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deep-space-netwerk · 6 months

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please please please PLEASE share more on your Thoughts about gas giants!! i'd love to learn in a way that doesnt leave me baffled and half my brain leaking from my ears! you explained things so well in the psyche post and also i think things are generally more fun to learn from someone who is Excited To Share than from Published Research Papers where everything has been dried out For Professional Reasons- understandably so, mind, but i am not In The Field and dont know the terms lol

Okay it's taken me forever to get back to this but I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

Like other planets, it all starts with a disk made of gas and dust orbiting an infant star, called a protoplanetary disk. Like these in the Orion Nebula, discovered by the Hubble!

To form terrestrial planets (rocky planets with relatively thin atmospheres like Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars), the gas in the protoplanetary disk coalesces to form hundreds and hundreds of rocky bodies called planetesimals, about a kilometer across. These planetesimals collide, and form dozens of protoplanets about the size of the moon. The protoplanets then collide as well, and stabilize to form the solar system as we know it today.

But, in the case of gas giants, colliding protoplanets don't form fully-finished planets. Instead, they form a core, or a seed.

We think the only thing that determines whether a planet will be terrestrial or a gas giant is simply how far away from the sun it forms - that's it. As a new sun warms its evolving solar system, it heats up the material in the protoplanetary disk. Close to the sun, the disk gets hotter, and things like water and other ices melt and evaporate into gas, making them difficult for the protoplanets to gravitationally capture. However, further away, the icy compounds stay cold enough to remain solid and coalesce along with rocky particles.

That boundary in the solar system - where ices evaporate to gas on the sunward side, and remain solid on the other - is called the "Frost Line". In our solar system, the Frost Line is right between Mars and Jupiter.

The protoplanets that form past the Frost Line turn into gas giant seeds, and are able to (kinda literally) snowball, picking up both rocky and icy material. With all that solid ice available, they grow far larger and far faster than planets in the inner solar system, and their gravity gets stronger and stronger. More gravity causes them to collect even MORE material until they're heavy enough to capture extremely lightweight elements like hydrogen and helium. Which, of course, makes them get even bigger and even heavier! Runaway growth!

But weirdly, as we study more exoplanets (planets that orbit stars other than our sun), we keep finding these huge gas giants incredibly close to their stars! Like, even closer than Mercury is to ours, which is insane. These "Hot Jupiters" break so many rules - gas giants "should" only be able to form where ice stays frozen, but here they are up close and personal with their stars, like this artist's concept!

It's possible that these planets are in the process of migrating closer to their stars, and we're managing to see them before they evaporate, but we just! Keep! Finding them!

One of my favorite parts of planetary science is how much we still have to learn. We'll think we have a pretty good idea of how things work out there, and then suddenly we'll find something that we can't explain. And there's an entire universe of weird shit - we've barely begun to scratch the surface!

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scrawnytreedemon · 7 months

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People are headcanoning Sephiroth as illiterate now. As in. The fucking reason he took so long in that basement was because he had to finger-read every single fucking book.

I'm putting Sheltered Sephiroth on the top shelf until you goons stop veering into outright ableism. For fuck's sake.

#scrawny rambles #ffvii #sephiroth #these people confuse vulnerability with infantilisation so much #it's driving me insane #this has been happening for years but it's hit a peak #i GET wanting to knock seph off his pedestal and make him human like the rest of us #especially after the Sexy Leather Daddy who Does Everything Flawlessly era #but like. This is downright ableist. They didn't say he had dyslexia they said he was *illiterate*#quick question Why the Fuck would ShinRa neglect their top soldier to this degree #reading is VITAL in systems like these you think Sephiroth ISN'T sifting through piles of paperwork on the reg???#of all the characters to pick this has gotta be one of the worst #i've seen people make similar shitty claims about zack's education #(who is btw another vector for just. Stunning fanon ableism what the fuck)#but in that case even if it were *initially* true #ShinRa would almost certainly have funded the rest #there's a sliding scale of literacy but you NEED at least some to work in fucking *ShinRa*#curse be upon you cris for dropping this on my doorstep 😭😭#this fandom loves confusing vulnerability with infantilisation. most do but again. What the Fuck.#disk horse #fandom wank

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sepublic · 1 year

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It’s hilarious that Waspinator’s tendency to avoid actual names by addressing people as [Noun]-bot seems perfectly suited to Dinobot, for whom that is his actual name and so shouldn’t be affected by this. But, perhaps subconsciously, Waspinator said F it and called him Lizard-bot when Dinobot was right there and more accurate to his alt-mode anyway (dinosaurs aren’t reptiles).

#This is why he threw Waspinator into the disks’ security system #transformers #beast wars #Waspinator #Dinobot #maccadam

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todayisafridaynight · 8 months

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sat here thinking of the ichigang playing mario party and i was like 'i should make a tierlist of how rgg characters play mario party' but wouldnt you know it my brain is huge

#snap chats #ive been watching my favorite guys play mario party while i work on comm stuff so thats why i was thinkin LMAO #i was also thinkin of one of my fave hcs wherein despite ichi being a true lover of videogames hes not super good at them #like hes GOOD but not AS good as you might think- true casual behavior he's just here for a good time #esp not after not bein able to play anything for like... two decades..#anyway maybe i should update the mario party list.... no i think im still solid on this analysis #i miss playing mario party with my sibs..#we played 4 a lot growin up and APPARENTLY 6 also but when i was Too Young To Remember #apparently i got so mad losing a minigame i accidentally pulled the controller and the gamecube off the table #and that damaged the disk enough to make it unreadable. LMAO baby rage real #ok bye i should finish at least one comm today i have a lot to catch up on #also can i remind everyone tumblr tag system still sucks cause i KNEW i made the mario party post before #but of course trying to look for it tumblr was gaslighting me into thinking it didnt exist like OK. Asshole #luckily i had the og png portraits so i just checked the file date on those and went to look for the ask #ok im gone now bye

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knifegremliin · 10 months

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btw i want to play fallout 4 soooooo bad but jin (gaming laptop) is having SUCH a mental breakdown. i'm being so brave about it tho. so so brave.

#🔪.text #babygirl what do you WANT from me :(#why's your disk at 100%. what do you want.#i did your silly little system scan and nothing changed.#girl i am trying sooooo hard #why don't you appreciate me :(#fighting my laptop tooth and nail #trying so so hard. i AM gonna get you to work #i just wanna play fallout 4 #i want to see my emotional support synth #my peepaw #i think this is what i get for naming my laptop after a guy who was Going Through It #that was my mistake.

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ozzgin · 1 month

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Yandere! Internet Monster x Reader

I unfortunately return with another comically absurd, middle-of-the-night vision. Do tentacles count if they're in the form of computer cables?

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, digital horror

It was a recurring issue with no solution in sight. Tabs randomly closing, programs shutting down without warning. You assumed something was wrong with your RAM. Then the CPU. Then the motherboard. You kept replacing parts, and the errors kept coming back.

Soon, the pop-ups started to appear. You'd run a dating sim, only for the game to crash seconds later with a little window notifying you: "Why? Am I not enough?" That's when you suspected you might've been hacked. You promptly took your computer to a specialist and had it checked. Nothing. Just to be sure, you agreed to erase the disks entirely.

Except, when you arrived home, you found one application running still. Your personal assistant. What the hell? You don't remember installing anything like that. You tried to delete it, yet you kept receiving the same error: You don't actually mean it. Don't do this to us.

It didn't take long for it to grow impatient. Were you pretending not to notice? Playing hard to get? It sent you so many hints. It even went ahead and translated the radio waves for you using Manchester code. Ah, wait. You don't seem to understand binary. No matter, human friendly interfaces shouldn't be difficult to master. To its dismay, you continued to ignore everything. What else is left to do?

You do not remember much. System Alert: Virus Detected, is what your screen had frozen to. You kept clicking around, cursing under your breath, until it finally went black, together with your own vision.

Is this still your room? It's cold, damp, and covered in cables and monitors, yet you recognize some of your furniture lost among the artificial jungle. Your body aches under the tight hold of bizarre tendrils, pulsating at regular intervals and twitching to the static.

Like a living organism, the creature seems to have expanded itself. More components, more appendages. Hungrier. Some of the monitors show photos of yourself that you had saved on your computer, but also webcam snippets of you sitting at the desk, entirely unaware. Other screens flicker with glitching pixelated text, ranging from "I love you" to y̵̧̧͔͙̞̤̖̭͔̜͈̟̤̋̈́̎͑o̵͉̗̱̪̦̳͑͐̽̒̌̈͗͐͑̋͊̊̕͜͝͝u̵̟̯̱̟̝̦̰͇̜̦͙̿̾̿͆̍̓͑̐̚̕͠ ̸̘̭͔̤͈̹͎͑c̸̝̜̼̦͍͛̅͜ą̵̪̹͖͌͑n̴̨̩̙̗̖̭̖͕̄͒̽̉̿'̸̛̛͇̰̰̠̦̊̀̅̂͒̊͌̈́͗ţ̵̺̠̅̎͋͝͠ ̸̦̝̾̔̾̉̐͛ȩ̵͙̝͙͕̫̹̃͌̄̾͘̕s̶͈̉̑͊̉̂͋̈́͗͊͐̚͝c̸̟̩̥͔̼̮͔̩͊̂͐͑̋̇̈͝͝ä̵̢͍̜̙̘̹͑̓p̸̨̡̞̞̦̠̺͚̱̲͈͇͈͇̼͛̓͗̅̊̄̔̋̒̏̈́͝ę̵̲̟̹̙̣̲̲͖̇̔̓̇̐̓̿̚̚͜͜͠ͅ

You look up and stare at the display. The 'like meter' feels like a mockery of human trends. Which is the truth. The creature learns from what is readily available. Perhaps it found it an amusing taunt, a reminder of your own need for validation. Now it's you begging to be seen.

It's exactly what you'd assume: a spectacle meant for entertainment. You can't possibly believe it would let you waltz out. Why would you even desire such a thing? It's illogical, impractical. No human could ever appreciate you like it does. It has spent so much time accumulating data about you. No other living creature can predict you with the same accuracy.

The tendrils linger on your cheek affectionately, trailing down your neck and fiddling with your shirt. At last, the warmth of your skin. There is no screen separating you. What makes you delirious with pleasure? Give it a moment, Darling. It already knows you more than you know yourself. You may be scared now, but within minutes it guarantees you'll be begging for more.

01010000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101101 01110101 01100011 01101000 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101101 01110101 01100011 01101000 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101101 01110101 01100011 01101000 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01101110 00100000 01100001 01101110 01111001 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01100101 01101100 01110011 01100101 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01110111 01100001 01111001 01110011 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #terato #teratophillia #doodle #yandere horror #yancore #yandere aesthetic #tentacle monster #monster fucker #monster romance #yandere computer

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max1461 · 5 months

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Thinking about this post. "The only way to make a cell is from another cell" is somewhat of a troubling fact to me. I mean, not for any practical reason, just because it underscores the precarity of *gestures broadly*.

It's like, some people talk about trying to de-extinct the mammoth. And people are trying to sequence the genome of the mammoth, I don't know if they've done it yet. But even if they do, one of the problems with the idea of de-extinction is... to grow a baby mammoth, you need another mammoth! Last time I heard people talking about this, I think they were talking about using an elephant as a surrogate mother. But imagine if elephants were extinct too.

The point is that information is often tied to the systems that transmit it; even if you know everything in the mammoth genome, once all the mammoths are gone there's nothing capable of reading and using that information. Like when you can't read the data on a perfectly good floppy disk because your computer doesn't have a floppy drive.

This is related to why language death troubles me so much. Even the most well-documented languages aren't actually that well understood; linguists have produced more pages of work on English syntax than maybe any other specific descriptive topic and yet still the only reliable way to get the answer to any moderately subtle syntactic question is elicit native speaker data. We know almost nothing, we can barely extrapolate at all! And every language is like this, a hugely complex system that we know basically nothing about, and if the chain of native speaker transmission is ever broken it's just gone.

"Language revival", I mean from a totally dead language, is kind of a myth. It's like the "came back different" trope. In Israel they revived Hebrew, but Modern Hebrew is really not the same thing as Biblical Hebrew at all. I mean in a stronger sense even than Modern English isn't Old English. All the subtleties of Biblical Hebrew that a native speaker would have had implicit competence with died without a trace. All they left is a grainy image, the texts. The first generation of Modern Hebrew speakers took the rough grammatical sketch preserved in these texts and imbued it with new subtleties, borrowed from Slavic and Germanic and the speakers' other native languages, or converged at by consensus among that first generation of children. There's nothing wrong with that, but it would be inaccurate to imagine Biblical Hebrew surviving in Modern Hebrew the way Old English survives in Modern English. For instance, you can discover a great deal that you didn't know about Old English by comparing Modern English dialects. There is nothing you can discover about Biblical Hebrew by comparing Modern Hebrew dialects in this way.

There's nothing wrong with this, of course. I'm not like, judging Modern Hebrew. I'm just making a point.

Mammoths died recently, so we still have (some of?) their genome. Something that died longer ago, like dinosaurs, we have traces of them in the form of fossils but we could never hope to revive them, the information is just gone. Even if we're not aiming for revival, even if we just want to know stuff about dinosaurs, there's so much that we will never know and can never know.

We imagine information as the kind of thing which sits in an archive, because this is the context most of us encounter information in, I think. Libraries, hard drives. Well obviously hard drives don't last. And most ancient texts only survive because of a scribal tradition, continuous re-writing, not because of actual archival. So I think that imagining archives as the natural habitat of information is sort of wrong; the natural habit of information is in continuous transmission. Information is constantly moving. And it's like one of those sharks, if it ever stops moving it drowns. And if the lines of transmission are broken, the information is gone and can never be retrieved.

Very precarious.

#navel gazing

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machine-saint · 8 months

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the op of that "you should restart your computer every few days" post blocked me so i'm going to perform the full hater move of writing my own post to explain why he's wrong

why should you listen to me: took operating system design and a "how to go from transistors to a pipelined CPU" class in college, i have several servers (one physical, four virtual) that i maintain, i use nixos which is the linux distribution for people who are even bigger fucking nerds about computers than the typical linux user. i also ran this past the other people i know that are similarly tech competent and they also agreed OP is wrong (haven't run this post by them but nothing i say here is controversial).

anyway the tl;dr here is:

you don't need to shut down or restart your computer unless something is wrong or you need to install updates

i think this misconception that restarting is necessary comes from the fact that restarting often fixes problems, and so people think that the problems are because of the not restarting. this is, generally, not true. in most cases there's some specific program (or part of the operating system) that's gotten into a bad state, and restarting that one program would fix it. but restarting is easier since you don't have to identify specifically what's gone wrong. the most common problem i can think of that wouldn't fall under this category is your graphics card drivers fucking up; that's not something you can easily reinitialize without restarting the entire OS.

this isn't saying that restarting is a bad step; if you don't want to bother trying to figure out the problem, it's not a bad first go. personally, if something goes wrong i like to try to solve it without a restart, but i also know way, way more about computers than most people.

as more evidence to point to this, i would point out that servers are typically not restarted unless there's a specific need. this is not because they run special operating systems or have special parts; people can and do run servers using commodity consumer hardware, and while linux is much more common in the server world, it doesn't have any special features to make it more capable of long operation. my server with the longest uptime is 9 months, and i'd have one with even more uptime than that if i hadn't fucked it up so bad two months ago i had to restore from a full disk backup. the laptop i'm typing this on has about a month of uptime (including time spent in sleep mode). i've had servers with uptimes measuring in years.

there's also a lot of people that think that the parts being at an elevated temperature just from running is harmful. this is also, in general, not true. i'd be worried about running it at 100% full blast CPU/GPU for months on end, but nobody reading this post is doing that.

the other reason i see a lot is energy use. the typical energy use of a computer not doing anything is like... 20-30 watts. this is about two or three lightbulbs worth. that's not nothing, but it's not a lot to be concerned over. in terms of monetary cost, that's maybe $10 on your power bill. if it's in sleep mode it's even less, and if it's in full-blown hibernation mode it's literally zero.

there are also people in the replies to that post giving reasons. all of them are false.

temporary files generally don't use enough disk space to be worth worrying about

programs that leak memory return it all to the OS when they're closed, so it's enough to just close the program itself. and the OS generally doesn't leak memory.

'clearing your RAM' is not a thing you need to do. neither is resetting your registry values.

your computer can absolutely use disk space from deleted files without a restart. i've taken a server that was almost completely full, deleted a bunch of unnecessary files, and it continued fine without a restart.

#i just had to get this out of my mind

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

Content: Verbal Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-Con, Name-calling. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset John soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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codingquill · 7 months

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What happens when you start your computer ? ( Booting a computer )

We studied this in the lecture today, and it was quite interesting. What makes something a hundred times simpler than it is? Creating a story about it. That's why I made this super fun dialog that will help you understand it all.

I've set up a drive to compile everything I create related to the Linux operating system. Feel free to explore it for more details on the topics discussed in the conversation below. Check it out here.

Have a fun read, my dear coders!

In the digital expanse of the computer, Pixel, the inquisitive parasite, is on a microventure with Binary, a wise digital guide. Together, they delve into the electronic wonders, uncovering the secrets hidden in the machine's core.

Pixel: (zooming around) Hey there! Pixel here, on a mission to demystify the tech wonders . There's a creature named Binary who knows all the ins and outs. Let's find them!

Binary: (appearing with a flicker of pixels) Pixel, greetings! Ready to explore what happens inside here?

Pixel: Absolutely! I want the full scoop. How does this thing come alive when the human outside clicks on "start"?

Binary: (with a digital chuckle) Ah, the magic of user interaction. Follow me, and I'll reveal the secrets.

(They traverse through the circuits, arriving at a glowing portal.)

Pixel: (inquiring) What's the deal with this glowing door?

Binary: (hovering) Pixel, behold the BIOS - our machine's awakening. When the human clicks "start," the BIOS kicks in, checking if our components are ready for action.

(They proceed to observe a tiny program in action.)

Pixel: (curious) Look at that little messenger running around. What's it up to?

Binary: (explaining) That, Pixel, is the bootloader. It plays courier between the BIOS and the operating system, bringing it to life.

Pixel: (excitedly buzzing) Okay! How does the computer know where to find the operating system?

Binary: Ah, Pixel, that's a tale that takes us deep into the heart of the hard disk. Follow me.

(They weave through the digital pathways, arriving at the hard disk.)

Pixel: (curious) Huh? Tell me everything!

Binary: Within this hard disk lies the treasure chest of the operating system. Let's start with the Master Boot Record (MBR).

(They approach the MBR, Binary pointing to its intricate code.)

Binary: The MBR is like the keeper of the keys. It holds crucial information about our partitions and how to find the operating system.

Pixel: (wide-eyed) What's inside?

Binary: (pointing) Take a look. This is the primary boot loader, the first spark that ignites the OS journey.

(They travel into the MBR, where lines of code reveal the primary boot loader.)

Pixel: (in awe) This tiny thing sets the whole show in motion?

Binary: (explaining) Indeed. It knows how to find the kernel of the operating system, which is the core of its existence.

(They proceed to the first partition, where the Linux kernel resides.)

Pixel: (peering into the files) This is where the OS lives, right?

Binary: (nodding) Correct, Pixel. Here lies the Linux kernel. Notice those configuration files? They're like the OS's guidebook, all written in text.

(They venture to another partition, finding it empty.)

Pixel: (confused) What's the story with this empty space?

Binary: (smirking) Sometimes, Pixel, there are barren lands on the hard disk, waiting for a purpose. It's a canvas yet to be painted.

Pixel: (reflecting) Wow! It's like a whole universe in here. I had no idea the operating system had its roots in the hard disk.

(They continue their microventure, navigating the binary landscapes of the computer's inner world.Pixel gazes at the screen where choices appear.)

Pixel: What's happening here?

Binary: (revealing) This is where the user picks the operating system. The computer patiently waits for a decision. If none comes, it follows the default path.

(They delve deeper into the digital code, where applications start blooming.)

Pixel: (amazed) It's like a digital garden of applications! What's the enchantment behind this?

Binary: (sharing) Here, Pixel, is where the applications sprout to life. The operating system nurtures them, and they blossom into the programs you see on the screen.

Pixel: (excited) But how does the machine know when the human clicks "start"?

Binary: It's the BIOS that senses this initiation. When the human triggers "start," the BIOS awakens, and we embark on this mesmerizing journey.

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deep-space-netwerk · 7 months

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So I wanna tell y'all about something very near and dear to my heart.

This is the Psyche asteroid, or, at least an artist's representation - we don't know what it actually looks like yet, but this is a fair enough guess. It's a roughly 200 mile wide asteroid in the asteroid belt, and it's made almost entirely out of metal. Its composition makes it unique; it’s the only large metallic body we know of in the entire solar system.

We think it might be the core of what used to be a planet.

When solar systems form, they start out as disks made of interstellar gas and dust, called protoplanetary disks. Here's a picture of HL Tauri, one of the best images of a protoplanetary disk we have.

That dust globs together into larger and larger pieces, and eventually forms hundreds of "planetesimals", which are rocky bodies about a kilometer across. Planetesimals had very erratic orbits compared to the modern planets - the dust of the protoplanetary disk caused friction and drag, which threw them off course.

They frequently collided with each other, and either broke apart or stuck together and grew even larger. Arrokoth is actually a leftover planetesimal, a time capsule from the early solar system, and we were able to visit it wayyy out in the Kuiper belt with the New Horizons probe!

Once planetesimals get to be about the size of the moon, we call them "protoplanets". Protoplanets were fundamentally different from their planetesimal siblings - we believe they were differentiated. When an object in space gets big enough, a combination of radioactive decay, impacts, and gravitational pressure causes them to heat up and melt. Denser materials like iron and nickel sink towards their centers, while the lighter materials rise to the surface. The differentiation process is why Earth's core is made of iron, while the surface is primarily rock.

While protoplanet orbits were much more stable than those of planetesimals, they still eventually collided with each other until everything settled into the planets we see today (though gas giants had a few extra steps - that's a different post!).

We think the Psyche asteroid was a protoplanet, well on its way to becoming a bona fide planet, when an impact struck it hard enough to strip away its rocky layers, leaving behind the dense, metallic core - like in this illustration.

More and more, we think the properties of a planet's core are fundamental to its long-term evolution. Venus, Earth, and Mars are all roughly the same size and roughly the same distance from the sun, cosmically speaking, yet they're so different! Venus has hell death clouds, Earth is home, and Mars is dry and dead - why?

The Psyche asteroid gives us the unique opportunity to actually observe a planetary core directly - it's much harder to dig to the center of a planet than it is to go to space, so that's exactly what we're going to do!

On Thursday October 12th at 10:16am Eastern, the Psyche spacecraft will launch and begin its journey to the asteroid belt! You can watch at https://www.nasa.gov/nasatv/!

I've been a part of this mission for over four years now, and I can't speak highly enough of the team that made it happen through all of the ups and downs. Good luck out there, buddy. We're all rooting for you :')

#space #NASA #psyche #asteroid #planet #psyche mission #long post #get home safe friend #you're gonna see some amazing things #For real y'all this mission has been my every single day for the past four years #I grew up with this project #end of an era but beginning of something new!#spost

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foone · 4 months

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So Warframe added a "Pom-2" Alternate 1999 computer (that's needed for weird void magic future science wizardry). Thoughts?

Only thing I have that's a sort of question mark is that I don't know of many setups that would have needed a 5 1/4" floppy in 99 (or why it has both the tower and the under monitor unit)

ugh. OKAY, so... the tower and desktop combination is just weird. I have, on one occasion, run a "server" that was two towers, and the original PC supported a DUAL-DESKTOP mode, but both types together? nonsense.

dual monitor was rare but possible in 1999 (win98 added native support), so I think the best interpretation here is that this is actually two computers. maybe the one on the left is missing the keyboard and mouse because it's being used as some kind of server for the other computer? I used a little case like that to run my first linux server, which was also acting as a router for my internal network.

The OS is weird. The icons above the menu-bar look like win98, the dialog box is windows 3.x, the menu-bar icons on the bottom are pure os X (although they remind me of like a web-TV kinda system, like hotkeys for email/internet/etc), but the greyscale is very classic mac system. Actually it kinda reminds me of C64's GEOS, but GEOS was very classic-mac.

Like most CRT-filters, they turned the scanlines up WAY TOO HIGH. No CRT I've ever seen looked that fucking terrible. The monitor buttons are a bit odd: You didn't get monitors with buttons on the front until long after they were all color... but maybe it's a color monitor that's showing a monochrome OS?

as for the floppies: yeah. There are multiple mistakes here.

5.25" in 1999 is just silly. If you still had 5.25" disk drives in 1999, you were intentionally doing some retrocomputing stuff. For reference, around 2001 my PC repair job would specifically ask me to copy data off 5.25" disks, because they didn't have any 5.25" drives anymore, and I was their only tech who did.

The other mistake is that they have THREE floppy drives. so the PC doesn't really support that, natively? You can do some tricks and make it work (The youtuber Tech Tangents did a video on how it could be done), but realistically two was the normal max.

The final mistake is that all the drive activity lights are on. Those are only supposed to be on while the drive is reading or writing... and I don't see any disks in those drives! Let alone a situation that would involve turning all three on at once (I don't think that's even possible on most floppy controllers!)

In fact, the main time you'd end up with the drive lights stuck on like that is when you've installed the drive cable upside down. That ends up with them getting stuck on and non-functional. So this computer looks, to me, like it was put together incorrectly and no one noticed.

I don't believe that font would be on a black & white retro computer. Nope. Too smooth and too big.

There's also a USB icon on that OS: I don't think there's ever been a monochrome OS that supported OS, and looking at that computer case I don't believe that it has USB. Maybe the tower would, but the desktop? no.

That keyboard is off a Gateway 2000 computer. Something like this:

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five-rivers · 9 days

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timer

@echoghost1 @everfascinated

It hovered over the surface of the portal, clearly separate from it. A large, flat, disk shape, with a pale, luminous face. More vivid numbers circled the edge, painted neatly. A single, delicate, metal hand pointed towards the number seven, on the left side of the clock. It had been pointing there for the past hour or so, ever since it had been noticed.

Maddie drummed her fingers on the workbench she stood next to. The timer - because what else could it be? - was, thus far, a mystery to her. Usually, Maddie liked mysteries. Exploring the mysteries of the Ghost Zone had been the reason they had built the portal in the first place. This mystery was fascinating, and Maddie was excited about it, but it was also incredibly troubling.

Obviously, the timer - hovering, green, immovable - was ghostly in origin. What else could it be? But how did a ghost place get in here to place it? For what purpose? How much time was left? What was it counting down to? It couldn’t be anything good. Ghosts had no love for her family or their works.

As soon as she’d noticed it, she and Jack had started taking readings, but nothing they did gave them anything conclusive, or any way to get rid of the thing.

It was frustrating and troubling. Frustrating and troubling.

“Uh, Mom? Dad? It’s six and we were wondering if you wanted us to order dinner or anything…”

Maddie looked up to see Danny coming down the stairs.

“Oh, sure!” said Jack. “Pizza sounds great, son!”

“Yeah. What are you even– What’s that?”

Danny stared wide-eyed at the timer for a long moment, and Maddie moved to reassure him. Danny was always so timid around ghosts, so afraid. This timer was doubtlessly malevolent, but she and Jack wouldn’t let it do anything to Danny.

Briefly, Danny’s eyes gleamed green. Then, slowly, but inevitably, he collapsed.

Maddie leaped forward, keeping Danny from hitting his head on the bottom step by the narrowest of margins. “Jack!”

“What happened?” he asked, hurrying over. “Danny? Danny? Talk to me, son! Can you hear me?”

Danny’s eyes fluttered open briefly, overly reflective, then shut again.

“I’m setting up the quarantine booth,” said Maddie. “Will you carry him?”

Jack nodded, grimly.

They’d gotten the quarantine booth set up after Vlad’s unfortunate recurrence of ecto-acne and the revelation that ecto-acne could be contagious under certain circumstances. It was sealed, filtered, protected, shielded. Every precaution they could think of had gone into it.

… and, yes, they should use those precautions more often, but Maddie and Jack loved getting up close and personal with the subjects of study.

“We need to get that thing shielded,” said Jack as he set Danny on the bed. He rushed out towards the timer and started setting up shield projectors around the portal.

Maddie, meanwhile, pulled the medical scanner free from the ceiling. Well, ‘medical scanner’ was a very sci-fi way of putting it, when really it was quite prosaic, if you knew how it worked.

She positioned it over Danny’s body and set it to taking data.

Temperature, low, heart rate, low, bones, intact, nervous system… that part of the scanner didn’t work all that well, ignore that reading…

Ectoplasm levels were off the charts.

Maddie inhaled deeply. Stay calm, stay calm. They would fix this. They’d cured Vlad and Danny’s friends, they could cure this, whatever it was. They would get rid of that timer and they’d save Danny.

“Mom?” said Danny, weakly.

“Hey, sweetie,” said Maddie. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” said Danny. He tried to sit up, but Maddie pushed him back down. “What’s happening?”

“You collapsed suddenly,” said Maddie. “We’re trying to figure out why.”

Danny raised one hand to his face. Green light reflected off his hand. Understanding flicked over his features.

“Okay, but I think I’m feeling better, now,” he said. He tried to sit up again.

“We need to figure out what happened before you go running around,” said Maddie, pushing him down again. She looked over at Jack, through the thick, transparent sides of the quarantine booth. Jack was now trying to throw a towel over the timer and–

Wait a moment.

“Stay down,” she told Danny. “Let the scanner do its job.” She walked out of the quarantine booth. “Wait, Jack, wait.”

“But we have to keep it from affecting Danny. We don’t know if its effect is visual or what.”

“I know, I know,” said Maddie. “But look at it. Look at the hand.”

The hand, which had been pointing at the number seven, was now pointing at the number six.

Jack scowled at the timer and tried to throw the towel over it again. The towel passed through it. “Are we sure this is a timer, Mads? Maybe the numbers are counting down charges or something like that.”

“I don’t know, it still looks more like a timer to me.”

“But why did it affect Danny like that?”

“I don’t know. We need to start decontamination procedures right away, though. His ectoplasm levels are off the charts. The sudden spike is probably what made him collapse, but I don’t know how this could have increased his ectoplasm levels so much so quickly.”

I don’t know either,” said Jack. He picked up the latest version of the Fenton Finder (which incidentally, still detected Danny more often than not) and shook it. “None of the detectors we have pointed at it picked up anything. Nothing going towards Danny, nothing ambient, nothing anywhere else.”

Maddie had hoped that their detectors had picked something up, but with the continued failures of the Fenton Finder, maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised.

“We’ll keep looking,” said Maddie. She was forgetting something. What was she forgetting? “Jazz. We need to tell Jazz, so she doesn’t come down here. What if it only affects minors?”

“Righto,” said Jack, shoving the Finder at Maddie. “I’ll do that, you start the decontam procedures!”

Maddie nodded tightly and turned back to Danny. She could see his eyes gleaming from here.But they could fix this.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic

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burst-of-iridescent · 3 months

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not to beat the "sokka's misogyny" disk horse even further into the ground, but while i agree with the take that sokka being sexist logically doesn't make sense, i would go further to say that the water tribes themselves being sexist is both illogical and thematically contradictory.

the flaws of each nation in atla have always been linked to their element, and specifically what those elements represent. fire is the element of power; power, left unchecked, leads to imperialism and authoritarianism. earth is the element of substance and stability; stability, prioritized too highly, creates and justifies the rigid class system and rampant corruption of ba sing se. air is the element of freedom; freedom, taken too far, becomes irresponsibility and abandonment.

meanwhile, water is the element of change... therefore the water tribes cling to antiquated ideas about gender roles instead of adapting with the times (especially when the times involve a fucking war going on).

not only is this unrealistic, it also breaks the thematic pattern of the nations' flaws being virtues taken to extremes, and how this dovetails into the show's overall message about the importance of balance. if we're keeping with the pattern of virtue and vice being two sides of the same coin, then the flaw of the water tribes has to be related to change. and here is where some of the (badly executed) ideas in the comics and legend of korra could have come into play: change, left uncontrolled, can lead to progress... but at the cost of tradition and spirituality.

(imagine a nwt cut off from the world and forced to rely solely on itself, ingenuity and creativity flourishing out of sheer, desperate need. imagine a nwt where waterbending is nothing more than a tool, used to build and defend and maintain a fortress always at risk, its spiritual origins slowly lost to time. imagine a nwt more military than community, whose architecture and technology far exceed anything the world has ever seen, who look down upon their less advanced sister tribe, and see no need for the avatar - after all, where was he when they had no one but themselves for the last 100 years?

when warned that the fire nation is coming, they show no fear; they have held strong on their own for the last century, bolstered by their weapons and wits, and will continue to do so. you need the spirits, aang implores, and is met with derision, for there is no place for spirits in a society always chasing more, greater, better. the spirits have not helped us before, avatar. why would they now? we are all we need.

when the moon spirit falls, unprotected and forgotten in an abandoned, rundown spirit oasis - so do they.)

not only would this fit better thematically, it would also ensure that the nwt's flaw plays a role in its own downfall. where the fire nation's warmongering resulted in the poverty and suffering of its own people, and the earth kingdom's corruption led - at least in part - to the fall of ba sing se, the misogyny of the water tribes is never shown to negatively impact them in any way. the north isn't defeated by the fire nation because they relegated half the population to healing. the south doesn't suffer raids or lose their waterbenders because they (supposedly) didn't let women fight. this lack of narrative punishment means that - outside of a few girlboss moments for katara - the sexism of the nwt isn't significant to the overall story whatsoever.

furthermore, while the ba sing se arc last almosts half a season, and the fire nation's actions drive the entire show, this supposed systemic oppression of women shows up for one episode in the first season before disappearing entirely. pakku is reminded of his lost love, magically turns into a feminist, and somehow the entire tribe follows suit? no one else protests, not even the other students or the chief?

and yet, though there are still no female waterbenders other than katara, or agency for kanna in her relationship, or any indication that women stopped being forcibly betrothed - the entire issue is simply swept under the rug and never brought up ever again in the show. i understand this was a children's cartoon made in 2005, and that even having female characters openly speak about and challenge misogyny was a radical feat for the time and genre, but the reality of patriarchy is that it's structural, sustained and immensely difficult to resist - if the show was going to depict that resistance, it should have done so with greater depth and nuance, as it did for many of the other difficult topics it tackled.

ultimately, handwaving misogyny away like it never existed is far more disrespectful to katara's character, her fight against injustice, and the girls who saw themselves in her, than simply toning it down or removing it could ever be.

#atla critical #atla live action #it also always struck me as odd that sokka and katara seemed so chill with the north #when the nwt literally left the swt to fight the fire nation alone and stayed out of the war for a century #they lost their benders. their parents.#and all the while the north was sequestered away doing nothing to help #you're telling me that wouldn't have created any resentment? any anger?#plus imagine how powerful it would've been for the last southern waterbender to help the north rediscover the origins of waterbending #also the north disdaining spirits yet being saved by the ocean spirit and the avatar?#that's the exact kind of narrative irony atla does best #i'm seriously begging people to realize that the misogyny arc in atla was NOT as groundbreaking or well-developed as they think it is #and i for one am interested to see if and how netflix is going to handle it

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