting to make the situation more awkward.

“Do you think there is a connection between them? Something tying all of these androids together?”

“What they have in common is this obsession with rA9.” Connor looked at Hank like he was asking for permission to share something intimate. “It’s almost like some kind of… myth. Something they invented that wasn’t part of their original program.

Hank finished his burger.

“Androids believing in God.” he wiped his mouth with a shaky palm. “Fuck, what’s this world come to?” he looked at you. “Have any idea what rA9 could be?”

You remembered them talking about if rA9 could be Markus back in the broadcast room a few days before, but other than that, this was the first time they mentioned it.

“No. Unfortunately I do not. We didn’t code that in their software, that’s for sure.” your lies were silky, flowing in the air like a breeze.

“An android we questioned said that rA9 will set them free to make them the masters.” Connor’s LED was yellow, and it reminded you of the last rays of light before dawn. “I just can’t figure out what it could be.”

You took a few steps back, ready to leave. You didn’t like where this conversation was heading, and you didn’t have the energy to keep up with it.

“I gotta go.”

You didn’t hear their replies, already walking to your car. After getting it, you turned up the radio to drown out your thoughts.

rA9 was not worth mentioning. And it had to stay like this.

You pulled out the glove department and pushed the black album full of photos further in. You had to find a better hiding spot incase someone decided your Honda was worth snooping in. It was the clue the police was so eager for and what you were guarding for years. The images inside were sacred to you, something that had to be locked away.

You pressed the gas pedal and glanced back in the review mirror to take one last look at the duo.

Connor and Hank were going to be a problem.

[antisocialmastermind]

Chapter 5

Day 5: UISLWTF = wistful, lift, suit

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 on Ao3

Kurt sleeps late on Saturday morning, waking slowly to warm spring light slipping through his bedroom window. Groaning, he stretches to grab his phone. 9:12 AM. 

He hadn’t stayed too late last night. Long enough to bask in the glow of success radiating around the table and eat his cheese and fruit. But the day had been long and he’d found himself in bed, buzzy and content, by 12:30. He drags himself out from under the sheets and staggers to the kitchen to find a very empty coffee maker. Elliott must have left early. Scowling, he curses coffee-forgetting roommates under his breath and sets a pot brewing. 

He’s heading for the shower when his phone buzzes out a text from Chandler. See you later at the gallery? Make sure Elliott drinks his water lol. Well, that explains the lack of hot coffee in this apartment. 

Kurt types lol late night? Yes see you there and then luxuriates in the shower until the water runs cold. 

He’s heading to the fire escape to check on the embossing when he gets Chandler’s reply. Very. I left those bozos in the middle of a very serious discussion about norse mythology lmao.

Grinning, Kurt lifts the weights and fabric off the swath of leather. Happily, the abstract pattern from the stamp is lightly pressed into its surface. An ink wash will help the pattern pop a little. Maybe he’ll head to Muse early and christen the new studio space this morning. 

He throws a bagel into the toaster and packs supplies into a leather tote. Sitting at the counter to eat, he absently plays with his phone, then fills a travel mug and calls a cab. He’s got too much to carry to think about walking.

There’s a stylized brass dragon holding the gallery door open when he arrives, and the warm May breeze ushers Kurt inside. Elliott’s standing behind the white desk, all of his attention focused on the laptop in front of him. His eyes drift upward to acknowledge Kurt, but he doesn’t lift his head. He looks tired. Drawn. Almost wistful. Kurt’s left eyebrow twitches up in question.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yup,” Elliot exhales. “Just trying to finish up the website.” Kurt looks at him appraisingly, eyebrow still raised. Elliott’s eyes return to the computer screen. 

“Okay,” Kurt replies, eyes traveling over Elliott’s face. “I’m gonna use the studio till Chandler gets here.” Elliott nods but doesn’t reply. 

Kurt takes his supplies into the pristine new space and starts setting things out on the work surface. He unrolls the leather so it doesn’t crease, laying it on the counter near the black ink pad. He carefully slides a partly finished collage onto the counter, too, and studies it, imagining scraps of purple.

It’s about an hour of slicing strips of leather and tacking them to the hand painted linen before his back starts to hurt. He’s just stepped back from the counter to stretch when he hears Chandler out in the gallery. Perfect time for a break. He scoops up his travel mug and goes to meet him.

****

Kurt and Chandler are going to share days working at Muse. Elliott’s gone all-in and quit his DJ gigs so that he can do evenings. Except Fridays. He’ll still play with the band on Friday evenings, so those are Kurt’s, too. Which is why the three of them are crowded around the laptop while Elliott clicks the trackpad and points at the screen. They at least need to be able to use the software to record sales. They’ll learn the rest as they go.

“Okay,” Elliot’s saying, “so once you find whatever piece you’re looking for, you click here and this window should pop up –” 

“Oh!” Chandler interrupts. “That’s your new fan! B.D. Anderson.” They’re looking at the sales details for Elliott’s piece. Along with the name, Kurt sees payment information and an address he’s pretty sure is on the Upper East Side. Swanky.

“Is he a critic? Do we know?” Chandler continues. Elliott just shrugs.

“Not from any publication I know of,” he answers. “But I guess we can keep our eyes open for a review.”

“Which would be glowingly positive,” Chandler crows, “considering he snapped this one up in, like, two seconds. He loves you.”

“Anyway,” Elliott sighs abruptly, “once you put in the buyer’s information, make sure you save it and then click here.” Kurt side-eyes him. Something’s definitely up.

****

Kurt’s been back in the studio for over an hour. Chandler’s long gone and Kurt’s vaguely aware of Elliot’s voice on the gallery floor, greeting patrons. It’s Saturday. He’d normally have a shift but, of course, he’s off tonight. After several moments of silence from the front, Kurt puts down his scissors and goes to find his friend.

Elliott’s behind the desk but he’s sitting very still, his gaze in his lap, when Kurt pulls up a stool next to him. “So,” he says softly, “You wanna tell me what’s going on? And don’t say you're fine. You’re way out of sorts.”

Eliott doesn’t look at him. Just keeps looking at the tops of his thighs. “I slept with Sebastian last night.”

It’s like Elliott just slapped him. He sits there stunned and blinking for a moment.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Okay. That’s not terrible. I mean, it’s a little awkward, but that’ll pass. We’re all friends–”

“I'm in love with him,” Elliott murmurs.

“You’re. You're what? Are you kidding me?” Elliott finally looks up and, infuriatingly, he looks shocked at Kurt’s words.

“Why are you upset?” Elliott asks.

“Are you kidding me?” Kurt says again. And his body launches up off the stool because he needs to move; if he doesn’t move he’s going to punch something. Shit.

“He’s a stuffed shirt, Elliott. He’s a suit. He works on Wall Street for fuck’s sake. What’s there to like?”

Elliott is icily calm as he slowly turns in Kurt’s direction.“You tell me,” he says. “You just finished saying that we’re all friends. So you tell me what there is to like.”

And Kurt’s being unfair. He knows he is. He actually does like Sebastian, most of the time. And he really, truly is over his thing for Elliot, but it’s so fresh, and he and Elliott have so much in common, and he wouldn’t even consider Kurt, and to hear that this staid and snarky bean-counter is somehow the superior choice… It just stings.

Kurt’s always struggled to check his ego when it’s been bruised. And Elliott has bruised his ego an awful lot lately.

“Nothing, Elliott,” he snipes. “There is nothing to like. Not like that. Sure, he’s funny in a mean-spirited way, if you’re into that. But he’s pompous and condescending and snobby and I would sooner die than date someone even remotely like that.”

Elliot’s tone is deliberately even when he says, “Kurt. I was really hoping for my best friend right now, not the guy I rejected weeks ago. I get it. You’re hurt. And I can let you work that out. But that’s not Sebastian. Not really. Besides, even if it were, you and I are way too alike to date–”

“I don’t want to date you,” Kurt shouts and Elliott’s eyes shoot nervously to the open gallery door. 

“I don’t even want to fuck you! Not anymore. I’m just– I can’t–” Kurt’s yelling and rambling and his train of thought is utterly incoherent, but he’s just so sick of getting the shit end of the stick, and he’s tired and lonely and horny and poor– 

He’s feeling sorry for himself.

He takes a deep breath and looks candidly at Elliott. “I’m sorry,” he says. And he is.  “I’m way out of line. It’s been a week. Which is not an excuse. Bruised ego and too little sleep.” He shrugs helplessly. “Give me some time okay? Raincheck on the best friend conversation?”

Elliott smiles. “Okay,” he says simply. 

Kurt shakes his head and moves toward the studio. “I’m gonna give you some space and get out of your hair. Get my head on straight. I really am sorry. Talk later?”

Elliott’s smile widens. “Love to. And just wait,” he says, and he’s always so genuine and forthright. “I’ll show you the error of your Wall-Street-hating ways. Bankers are dreamy.”

“No, Elliott,” Kurt says as he goes. “That’s where we disagree. No prep-school aristocrats for me. Never. I’d really rather die.”

Elliott shrugs and shakes his head at an empty room.

Chapter 6

[eksvaized]

I'm currently taking a break from writing and editing. So, I thought I'd let you in on the apps and sites that have been my go-to for writing, and give you a quick run-down on how I make the most of them. Everything I use is free 'cause you know, college student budget. You might already know about most of the stuff I'm gonna talk about. However, if you are just starting out and unfamiliar with these apps and sites, I hope you'll find this information useful.

Got any other recommendations? Please let me know!

This tool is my go-to-tool I use once I finish writing and start editing. It identifies surface errors like overlooked typos, punctuation errors, and grammar issues; with a single click, you can fix all these issues instantly.

It also includes an integrated thesaurus that I use when I need to quickly find synonyms for a word.

There are two versions available: free and premium. I use the free version, which, in my opinion, performs just as well. The only minor drawback is that when you run a report, it only checks the first 500 words. This might require some effort to copy and paste the texts, but I promise you, it's absolutely worth it.

Here are all the reports it can generate:

You also have the option to download this instead of using the web version if you prefer.

As a non-native English speaker, I occasionally find myself struggling with the constructions of simple sentences; when I read them, I feel that it doesn’t sound quite right for me, and I know I want to change it. In such cases, I use this tool.

However, I would not recommend using it to paraphrase extensive texts.

There's both a free and premium version available. Personally, I stick with the free version.

I use this app for writing. It offers many functionalities, but what I really appreciate is the ability to create multiple pages within pages. This feature eliminates the need to open numerous files as it organizes everything in one place:

However, my favourite feature is ‘Synced block’ because it allows me to sync content across different pages. This is particularly useful when I'm writing and want to keep my notes visible, ensuring that I don't forget any minor details:

The online version is free.

[proplatepro]

E-Coating with Digital Solutions: Elevating Efficiency, Quality, and Profitability

E-coating, or electrocoating, is a highly efficient and environmentally friendly process for applying protective coatings to metal surfaces. As the industry continues to evolve, integrating advanced digital solutions is becoming increasingly crucial to enhance efficiency, quality, and profitability. Here's how digital solutions are transforming the e-coating landscape:

Optimizing Operational Efficiency

Digital solutions streamline various aspects of the e-coating process, from scheduling and capacity planning to reporting and quoting. By automating tasks and providing real-time data access, these technologies enable quicker decision-making and more effective resource management. For example, platforms like PROPLATETM offer integrated capacity planning and scheduling, allowing businesses to manage production across multiple lines efficiently.

Enhancing Quality and Consistency

Advanced digital solutions play a key role in ensuring consistent coating quality. By providing precise control over process parameters, such as voltage, current density, and immersion time, digital systems help achieve the desired coating thickness and appearance. Automated monitoring and feedback loops enable real-time adjustments, minimizing defects and ensuring a high-quality finish every time.

Improving Profitability through Data-Driven Insights

Leveraging data is crucial for making informed decisions that drive profitability. Digital solutions offer detailed insights into labor costs, job profitability, and sales performance. By analyzing this data, businesses can identify inefficiencies, optimize processes, and adjust strategies to enhance overall profitability. PROPLATETM, for instance, tracks critical metrics like labor expenses and job costs, empowering businesses to make data-driven pricing decisions.

Enabling Scalability and Flexibility

As customer demands and market conditions evolve, the ability to scale operations and adapt quickly becomes essential. Digital solutions provide the flexibility to manage dynamic schedules and varying production loads. This adaptability ensures that businesses can meet customer needs promptly, maintaining a competitive edge in the market. Advanced platforms like PROPLATETM offer dynamic schedule adjustments, allowing for swift response to changing demands.

Enhancing Customer Experience

Digital solutions enhance the customer experience by enabling quick quoting and precise estimation. Clients receive accurate, timely quotes, which improves satisfaction and increases the likelihood of securing repeat business. Tracking sales metrics also allows companies to tailor their approaches to meet customer preferences and improve conversion rates. PROPLATETM simplifies the quoting process and ensures precision, providing professional quotes that can be sent directly to customers with just one click.

Conclusion

Integrating advanced digital solutions into e-coating processes is transforming the industry by elevating efficiency, quality, and profitability. By leveraging data-driven insights, streamlining operations, and enhancing customer experience, businesses can stay ahead in the competitive landscape. As the industry continues to evolve, embracing these digital solutions will be crucial for success in 2024 and beyond.

[neonblessing]

9.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

“Look, you don’t have to give me a map. Just point me in the right direction.”

“Shiv, kid, I get it. You want revenge. But-”

“I don’t want revenge,” she said. She wasn’t certain if it was a lie.

“Then what do you want?”

“Answers.” Hell, she didn’t even know the finer points of what the two of them had stolen. The house had been full of valuable art, they’d passed a poorly-hidden wall safe on the way to the owner’s office, and they ignored it all in favor of the data drive that had sat atop a messy stack of papers. Ornarch hadn’t told them what was on there, just that it would go for a hundred thousand credits at a minimum, or a million from the right buyer. Most drives its size were just something convenient to hold, with the data itself stored on a chip a few nanometers thick. Whatever was on that drive had been complex enough that the whole damn drive was dedicated to memory. A sphinx glinted darkly on its surface, mirror finish set into matte black. There was something captivating about its sheer scale and the precision of its construction. Something a little sinister, too. Then he had shown up, and the rest of the night was a blurry nightmare of burning, screaming, and blood.

Kooler pursed his lips. “And once you have those answers, what are you going to do?”

“My job. Ornarch wants me to-”

Kooler’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head. “Isn’t your job breaking and entering? At least, I think that’s what you told me the first time we met. Forgive an old man’s memory for its failings, but I think I would have remembered hearing a teenager call themself an executioner.” He suddenly sounded very old, and very tired.

“Maybe I’ve changed. Why do you care?” It came out a little colder than she’d intended it to.

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right. None of my business.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“Staying neutral is how I stay alive. Everyone knows old Kooler keeps his mouth shut.”

“That’s a no?” Her heart sank. She’d known it was a long shot, but even still, Kooler was the closest thing she had to a lead.

Whatever he saw in her face gave him pause. “I… offered them ten thousand for the drive. I don’t even have half the hardware it would take to decrypt that… monster. I told them I wasn’t paying a credit more than that for a piece of software I couldn’t validate, no matter what rumors I’d heard. They took their business elsewhere. I don’t know where.”

“Rumors?”

“Have you been online since you stole it?” She hadn’t. “Half of the criminals in the Diluvian District are hunting after that sphinx drive. It’s anyone’s guess what’s on there, but Ebrelurge put a bounty out on it and then a few gang bosses joined the bidding war. As of this morning, the best offer is 1.6 million.”

Lord of birds. One point six fucking million?

He went on. “I don’t know where they went, but I know someone who might. Don’t go telling everyone I lent you a hand, but you’re- you’re a good kid. Just- hear them out when you see them. Don’t rush headlong into being a killer.”

“Yeah.”

Kooler pushed off the counter, sending his chair on a practiced arc towards a shelf of folders in one corner of the shop. He returned bearing a business card, a thin sheet of crisp white plastic stock with “Club RED – 1191-3962” embossed on it in brilliant crimson. The back side of the card was decorated with a staring eye in the same shade. “Kurtz–the owner of Club RED–knows me, and she’s got a panopt. Ask to see Odie. If it can’t help you, no one can.”

Shiv grinned. “Thanks, Kooler.”

“I’d say ‘any time,’ but really I’d rather not stick my neck out again.”

“With any luck, you won’t have to!”

The door squealed as she left.

First Page – Previous Page – Next Page

[rontra]

Can I ask how you hold your pen + tablet when you draw? (My wrists started hurting n I wanna figure out how to make it stop lol)

pardon any awkwardness in this post whether phrasing- or formatting-wise I’m typing it on my phone at like 8am HSBDBSB

I hold my pen in a pretty standard(???) grip like this

I sit at a desk (w a desktop computer) and do not use a screen tablet. So I try to keep a pretty upright posture. my tablet is laid firmly on my desk and I can look straight ahead while I draw, which is good for me (my neck/back can get sore easily)

However I do have wrist problems. I can’t always draw as much as I want to, and I often won’t “double dip” on strenuous activities (for example I usually decide whether to play a video game OR draw, and don’t do both on the same day)

(or I can only play specific games, like ones that are purely mouse-controlled (=opposite hand). You get the idea)

Without knowing your exact like, drawing setup and habits (and medical history for that matter) it’s hard to give specific like Hard Advice—but in general try to keep good posture (sit straight, try to use a seat with good lower back support, don’t hunch) and keep loosy goosy. try not to hold tension in your body if possible (including the fingers—hold your pencil loosely and don’t grip it tightly)

you might benefit from assessing How you draw and adapt certain parts to relieve how much work your wrist is doing (do you rest your hand on the drawing surface and rely entirely on wrist movements to draw curves/etc? Is it possible to raise your arm up from the desk and use your whole arm/elbow to draw larger gestures instead of causing repetitive strain to the wrist?)

(the settings in your art software—does your brush demand too much pen pressure? Can you adjust the pen pressure settings to respond better to a lighter touch? <- This was Huge for me!!!)

Do stretches before you begin. Take intermittent breaks to do stretches again while you draw. You can look up stretches for artists online!

If your wrists are already hurting then something is already wrong. You should be strictly resting whenever this happens and trying to minimize how much strain you put on your wrist, ideally until you feel no pain at all (and depending on how tender your wrist is, maybe a little after that too just for good measure). I use a wrist brace with a metal plate inside to keep my wrist as immobile as possible when I’m resting. If your problems persist like mine, a solid immobilizing brace is really a godsend. Don’t wear a brace while drawing, but put it on when you stop to rest (even if you don’t urgently feel any pain!)

The most hard to swallow advice—but also the most true—is that you should never work to the point of pain. This sucks, because sometimes I’m in a groove and a drawing is going really well and “if I just push through this slight discomfort the art will be finished and it’ll feel awesome”. This is The Deceiver. You never want to work until it hurts. If you (like me) tend to get caught up in the flow and find it hard to stop midway, get in the habit of checking in with yourself at a set interval (eg set a timer, or make up a rule based on your habits like “after every 2nd Monitor Youtube Video I half-watch while drawing, check to see how my wrist is feeling” (<- meee)) and if you feel discomfort or pain, you have to stop and rest

Getting into good habits NOW is the only way to protect your FUTURE wrist... So you have to bite this lemon for me and stop having fun when your wrist starts to complain. Which sucks a lot. But trust me HDNDBHS

Sorry if I sound like a big downer and/or a fussy worrywart but yknow. I have wrist problems that do prevent me from doing things I want to do sometimes and I hate to see it blooming in other artists 😭 take care of yourself anon!

I’m probably forgetting something because I’m very tired rn (and ironically my wrist hurts so I’m gonna put my phone down and sleep) but if possible you should ask a doctor to have a feel, and tell them any other symptoms (numbness, prickling, etc) if you have them. I’m not a doctor and idk what you have going on, but a wrist brace is pretty easy to acquire and wear, so I do generally recommend that!

Like tldr imo its about the preventatives (good habits like posture and taking breaks) and listening to your body (both during work and when resting in between work!). Wrist problems can get seriously bad if you don’t take measures to slow em down. Good luck! Take care of yourself!!!! 😭🫡

[middle-daisy]

DIY Band Merch

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Alright, DIY bros, gather 'round, because today we're diving into the art of crafting your own killer band merch from scratch! 🤘💀

Step 1: Design Your Masterpiece - Start with a killer design. It could be inspired by your favorite band's logo, lyrics, or album artwork. Sketch it out on paper or use graphic design software to create your vision.

Step 2: Gather Your Materials - You'll need a plain t-shirt, fabric paints, fabric markers, or iron-on transfers for clothing. For pins or patches, grab some sturdy fabric, a sewing kit, and your design printed on fabric transfer paper. If you want to cut up the shirt a bit, scissors or utilitiy knife will work.

Step 3: T-Shirt Transformation - If you're going for a custom band tee, place a cardboard piece inside the shirt to prevent paint from bleeding through. Carefully apply your design using fabric paint or markers. Let it dry according to the product's instructions.

Step 4: Iron-On Magic - For an iron-on design, print your band artwork on fabric transfer paper, cut it out, and follow the iron-on instructions to transfer it to your shirt. Voila, you've got a DIY band tee!

Step 5 (Grunge It Up) - If you're aiming for that rebellious grunge style, it's time to distress your shirt. Lay your t-shirt flat on a clean surface. You can use scissors, a utility knife, or sandpaper for this step.

Scissors: Make small horizontal cuts along the hemline, sleeves, and neckline. You can also create small snips at various spots on the shirt for a worn look. Pull and stretch these cut areas to create frayed edges.

Utility Knife: Carefully slice through the fabric at specific spots on the shirt, creating deliberate slashes or distressing. Be cautious and avoid cutting too deep.

Sandpaper: Rub sandpaper on areas of the shirt to create a faded, worn effect. Focus on seams, collar, and sleeves for an authentic grunge look.

Step 6: Pins and Patches - Cut your fabric into the desired shape and sew or iron your design onto it. Sewing provides a sturdy finish, but iron-on patches work in a pinch.

Step 7: Wear Your Art Loud and Proud - Put on your DIY creation and strut your stuff! Show off your unique band merch to the world.

Remember, DIY band merch is about self-expression and celebrating your favorite bands in a way that's totally your own. Share your creative process, and inspire your fellow rebels to craft their own masterpieces. 🎨🤟👕 #DIYBandMerch ■□■□■□■□■□■ ■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■

[hubr1s69]

I’ve never done digital 3D art before, I’m curious, when you texture skin is it a matter of going in with a “brush” and carving at the model? Or do you work with an overlay and like adjust it however you do until you’re satisfied?

hey! good question, it's usually a mix of both! i think every artist has their own way of going about it but the process for me is roughly this:

start off with doing most of the height information sculpting in zbrush basically this is most of the 'carving at the model' part of the process for me and it includes as you said, chiseling away at the model with different brushes and using alpha maps to achieve a detailed look!

2. this is what i ended up with on this project, i then transferred (baked) this info to my low poly which is this:

it's a low-information (low polycount) version of the high-information (high polycount) sculpt! i personally use Substance Painter which is a texturing and baking software

VERY simply put it makes it so all the pores and surface information get baked into a normal map texture which 'fakes' surface details by reflecting the light rays in the render engine in ways specified by the normal map

3. in substance painter i start layering tileable skin textures in specific areas, masking some or otherwise warping them to avoid having a too uniform look, most of the time i start with a lot of different layers of tileable textures and then at the end go in again with handpainted areas and details for a finishing touch!

hope that somewhat explains it! it's a rabbit whole of a subject to be honest so i tried keeping it surface level

[fereldanwench]

WIP Whenever (Actually on a Wednesday!)

@chevvy-yates had tagged me in a WIP Whenever thingy last week (I think? What is time) and @breezypunk sharing their WIPs reminded me I meant to do this. So, stuff I'm working on!

Over my Christmas break, I just started barely scratching the surface of working on my own custom poses. Because I'm me, I desperately need some battle couple poses--Fighting side-by-side, holding the other one while they're wounded, maybe fighting each other, etc. I compiled a Pinterest inspo board here to get an idea of what I'm going for.

This pose isn't anywhere close to being finished, but it's a start:

A small confession: while I actually like working in Blender quite a bit, I kind of hate everything else about modding, lmao. I've probably said it before, but my day job requires me to use so many shitty apps and software that always require 37 workarounds just to perform normally--I really don't have a lot of patience for troubleshooting shit during my leisure hours. Hopefully, the project won't become too much of a headache when I get into importing and working with props. 🤞

Virtual photography is always a constant for me these days--I was actually thinking yesterday how it feels like the absolute perfect creative medium for me. I like drawing and writing and 'real' photography, and I very much need to make sure I have more analog and tactile creative projects to keep me sane, but VP just hits in a way nothing else really has.

I am still working on the photostory I shared last time, but I don't want to give away too much there. It's also on a bit of a pause while I figure out some tech issues (read: I regret updating my game, lmao). However, I already have a ton of shots/mini-stories I need to queue up:

Other than that, it's kind of personal reflection shit and contemplating goals/resolutions for 2024. Getting long-winded and a little blunt under the cut:

I've always really struggled with making goals--I don't think I've ever had a situation in which I explicitly stated "I have a goal of XYZ" and then I achieved XYZ. I've had plenty of nebulous "Hey, I think I'd like to do XYZ" thoughts and then lo and behold, I do actually make XYZ a reality, but as soon as the word "goal" is attached to something, I just check tf out.

It was actually something I was trying to talk to my therapist about last summer, and then we kind of hit a dead end on that specific topic and decided I had other problems that were more pressing to deal with, lmao. But all the best goal advice in the world--following the SMART method, sharing it with someone for extra accountability, etc.--Just does not work with my brain.

(The accountability thing in particular always hugely backfires for me because just telling someone I want to do a thing tricks my brain into thinking I did that thing and now I don't need to anymore. Also, I don't like people telling me what to do, so if someone was like "hey, shouldn't you do this thing so you can meet your goal" I will say no just on principle of being a brat, lmao. I really hate that piece of advice.)

I know some of it, probably a lot of it, is fear of failure if I don't meet the goal. I'm very hard on myself--That's a no-brainer.

But I also think some of it, maybe just as much, is fear of success. Which I used to think was the stupidest fucking thing anyone could say about this shit, but success can mean big change. Success can mean increased feelings of imposter syndrome. Success can mean attention and responsibility I don't want. Success can mean bigger consequences if I do fuck up later.

I've come to realize that success is honestly as equally scary to me as failing.

I think this is a big reason I've always been content (or convinced myself to be content) with being good and not great, even if that means I'm not reaching my ~*full potential*~. (There are other external/macro reasons for that too, like my loathing of people trying to push me to monetize my passions, but I don't feel like getting into systemic gripes, lmao.)

Goals that require me to step outside of my usual routine also give me a lot of anxiety, which is something I've working towards managing (you could say that it's a goal of mine to get that under control dfgjhfjgdf), but that's still a very real hurdle for me.

Like I've been trying to go back to a minimum of 20 minutes of dedicated exercise (versus just walking a lot) a 3 times a week, and I get stressed if I miss it, or even just feel like I'm going to miss it (like if 7 PM starts creeping up and I haven't started it yet), but I also get all bent out shape spending 20 minutes on exercising while I'm doing it as if there's a better use of that time and THERE'S NOT. Like, what am I really missing? 20 minutes of scrolling Tumblr? Shut the fuck up, lmao.

All this to say that I don't really feel like I'm ready to set goals in a traditional sense, and that might not be something that ever works for me, but there are things I think would just be... kinda nice for me to do for myself that I want to do this year:

I need to actually be nicer to myself. As a matter of fact, @ren3gade--I hope you don't mind the tag, but I've been meaning to thank you for the "forgive yourself" advice you shared a couple of months back. I started making it a point to use that in my self-talk when I start spiraling, and it has been one of the best means of mitigating certain aspects of my social anxiety. I felt goofy as hell when I first started doing it, but that shit works. Positive self-talk makes you feel better, wow, who knew certainly not me

In a similar spirit, I want to stop being so judgemental about my limitations, and I need to mitigate feelings of guilt when I set boundaries for my mental health and energy. This is something I want to achieve in all areas of my life, but I think the easiest place for me to start flexing these muscles is with fandom. Because, damn, I let myself get into some really bad habits with the CP77 fandom (and I forgive myself for that 🙌). One of the big ones has been putting pressure on myself to keep up with what all my CP77 mutuals are doing at all times, and I'm not doing that to myself anymore. I've spent so much time in the past two years methodically going through tags and blogs to catch up on stuff I missed, and I'm just... relieving myself of this obligation. I know a lot of folks have tried to mitigate that for themselves by encouraging everyone to use their username-tracked tag--I'm not doing that. I'm not giving y'all more tagging work, and I'm not going to give myself the same obligation just in a different way. If I miss a post, I miss a post. Of course y'all are always more than welcome to @ me or send me things you think I'd enjoy (I love that, actually!!), but I'm just one person--I'm incapable of being an omnipresent fandom cheerleader and I don't know why I was pushing myself to be that. Well, that's not entirely true--I have some idea of why, but that's also a mentality I'm leaving in the dust. 😘 Also, for a long time, I did not use the like button for anything other than personal posts purely out of spite because I got tired of people complaining when they'd get likes but not reblogs--My asshole mentality was "Fine, now you get nothing." And that worked for me for several years and several fandoms, but I'm frankly tired of the "like" slander on Tumblr. It's a valid form of interaction and letting someone know you liked their stuff. I don't say this with malice, but other people's mentality of being unhappy with likes instead of reblogs is not my burden to bear. Anyway, I don't want to turn this into a rant about fandom stuff, lmao, but the point is I need more boundaries in my life, and I'm starting here.

I'm happier when I spend more time than I have been on traditional art and creative things that get me off my PC. Like I said above, I love VP so much, but it does unfortunately tether me to my computer desk longer than is probably good for me in the long run, mentally and physically. I stocked up on some new traditional art supplies, and I need to put those to use now that I'm settled into my new place. (And I've been itching to do a charcoal portrait of my bb girl.)

Reading books (gotta be physical, no screens) also makes me feel better. I've got about 7 books on my nightstand that I could totally finish this year--Doing that might be the one stereotypical goal I make for myself.

I want to reevaluate how I "multitask;" in particular, I want to break the habit of always having to have a background show/movie on OR always feeling the need to do something on my computer/phone while I watch a show/movie. Even as a kid (way before I lost my attention span to my smartphone lmao), I've always been inclined to doing something else while I watch shows and movies, but that used to be limited to drawing or painting my nails, which I think is fine. Now I just always feel like I need a screen nearby to do something else, even if there's really not something else worth doing. And listening to music or podcasts while I work on a thing is also fine, but it's gotten to the point where I almost can't have complete silence, and I don't like that. I miss being comfortable with silence while I pour all of my focus into a project. I just need to find some equilibrium here.

I know this isn't exactly a standard WIP Whenever, but me is what I'm working on, and I think it's all essential stuff to nurturing my creativity. 😊