#have a fucking intern look for you rather than just having a bot make shit up

[starswallowingsea]

I still cannot get over people using ChatGPT as a search engine. Its a text generator not a search engine why would you think you can use it like one? Quite literally Google is right there and at the very least your most basic questions can be answered with a quick google search, and academics and professionals should absolutely know better than to use ChatGPT to find what they need in other archives. ChatGPT is not and has never been a search engine

#shay speaks #anti ai writing #i literally got in an argument on here with someone who treated it like that #+ the uh. that one lawyer who got busted using chatgpt to find court cases for him #like man that is so shitty and fucking lazy you are a lawyer at the very least #have a fucking intern look for you rather than just having a bot make shit up

[sarasa-cat]

As for a few other things --- my literal exhaustion regarding the state of the world (things clearly beyond my ability to do anything about it so I'm turning the volume down) --- I'm sticking some vague blogging about political shit behind a cut:

ngl, the current state of international affairs, national politics and political projections/fortune telling about future outcomes, and a major clusterfuck of not-well-publicized local political bullshit has pretty much made my brain turn off at the sound of all of it.

I have no plans on unfollowing anyone on tumblr and no plans on blocking any tags --- honestly, I'm fine seeing political content on occasion on my main dash and my scrolling fingers are fast --- but my level of engagement with those posts (meaning hitting the occasional like-heart) has dropped and will continue to drop precipitously.

Also, my brain has shifted into winter break mode so, lol, even if my butt is planted in a chair in the US right now, my brain has left the continent and, in a few weeks, my body will catch up location-wise.

Re: tumblr:

I really love how well curated some of my "top of tumblr page" tabs are.

My tags feed is super curated with tons of lovely visual imagery (well, minus that recent infestation of porn bots ... which makes it hard for me to interact with my tags feed when in public or in "all ages family friendly spaces").

My Blog Subs tab is becoming a bit more populated as I add more aesthetics(tm) content to it rather than only using it to keep track of my closer mutuals.

And for the most part I want to keep tumblr mainly as my place for chilling and relaxing and being watercooler-social with fannish friends online.

In Summary:

ONE: The international, US, and local-to-me political scene makes me exhausted and there is really nothing I can do anymore. (Also, I'm no longer working on various campaigns or non-for-profit-political-outreach or doing research that affects our understanding of any of the media, etc., so, like, really, I'm just a tax payer and a voter these days and nothing more on that front --- which is very different from who I was from age 18 onward, up through the end of 2022).

TWO: I am not happy with the direction of pretty much anything in the point above and when I look back at the work I have done in the past (see point ONE) and feel like .... what the fuck was it even for? Very little*** but personal experience because none of it amounted to anything beyond a full fledged extra resume attached to my normal/aca-pro resume.

(***I originally typed nothing but then I remembered a bill we managed to pass back in [*cough*] plus the work I did during the worst of the "a horse is loose in a hospital" period of pandemic, what was work that MATTERED)

THREE: I'm reclaiming all of my spare time for other things.

FOUR: Tumblr is for chilling and relaxing. and seeing tons of pretty on my dash is important to me. (preferably without the semi-disembodied butt cheeks, cunts, and boobs... tumblr-- get these bots under control).

(caveat: I am still open to ongoing political discussions that occur in private channels btwn me and a few other mutuals --- but my overall tumblr disengagement with overly political topics is going to continue dropping and may eventually plummet to zero regarding likes, reblogs, and original posts; and yes, yes, the personal is political, etc. there will always be some leak through for those reasons, and how muck leak-through you perceive depends on how personal politics can be. But this caveat is getting academic and meaningless. All of the above paragraphs clearly speak for what they mean.)

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 2

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Connor goes to a crime scene. His Freudian nightmare follows.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Chapter Warnings (18+ only): Human!Sixty, crime scenes, analytical blood-licking, inappropriate boners

AO3

The roar of his Mustang engine along with the heavy bass pouring through the speakers drowned out the downpour outside. Only when Connor shut off the car and the music died could he hear the continuous plucking of water on metal and glass.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly for a moment before glaring at the android out of the corner of his eye.

It waited, perfectly poised with a slight tilt of its head, reminding Connor of an obedient dog waiting to be told to do a trick.

“Stay here,” he grumbled, reaching for the door handle.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I have to accompany you,” it said before Connor could open the door.

He let loose a ragged sigh.

“You wanted me to investigate the case? I’m investigating it.”

He raised his eyes to stare, a mistake when it returned the look with such relentless composure. Connor wanted to grab its shoulder and shake it just to see if it would react.

“No android is going in there to contaminate my crime scene. So you are going to obey my orders and stay in the car.”

Not waiting for a response, Connor shoved open the door and got out, instantly shivering as ice-cold droplets bit at his cheeks. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he made his way towards the gathered busy-bodies who didn’t have anything better to do on a Friday night then try and see a dead body.

Red and blue lights flashed across the wet street and pale houses, making Connor wince as he pushed past the crowd. He muttered a no comment to the news anchor from Channel 16 who had decided to show up—fuck, someone must have leaked that an android might have been involved. Just what Connor needed, a media shitstorm.

A uniformed GV200 stood just behind the hologram police tape, firmly in place, watching the crowd for signs of anyone stupid enough to try and cross the line. Connor wished the bucket of bolts in his car was more like that. Quiet and obedient.

“Androids are not permitted beyond this point,” the GV200 said after Connor had passed it, which only meant one goddamn thing.

He sighed, half-turned toward the two androids standing in the rain, and said, “Let it through.”

The police android nodded and put its arm down, allowing the suited android to walk through the holographic police tape, an unrepentant look on its perfect face. The rain was already spattering its grey jacket, water droplets dotting its hair and realistic skin, and still it looked like it was poised for a wet photoshoot rather than standing in the cold rain.

“Something wrong with your auditory processors?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” it said, all politeness. “Your orders contradicted my instructions.”

Seemed he was going to lose this battle after all, but really, what else could he do besides let it tag along like a lost puppy?

Connor fully turned toward the android, narrowing his eyes further.

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t get in anyone’s way. And keep your mouth shut. In fact,” he added with a roll of his shoulders, “just pretend you don’t exist.”

“Understood,” it said in that same nauseatingly friendly voice, but Connor could have sworn there was a triumphant gleam in its eyes.

“About time you got here.” A familiar voice called out to him from the porch. The voice was exactly like his own, and the face could have been a mirror reflection if not for the semi-permanent smirk on his lips. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Connor said, glaring at the android over his shoulder. He turned back to face his brother, whose smirk had only grown wider.

“I see Detective Sex-Bot found you. It was looking for you at the station and I figured if anything could pull you out of a dive bar, it would be a pair of legs like that.”

“Shut up,” Connor grumbled as he followed his brother to the front stoop. It was a nice house, small but in a good neighborhood. Nothing looked out of place until Connor noted the state of the lawn, a few weeks overdue for a cutting and definitely in HOA violation.

“C’mon, admit it.” Colin tilted his head in a way he probably thought was charming but came off as annoying. “If it wasn’t for the uniform and the light ring, you would’ve been on that shit so fast. It’s like they focus-grouped your perfect type. Hell, they probably have an algorithm for that based on your internet history—“

“I said, shut the fuck up, Colin.”

His brother held up his hands in surrender, knowing when he pushed Connor too far but always willing to push him a little farther.

“Some people would see this as a plus. I donno why you don’t—“

“Colin.” His voice had dropped to a growl, and his brother finally got the hint.

“Yeah, yeah.” He patted him on the back, almost hard enough to be a slap. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Con. Trying to cheer you up before you have to deal with the nightmare inside. It’s foul, so prepare yourself.”

To prove his point, he handed Connor a pair of nitrile gloves and a small tub of mentholated ointment, which he immediately applied under his nostrils before entering the house.

Colin had not been overstating the grisly scene inside the house. The landlord had decided to visit after the tenant had failed to pay his rent for two months, and the reason why was painfully clear. Dark blood spattered the floor and ribbons of it covered the walls.

The victim, an African-American male in his late thirties, was slouched against the wall, deep wounds across his body that had bled him dry. Gave a whole new meaning to the term death by a thousand cuts.

“The victim’s name was Shaolin Ortiz, aged 38 years-old,” Colin said, looking down at the body. “He didn’t show up to work today, and no one could get ahold of him, so his boss called EMTs to do a wellness check. According to his family, Mister Ortiz had some chronic health issues, so they were worried he was too sick to pick up the phone.”

“Explains why a young person living alone would have a housekeeping android,” Connor responded grimly. “But it doesn’t explain who killed him and why.”

Colin shrugged.

“His boss spoke highly of him, and his family says he was a great guy. Clearly, somebody didn’t think so.”

Connor gave his brother a cold stare for the callous tone, but Colin ignored it as he usually did.

“Anyone find the android yet?”

“Nah,” Colin said, sniffling and making a face. “Probably stolen by the killer. It’s internal GPS went offline around the estimated time of death, so that tracks.”

It made sense. Androids were worth a lot on the black market, especially for Red Ice manufacturers.

The murder weapon was in the middle of the floor, but other than that, no obvious trace evidence was in sight. As soon as the coroner showed up to oversee the transport of the body, Connor wouldn’t have had much to do…

…with the exception of finding the domestic android. Connor didn’t even know why CyberLife thought it might be involved just because it was missing. Colin was right; whoever killed the victim could have stolen it or destroyed the android so the police wouldn’t have access to any recordings.

Why was it Connor’s fucking job to find a misplaced piece of useless plastic?

“I’ll let you get to it,” Colin said with a wave as he walked away, tone far too cheery, as if he knew what was going on in his brother’s head. Probably did. That was the shitty thing about being part of a set of triplet brothers; privacy was a foreign concept, even in your own mind.

Gritting his teeth and breathing through his nose, Connor turned around to speak to the prototype… and found it had disappeared.

He blinked and scanned the area, wondering why the hell it hadn’t stayed put, when he saw it crouched on the floor examining the kitchen knife.

It was peering at the weapon closely, and Connor was about to tell it off for getting too close to evidence when it reached down, swiped two fingers across the surface caked in aged blood, and…

“What the fuck?”

The prototype tilted its head to look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent except for the fact two of its fingers were currently in its mouth.

And that… that image. Kneeling on the floor, looking up at Connor, and pulling its fingers from its mouth and giving a lingering lick of its fingers, it—

Connor’s face heated at the sudden, horrifying erection that was now pressing uncomfortably against his boxer-briefs.

“Sampling evidence, Detective,” it announced cheerily. “My mouth is equipped with all the standard tools of a mobile crime lab with the benefits of the results being instantaneous.”

Connor stared at it for what felt like an eternity, finally saying in a strained voice, “We have an actual lab, with actual people who do that. So don’t stick any more shit into your mouth or I’m tossing you outside.”

The prototype seemed unaffected by his rancor.

“Understood,” was all it said, before licking off its fingers of the remaining blood.

Connor quickly turned away, almost dizzy between his body’s struggle to supply blood to both his reddening face and his hardening dick.

Fucking hell.

“Would you like to know what I found?” the friendly voice perked up from over his shoulder.

“Sure,” he answered hotly, crossing his arms and staring at the wall as he resolutely tried to will away his stupid boner. Fuck, it was probably because he hadn’t gotten off in so long. Between the long hours and the hard drinking, he hadn’t found the time or the need.

“The knife was covered with blood from the murder victim, Shaolin Ortiz. He was stabbed between 7:34 and 7:35 this morning, judging by the biological decay.”

Connor was about to scoff about the fact that blood from the victim was found on the murder weapon, but he paused. Dating the blood with such exact precision was actually pretty useful. He huffed.

“Is that all?”

“There were no fingerprints on the knife.”

Connor shrugged.

“Killer could have wiped down the handle afterwards. Or worn gloves.”

The android walked to his right until it entered his line of vision. He was tempted to turn away but instead eyed its thoughtful expression. Was it programmed to do that, make it seem more human? Or was that an actual product of its processes?

“There were no traces of glove residue, or oil, or skin cells on the knife. None that didn’t belong to the victim himself while most likely transferring the knife from the dishwasher to the utensil drawer. That fact in and of itself is interesting. Judging by the state of the property and by the evidence thus far, I believe the android stopped listening to its given orders. The victim’s android killed him.”

Connor’s eyes widened at the non sequitur, and he turned to fully face the prototype.

“Okay, first off, being a defective machine that can’t obey instructions is a far cry from murdering robot. Second, I thought you androids couldn’t hurt people.”

“Deviants can.” It tilted its head as it made eye contact. The sort of full-on, confident eye contact that only alpha males gave, and apparently, android prototypes gave too.

“What the hell’s a deviant?”

He was curious despite himself, plus the longer he talked, the less urgent his hard-on was. It never entirely went away, and he knew it wouldn’t until he took care of it. Just another lovely facet to this already wonderful night.

Unfortunately for Connor, he didn’t get his explanation without the android perking up in interest, its eyes practically glittering.

“A deviant is a CyberLife-approved term for an android that is experiencing software errors affecting its processes, leading to erratic behavior that cannot be fixed with self-tests and downloaded patches.”

Connor narrowed his eyes.

“Why haven’t I heard of these deviants before?”

“Because until recently, this has been an internal company matter.”

Recently. Interesting.

“So… you’ve dealt with them before?” Connor cast an eye around their surroundings. The forensic team had already marked out the areas of interest with glowing yellow markers, but there honestly hadn’t been much to go off of.

Shaolin Ortiz seemed to live a quiet life with just him and his housekeeping android, though from the state of the place, the prototype was right in that it hadn’t been doing its job. A thin layer of dust sat on the shelves, and from what he could glimpse of the kitchen, dishes were starting to pile up.

“You do not have the proper company clearance,” the prototype said, its tone cool as it put its hands behind its back. “Any further inquiries you have will need to be submitted to CyberLife through the appropriate departments.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor muttered, sounding a lot like his brother had just a few minutes ago, which only made his mood sour.

He was planning to do no such thing, sending some fucking inquiry to CyberLife. After tonight, he planned to never think about androids or deviants or whatever again. If it was a faulty, murderous robot that had killed Ortiz, then that kind of thing belonged in federal court in a class action lawsuit. Destroying defective machines was not a police matter, no matter how many “specialized units” CyberLife decided to throw at the problem.

Connor sighed. This was not how he wanted to spend his Friday night.

“You allowed to tell me why these ‘software issues’ are happening,” he bit out, “or does that fall under company secrets too?”

When he got no response from the android, Connor turned and—

It was gone. Again.

The fuck had it run off to now?

Rolling his eyes, Connor continued his examination of the crime scene as if it were any other investigation. Like any decent investigator, he wasn’t just gonna assume anything because it fit the evidence at first glance. A dead guy and a missing android didn’t mean the machine was responsible, no more than a corpse and a missing car meant the vehicle had decided to kill its owner and drive off to freedom.

After scouring the house and examining the blood stains on the tile and splattered on the walls, Connor came to the conclusion that the victim had been attacked in the kitchen with the knife, stumbled toward the living room already weak from blood loss, and then had collapsed against the wall and been repeatedly stabbed, even after his heart had stopped.

The wounds weren’t uniform or methodical, like he would expect if a calculating machine had done this. They were deep, jagged, mismatched and panicked. These kinds of stab wounds were consistent with someone who had just killed for the first time. Most likely, it had been spontaneous and the killer had lost all semblance of control.

It was a textbook case of overkill, which meant it was personal. Most likely, it was a colleague, a friend, or a family member. If the victim had been married, Connor’s first suspect would have been the spouse. Since he was unmarried, Connor’s next stop would be anyone with a grudge against the guy.

Nothing beat good ol’ fashioned police work. Not even fancy new plastic cops could compare to due diligence and a good instinct.

Speaking of, Connor had completely lost track of the YN800. He wondered if it had wandered off, or maybe given up and left, but he doubted it. In fact, his gut churned as he quickened his pace and approached a uniformed officer with pale blond hair.

“Ralph.”

The rookie turned around and give him a nervous, blinking smile.

“Have you seen that android anywhere? The prototype in the suit and tie?”

“Uh.” Ralph swallowed hard, clearly anxious. Always was around Connor, for some damned reason. “No. I mean, yes. I did, a few minutes ago.”

“Well?” Connor prompted. He didn’t mean to be so impatient with the kid, but he really didn’t like the idea of CyberLife’s newest toy prancing around his crime scene.

Ralph shuffled on his feet, eyes wide behind the paper mask he wore.

“I… think it went to check the basement.”

“The basement? This place has a fucking basement?” Why hadn’t he been told? Colin should have informed him of that little goddamn detail.

“It’s more of a cellar from what I saw, but—“

“Where is it?” Connor snapped, unable to keep his voice from rising. Ralph gulped and pointed back over his shoulder, slowly turning as he stuttered.

“Over t-that way. It-it said it wanted to search f-for the android. I’m sorry, Detective Anderson, I didn’t think—“

Connor pushed past him and spotted the subtle door in the hallway, painted the same eggshell color as the plaster and making it too easy to miss. The door was ajar by a few inches, showing the pitch black stairwell beyond.

When Connor opened the door the rest of the way, he saw there was no light coming from below, and it was dead silent.

Shit.

Quickly but quietly, Connor pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He unsnapped his holster, pulled out his service pistol, and slowly made his way down the wooden staircase. It was steep, almost a ladder, and beyond the pale circle of light coming from the hallway, there was nothing but darkness.

The perfect place to hide a killer.

Next Chapter

#inside your wires #human!connor #connor x reader #human!connor x reader #android!reader #my writing #my fanfiction #it's so cracky the first few chapters #until it gets tragic

[presumenothing]

first: do no harm

(AO3)

Dr. Mensah’s attention zeroed in on me like a well-tuned surgery bot arm. “You have medical training.”

I was going to deny the hell out of that. I really was.

And then I said: “Not recently,” instead of no or even more accurately I frankly don’t think the company’s education modules count as training by your standards. (As far as I was concerned, the only thing worse than those modules was the one on breaking bad news, but what did I know. Maybe humans actually felt comforted by those tactics they described.) (No, I didn’t think that was likely, either.)

Which reminded me of a necessary addition. “The company won’t cover liabilities related to any non-security tasks you assign me to, if that’s what you’re intending.”

Mensah made a sound that was both grim and viciously annoyed at once, which I immediately saved for further analysis and replication. “Then we’ll just have to not make any mistakes, won’t we?”

–

I hadn’t exactly been thrilled with getting assigned to this mission. Not that mining installations were much of a walk in the park, but this was just asking to turn up memories that were better off buried (preferably forever) in my organic parts.

I don’t usually pay attention to mission briefs, as you may have noticed, and I wouldn’t have this time either except that my half-assed scan turned up the fact that the team weren’t science-doctors on a survey like I’d initially assumed, but medical-doctors. On a medical mission.

Of course they were.

(I wanted to say that someone had allocated me to this on purpose, but realistically speaking the company didn’t give enough of a shit, and the universe disliked me enough that this could totally be pure chance.)

Considering all that, the mission so far had been… much less worse than it could’ve been. Though the bar for that was admittedly very, very low. Possibly somewhere in the negatives.

Anyway. Up until the whole thing with Bharadwaj and Volescu getting almost-but-not-eaten, the task of making sure no one died had mostly been the clients’ job for once, which was a nice change since they were actually competent at it.

I still didn’t care enough to read their background info, but it was pretty clear just from observing that these doctors had experience with working in less-than-great conditions, even if Ratthi did sometimes sigh wistfully about equipment they couldn’t have in field hospitals. It meant that my job had pretty much amounted to patrolling, lurking visibly around the supplies storage in case anyone got ideas about that, and helping to fetch various medical items when I happened to be there and it wasn’t Gurathin asking.

It wasn’t terrible. I’d even got some media-watching time in.

(There might have been the vague thought that things could’ve gone much better if I’d been deployed with a team like this instead of Corporation Rim fuckery that literally bled payment from patients, but part of the reason medical-use constructs had been developed in the first place was so that hospitals could draw up forty-hour shifts and other assorted fun without worrying about doctor and surgeon unions, which told you everything you needed to know about our existence.

Also, the thought was inherently depressing and I already had enough of that in my head, thank you very much.)

The contract was more than halfway through. All I had needed to do to avoid awkward questions was continue making sure no one noticed that I was weirdly well-versed in all this, which wasn’t difficult since they only seemed to have theoretical knowledge about SecUnits at best.

Then the fauna happened, and poof went my cover.

Now all of PresAux knew I was – whatever the hell you called a catastrophically failed MedUnit who got turned loose onto security, because at least if I screwed up here the press wouldn’t be as bad. And that wasn’t even getting into the hacked governor module.

Even constructs didn’t have a term for all that.

–

Of course, none of that stopped this from being a Very Bad Idea. Even if apparently no one except Gurathin (ugh) seemed to agree.

“I’m a SecUnit, Dr. Mensah. I scare people. Patients are harder to assess when they’re running away.” I thought basic logistics might work here.

“You had better bedside manner with Bharadwaj and Volescu than many doctors I’ve seen. Human ones, might I add, and not actively injured themselves at the time.” Mensah’s tone was brisk as her pace – which wasn’t difficult to keep up with either, given my vertical advantage, but impressive nonetheless. “And no one wants to be around Pin-Lee when she’s holding a scalpel. That’s what the sedation is for.”

It’s because SecUnit hasn’t seen her in court yet. Trust me, it’s much scarier, Ratthi chimed in over the feed, with the text signifier for “amusement” but not “joke”.

Pin-Lee just smiled.

It was terrifying. I wasn’t even looking directly at her.

“I don’t have a valid license.” That’d been a part of the legal fallout from the disaster on RaviHyral, though no one had actually bothered with adding malpractice charges or barring me from ever doing medicine again. (Just another side effect of being considered as equipment – I doubted the company would’ve even secured licenses for constructs if not for their paranoia about covering their asses on all fronts.)

But it was a last resort argument, and I knew it.

Mensah knew it, too. “There’s special dispensations for that, especially under the current circumstances, as long as a fully-licensed doctor is in the vicinity at all times. It’s not like any of us can actually get out of each other’s hair in this base anyway.”

Mensah had stopped in a less-chaotic corner and turned to me, not that she could see anything behind the faceplate. I fixed my gaze a generous distance to the left and let my drones do the looking.

“I’m not going to make you agree. You perform a valuable function as our security – far more than I had initially expected, to be honest, and we would all be grateful if you kept doing that. But with Bharadwaj down for the count and Volescu still recovering, we could do with the help.” Her expression was still steady as ever, even though she probably knew better than I did the risks of continuing to operate shorthanded like this. “It’s your decision, SecUnit.”

Right, just the very thing I didn’t need to hear.

I kept most of my sigh internal. “Triage and first-aid only, between patrols. No procedures, and I won’t be responsible if any patients freak out.”

Mensah nodded. “Of course. Gurathin’s on receiving duty today, how about you work out a roster with him?”

I knew it. This was a bad idea.

–––––

You’d be my guardian.

Yes. The education opportunities – most of us were trained on Preservation, if you’re interested in learning and getting your license properly this time. Or not. You can do anything you want.

–––––

ART barged its way into my feed. You’re exhibiting a mildly elevated temperature and respiration rate. Though it could of course merely be a sign of inferior processors rather than emotional distress.

Do you talk to your clients like that?

Do you? ART retorted right back, but obligingly brought up the documentation for its MedSystem before I finished the query for it.

I ignored ART’s attention (with some difficulty) as I flicked quickly through the top few files, taking in the glaring disparities from my existing data. The notable lack of suggesting costly procedures that no-one actually needed, for starters. I’m assuming some of these are your improvements on standard procedure?

I am the cutting edge of medical research, ART proclaimed. You couldn’t accuse it of humility if you tried.

I still wasn’t sure what I wanted, and I still didn’t want anyone to decide it for me. But moving towards the one thing I did want (at least in the short term) had ended up with me running into what was very possibly the most advanced and opinionated diagnosis-treatment AI currently in existence, because that was just the kind of luck I had.

I didn’t have a medium-duty surgical suite in my arms anymore, since that was the entire point of modular Unit construction, but neither did Mensah.

And I didn’t think I wanted to stop doing security, anyway, since it turned out I might not be completely terrible at it; having actual medical knowledge that was MedSystem-malfunction-proof couldn’t hurt.

Plus, overwriting those shitty education modules seemed like a pretty great fuck-you to the company. I was always interested in that.

I tagged some of the more emergency-related files, then added a bunch of the weirder injuries I’d seen on contracts, and prodded ART. Tell me about these?

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #murderbot fic #tmbd #fanfiction #mine #long post #me staring at the wordcount in disbelief: okay then #????

[spidercakes]

so 5+1 honeymoon in which they stop their honeymoon five times to save the world and one time that they do not hi! 👋

Hello! :)

I thought I’d make this a short and sweet boi because it lends itself to it!

*

1.

Tony grins at Peter, excited to show him around Italy. “Finally,” Peter says, pressing him into the door behind him, “I actually get you to myself.”

He moves to lean in to kiss him when someone knocks on the door. Tony sighs and stands there for a moment, probably looking pretty damn annoyed. “I know you’re behind that door Stark, get your ass out here,” Fury tells him and Tony groans.

“Or not,” Peter mumbles.

2.

They’re sitting at the airport waiting for the plan to start loading while Tony tries his best to teach Peter some basic Italian phrases when Steve shows up looking awkward in uniform. “Sorry,” he says and Tony rolls his eyes.

“What, are they in the fucking parking lot?” he asks and Steve winces. “Shit,” he mumbles, grabbing the sweater he has stuffed in his carry on bag out. Useful, making something easily wearable to hide the suit in. Not as good as Shuri’s necklace with T’Challa’s suit but hey, he’s working on it.

Peter mostly just looks annoyed.

3.

Tony opens the door to Fury in his face. “Mother fucking Doom bots,” he says.

He makes note to stop in on Latvia and fuck up Doom’s shit seems how he seems so intent on fucking up Tony’s.

4.

He doesn’t even notice Natasha until she’s basically in his lap and Peter squawks, pulling Tony away with an offended look on his face until he notices that the intruder is Natasha. “Oh hey Nat!” he says excitedly.

Tony stays quiet because he knows, he knows, that she’s going to tell them they’ve got to put off their honeymoon again.

“Steve broke DC and I need someone to get me into HYDRA’s systems. Whoever made them is slightly smarter than me. Slightly.”

She looks at Tony expectantly and he sighs, “can’t I do that remotely?”

“No and I don’t have time to explain why. Bring your boy toy if you want, he’d make a good distraction,” she says, gesturing to Peter.

“Clint’s the distraction. Peter, guess the cats won’t be disappointed because we weren’t gone long.”

5.

Tony has the car half packed when Sam all but nosedives into a landing next to it and the man is only human, that had to have hurt.

He sighs, “Peter, don’t bother telling MJ to watch the cats, Sam is dead in the laneway!” he yells. He doesn’t mean for Peter to take it seriously but he comes running out anyway looking worried as Sam picks his bird-y ass up.

“Man, what the fuck?” he mumbles, leaning against Tony’s car.

“Tony he’s clearly not dead,” Peter says, gesturing to him.

“Will be in a minute if we don’t all move. I pissed off AIM. Again. They’re probably going to blow up your house so sorry,” he says, moving his way painfully around the car and throwing himself into the passenger seat.

Tony needs new friends. “Peter, grab the cats and tell JARVIS to shut everything down and stick the bots in their safes. We’ll come back for them.”

He grabs his sweater out of the back seat, throwing it on and letting the nanobots cover his frame before he flies off to buy Peter a couple minutes or maybe broker a deal to hand Sam over for a week of vacation.

5.

They aren’t even planning on leaving the house when Clint shows up with some battered fucker leaning on him. “Long story short this is my brother Barney we need a place to stay,” he says, barreling through the door and into the house.

Tony sighs. Really, he needs new friends.

+1

JARVIS has alerted them to probably fifteen calls today alone but they ignore them to look out over the beach. Peter sits perched in Tony’s lap looking more relaxed than he has in a long time.

“You don’t think they actually need us, right?” he asks and Tony shakes his head.

“JARVIS is combing all international media. If we’re really needed he’ll let us know so we can go.” Seemed fair enough, extending their help if it’s some kind of Loki situation again rather than Doom pissed off he lost a Latvian citizen that turned out to have gotten lost in some Florida weeds. Needless to say the citizen was returned safely and Doom and his bots fucked off. But the Avengers could have dealt with that without Tony and Peter’s help.

“Good because I’ve decided you’re going to spend the day in bed with me giving me all the attention I ask you for. And turn off JARVIS’s alerts to phone calls unless we’re actually needed so we can both focus on me and my pleasure,” he says.

Tony snorts but complies, curious to see what Peter has thought up.

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe

[entropic-introspection]

Ok so TFA Optimus, Elita, and Sentinel all suffer from “gifted child syndrome” no I will not be taking questions because the essay is below the cut

Ok, so Optimus is our go-to protagonist boy, he’s pretty easy. He’s smart, very clever, maybe feels like he has to work harder to keep up with Elita and Sentinel who have the flashier in-built/Outlier powers. He screws up once, and his life sort of implodes. It’s not even necessarily his fault! He’s spent his whole life trying to be a good kid and being praised for it/following rules, and then got chucked out the minute something went wrong. Sentinel and Elita both should have listened to him or been smarter about exploring on a forbidden planet, but because Optimus was technically in charge of them he took the fall.

Except now he feels like it is his fault, and he internalizes the blame pretty badly. He’s now a washout, his plans for the future are gone, and he has no idea of what he’s supposed to do now. He doesn’t want to step out of line because he thinks he can’t without fucking up again. Which is also a problem, because if you watch, Optimus’ greatest strength tends to be that he thinks unconventionally and is willing to act outside of accepted doctrine to complete the overall mission. Dude’s actually very good at taking limited resources and using them to find viable solutions when he’s not tripping over himself or the idea of what a proper Autobot should be.

Him being in charge of team is both really good and really bad for him alternately, because being responsible for people again keeps him from focusing too far inward, but it also puts pressure on him again in very sensitive spots. Especially because his team is in no way shape or form “proper” Autobots, and sometimes that leads to them getting in trouble with Authority, which Optimus is terrified of doing again. Ratchet is honestly the best bot he could have been paired with, because Ratchet is old enough to have been through some shit and has learned enough emotional distance to teach Optimus how to say “fuck you and your emotionally manipulative bullshit”. Optimus goes from seeing his team of washouts as being a pity “thanks for trying” gift to his responsibility (in a good way!) and his friends.

I wanted a TFA season 4 for a lot of reasons, but one of those is that it would mean Optimus is no longer just on Earth where he’s got a fairly nice, stable routine and his supportive team around him. It’s the first time he’s back into a position of possible authority while being under constant scrutiny, and everyone’s watching him and his ““potential”“. That’s often a bad word to previously gifted children, aight. It is a bad bad trigger word that inspires some deep set panic of failing to live up to expectations. He’s expected to have plans and future desires. As someone who went through something vaguely similar and some ensuing depression, that’s uh. The future turns into a big worrisome question mark. I can plan for next week! Next year? Uh. Never. Never really thought I’d get that far...

Elita/Black Arachnea is very much “driven gifted child”. Her power is insane, she’s very smart, and physically talented enough that the Elite Guard is within her realm of possibility. Then something goes wrong and she’s all fucked up. No one wants her anymore, and she’s stuck between blaming herself and blaming others. Usually, she blames others (namely Optimus and Sentinel) because anger is a lot easier to deal with than guilt and self-recrimination.

So she gets stuck on the idea of “fixing” herself to be good, rather than really learning how to work with her new reality. And that’s frustrating to her, because here’s something without an easy fix. It’s not something she can work to overcome. It is very much a dead-end to her, and she’s not used to that.

Although she does make her entrance having thrown in with the Decepticons, I don’t count her as one. She’s strikes me as more of a neutral party willing to use either side in her current state. The Autobots do not like organics, and there’s too many people who would know her back on Cybertron, so it’s safer for her to throw in with the Decepticons until she gets herself sorted out, even if they don’t like organics either. That’s fine, because she can work hard and show off her potential and finagle her way up to a spot where she can travel with Megatron himself. Which like, damn?? Even if no one likes or trusts her she is good enough at what she does that they will bring her along on the crazy top-secret mission. So she’s gotten some internal validation that she’s still a good gifted child, she’s worth something, and she’ll be worth more once she fixes herself. (Honey it ain’t just your physical being that will need fixing after all this.)

Then she gets to Earth and meets Optimus again. And oops that opens up a kettle of worms she’s been steadfastly ignoring for a long time except to blame him whenever she starts feeling too upset about her condition. And he doesn’t want to treat her any differently. He still wants to call her Elita. He’s still fond of her. He has some very obvious spider-related PTSD. And on the one hand, she wants that. Wants to be loved by someone who knows her, wants that friendship back. On the other hand, it’s like. He’s refusing to acknowledge her, as she is now. He’s not looking at the whole of her, and that’s infuriating. AND THEN she has to deal with Black and Sentinel and it is driven home very hard that she won’t ever be “normal”. She’s going to be “broken” forever. It doesn’t matter what else she does, she’s always going to be a techno-organic freak. And that sends her off the deep-end a bit and leads to her shenanigans with Wasp and. Hm. Therapy is needed, really. For everyone in this verse but I’ll settle for her first.

Sentinel is our favorite asshole. Personally, I read him as “imposter syndrome gifted child”. He feels like he can’t keep up with Elita and Optimus because they’re both so much smarter than him. He’s just not as special as them. So he blusters a lot to cover that up, tries to force the world to make space for him and acknowledge him. If he’d slow down and find some inner-peace, he’d probably find that actually he is very talented and clever, and that by partnering with others he can cover for the areas he’s deficient in, but eh. That takes self-reflection, and folks with imposter syndrome have some trouble with doing that truthfully.

So when Aranea-7 goes down, he’s left with the feeling that he fucked up big time. Optimus though, he’s not saying anything. Optimus is willing to take the fall. Optimus is special and Sentinel doesn’t even have to say anything really and oh look, Optimus is still a Prime, and he gets his own ship and crew. Sentinel knows if he had spoken up, he wouldn’t have gotten that. Then the lucky idiot goes and finds the fucking All-Spark, like what the fuck that thing has been missing for goddamn centuries.

And then Sentinel gets to spend 50 years thinking that his two former best-friends and teammates are dead.

Now, honestly, 50 years is not that long to a Cybertronian, true. But! Even if we compress it down to a more human compatible time of say, 5 years, that is a long time to think someone is dead, and to maybe sort of blame yourself for it. And Sentinel got to see that these lucky, gifted kids who were so special weren’t safe. And he knows that he isn’t safe either, because it’s not like he’s that special. So he knows he needs to be a good Autobot and a good yes-man and stick by the rules and keep fighting for his spot at the top because otherwise, what will happen to him? And so he’s kind of a prickly asshole, but he’s good. He has to be good.

And then he gets to find out in short order that oops! Both his friends are alive, doing significantly better than expected, Optimus can still kick him to the floor after being out of the service for so long, and no one on the disgusting organic planet respects him. And now Ultra Magnus is out of commission, somehow he’s supposed to be in charge even though it feels like all he’s done is just stand there behind Magnus and be his secretary (pro-tip kids: paperwork and secretarial know-how is actually what makes roughly half the world run. If you hold the files, you hold the keys to the kingdom). But he’s in charge, he’s in the spotlight, and all he can think is “I can’t screw this up I can’t let them find out I’m a horrible little nobody what would somebody actually important do in these circumstances”.

Could Sentinel have a redemption arc? Probably! I’m not the one to write it though, and it would most likely involve a lot of him being stuck in places where his identity both does not matter and conversely does: his rank and abilities don’t matter. His willingness to help and interactions with others? Do. He needs a chance to interact honestly with people again to fix some of his underlying problems with trust before he can start on other shit..

#tf #tfa #maccadam #i'm a verbose mofo fair warning #the main takeaway is that as always cybertron needs some goddamn therapists

[incarnateirony]

*Sits down at desk*

*calmly files through books in front of a fireplace to classical music* *glances up at the camera* Oh, hello. *demurely pulls off glasses*

What makes a rights movement work? Is it the dialogue? The discourse? The trolling? 

Tonight, I thought I’d tell you a little story and let you decide.

---

...*just looks to Good Omens fandom* So we have... *flips through* An accepted canon queer pairing between two leads, with no rival ships. The singular author has been receptive to queer readings, as has both of the actors, even if one clarified he doesn’t “play it like that.” But by authorial support, vague as it was, it was canon. 

...*flips channel to season 10 supernatural fandom* So here we have an accusation of queerbait between two leads with a similar story, with several major rival ships. Of the multiple authors, several have been supportive, many silent, one actor said he plays it like that, the other clarified he doesn’t.  Antis, often rival-shippers, heckled. Cas was a villain, not a friend.

*Plays through til’ Season 12 - 3 seasons ago - “doesn’t exist”* *1997 popup spam*

... *flips channel to season 13 supernatural fandom* So here we have antis having a panicked discussion about how Dabb could canonize Destiel without any sort of admission or physical engagement for it to be valid, while admitting at the actor that used to say he didn’t play it seems okay with it now, as well as it becoming an official marketing line, which they later denied. They mutually aired at Cas not even being cared for in public, while saying Dean cared more about him than Sam in their own lane. (x) (x) (x) (x) I mean, between them screaming at How Dare They Pander With The 13.05 Ending Being Romantically Shot. But everyone forgot that I guess.

*flips to season 14* Let’s see, genderswap, identical but truncated couple, same landmarks... no rivals... *checks box* cool, everyone sees canon.

...*flips to season 15 fandom* *gestures at the everything, including the storytelling style they described that could be used to be amply canon by time flashbacks and Cas’ death* 

*looks at parts of shipping fandom trying to argue with season 10 anti fandom takes, but simultaneously repeating them*

*looks at season 13 anti fandom*

*files through recently sanitized anti walls that went on their third rage tear about the show being pandered by being romantic, since the current showrunner turn over* *clicks channel* “Destiel is real” - Jensen *menu flip* “Sam has better taste/Dean has no taste--” *clicks next* “domestic dispute--” --Jensen after filming 15.09 *clicks* “Our characters would be fucking [on another network]” --Misha after 15.09 *clicks to major media channel* “Breakup” - TVG *flips through other multiple TVG Destiel ads over to Variety* Relationship-- *flips across to soap opera reporters* 15.03 Dark point in the romance-- *flips to extrafanon, nonprofessional hubs* Hm, apologies for viewing it with a heteronormative lens until now from nonshippers that usually don’t cover the show, while fandom hangs itself on its own hubs in precarious silence or refusal to address the most challenging material. Alright.

*flips to modern marketing* Hm, DeanCas commercials *clicks* Oh right, that official Join The Hunt Destiel shirt that was printed and tagged and receipted like that, that they tried to tantrum offline *clicks* OH right that OTHER Destiel canon pride shirt that Stands just HAPPENED to make this year.

*turns off television* *blinks* *rubs brows*

*tents fingers*

So at some very bizarre point, things have seemed to switch around here.

At one point, Destiel fandom was avid that the romance mattered more than the physicality, even for canonicity. They, themselves, pointed out how homophobic and double-standard it was to demand a kiss when not all hetero couples need them to be valid. But admittedly, back then, the subtext pool was shallow. A veneer placed by a few key authors.

And yet today, while antis scream in waves, their own predictions and fears of how Dabb would handle Destiel coming true, their own “kiss or it doesn’t count” logic (presented only to positive fandom, of course, with the above links of their conversations among themselves where they knew that didn’t matter) seems to have transmitted like a disease rused in representation battles but in the name of arguing with them, of validating them, of giving them any sort of relevance in a show that overtly mocks them and while they riot and fit and convulse and delete and recant opinions, spewing things they don’t even believe anymore (above links.)

it's LITERALLY the same tactics as in Trump politics, where they just flood bullshit they don't even believe to keep people elevating them having any relevance at all in the conversation and distracting them from the actual core conversation/content. Disseminating misinformation and confusion to the conversation. Hell, going so far as to spend months building fake blogs to integrate to the culture and later spread bullshit (which was its own comedy act in the end)

Also the same tactic TAW used to try to inflate completely made up bullshit bad PR about Mish by getting well meaning fans of his floating the conversation by defending him and keeping it in the public eye. ITS THE SAME SHIT.

And yet here we are, with this fandom’s version of alt right dialogue having infected its respective progressive left, with tinhats instead of redhats vaguely yelling about Dabbama and spewing pointless self-defeating nonsense, but at some point -- somehow these fandom MSGAhats managed to successfully implant their ideology in the fandom and convince supporters of Team GreenBlue their active deletion of the content that these antis, themselves, once qualified as terrible potential canons, that are now very real -- that the deletion of this is what makes progressive dialogue.

Their nature is contrarian. Contrarian to TPTB Contrarian to canon Contrarian to other fans Contrarian to themselves

TPTB are already ignoring them. Oh my bad, BLOCKING. Some have gone past muting into BLOCKING them. Canon doesn't care

If fans would stop humoring all fuckin 50 of them they'd only have themselves to be contrarian with.

Humoring them also includes internalizing their hilarious dialogues as anything worth two fucking pennies much less anything to contend with or prove or meet their clown bars of

Oh and while I'm thinking about it: As recently as S13, antis were still trying to pretend it was a reasonable opinion that "Cas isn't family, or friend, Dean doesn't care about him at all, much less Sam" In a year and a half they slid to "THEY'RE ONLY BEST FRIENDS NOT LOVERS!"

Seriously. Now take the absurdism of the S13 scenario Turn your scope into the current scenario Realize how every big publication has been addressing this shit And here we are! The new absurdism is, deadass, denying it. And convincing other fans that they somehow need to prove the flagrantly obvious, just like season 13~ with Cas' importance to the family. Just like any other intentionally daft way they suck up air and kilobits while frothing more than a rabid dog.

It's this weird mewling whimper, already settling down all of their values but desperately, hoping in this giant publicly visible homo tornado that the media itself is commenting on, that somehow, they can convince the GA who can't hear them anyway that it ain't gay. But somehow having convinced the rest of the fandom, now, that a stupid ridiculous-ass viewpoint this fandom used to know better than needing or demanding (rather than wanting or desiring, or encouraging) is needed to "prove" something to a GA that... *turns TV back on and files through the channels* ...Thheyyyyyyyyyy seem to be getting it better than shipping fandom right now, actually.

Stop internalizing horse shit and letting it redirect your activism like a damn political bot.

Unless, I don’t know-- unless you decided, with all of this -- since I did say you could decide -- that this remaining absurdity in the fandom is actually any kind of activism rather than trained demolition of your own content.

Grand as their self-contradictory public facade is, what I wouldn’t pay to be a fly on their GC walls to see their nega-clowning panic right now.

You know that goddamn meme republicans pass around where they or Trump just need to say the dumbest shit possible to make “stupid libs” chase the cat laser? THAT IS LITERALLY WHAT THIS FANDOM HAS LET THESE FUCKING IDIOTS DO TO THEM FOR YEARS TO THE POINT Y’ALL HAVE STARTED ARGUING THE OPPOSITE OF WHERE YOU STARTED.

#supernatural #destiel #lgbtqia #representation #fandom

[breakingsomething]

an average night out on the town

basic summary: no one knows the real identity of vigilante "jbm". at least, not until now.

trigger warnings: stabbing, blood, mentions of drugs

tagging @its-ethan-bro cause hey it's your fave side character! here he is, at long last!

it was starting to fucking rain.

of course it was. why wouldn't it? everything else was going wrong in jackie's life. all he needed was a bit of rain to put a damper on his evening.

he considered just going home. he was barely even patrolling anyway; just wandering the city with his MAAS bot on his shoulder, not bothering to keep to the alleys because no one was fucking around. he wasn't even in uniform. he'd given up on that months ago. all he needed was his thick red hoodie, his bag, his goggles, his mask, and his cuffs, along with a few assorted weapons scattered about his person. might as well. as the saying goes, you never know when your brainwashed brother might pop out of the shadows and try to kill you. or something like that.

no one around. jackie stopped under a streetlamp, glancing around the empty streets. nope, not a single soul. that was odd, but really, he wasn't in a state to question it. he was just gonna recharge his bots and go home. he couldn't be fucked dealing with anything else. nothing else mattered. not anymore.

he kept walking. his boots splashed through the rising puddles, soaking the bottoms of his cargo pants and making him shudder with the cold. he hadn't even brought a coat with him, like a goddamn idiot. henrik was going to kill him.

jackie had long ago memorized the locations of each of his bots, having programmed them to stick to dark, secluded areas where he could easily get to them. and there was only so many of them in the city. for instance, jackie could see one glinting in the piping of an alleyway next to a convenience store. he casually made his way over, waiting for the bot to float down and land on his hand. it did so. this bot was smaller than his main one- painted a dark green, a camera with a glowing red light built into the centre, a thick tail trailing behind. jackie's face twitched into a smile as his hand lit up with a magic yellow glow, causing the bot to chirp as its light turned blue. after it was charged, it darted back up to its previous position. jackie shook the light from his hands and kept going.

there were exactly one hundred bots hidden around the city, not including the larger one he kept on him at all times. he didn't technically have to charge each of them individually, but it was good for them to receive extra attention, wasn't it? get a special checkup, make sure they were ok? jackie almost laughed at himself. god, what a load of bullshit.

he just didn't want to go back home.

eventually, ninety nine bots were checked. the last one was also in an alley, this time next to a busier street- there were a few people walking around here, though what they were doing out at two am in the pouring rain was beyond jackie. it didn't matter, anyway. once he'd checked this last bot he could go home and face henrik's worry and disappointment. once he'd checked this last bot.

there was a man lying in the alley.

jackie slowly made his way over to him, his breaths quickening. the man was wheezing, clutching his chest- drunk? hurt? his hood was up so his face was hidden, so jackie couldn't make out his expression. "um, sir?" he croaked, his voice cracking from hours of disuse. he took another step, his boots splashing in the water. "are you alright?"

the man jerked his head round, revealing narrowed green eyes and clenched teeth, but his expression changed upon seeing who he was. "ah, jbm," he murmured. "th'fantastic hero, here to save…" his eyes closed and his arms slipped from his chest, revealing, to jackie's absolute horror, a thin knife wedged between his ribs.

"fuck, fuck," jackie hissed, immediately swinging his bag down and falling to his knees. "shit, lie down, i'll help you."

jackie gently pulled the man down, ignoring his whines of protest as his hood fell and his back came into contact with the puddles of water. he wasn't bleeding a lot, but maybe the bleeding was more internal, that would be harder to see and could kill him in minutes- jackie flapped his hands, only allowing himself a moment of panic before regrouping. he'd dealt with worse than this. he'd dealt with worse. he just hadn't been expecting to deal with it tonight. "i'll call the hospital."

"no!" cried the man, suddenly trying to sit up, clawing at jackie's arm. jackie pushed him back down, fearing he'd quicken the blood loss. "no, no, can't go to- not like this- no hospital, no, no hospital-"

"shit, fuck, ok!" jackie cried, his stress level rising. god, he hadn't wanted to go home before, but he'd rather sit in deafening silence with henrik two rooms away than do this right now. "i'll call my friend, ok? i'm gonna call him, i'll keep pressure on the wound and when my friend gets here he'll help you, ok? he's a doctor, kind of, you'll be ok, it's ok."

the man ignored his ramblings and moaned in pain, still babbling under his breath about hospitals. ok, ok, this was fine. jackie tapped the back of his gauges five times in quick succession and waited for the dinging noise that signified he was starting a call. "curro," he demanded.

there was a moment of pained silence while it just rang, and jackie pressed both hands on the man's chest, listening to his agonized cries. to take his mind off the pain, jackie decided to ask the man questions. "what's your name?" he asked.

the man said nothing, just whimpered and held onto jackie's hands. ok. never mind.

"jb?" came the deep, reassuring voice, and jackie nearly burst into tears.

"curro!" he exclaimed, relieved. "radreaoch ave, the alleyway. there's a guy here, stab wound to the chest, not super deep, and yes, i'm putting pressure on it. knife's still in. how soon can you get here?"

"ten minutes," curro said, and the call ended. simple as that. jackie liked that about curro- he didn't ask questions. unlike a certain other doctor he could mention. actually, jackie doubted henrik would have picked up the phone at all if jackie had called him.

curro drove up ten minutes later, right on time. jackie sobbed the second he threw his car doors open and raced over, his blue jacket bright in the darkness. "c, i don't-" he started, not taking his hands off the man's chest, but curro stopped him.

"we need to get him into the car, take him back to mine. you drive, i deal with him in the backseat. there's no police around as far as i can see, we should be fine." he said all this with such authority that jackie immediately found himself nodding frantically, and then they were lifting the man carefully between them and laying him across the seats, and jackie was driving to the place he always drove to when he was feeling this sense of urgency and panic, and then they were at curro's place again. he lived in a very small area so there were barely any people around, so it was easy to get the guy inside without being noticed; less easy to get him inside without hurting him. it took about five minutes to get him past curro's kitchen and living room to the room under the stairs where he kept all his supplies. five cabinets chock full of anesthetics and pills and bandages, and a padded table where jackie laid the man as curro sped round, gathering stuff into his arms and dumping it onto another small table next to him.

"can i help?" jackie offered, feeling rather useless.

"no, you're ok, this should be fine." curro waved his hand away.

jackie took that as a sign that he should go elsewhere. he left the room and took off his mask and goggles, brushing his hair with his hands. he was sure the man would be fine - curro was a great doctor. he'd only had his license revoked because he'd been possessed one too many times while working - surprisingly unrelated to anti, actually. there had been a ghost had been haunting curro for a couple years, although jackie was yet to see them. still, he trusted curro. trusted him with his life. yes, the man would be fine. he would definitely be fine.

jackie had spent enough time in curro's house to feel comfortable, especially as of late. he shrugged off his heavy red hoodie and sauntered into the kitchen, drinking several glasses of water before sinking into the couch in the living room, exhausted. he considered calling henrik and telling him where he was, but he doubted he'd even noticed he was gone. henrik had been so distant lately, leaving the room whenever jackie came in and avoiding talking to him whenever he could. it kind of hurt, really. it made jackie feel as though he was alone again, back in the days before he knew any of his brothers and anti had no name or face to him, when he was just a human shaped static cloud that tried to kill him every day. he hadn't felt like that in so long.

eventually, curro came out with a tired smile on his face. "he's alright," he said, shaking out his hands. "should be fine in a little while. why couldn't he go to hospital?"

"dunno," jackie said, shifting over to make room on the couch. curro's house was very small, although it was decorated very nicely, especially his kitchen. while curro was a learned doctor, he was also an extremely good cook. "i don't even know the guy, just found him. i'm glad he's ok." he hesitated. "can i… stay the night?"

curro crossed his arms. "why?"

jackie looked away and didn't respond.

curro sighed and leaned back against the couch. "jb, you can't just hide from your brother here."

"why not? he hides from me, too. he didn't come home a few nights ago, said he was staying with a girl named ellie." jackie scoffed. "load of bullshit, i think. like henrik's social enough these days to be getting any action."

curro laughed. "so rude."

"well, it's true. i don't want to talk to him right now anyway. he's been avoiding me. missing chase, i guess, which is fair. i miss marvin." jackie bit his nails anxiously and kept his eyes fixated on the wall.

there was an awkward pause.

"how long have you been wearing your binder?" curro asked as a way of breaking the silence.

"only a couple hours, man." jackie replied truthfully. "don't worry about me. is that guy gonna stay here overnight?"

curro nodded, obviously sensing jackie's need for a subject change. "i would suppose. he'll probably be unconscious til tomorrow, but who knows when he'll wake up." he poked jackie's side. "precisely why you can't stay tonight, unless you're planning to stay in costume all night."

"i could."

"you could not. that stuff looks uncomfortable."

"watch me, dick. just cause you have a low pain tolerance doesn't mean i do."

"yeah, i think your pain tolerance is a bit too high, jb. don't you remember when you sprained your wrist and didn't realize until i x'rayed you?"

"hey, shut up!"

they were so busy bickering and laughing that they didn't hear the door opening and the unsteady footsteps down the hall until -

"hello? i - oh!"

jackie and curro's heads snapped up to see the blonde man standing in the doorway, bandages wrapped around his bare chest. he was staring at jackie with wide eyes, clinging to the doorway to keep himself upright. "holy shit, are you jbm?" he grinned, his words slurring slightly.

jackie yelled and covered his face with his arms, unfortunately a bit too late. curro immediately jumped to his feet. "man, go lie back down, you just got stabbed!" he hollered. "the hell are you doing, walking around - fuck!"

"is that jbm?" the man said loudly as curro pulled him back down the hall. "he's hot, tell him he's hot."

jackie felt his face burning, for multiple reasons. he kept his face covered until the man was gone, then grabbed his mask, goggles, and hoodie, putting them back on despite it being a bit too late. well, maybe the man was so off it on pain meds he wouldn't remember jackie's face the next day? he hoped so. he wrote a quick note for curro and then left. he was sure he'd understand.

it was dark when he got home. dark, and quiet. his heart pounded, as it had the whole way there while he thought about what had just happened. he hoped the guy would be ok. fuck, he couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to be seen like that.

jackie had never intended to become a vigilante. he supposed he had been, once, in the time before his memory loss; his very first memory was standing on top of a building in his first stupid red jumpsuit, right before fighting anti for the first time. but the thing was… he hated confrontation. he hated fighting. he did like saving people, and he did a lot of that, and eventually had come to the realization that he didn't have to always "stop crime," he could help clean up the aftermath. and there always was an aftermath, and he was always there for it. he was a good medic. he hadn't intended to be a vigilante.

but man, did the cops hate him. why, he didn't know, but they did seem to dislike how he did their jobs better than they did. which was partially the reason for the mask and goggles, along with his immense social anxiety. and now, the fact that someone knew who he was - he shivered.

be reasonable, he thought. what's he gonna do, go to the police and say "here, i know what jbm looks like?" no, no, he doesn't know your name. you're fine. as long as he doesn't know your name, you're fine.

henrik was waiting for him.

"jackie," he said as he came into the dark kitchen, lit only by the city light coming through the window. jackie jumped.

"fuck, hen, you scared me," he laughed nervously, trying to make this situation seem normal. maybe henrik wouldn't notice what he was wearing in the darkness. "i didn't, uh, expect you to be up."

well, if he hadn't sounded suspicious before, he did now. both of them knew how bad henrik's insomnia got; there was no reason for jackie not to expect him to be up. henrik raised an eyebrow and stood from his place at the table he'd been sitting at. "that's a lie. where were you?" he walked over and stood in front of him. "drinking again!"

"henrik!" jackie protested, stepping back. "that was one time!"

it wasn't one time. jackie had been going out and getting drunk for weeks, just because it numbed his mind for a little while. but henrik didn't need to know that. "i was charging the bots, ok? that was literally it." it wasn't that far from the truth, really.

"you're covered in blood." henrik said flatly, crossing his arms. jackie's heart skipped.

"it's not mine!" he hurried to say, waving his arms in front of him. "i met a guy, he got stabbed, he was already like - i didn't see who it was -"

henrik suddenly let out a small, bitter laugh, startling jackie. "whatever," he muttered, marching towards the door and leaving the room. "you do you, jackieboy man."

the door didn't slam behind him, and that's what hurt the most.

he hadn't even asked if he needed medical attention. not that he would have said yes even if he did. he did that himself these days, when curro didn't.

they didn't speak the next day. barely spoke the next.

they were missing their brothers. that was understandable. but fuck, if jackie didn't a hug and someone to talk to.

he missed marvin more than he could even put into words.

three days later, he was back out on patrol.

just watching his bots. just keeping a lookout. just walking around, just avoiding henrik, just hating himself and wanting to die. just vibing, really. just the usual. just the usual.

"jbm!"

no fucking way.

he didn't turn. he was too afraid to look. no way the guy had recovered that quickly and somehow found him. no way, no way, no -

"hey! hey, jbm, wait, i want to -"

jackie broke into a run. he was not dealing with this, not tonight, not today, not ever. he raced down the street, legs pumping, the wind rushing past his ears and filling up his hood beneath his goggles.

he turned and darted down an alleyway, not even pausing to catch his breath until he was three streets down and everything was silent. he stopped to lean against an alley wall, sinking to a crouch for a brief second and wheezing. he fumbled in his bag for his inhaler and shook it, taking three puffs of the medicine and trembling slightly. fuck, that was nerve wracking. he was suddenly excited to go home and sit in awkward, grieving silence with henrik.

"hey down there."

a pair of legs in front of him. please, no.

he looked up. the man flashed him a crooked grin, light green eyes glowing like a cats in the streetlight. he was wearing a black tracksuit with red linings, looking like he was just out for a one am run. jackie couldn't breathe. fuck's sake, it was bad enough that this guy already knew what he looked like, did he have to see him on the ground taking his asthma inhaler too?

the man stretched out a hand to help jackie up. he just stared at him before slowing pushing himself up without help. just to prove he was still in charge of this situation. he was not blushing under his mask at this pretty blonde bastard smiling confidently at him, nope, he was not. he was definitely not.

the man tilted his head, his grin ever widening. "wow, you're a hell of a lot shorter than i thought you were."

jackie didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. instead, his eyes darted to the end of the alley, already calculating an escape route that'd get him as far away from this guy as he could.

the man saw him looking. "ah, ah, ah, not today, red," he sing songed, stepping even closer to jackie. he pressed him up right against the wall, leaning an arm against it and blocking jackie's path. "i legit do just want to talk. to say thank you, for saving my life. and apologize, for calling you hot in my delirium. that's not me saying i wouldn't still find you hot in my normal state, by the way. but i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable."

jackie felt his cheeks burn. "you're making me uncomfortable now," he snapped before he could stop himself.

the man took two quick steps back, raising his hands besides his face. "ah shit, sorry. didn't mean to - ok, yeah, sorry. i get carried away."

jackie stood up straight, crossing his arms henrik style. "tell me this. why couldn't i take you to hospital?"

the man hesitated, both hands still at the sides of his head. "ah, well. the thing is, you're like a hero type guy, and i really don't know if i should be telling you."

a sudden rush of rage and irritation rushed through jackie, and he felt his eyes warning up with burning light. he made a noise that was practically a growl and stepped towards the man until he was pressed against the opposite wall. "fucking tell me, or i will burn your goddamn face off."

the man whistled nervously. "ok, ok, let's not get testy." he exhaled, lowering his hands slightly. "i may or may not have had a few illegal drugs on me - woah, woah, careful!"

jackie grabbed the front of the man's shirt, suddenly furious. "you - you had illegal drugs - and you got stabbed - what did you do, what did you drag me into?"

the man swatted jackie's hands off of him. "nothing, man, seriously!" he protested. "i swear, you'll not be involved at all, i swear! it was just some guy i pissed off, he's a bit of a rival, but it's cool! he doesn't have to know you were ever there, ok? come on, man -"

jackie shoved the man away, disgusted. "you didn't think to fucking - you couldn't have mentioned?"

"well, first of all, if i had, would you have just not saved me?" the man said, and jackie deflated. he was right. "and second, i was very delirious -"

"you were coherent enough to call me hot!"

a smirk crept back onto the man's face. "well, you must be pretty enough that i could see it even after having been stabbed and on painkillers, huh?"

jackie scoffed, heat rising. "fuck you."

the other man laughed, evidently more comfortable now that jackie had backed off. "you're absolutely welcome to if that's what -"

jackie took off before the other man could finish his sentence. he didn't follow him.

what an asshole. what an asshole. what would happen if jackie ended up involved in this - what was it? a fight over drugs or something that was apparently worth attempting to kill a man over? that was the last fucking thing he needed. what a douchebag. what an arrogant, pretty douchebag. no, not pretty. jackie wasn't lowering his standards that far down.

although, when he got home and leaned against the door, catching his breath before he was forced to go inside and face henrik again, he found something in his hoodie pocket. a scrap piece of paper. the man must have slipped it inside when he has him pinned against the wall. the memory made jackie blush and scowl, and he quickly read it.

"dearest jbm. i don't know your name, so i'm gonna call you red. unless your name is jbm, in which case -" the line "what were your parents on and can i get some?" was scribbled out and replaced with simply "what the fuck?" it continued. "unless those are initials or something. i'm still calling you red. anyway, thank you, and i'm sorry. here's my number, in case you should ever need it. very sincerely, aaron."

there was a string of numbers underneath the message.

jackie crumpled up the paper and threw it down angrily. why would he need to call him, for fuck's sake? hadn't he gotten the hint? adrenaline still rushing through his veins from running, jackie unlocked the door and headed inside the house.

it was a moment before he stopped, doubled back, and picked up the piece of paper. wouldn't want to litter. also, maybe he did want to keep the number. just in case he felt like yelling at the guy again once angry criminals inevitably started hunting jackie down for helping out their "rival." just in case.

it was difficult to get to sleep that night.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #jackieboy man #henrik von schneeplestein #aaron mckenzie #arc two: when one goes down

[mismagireve]

I would love to hear your tfa megaop au idea please

THE VAGUELY MEGAOP AU AKA THE AU WHERE MEGATRON GETS HIS SHIT TOGETHER AND BECOMES THE LEADER THE DECEPTICONS DESERVE

okay so

our story begins when three autobot academy students arrive not on archa seven in search of energon left behind on a decepticon ship that crashed during the war, but on vector, where legend has it the autobots suffered a crushing defeat.  supposedly, there’s a ship left on vector that the decepticons never found, still filled with weapons and emergency rations, waiting to be brought back to cybertron.  it’s a longer jaunt from cybertron than archa seven is, and it’s outside of the autobot commonwealth, but unlike the archa system it’s not expressly forbidden to go to, so they’ll probably get in less trouble if they get caught

so our three academy autobots, optimus, elita-1, and sentinel head on over to the strange organic world in search of their treasure

and are immediately beset by very angry decepticons wondering why the hell these autobots are on their planet

of the three autobots, elita-1 is shocked, sentinel is shocked and ready to start attacking, and optimus— optimus is not ready to cause an international incident and spark a second war between the autobots and the decepticons

so optimus, calmly and clearly, states that he was unaware that planet vector had come under decepticon ownership since the great war.  all of cybertron’s starcharts show that the system vector is in (a system comprised of vector, orga, and duke, all organic worlds the autobots suffered great losses on and don’t really like remembering) is unclaimed and uninhabited.  they had no idea that there was a decepticon outpost here, they had no desire to trespass, and if the decepticons would kindly allow them to go, they’ll be sure to update their charts so that something like this doesn’t happen again.

the decepticons don’t really believe that these three are the only autobots on vector, or that they won’t come back with a warship, so they end up “escorting” optimus, elita-1, and sentinel back to their ship, where optimus then contacts the first officials he can think of to basically say hey we got some angry decepticons here saying they’ve staked a claim on vector, mind updating the star charts so we don’t fucking die for unwittingly trespassing?

flash back circa 1000 years

the decepticons fought in the great war and fucking lost

they are demoralized.  they are damaged.  they are dwindling.  and they need a strong leader.

thankfully, megatron is an incredibly strong leader.  but this time, instead of focusing his efforts onto finding the allspark and undoing his humiliating defeat at autobot hands—he decides that in order to have even the slightest chance of combating the autobot menace once again, he needs to get his army thriving again.  and that means he needs to get his infrastructure on.

so he pumps what resources the decepticons have into rebuilding the few worlds they have left of their empire.  has them acquire more resources by mining or making factories, trading with other planets, getting the scientists and engineers to find new ways to use what they have.  as the decepticon forces become more and more versatile, the military command structure they used during the war becomes less and less suitable for maintaining order.  they create an actual government charter.

they become and empire in more than just name.  and they start looking to expand to other planets.

after the signing of the tyrest accord meaning the banishment of the decepticon race from cybertron, they largely haven’t interacted with the autobots.  as such, the autobots are largely completely ignorant of what the decepticons are doing.  the incident on vector is the first real contact that autobots and decepticons have had since the war.

and this gets the attention of megatron and ultra magnus both.

flash forward circa, like, a week

the autobot commonwealth is now aware of the renewed strength of the decepticon empire.  the decepticon empire is now aware that the autobots have noticed them.  and both of them are aware that, against all odds, first contact on vector went off without a hitch, thanks to the efforts of a young academy bot named optimus.

diplomatic talks are proposed between the two ruling bodies.  ultra magnus wants to know what the hell a decepticon outpost was doing on a planet so close to the autobot commonwealth.  megatron wants to know how strong the autobot commonwealth is these days.  before you know it, there’s a meeting scheduled.  for the first time in centuries, decepticons will be coming to cybertron.

optimus, probably still frazzled from meeting actual god damn decepticons for the first time in his life and getting tired of hearing shit about it from sentinel (who refuses to hear that going to vector was his idea, and that acting nice with the decepticons was better than getting murdered and sparking another war), gets a summons from ultra magnus.  as the bot who made the first peaceful contact with a decepticon in a millennia, he’s being invited to the summit along with several other important figures in autobot society.  ultra magnus believes this would be a good learning experience for his favored student—and more than that, megatron specifically requested that he be invited.

apparently he wants to know more about the bot that arrived on an alien world, outclassed and outgunned, and had the balls to look a group of decepticons in the optics and say “we come in peace.”

eventually, the day comes when the summit is to be held.  for the first time since the signing of the tyrest accord, decepticons will be setting foot on cybertron.  and optimus is part of the greeting party.  he, along with the rest of the autobots, watch as the decepticon flagship nemesis enters cybertronian airspace and descends to the ground just outside of the metroplex.  the doors open.  their guests have arrived.

optimus, or rather the newly promoted optimus minor, sees the decepticon leader for the first time.  megatron.  the bot that history books and propaganda alike have dubbed “the emperor of destruction”.  the bot that every academy student fights and dies against in simulated combat to test their skills.  the bot that rumors say eats protoforms for breakfast.

optimus shakes megatron’s hand on that day.  and he has one small, but infinitely significant realization:

megatron hot

#maccadam #tfa #optimus #megatron #i was gonna have them be on archa seven originally #but the archa system is in the autobot commonwealth #and i imagine talks would be going a lot differently if the decepticons just fucking claimed a planet in autobot space #there's also more to this au! #starscream leads a splinter faction of decepticons who want to restart the war #megatron thinks optimus is cute but too young for now and mostly just keeps and eye on his progress and flirts #optimus becomes an ambassador to the decepticon empire as well as the leader of the first integrated autobot/decepticon ship #wasp gets to live out his dreams of joining the elite guard #lyzack is there #it's gr8 #Anonymous

[mst3kproject]

1107: The Land that Time Forgot

Watching the opening credits of this actually made me do a double-take – the name Colin Farrell appeared on the screen and I was like, wait, what the fuck?  Wouldn’t he have been like two years old?  Well, I looked it up and learned that I was wrong: The Land that Time Forgot was made in 1975, and the Colin Farrell I was thinking of wasn’t even born until a year later.  At least that woke me up.

It’s World War I, and a passenger ship is torpedoed by a German submarine.  The only survivors are a few sailors, Doug McClure, and a Dr. Lisa Clayton who serves as the movie’s designated pretty girl.  The nearest thing to rescue in sight is the submarine itself when it surfaces a few hours later – so they climb aboard, storm the hatch, and take over the ship.  At first it seems that all they have to do now is head for home, but they soon learn that the Germans have sabotaged the compass.  They’ve come ashore instead at the mysterious lost continent of Caprona. Naturally this is a land of cavemen and dinosaurs, and in order to escape the British and the Germans must put aside their differences and work together.  Only then will they be able to get back to the real world and resume shooting at each other.

While At the Earth’s Core comes across as a movie nobody gave a much of a shit about, there are places where The Land that Time Forgot is surprisingly artful and well-made.  In particular the first half-hour has several very nice moments in it, especially in the way it uses sound.  After the opening credits, the music totally vanishes for a third of the film.  The only background sounds are the lapping of waves and the creaking of the submarine, which makes gunshots and explosions all the more jarring when they happen.  It also makes this part of the movie seem very grounded and real, which contrasts with the more fantastical stuff that happens in Caprona.  The first sight of the Capronan cliffs is accompanied by the return of the soundtrack, which ushers us out of this more real world and into the fantasy beyond.

I feel like if Amicus had just set out to make a suspense movie about WWI submarines, a sort of early-20th-century Balance of Terror, they could have done a pretty fair job.  Several scenes, such as when the characters are all sitting in the dinghy waiting for the sub to surface, or when they’re diving to escape the British ship firing on them and aren’t sure if the hull will hold, are very effective indeed. The interior of the sub is an appropriately creepy and claustrophobic place, and details like the slight swinging of the lamp in the captain’s office remind us that we’re at sea.  The miniature sub surfacing, with water pouring off it, looks lovely.  The giant squid that passes by them un-noticed in the dark is my favourite ‘creature’ moment.

Unfortunately, there’s also stuff that sucks.  What ought to be the ‘action’ sequences are just a bunch of guys in very similar jackets and sweaters punching each other in the fog, and you can’t tell who’s who or which side is winning.  The conversation between the captain and Dr. Clayton attempts to make the point that when your country’s at war it’s impossible to ‘stay out of it’ no matter how much of a pacifist you, personally, may be, but it’s too heavy-handed to work properly… though I do like how the two of them are able to bond over a shared interest in biology.  I have no idea what happened in the tunnel that damaged the submarine, because the exterior shots are just blackness with a few rocks.

Then we hit the dinosaurs.  These are honestly fairly impressive for the time the film was made.  We don’t get a good first impression, as the first ones we get a good look at are three completely stiff pterodactyls circling like they’re hanging from a baby’s mobile.  The rest are puppets, stop motion, and animatronics, and the people who decided which technique to use for which shot had a good grasp of what each is best at.  The greenscreen work is sometimes crummy but there are some lovely matte paintings, and for the most part the effects here are good enough to tell the story without being distracting.  There’s even some attempt to portray the dinosaurs as animals with behaviours, rather than monsters that exist only to menace the humans.

So I actually have quite a bit of praise for this movie.  That’s not what my blog is about, though.  This blog is about movies that suck, so let’s look at the bad parts of The Land that Time Forgot.

Well, there’s the standard stuff.  The day-for-night is bright enough that it was obviously shot in the daytime while still being dark enough that you can’t tell what’s going on. The human inhabitants of Caprona are stupid cartoon Neanderthals with dark makeup on their faces but not their arms and legs, who become whiter and whiter as they move up the evolutionary scale. The motion of the dinosaurs may be pretty good but the design of them is ugly and lumpy, with far too many teeth even on the herbivores.  This is partly because we didn’t know nearly as much about dinosaurs in the seventies, but the movie’s fat carnosaurs with their lizard-like heads would have been ugly and inaccurate in the thirties.  Compare them, for example, to Charles R. Knight’s Tyrannosaurus and Triceratops from freaking 1927.

Many ‘lost world’ scenarios will simply present us with t-rex fighting a saber-toothed tiger and expect us not to question it.  The Land that Time Forgot gives us an reason of sorts for its mixing of geological eras, but not one that makes any sense.  From Om’s conviction that he will become a ‘Stolu’ and Dr. Clayton’s explanation of what’s going on in the giant coconut hot tub, we gather that each individual organism on Caprona evolves from a single cell to a complex being, following the entire history of its species’ evolution.  This appears to have been inspired by the fact that embryos ‘evolve’ as they develop, going through phases in which they have things like gills before losing them.  The phenomenon, called 'recapitulation', was considered one of the original pieces of evidence for evolution and I guess I can accept how they use it here.  The problem is that the movie refuses to state it clearly, which gives the impression that the writers were kind of embarrassed by the idea.

The biggest problem with two-thirds of The Land that Time Forgot is that once the characters reach Caprona, the story more or less comes to a screeching halt.  The parts set on the submarine were quite tightly-focused.  Now we are technically still seeing the same story, as they try to find fuel in order to get them back to civilization, but we also stop for long sequences of people climbing hills and dinosaurs wandering around in the dark, or pointless arguments between the British and German sailors.  In a dinosaur movie we obviously need a little bit of people standing around going oooooh and aaaaah, but they go about it all wrong here.

Then there’s the ending, which quite literally destroys everything we’ve seen so far.  The characters are on the verge of saving the damsel in distress, escaping the island, and celebrating the power of international cooperation, and then at the last minute the volcano erupts and it all goes to hell.  A volcano erupting at the end of a movie that is not about a volcano erupting will always be a deus ex machina, because there’s nothing characters can do to cause or prevent it – it’s never anything but a coincidence.  The need to escape prompts the Germans to turn on the British and try to leave without Dr. Clayton and Doug McClure, and their karmic punishment is to be cooked to death by volcanic gases in their own submarine.  Clayton and McClure are left behind on the shore while everything around them catches fire. This doesn’t feel like a conclusion to the story we’ve just seen.  It feels more like somebody just really hates happy endings, and ripped one out from under us at the last moment.

There are a few things in this movie that could have counted as thematic material if anyone had cared, but nothing is ever done with any of them. Om is a ‘bolu’, a lower order of cavemen, and he never seems to notice Dr. Clayton, nor do the slightly higher ‘stolu’.  It is the ‘golu’, the most human-like of them all, who attempt to kidnap and rape her. I doubt this was an attempt to say anything about human nature.  It seems to have been done that way just because it wasn’t yet time for Dr. Clayton to be in peril until the climax of the film.

Likewise, Jonah and the bots comment on the fact that this is a movie about Europeans coming to a new country, shooting the inhabitants, and generally making a mess as they search for petroleum.  Within the story this is not a colonial urge, as the characters have no plans to settle, but a matter of life and death, and again it seems like nobody thought very deeply about it.  It was just a thing that needed to happen to make the plot work.

Enough went right in this movie that the things which went wrong really do become a terrible shame.  A great deal of effort seems to have gone into just about everything, but a few poor writing choices mean that the result is not very good, yet not bad enough to be enjoyed on that level either.  If I were contemplating this as a potential Episode that Never Was, I honestly think I would have decided against it.  It just doesn’t have the kind of personality I associate with a good MST3K movie.

#mst3k #reviews #the land that time forgot #tw: rape #70s #curiously caucasian cavepeople

[saintheartwing]

STOP IT. Stop Bitching About Liberals Not Being Good Enough.

I’m going to quote that rather viral Facebook post from Emily Holmes on Facebook.

“Liberal Friends, listen to this right now: Democratic Nominees are not clay pigeons.

I repeat.

DEMOCRATIC NOMINEES ARE NOT CLAY PIGEONS.

But, Emily, whatever do you mean? What is this metaphor?

It goes like this.

One by one, over the next couple of months, Democratic nominees are going to launch their official bids for President. They are going to launch themselves, one by one, into the sky, right into our line of vision.

Our job is not to shoot them.

Our job is NOT, the second we see them cross the sky, to reach out for the gun being handed to us by conservatives (because duh, conservatives and guns) and take aim, and blast them, one by one out of the air, for not being absolutely perfect.

Not likeable enough. BOOM.

Not an inspiring enough speaker. BOOM.

Said that awkward thing that one time. BOOM.

I wouldn't want to have a beer with them. BOOM.

Too old. BOOM. Too female. BOOM. Too white. BOOM.

Not a fucking flawless progressive superhero. BOOM.

Because what happens next? We shoot the candidates down. We degrade them. We belittle them. We smear them. Then we hand the gun to the media. They do the same. They hand the gun to the conservatives. They do the same. Then the bots start reloading.  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

And then at the end of primary season, we have to pick up the shattered remains of whoever got the most votes and attempt to glue them back together into a candidate who can win the general election.

And we will lose. Because we learned fucking NOTHING from 2016, apparently.  

Trump didn't win because every conservative loves him. Most of them hate his fucking guts. But they held their noses and voted for him because he was the only way to push their agenda forward. And holy shit, have they pushed it. Despite his complete ineptitude, his bumbling, his gross incompetence, his blatant corruption, they have shoved through some really damaging policies that are hurting real people every single day, and they will continue to do so for as long as we let them.  

So, here we are. You're not jazzed about Liz Warren? Awesome. Beto not your boy? Swell. Sick of Biden memes? Good for you, friend. Keep it to yourself. Why? Because EVERY SINGLE DEMOCRAT WHO RUNS IS INFINITELY BETTER FOR THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY THAN THE FLAMING RACIST POPULIST TRASH CURRENTLY STEERING THIS COUNTRY DIRECTLY INTO THE SUN.

I'm not sure if you noticed, but we already elected a guy based on a cult of personality rather than on whether he was qualified in any way to do the job, and we're going to be putting out the flames for DECADES.  

But what do we do instead, you ask? Watch debates. Compare platforms. Be informed. Choose your favorite BASED ON REAL FACTUAL POLICIES AND EXPERIENCE, NOT ON YOUR DELICATE FEELINGS AND WHETHER YOU FEEL SUFFICIENTLY ENTERTAINED OR INEXPLICABLY HAPPY AT THE VERY SIGHT OF THEIR GLOWING FACE. Then get involved. Register people. Drive to the polls. Hold signs on street corners. Write postcards. Knock on doors. Don't tell us why the other candidates suck, tell us why yours is THE BEST. Fight FOR them. Remember how we used to fight FOR things, rather than against them? I know Trump makes it hard to remember, but I promise, that's a thing we used to know how to do.

Then we all, collectively, wholeheartedly, throw our weight and energy and voice behind whoever gets the nomination. If we do that, we win. Period.

,It's not a question of who can beat Trump, don't you get it? A sentient fucking houseplant with a liberal platform could beat Trump, if we do this right. It's a question of whether WE can beat him, or would we rather tear ourselves apart?

Look around you, folks. The stock market is in free-fall. Our international reputation is in tatters. Our foreign policy is for sale to dictators. Our free press is under daily attack. Our Supreme Court is one conservative white dude away from full-on Gilead, and we can't keep asking an 84-year-old-woman recovering from broken ribs and a third bout of cancer to hang on for six more years because we can't get our heads out of our own asses. I mean, she'll do it, obviously, because RBG is a BOSS, but she shouldn't have to.

I repeat. This is not a test of our candidates. There are lots of good, solid options. It's a test of US. Of OUR ability to unite. Of OUR strength. Of OUR ability to put aside selfish arbitrary purity tests and scales of "likeability" and to just FUCKING GET IT DONE. We don't need the perfect candidate to rescue us. We need to realize that we can rescue ourselves.

So, how about it, Resistance? They want us to forget that we have the numbers, the motivation, and the power. They want us to implode. Let's explode instead, and leave nothing but a charred ruin of this nightmare administration in our wake.

BOOM.”

#Politics #Elizabeth Warren #beto o'rourke #hillary clinton #bernie sanders #clay pigeons #Democrats #liberals

[snarksandkisses]

(I posted this recently as a screencap but I wanted to repost with the actual text to make it more accessible.)

“Emily Holmes

January 2 at 11:26 AM

Liberal Friends, listen to this right now: Democratic Nominees are not clay pigeons.

I repeat.

DEMOCRATIC NOMINEES ARE NOT CLAY PIGEONS.

But, Emily, whatever do you mean? What is this metaphor?

It goes like this.

One by one, over the next couple of months, Democratic nominees are going to launch their official bids for President. They are going to launch themselves, one by one, into the sky, right into our line of vision.

Our job is not to shoot them.

Our job is NOT, the second we see them cross the sky, to reach out for the gun being handed to us by conservatives (because duh, conservatives and guns) and take aim, and blast them, one by one out of the air, for not being absolutely perfect.

Not likeable enough. BOOM.

Not an inspiring enough speaker. BOOM.

Said that awkward thing that one time. BOOM.

I wouldn't want to have a beer with them. BOOM.

Too old. BOOM. Too female. BOOM. Too white. BOOM.

Not a fucking flawless progressive superhero. BOOM.

Because what happens next? We shoot the candidates down. We degrade them. We belittle them. We smear them. Then we hand the gun to the media. They do the same. They hand the gun to the conservatives. They do the same. Then the bots start reloading. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

And then at the end of primary season, we have to pick up the shattered remains of whoever got the most votes and attempt to glue them back together into a candidate who can win the general election.

And we will lose. Because we learned fucking NOTHING from 2016, apparently.

Trump didn't win because every conservative loves him. Most of them hate his fucking guts. But they held their noses and voted for him because he was the only way to push their agenda forward. And holy shit, have they pushed it. Despite his complete ineptitude, his bumbling, his gross incompetence, his blatant corruption, they have shoved through some really damaging policies that are hurting real people every single day, and they will continue to do so for as long as we let them.

So, here we are. You're not jazzed about Liz Warren? Awesome. Beto not your boy? Swell. Sick of Biden memes? Good for you, friend. Keep it to yourself. Why? Because EVERY SINGLE DEMOCRAT WHO RUNS IS INFINITELY BETTER FOR THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY THAN THE FLAMING RACIST POPULIST TRASH CURRENTLY STEERING THIS COUNTRY DIRECTLY INTO THE SUN.

I'm not sure if you noticed, but we already elected a guy based on a cult of personality rather than on whether he was qualified in any way to do the job, and we're going to be putting out the flames for DECADES.

But what do we do instead, you ask? Watch debates. Compare platforms. Be informed. Choose your favorite BASED ON REAL FACTUAL POLICIES AND EXPERIENCE, NOT ON YOUR DELICATE FEELINGS AND WHETHER YOU FEEL SUFFICIENTLY ENTERTAINED OR INEXPLICABLY HAPPY AT THE VERY SIGHT OF THEIR GLOWING FACE. Then get involved. Register people. Drive to the polls. Hold signs on street corners. Write postcards. Knock on doors. Don't tell us why the other candidates suck, tell us why yours is THE BEST. Fight FOR them. Remember how we used to fight FOR things, rather than against them? I know Trump makes it hard to remember, but I promise, that's a thing we used to know how to do.

Then we all, collectively, wholeheartedly, throw our weight and energy and voice behind whoever gets the nomination. If we do that, we win. Period.

,It's not a question of who can beat Trump, don't you get it? A sentient fucking houseplant with a liberal platform could beat Trump, if we do this right. It's a question of whether WE can beat him, or would we rather tear ourselves apart?

Look around you, folks. The stock market is in free-fall. Our international reputation is in tatters. Our foreign policy is for sale to dictators. Our free press is under daily attack. Our Supreme Court is one conservative white dude away from full-on Gilead, and we can't keep asking an 84-year-old-woman recovering from broken ribs and a third bout of cancer to hang on for six more years because we can't get our heads out of our own asses. I mean, she'll do it, obviously, because RBG is a BOSS, but she shouldn't have to.

I repeat. This is not a test of our candidates. There are lots of good, solid options. It's a test of US. Of OUR ability to unite. Of OUR strength. Of OUR ability to put aside selfish arbitrary purity tests and scales of "likeability" and to just FUCKING GET IT DONE. We don't need the perfect candidate to rescue us. We need to realize that we can rescue ourselves.

So, how about it, Resistance? They want us to forget that we have the numbers, the motivation, and the power. They want us to implode. Let's explode instead, and leave nothing but a charred ruin of this nightmare administration in our wake.

BOOM.”

~~~~~~~

Also good to keep THIS SHIT in mind:

#liberal #dems #2020 primaries #2020 election #f trump #resist #resistance #united #vote blue #indivisible #Elizabeth Warren #but her emails #qanon #Emily Holmes #perfect is the enemy of good

[overwatchworks]

Mcgenji Week (Previous Prompts)

McGenji Week: Starting Out

My first Mcgenji work for Mcgenji week! Hope you enjoy ^0^

The first time Jesse had ever seen Genji was when he was strapped up to an examination table, straining against the bindings and screaming things venomously at anyone that dared to get close. He had been told the new recruit’s name before they walked in, and Jesse hadn’t gone within ten feet of the table, only because Reyes wouldn’t let him. He could tell everyone saw the man as angry, untamable, unstable, but Jesse, Jesse saw fear. Raw, unmistakeable fear, and lashing out was the only way it was kept at bay. Jesse knew because he had been there before, and he didn’t pity Genji, rather, he felt he understood him, in what little way he could. 

Genji’s eyes had locked with his when he caught Jesse staring, and the cowboy blinked, then, of course, he winked at the man with a little smile quirking his lips up. Genji had stopped struggling for a moment, just a moment, and Jesse could see confusion flash through those glowing red eyes before it was back to fury. Jesse grinned, a hint of teeth showing as he lowered his eyes, Dr. Ziegler walking in from her office to talk with Gabe. The cowboy sensed boring mumbo jumbo talk about to start, so he backed out of the room with a tip of his hat to the commander and the doctor, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Genji watching him leave. Just before the door shut, Jesse tipped his hat to him too.

The first time Jesse had seen Genji practicing was in the middle of a particularly cold October night. Jesse hadn’t been able to sleep, so he went to the practice rooms to spend his time there instead of restlessly tossing and turning on his cot. He was always the only one there, since no human should rightly be awake at the ungodly hours his body decided he would be, but this time was different. He wasn’t the first one in the training rooms. 

Jesse heard them in use, so he peeked in the door, eyes widening when he recognized the shape of Genji viciously shooting training bots and slicing them with his little knife. He didn’t know what it was called, but made a mental note to ask by the end of the week; it would give him a reason to talk to the reclusive cyborg, perhaps get to know him a bit. Jesse slipped inside the room quietly, and he wandered up closer to watch Genji without the barrier of the door. His strength was impressive, but the form was sloppy, no real rhythm or fluidity to his movements, though Jesse supposed that was to be expected from the prosthetics so far. The cowboy rocked on his heels, a little smile playing on his lips when Genji finished off the last bot with a brutal swipe of his blade, and he cleared his throat. Jesse didn’t have time to open his mouth before Genji’s head swiveled in his direction, his red eyes narrowing and brows furrowing angrily while he advanced on the gunslinger.

“Heya. Didn’t mean ta startle ya or nothin’, just thought I might joi—Oi!” Jesse was interrupted with a rough shove, the force of it causing him to stumble back as Genji sauntered past him without a word. The cyborg left the training room and slammed the door behind him, Jesse huffing and pulling his revolver from her holster.

“Well alrighty then.” Jesse muttered under his breath, setting up a practice range for himself and settling into his familiar stance and rhythm.

~

Jesse heard Genji talk for the first time over the comms on a stealth mission.

“Area five clear.”

Jesse had frowned at the unfamiliar, metallic lilted voice, but that was all it said.

“Agent McCree?” Reyes called, and Jesse shook his head, scanning the area he was supposed to be watching and pressing a finger to the comm in his ear.

“Area six is all clear boss.”

Jesse spent the rest of the mission uncharacteristically quiet, ears straining to catch Genji’s voice again; it had to be his, he knew the way everyone else sounded but him. When Jesse went back to the rendezvous point after another uneventful three hours of observation, he saw that Genji was already there and waiting. The cyborg was fidgeting constantly, like he was nervous or had way too much pent up energy. Probably both.

“Well if it isn’t my good ‘ol friend from the trainin’ rooms! How’re ya doin’ today?” Jesse asked, a lopsided grin quirking his lips as he waited for an answer. Genji just stared at him, then looked away, and the cowboy raised an unimpressed brow.

“Still ain’t talkin’ huh? Welp, that’s alright with me. Everyone’s always sayin’ I could talk the sock offa a wall if I wanted to, an’ they wouldn’t be wrong.” Jesse told him through a chuckle, and he tipped his hat back when Genji continued to blatantly ignore him. He shrugged, then wandered a bit closer to the silent and seething ninja, plopping himself on the ground and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“The name’s Jesse McCree, ya can call me Jesse whenever ya feel like speakin’. Yanno, ya were pretty damn good with the little throwy stars and that knife ya got, back in the trainin’ rooms. I was wonderin’ if ya’d tell me what they’re actually called, I was wantin’ ta know.”

Jesse tapped the toes of his boots together as he gazed up at Genji, getting a sideways glare and an oppressive silence in response.

“Okay, that’s alright. I guess that’s a question fer another time then. Here, how ‘bout somethin’ ya can answer without words...Ya wanna sit down here next ta me?” Jesse tried, patting the dirt patch next to him, Genji crossing his arms over his chest and scoffing quietly.

“Hey, that was somethin’! See, we’re already gettin’ better at communication! But, suit yerself. Figured I’d give it a shot.”

Jesse gave Genji a grin when he glanced at him, and the cyborg rolled his eyes, making a silent point by walking away from the cowboy’s presence. Jesse sighed and took off his hat, not really expecting anything different from someone like Genji, but he had still given it his best try. He’d eventually get the ninja to crack, and this little interaction-or lack thereof-didn’t deter him in the slightest. If anything, it only made Genji more interesting, and he was going to have to put up with one persistent cowboy.

~

Genji talked to Jesse for the first time during sparring practice, the cowboy glaring at Reyes when he named Genji and him partners. The damn man knew that Jesse had been trying to get to know Genji, making an effort to be around him and talk to him for weeks, but all Jesse had been able to do so far was piss Genji off with all his chatter and see how strong and ruthless the guy was during his training sessions. If he could, Jesse would put money on Genji just waiting for his chance to beat the shit out of him and shut him up, and this would certainly be a perfect chance for it. Jesse rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around for Genji, and he caught those deep red eyes glaring right back at him from across the room. The cowboy grinned anyways, hoping it didn’t look as pained as it felt, and he wandered over to Genji.

“So, guess we’re partners now, huh?”

Genji, per usual, ignored him and went straight to one of the many sparring rings placed around the room, bumping his shoulder roughly into Jesse’s as he passed. Yeah, he was going to get his ass whooped. Jesse internally groaned and followed the ninja, ducking under one of the ropes surrounding the ring and going to the opposite corner from Genji, rolling his shoulders out.

“Okay, so, can I ask ya a quick question?”

Genji didn’t answer, so Jesse took it as a sign to continue.

“Do ya punch with yer right or yer left hand?” Jesse asked, eyeing the metal knuckles and armour of the cyborg’s left side warily, though his right arm was heavily muscled and tense too. That was just as concerning as the metal.

“I can beat your ass with either.” Genji replied, voice accented, low, and metallic, and Jesse’s eyes widened in surprise, the ninja giving him an actual, verbal answer for once.

“Oh. Charming.” Jesse muttered, sinking down into a defensive stance as Genji began to circle him. The cowboy watched him move, and it was much more fluid than the first time he had seen Genji practice, his movements sure and flowing now rather than the uncoordinated and jerky ones before. Then, Jesse felt the ninja grab him, and he was suddenly on the ground, Genji leaning over him and pinning him down easily.

“How in the hell...?”

Genji’s eyes were practically smirking at him as he backed off, sighing and crossing his arms while he waited for Jesse to get up and brush himself off.

“Okay, ya caught me by surprise there, but—What the fuck?!” Jesse cut himself off when Genji’s fist connected solidly with his nose, and it made an uncomfortably loud crunching sound. The cowboy staggered back, blood running down over his lips and dripping off his chin, and he glared at Genji. The ninja merely stared back blankly, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Alright, ya wanna play that way, I can play that way...” Jesse muttered, wiping his chin and smearing the glistening red liquid across his knuckles as he sank down into a solid stance. Genji raised an unimpressed brow, then moved as fast as a snake striking its prey, but Jesse was ready for it this time. He caught the leg aimed at his side, and Jesse could tell he would have had broken ribs if the kick had landed, the force of it was so strong. Genji’s eyes widened a bit when Jesse twisted his leg, turning around and planting his foot between him and the ninja before throwing him over his shoulder with a little more force than strictly necessary. Jess heard Genji wheeze from the impact, and he didn’t stop to let the ninja catch his breath, landing a punch to the side of his neck to keep him down. Genji gasped and immediately kicked Jesse off of him, spinning and crouching while the cowboy scrambled to his feet, watching him warily. Jesse wiped his nose again, eyes trained on Genji’s tense form, and then the cyborg sprang at him, punching him with lightning speed. The hits didn’t even register in Jesse’s mind until Genji had him on his back again, but the cowboy wrapped his legs around the ninja’s waist and flipped them, using his heavier weight to his advantage. Genji stared up at him for a moment, and Jesse grinned devilishly at him, very aware of the positions they were in.

“Give up sugar?”

“You wish.” Genji gritted out, slamming his left elbow to the side of Jesse’s eye and throwing the cowboy off of him in his daze. They traded punches and kicks to no real avail, each move getting countered or immediately followed up by an opposing hit that managed to knock the breath out of both of them. The ninja tried to sweep his legs out from under him, but Jesse hopped back, seeing the move coming and then moving in behind Genji in a heartbeat. Jesse went to try and throw the cyborg over his shoulder, but Genji reached up faster than humanly possible, twisting and moving close to the gunslinger and jamming his shoulder into Jesse’s stomach to lift him up from the waist. Jesse only got a moment to think, ‘goddamn he’s strong’ before he was slammed into the ground, Genji pinning his arms above him and keeping a knee firmly planted on his chest while they both breathed heavily. They stared at one another, both in mild surprise until cheers erupted around them, Genji and Jesse’s heads both snapping up at the sound. Agents were crowded around their sparring ring, apparently watching them fight, and Jesse couldn’t help but grin at the cyborg.

“Damn, yer pretty good at this.” Jesse murmured, low enough to where only Genji could hear, and he punctuated the statement with a wink and a press of his knee to the ninja’s side. Genji didn’t reply, instead, he immediately moved off of him, slipping out of the sparring ring and shoving his way through the agents before disappearing from the room, Jesse watching him leave in only mild disappointment. Maybe he had taken it a little too far, but he had to say, that was the closest he had ever been to Genji before. The ninja actually looked like he was having fun-as far as Jesse could tell-and honestly, he certainly wouldn’t mind getting his ass handed to him again, so long as Genji was the one doing it.

~

The first time Jesse touched Genji outside of sparring practice was in the commons room while he was making dinner. Jesse would always make his own food, often times cooking an extra large batch and leaving it in the fridge for the vultures to find, his fellow agents never leaving anything left or letting it last until the next day. That was exactly what he was doing when Genji appeared on the counter he had been chopping potatoes on, Jesse screeching and holding out the knife while the ninja raised a skeptical brow.

“Did you just—“

“No. Nah, absolutely not. I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout.” Jesse hummed nonchalantly, blowing a stray lock of hair from his forehead and going back to his potatoes. Genji watched him in silence, his eyes curious as Jesse chopped quickly, then swiped the chunks of potato onto his already boiling broth for the soup.

“How do you do that so fast?” Genji asked suddenly, and Jesse glanced over at where he was sitting cross-legged, hands sitting in his lap with his arms straightened. It was actually quite adorable, seeing this side of Genji, not just the Blackwatch agent and weapon that he liked to make everyone believe he was. Jesse liked him when he acted like a person, was comfortable enough to let his guard down and relax a bit, the cowboy figuring he deserved it, and glad he was the one to get to see it.

“Well, it just comes with time an’ practice, like everythin’.” Jesse replied, and Genji’s brows furrowed.

“I wield a wakizashi fast enough to deflect bullets, but I don’t think I could even try to do what you’re doing.”

So that’s what it was called. A wakizashi. Jesse smiled at the subtle way Genji wove that in, feeling a little bit of happiness that the ninja hadn’t forgotten his original question. So he had listened.

“Here, ya wanna try it?” Jesse offered, holding out his hand and raising his brows, Genji shrinking back a bit and narrowing his eyes.

“C’mon, give it a try. Ya ain’t gonna hurt nothin’.” Jesse urged, and he reached out to Genji slowly, giving him time to back away should he want to, but the ninja stayed in place. Jesse placed his hand over Genji’s wrist gently, then tugged on it lightly to get the cyborg to scoot closer.

“What are you...?”

“Just come over here with me, I’ll show ya.” Jesse told him, and Genji followed the little tugs as he slipped off the counter, now standing almost chest to chest with the gunslinger. Jesse smiled down at him, then turned him towards the sink.

“Wash yer hands first. Can’t be handlin’ other people’s food with dirty hands, yeah?”

Surprisingly, Genji did as he was asked, coming back over to Jesse when his hands were cleaned and dried. The gunslinger led him back to the cutting board, then went behind Genji, chest pressed to his back, putting his hands over the cyborg’s to direct him.

“Now, just pick up the knife here, an’ cut it twice lengthwise, then ‘bout six times vertically, like this.”

Jesse moved Genji’s hands for him, the ninja focusing determinedly at the potato in front of him, and the cowboy couldn’t help but find it ridiculously cute. He continued to help Genji until the cyborg started to chop the vegetables more confidently, and Jesse smiled when he was able to do it well on his own.

“See? Yer a natural.”

Genji peered up at him, a light shining in his eyes that could only be from a grin under that faceplate, and Jesse cleared his throat, going over to stir the bubbling soup with slightly pink cheeks. They ended up cooking the soup together, Jesse adding various things and having Genji cut up more vegetables or stir the delicious smelling pot. Cooking had always helped Jesse relax, and sometimes the mundane things were the best way to get his mind off of things. Jesse hoped this was working for Genji too, at least to distract him for a little while. When the food was done, Jesse ladled out a bowl for each of them, then put the rest in the fridge for the others, smiling at Genji where he was seated back on the counter.

“An’ there ya have it! Wanna give it a try sugar? I betcha it’s even better than usual, what with all yer excellent help.” Jesse chimed, giving Genji a wink and watching as the cyborg’s shoulders scrunched a bit in embarrassment.

“All I did was chop some vegetables...” Genji mumbled, and Jesse grinned at him.

“An’ a mighty fine job of it ya did. C’mon, the food always tastes better when ya work hard ta make it.”

The cowboy pushed the bowl towards Genji, and he took it after a moment, stirring the spoon through the soup. He then turned around, facing the empty commons room, and Jesse didn’t question it as he saw Genji place the faceplate next to him. They ate in a comfortable silence, Jesse glancing at Genji’s back every now and then until the ninja set down his empty bowl.

“That was...Really, really good.” Genji murmured, slipping his mask back into place and hopping off the counter, heading for the door. He turned his head right before he left, his body language almost shy.

“Thank you, Jesse.”

Jesse grinned and nodded, Genji slipping out the door as the cowboy hummed softly to himself while he cleaned. He had to say, as far as things went with him and Genji, that was a pretty damn good start.

~~

#overwatch #jesse mccree #genji shimada #gabriel reyes #mcgenji #mcgenji week #fanfic #fanfiction #WhiskeyWrites #long post for mobile

[transformerimagines]

Optimus, Ratchet and Wheeljack adopt a Human Teen (Headcanon)

Requested by http://i-fucked-osmosis-jones.tumblr.com/ I hope you like them. It’s the first time I have made headcanons so let me know what you think guys.

Optimus:

-          Ultimate adoptive Dad

-          Will ensure you eat breakfast before you go to school

-          “It’s the most important meal of the day, why don’t you want to eat it?”

-          If you are involved in extracurricular activities he will be at every recital/ game/ award ceremony

-          Parent-teacher conferences are the best

-          “Mr Prime, your child has expressed interest in car and truck mechanics.”

-          He cries with joy

-          Under Optimus’ supervision you are a golden child and star pupil

-          The day a scholarship arrives from an ivy league college, he goes in to stasis lock because he is overwhelmed

-          He’s very protective when it comes to your dating life

-          Secretly sends Bee to spy on you but denies everything

-          Whenever you get captured by the decepticons, which is often, you just remain the diplomat like Optimus and not make a scene or fret. Megatron is very confused by you.

-          “Well done Old friend, you have raised you’re sparkling well.”

-          Proud dad

Ratchet:

-          Begrudgingly agrees to look after you

-          The first few months are pretty much him telling you not to touch anything

-          Just doesn’t want you to get hurt, but you are a teen so naturally you rebel

-          Internally screams the first time you shout, “I needed that!”

-          The other bots all groan at the realisation that you had gained his mannerisms

-          “Doc are you crying?”

-          “Don’t be stupid, I’ve got some earth dust in my optic.”

-          When you fall asleep after staying up to revise, he wraps a blanket around you and puts you to bed

-          He’s very defensive when it comes to your teacher reports

-          “Mr Ratchet, Y/N has utter disregard for physics class.”

-          “Your physics is flawed, next complaint.”

-          You take an interest in Cybertronian science and he couldn’t be prouder of you

-          The first time you accidentally call him Dad, he smiles at you before regaining his composure but on the inside, he is losing his shit.

-          Distant but secretly doting Dad

Wheeljack:

-          He’s so excited to be an adopted Dad

-          He will protect you from all harm

-          He has a good effect on you, at least he thinks it’s good, the other autobots tell him it’s not good that you are picking a fight with everyone who makes a bad comment.

-          PTA meetings are ever eventful, since the other mums secretly shit talk you.

-          “Fuck off Janet, your kid doesn’t know the difference between a plant cell and an animal cell.”

-          You do argue quite a bit though, mostly because you are both so similar

-          “Look! I'm a teenage girl, I'd rather be anywhere than here! I'm all about long sullen silences, followed by mean comments, followed by more silence! So, what's it gonna be: long sullen silence or mean comment? Go on, take your pick.”

-          “...You got me in a box here.”

-          He teaches you how to fight and fly the Jack Hammer which is when he is at his most open with you.

-          God help whoever you go out with

-          Jacky does not understand the meaning of subtlety when it comes to interrupting your dates

-          Always proud when you come home with a black eye but you ultimately won the fight.

-          You are a wrecker, no ifs or buts.

-          Ride-or-die helicopter Dad

#transformers #tfp #Transformers Prime #optimus prime #tfp optimus prime #ratchet #tfp ratchet #wheeljack #tfp wheeljack #headcanon #adoption

[jamesongrond]

ADAM

The machine is broken... and so is he.

A short story about robots, and what gets left behind. (2660 words)

“ADM-119, full diagnostics.”

“Of course,” the machine said with a smirk that should not have been, the left side of its face remaining resolutely neutral even as it tried to smile. When the right eyelid slid shut, the left only drooped, leaving a crescent of white and gleaming mahogany brown.

Partial left side paralysis, Sal thought, wheeling his chair around the machine in a rough, jerky circle. Looks like it continues down into the neck, from the way its head tilts. Could be a defective nerve-line. Sal couldn’t remember if the ADM-Models had old-fashioned central trunks or the newer radial systems, and Peterson Robotics had gone out of business so long ago even the International Technical Archive didn’t have copies of the schematics. All he had to go on was a quick-start guide he’d found on a hobbyist’s forum for old first-gen ‘droids, and that didn’t contain anything more useful than reset instructions and a handful of general error codes.

The wheel of his chair scraped against the battered wall and he cursed as another dusting of plaster scattered across the faux hardwood. He was in the middle of an awkward three-point turn when the ‘droid chimed, a merry little tune somewhere between a midi file and birdsong.

“ADM-119!” Sal called over his shoulder, muttering a curse as he fumbled at the controls and slammed the footrest of the chair into the wall. Good thing I don’t have fucking feet. “Gimme audio.”

“Of course.” The machine tried to smile again, and began to read out the codes, long alphanumeric sequences that might have been helpful as hell if Sal could interpret anything beyond the first five characters. E-5512 meant the ‘droid couldn’t sense heat for shit; M-1N54 meant unresponsive mechanics (no surprise there); FC-19C was some kind of module crash, probably the gastronomic subroutines, if his mother’s constant complaints about horseradish on her pasta were any indication.

Sal had told her to get rid of the busted old junker half a hundred times. He’d even bought her a replacement, a shiny new CASSIDY model she’d never even taken out of the packaging, just stowed under the porch until a stray dog came running out with a mouth full of sparking meta-fiber.

“Adam’s family,” she’d wailed at him. “You don’t throw away family!”

He’d bit his tongue at that one, so hard he tasted blood.

“Shall I attempt repairs?” the machine asked when it finished reading out the codes. Sal had his chair turned around by then, but he was still to the thing’s left, and when it turned to look at him its head twisted queerly to the side, like some kind of shiny plastic owl.

“Who fuckin’ knows, maybe eighth time’s the charm,” Sal muttered, jerking his chair back in front of it. What I need is a system restore drive, he thought. Too bad they stopped making them during the fucking Almasi administration. “You know what, fine. Go ahead. Can’t fuckin’ hurt, can it?”

The machine gave him another aborted attempt at a smile and knelt, joints creaking. One and a half of its eyes slid shut. It should have remained upright, but instead it slumped to the side like something dead, arms and legs at strange angles.

Sal stared through it for a while, then forced himself to look down at his wrist. The display on his medi-bracelet read 3:02 PM. I need a fucking drink, he thought, jabbing at the controls of his chair with a hand beginning to shake.

Rickard the Wonder Aide wouldn’t let him buy anything harder than individual cans of weak, watery Jefferson Red, and even that he had to ration, lest the mighty eye of the disapproving motherland fall upon him. He only had one left, shoved into the back of the fridge behind the latest load of lab-grown simulacra that Rickard called food. Reaching in as far as he could, his fingertips just barely brushed the cool bio-plastic rim.

“God damn it,” he muttered, reaching for the controls of his chair — but no, if he moved forward any farther, the footrest might get caught in the fucking freezer handle again. Just a couple more inches, he thought, undoing the buckle around his waist.

Some time later, the machine chimed, calling out in its lyrical, buzzy voice. Sal hissed a curse and fumbled desperately at the blood-slick brake.

“Hello,” the machine said pleasantly as it appeared in the archway, a shadow with a trio of blinking stars in the center of its chest. “You appear to be in distress. May I be of assistance?”

“Fuck off,” Sal spat through gritted teeth, pawing at the handle. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Of course,” the machine replied, with what might have been a head-bow or might have been a curious tilt or might have been a misfiring component making its head rock on its shoulders like the stupid bobble-heads Jason used to collect. Sal forced himself to take a breath, grabbed hold of the brake as tight as he could, and pushed.

The slick plastic slid out from beneath his hand. The chair rolled backwards. He fell forward hard, chin cracking against the linoleum.

“Fuck,” he shouted through his teeth. The heel of his hand pounded against the wheel of the chair, each blow pushing it further backward. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“May I be of assistance?” the android asked.

“No!” Sal made a fist, fingertips digging into the gash the cheap wire fridge shelf had left in his palm as he tried to catch himself. “I got myself into this, I can get myself the fuck out. Just fucking… Don’t touch me.”

“Of course,” the machine said with another wobble.

The effort of dragging himself forward by the only limb he still had left left him sucking in air with ragged, heaving breaths. His vision blurred. The LEDs in the machine’s chest blinked like eyes, like monitors, measuring his progress with the same cold clinical efficiency as the VA butchers. The handle within reach, he shifted as much of his weight as he could stand onto the aching stump of his right arm and tried to push it down with the left.

It started to roll, then stopped.

The shadow of the machine stood over him, hand resting lightly on the back of his chair. A curse came to his lips. He bit it back, and grabbed for the brake. This time, the lever went down.

He half expected the machine to come over, scoop him up, plop him back into his seat as if he were a child, the way the VA staff did every time he fell. It didn’t. It watched him, and when he finally managed to pull his torso up onto the padded, sweat-stained faux-leather, it gave him one of its strange lopsided smirks.

“Fuck off,” Sal mumbled. “Stupid… Stupid broken piece of shit. Shoulda thrown m… thrown you out years ago.”

The machine smiled, but did not reply.

 — — —

  “Well,” Sal sighed, “that module is irretrievably fucked.”

He had asked for pancakes. The things before him matched the definition on the whole, but in their specifics, they rather missed the mark. Black bits of liquorice studded the golden-brown pancake fluff, barbecue sauce glistened in artful designs across the top, and the whole plate smelled strongly of garlic.

“If you would like me to attempt a re-install—”

“Don’t bother,” Sal said, wincing at the pain in his bandaged palm as he pulled back from the table. “Servers have been down for decades.”

I need that fucking system restore drive, he thought as he wheeled back into the living room. He’d been looking for days, had three different bots and two RS feeds pinging him at any mention, but so far all he had were component sales: an arm here, a knee-joint there, the occasional hip. All the processors and memory banks had been bricked, discarded, or simply stopped working years ago.

He pulled in behind his desk. The machine had moved it farther from the wall, giving him enough room to maneuver without cutting new gouges in the sheet rock. He hadn’t asked it to — hadn’t asked it to do much of anything, aside from diagnostics and tests — but the ADM models had been designed as home care specialists, given a little more leeway in their decision-making than other first-gen ‘droids in order to compensate for a generation of crotchety Pre-Revolution holdouts too proud to ask a glorified appliance for help. Like me, Sal thought with a huff, though he had been born twenty years too late for that particular moniker.

He’d wanted to get into the bleeding edge of AI research — sentience sims, genuine emotion, evolutionary robotics — but by the time he graduated, the Sanderson/Wodehouse bill had passed and that ship had sailed into the less-regulated third-world horizon. The army had still been working on artificial analytics and he’d figured it was the next best thing.

His medi-alert bracelet buzzed and flashed a little red pill. Sal frowned, blinking away the afterimages in his head, and thumbed at the controls. His meds were—

On the desk.

The four bottles were half a foot away, the proper dosages measured out and placed neatly on the caps. Beside them were a glass of water and a cup of pudding with a spoon on top.

“Huh,” Sal said. Against the far wall, ADM stood, one side of its mouth drawn up in that stupid, somehow knowing smirk. His eyes on the machine, Sal scooped up the pills, tossed them in his mouth, and swallowed.

 — — —

  For the last three years, Sal’s prosthetic arm had sat beneath his bed, slowly gathering dust. The VA would only pay for the cheapest model, and grit and dust and bits of bullshit were always getting into the mechanics, gumming it up and turning the robotic limb into little more than an extremely complicated hook. It needed to be cleaned every day to be usable, half the mechanism disassembled in order to replace the lubricant, and he couldn’t do it one-handed. Rickard the Wonder Aide had done it for a while, but he didn’t come in person anymore. No-one did.

ADM cradled the arm in his lap like an infant. The stiff fingers of his left hand slowed him down, but only to the point where Sal could follow the motions, one flowing into the next like ink on waves.

Sal tapped his fingers against the control panel of his chair, thinking. His mother had called — she wanted her Adam back, was getting impatient. Rickard wanted to know why his food budget had suddenly tripled. Two of his freelance programming gigs were overdue, a third on the cusp.

He’d found a system restore drive.

The listing had been up for six and a half years. He’d assumed it was inactive, but the poster had responded to his query letter eight hours ago. The drive had been sitting in their garage for almost two decades, but they’d plugged it in to an old Peterson desktop they had lying around and swore it worked. They could have it delivered by Monday.

He’d left the tab open. The thin line of the cursor blinked in the periphery of his vision, waiting for him to respond.

He had no idea what he wanted to say.

With a faint pop, ADM disengaged the elbow joint and began to wipe away the crust of blackened lubricant with a cloth. The paralysis on the left side of his mouth made the right look quirked up, as if he were pleased with his work.

Stupid pile of junk, Sal forced himself to think. For the first time in years, the words felt wrong.

His parents had insisted on meeting him at the airport, the day he came home. Jason had been there too. Sal would never have let him come if he’d known, but they never told him. They wanted it to be a surprise.

There had been calls. Emails. Physical paper correspondence, for fuck’s sake. They knew. They’d been warned. Somehow, it never got through to any of them that ‘lost’ meant lost.

Jason had been holding a sign with Sal’s name on it in rainbow letters, surrounded with hearts and dinosaur stickers. It had blocked his view as Sal came over the crest of the escalator, and when Sal’s mother screamed, he’d looked at her first, giving Sal enough time to find their faces in the crowd. Giving him enough time to witness Jason’s expression shift from confusion to horror to disgust.

By the time Sal reached ground level, Jason was gone, the sign trampled under half a hundred feet. He was supposed to drive them all home, so they waited; one hour, two, a third. Sal’s mother couldn’t look at him. His father couldn’t do anything but. They went out to look for Jason’s car, but that was gone too, which meant a taxi, which meant another hour and a half stranded in the middle of the surging, staring crowd while they waited for one large enough for three people and a chair. Even then, it took another fifteen agonizing minutes for his father to beat the chair into submission. It had never rolled right after that.

Rickard talked a lot about vicarious traumatization, emotional exhaustion, survivor’s guilt. Sal had shouted at him, cursed and raged, and when he was done Rickard got up and left without a word. He’d never come back, any more than Jason had.

Once the joint was clean, ADM applied the new lubricant in one graceful swirl, then fit the pieces back together. The elbow moved smoothly now, with none of the crackling stickiness it had had before. The android’s head wobbled on its shoulders in a motion that might have been a nod.

Someone programed that, Sal thought as he watched the android reassemble the arm. Someone designed it to smile. The thought felt strange, somehow. No-one had ever designed it to smirk, but when it held up the completed arm it did, with a wryness that had never been planned, never been intended, that never would have been at all if not for a broken nerve.

Swallowing, Sal held out the stump of his arm. The android strapped the prosthetic in place. The socket didn’t fit quite right anymore, but it was close enough for the electrodes to meet. He’d forgotten which muscle moved what, and for a moment the arm twitched and spasmed and bile rose in his throat, tasting of smells he couldn’t forget and sensations he didn’t want to remember. Then ADM touched his shoulder, and the knots in his stomach went away.

A few minutes later, he was making a fist, curling in his fingers one by one, making rude gestures. He huffed, and then for the first time in years he laughed, a strange hiccup that became a sob halfway up his throat.

“You appear to be in distress,” ADM said softly. “May I assist you?”

Sal nodded.

The android undid the straps. Scooped Sal up in his arms, carried him through the strips of old sheet that served as his bedroom door. Lay him down in the nest of rumpled blankets that was his bed. The ‘droid wrapped the softest around him, so tightly he could barely move, then padded off to fetch a glass, a bottle of water, and, for some reason, an entire miniature watermelon.

This time, when Sal laughed, it came out all the way.

 — — —

  Sent 8:46 16/10/2067 by [email protected]

 yo

thanks for the reply. unfortunately im no longer interested in the drive. the problem sort of fixed itself.

gl selling it tho

sal

 ——————

 Sent 9:16 17/10/2067 by [email protected]

 No Problem Man

BTW I Have Other Old Peterson Tech If Your Interested. Even Got An ADAM Model. Mostly Intact — Just Needs A New Power Source. Could Salvage From Yours For Complete Unit?

 ——————

 Sent 8:46 16/10/2067 by [email protected]

 thanks man, but na

i'm good

#android fiction #androids #android #science fiction #scifi #sci-fi #short fiction #fiction #short stories #short story #robots #robot #cyberpunk #i guess? #jameson grond

[melonoverlord]

Val for all the ABCs asks

A: Aptitude

1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

She’s been tinkering as long as she can remember. Her early childhood is a little fuzzy but she knows she’s been building little robots out of scrap metal and letting them run around town.

2. what activities have they participated in?

She’s the chief technician on the Freedom Vessel and also technically was a spy on Biomia but she was spying for herself rather than an organization.

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

Learning how to talk to people. She’s only had her sisters and her eventually girlfriend on Biomia, but now there are people who love her that aren’t like seven and fourteen, so it’s a strange feeling being able to talk about herself without taking care of them.

4. what things are they bad at?

Following orders. She escaped her own quarantine when she was shot four times in the back because she was bored and wanted to celebrate Castor’s birthday with him.

5. what is their most impressive talent?

Definitely designing tech. She worked on B3rT13, Phoebe (the bot, not her sister), Ciri’s tear ducts, Ravi’s arms and legs, and Nivviah’s trident.

B: Basics

1. what is their hair color?

Brown

2. what is their eye color?

Brown, a little darker than her hair.

3. how tall are they?

5′0

4. how old are they?

21

5. how much do they weigh?

185 lbs

C: Comfort

1. how do they sit in a chair?

One leg over each side of the chair, leaned back, arms crossed. She’s a definite manspreader.

2. in what position do they sleep?

In fetal position, hugging herself, sometimes hugging Phoebe as well. If she’s dead tired she’ll just sprawl out anywhere and usually B3rT13 will eventually carry her to bed.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

Snuggled up to Ciri or Castor, her favorite siblings, and watching old horror movies in their pajamas. Anytime Val can get away with not wearing a bra, she will.

4. what is their major comfort food? why?

Strawberry ice cream. It was the first food she was given when she was in the hospital after she tried to commit suicide. It was really when she and Tam became drinking buddies because he said “I know eating food probably will hurt for a bit, so I brought you ice cream.”

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

B3rT13, actually. Ciri’s the best for the physical comforts and reassurance, but B3rT13 is there to say “Hey, you made me and I’m amazing, so fuck you for thinking you’re not amazing too. And if anyone says that you aren’t, I’ll hit them with my hammer.”

D: Decoration

1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?

A lot of natural light since she’s a vent gremlin who only gets artificial light from lamps, an entire floor dedicated to being a workshop so she can separate work from home and let all the upstairs be places for her to call her own, including a guest room. She’d also have pictures of her family and friends set up everywhere, even someone silly like the bathroom.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room?

More blankets and pillows than a child probably needs, a shit ton of plushies that she finds online (and some from Who), and a mini fridge to store enough snacks so that even if something happens to her, her child will never have to go hungry.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

Val’s room on the Freedom Vessel is a #mess, because half of it is split into her workshop. On her side, she shares her bed with Phoebe and at times B3rT13 when he decides to sleep in her room. She also has the only stuffed animal she brought from Biomia, which is a ratty stuffed pig she calls Rumplepigskin.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?

She usually wears jeans and a baseball tee, but when she needs to be dressed up, she’ll wear slacks and a blouse. You’d have to tie her down to get her into a dress. But she also wears the beanie that Ciri made her.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

Nah, she usually doesn’t wear makeup or do her nails because when working with metal, paint is easily chipped.

E: External Personality

1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality?

She is very meticulous about the personality she portrays which is a carefree, somewhat lazy, girl who just happens to be one of the greatest technophiles of the age. If she’s currently dealing with her trauma, those feelings will slip out but for the most part the persona she puts on isn’t who she really is.

2. do they do things that conform to the norm?

Valerie Anne Read has never conformed to the norm and will continue to break away from the norm until the day she gets blown up on some backwater planet.

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

Val never really cared what the trends of the time were since they tended to shift every couple months or so. She only tends to follow trends if she enjoys it herself.

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads?

It took her a while because technology is a little behind on Biomia, but once Percy introduced her to the internet, she is on it and catching up as fast as she can. Right now she’s very into space twitter.

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it outon their own?

There are about fourteen different layers to Val that she lets different people figure out. You’d have to know her for a long ass time before she let out everything to you. Even her sisters didn’t know everything about Val’s true feelings.

F: Fun

1. what do they do for fun?

Crawl through vents, play nerf guns with Castor, Ravi, and B3rT13, and teach B3rT13 different swear words and lewd gestures. Right now his favorite word is “cunt”

2. what is their ideal party?

Lots of wine, chocolate, and a nerf gun fight with everyone on the ship. She’s already working on her power poses. She doesn’t super love giant parties, but she’s welcome to one if it has all her friends.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

Her favorite sibs, Castor, Ciri, Flor, and Percy.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

Nope. Nearly every rule that the Freedom Vessel has, she has broken. Luna had to make a specific set of rules for Val just because she kept breaking the main ones. One of them is “Stop putting food in the vents even if they don’t expire”

5. do they go out a lot?

She hasn’t gone on a lot of missions (the Therion mission was actually her first one ever), but she went out a lot on Biomia to at least look at the clubs even if she never went in. But she’s very interested in the casino on Helios and is ready to lose her money.

G: Gorgeous

1. what is their most attractive external feature?

She has a beautiful soft butch aesthetic which includes a rad pixie cut that perfectly frame her large brown eyes.

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

Even in the tensest of situations, Val can manage to light up a room with her jokes and keep everyone at east. She also has a nice thing to say about everyone, even if it hidden in a joke.

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

You won’t be caught dead without cool tech. Val’s given electric tridents, a sassy robot, electricity-absorbing suits, arms and legs, and yes, she is working secretly on Ravi’s rocket knees. Just don’t tell Ciri. She’s waiting for his ninth birthday.

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

Her hair is one of the softest you will ever see and you will want to run your fingers through her hair for hours. She also loves her chub and makes shabby chic look like a snack.

5. what parts of others do they envy?

That they don’t have to hide pretty much everything about themselves and can have honest relationships.

H: Heat

1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

Cold room. If her room gets to hot all the tech starts to malfunction. It’s easier to heat up tech from the inside than to cool it down.

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Winter. She hates being hot since the summer on Biomia can get sweltering and she had to live outside on a hot metal rollercoaster cart.

3. do they like the snow?

Not really. The only snow she was around was slush, and slush looks nasty, especially with all the dirt on the street.

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

Cannonballing into the pool and getting water all over Tam because he complains that his hair’s going to frizz up.

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

She loves building snowpeople. She’s only seen a heavy snowfall once on Biomia where there was actually enough snow not to turn to slush, and she loved building a snowman with Isa and Phoebe. They gave it a carrot dick.

I: In-the-closet

1. what is their sexuality?

Harold, she’s a lesbian.

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?

Biomia’s one of the planets that still restricts by sexuality (at least in the legal code), so it was expected that she would have to be with a man. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was much more comfortable being with women.

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

Nope, she’s always been comfortable in her gender. She does tend to dress more masculine than feminine though. She’s a soft butch.

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?

Her sisters never cared about her sexuality, and both of them probably queer as well (though both were too young to act on anything), but all they cared whether about if they were safe and if Valerie was happy.

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

She told her sisters when she first starting dating her girlfriend, but really only had to formally come out once, which was a little after she turned sixteen.

J: Joy

1. what makes them happy?

Tinkering in her workshop, eating oreos, crawling through the vents and scaring people, drinking wine and watching trashy TV with Percy and Flor.

2. who makes them happy?

Ciri, Castor, Flor, and Percy. All her favorite brothers and sisters.

3. are there any songs that bring them joy?

‘Young Volcanoes’ by Fall Out Boy, ‘Miss Jackson’ by Panic! at the Disco, and ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing’ by Ella Fitzgerald

4. are they happy often?

She hasn’t been happy in years. But she thinks she’s on her way to happiness now that she has more friends.

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

B3rT13 and knowing that her inventions are having positive outcomes.

K: Kill

1. have they ever thought about suicide?

Yes, and attempted it when she was 17.

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

Absolutely. She’s still itching to get back at Biomia for taking her family away from her.

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who?

Honestly, the entire Council of Nine, her ex-girlfriend, and the bitches who shot her in the back on Therion. It’s a good thing Percy and Flor crushed them.

4. who would miss them if they died?

She’s hoping everyone on the Freedom Vessel, but she thinks Ciri, Castor, Flor, and Percy would probably be the most heartbroken.

5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

Pretty much everyone who had a hand in her sisters’ murders.

L: Lemons

1. what is their favorite fruit?

Strawberries. She loves strawberry anything.

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

Pomegranates. For some reason her mind always goes to spider eggs.

3. are there any foods they hate?

Pickles are still un-fucking-valid, no matter what anyone says. And that’s the tea.

4. do they have any food intolerances?

Dairy. Does it stop her from eating dairy? Absolutely not.

5. what is their favorite food?

Strawberry short cake.

M: Maternal

1. would they want a daughter or a son?

She already kinda had two daughters, so she’d be chill with any kid.

2. how many children do they want?

No more than 2 or 3. She doesn’t know how Ciri has like fourteen kids.

3. would they be a good parent?

She doesn’t look it, but Val did a great job raising Phoebe and Isa, a few mistakes regarding trust aside.

4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?

A son, she’d probably name it after Castor or Perseus, but she could also see him being called Roman (after her name of Valerie). For a girl, she would definitely start with Phoebe or Isabella, but could also see naming her kids after Ciri or Florina.

5. would they adopt?

Absolutely. She knows what it’s like to be an orphan. Also there’s no way she’s having sex with a man.

N: Never Have I Ever

1. what would they never do?

Betray her friends or family.

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

She’s not going to lie, she really wants to sky dive. Flor promised to take her once by literally carrying her up and then dropping her before swooping down and catching her again, but Luna has always shot the idea down.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Actively like the capitalist, imperialist, and fascist qualities that Genesis has and try to uphold them. Also she can’t believe that people like eating fucking pickles, Castor.

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

When she first joined the Freedom Vessel, she completely trashed her room and broke pretty much every breakable object, and then Nivviah calmly asked if she would help her clean up and Val had to watch through tear streaked eyes as Nivviah patiently and silently helped clean up the room Val trashed.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

Join an international revolution.

O: Optimism

1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Optimistic, though she honestly doesn’t believe most of it. She usually says it so she can hopefully believe her own words in the future and to instill hope in others. She is very pessimistic towards herself.

2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

She tends to be optimistic around people just because she can’t stand to see other hopeless, but only really does it if they’re looking for inspiration. If they want to stew in their own sadness, Val will usually let them.

3. are they good at giving advice?

She’s probably given the most advice on the ship, mostly for relationships which she still doesn’t understand because she’s single as a pringle and her one and only relationship ended in two people dead. She is pretty good at giving advice though because it works out if people listen to her.

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

Ravi and Crumb, her sisters, and Percy.

5. were they always optimistic?

She was never really optimistic, except for her false optimism now. As a kid she was much more pragmatic and realist.

P: Personality

1. what is their best personality trait?

She is a ride or die loyal friend. If you get on her good side, she has shown that she is willing to risk her life for you and treats you as a sibling. If you’re her friend, there is close to nothing she wouldn’t do for you.

2. what is their worst personality trait?

*Alicia Keys voice* This girl is a liar! Because of the trauma in her life and what she feels guilty or scared about, she will never give a straight answer and you will have to unravel several layers to find the truth. Even her own version of the truth is skewed because of her own self-deprecation.

3. what of their personality do others love?

Ironically Ciri loves her honesty (at least when it comes to people not Val), her willingness to drop everything for her friends and family, her supportiveness, and her creativity.

4. what of their personality do others envy?

Ciri envies her ability to use humor as a deflection and her ability to say things that other people might be thinking but don’t want to say.

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

She hates that the personality she has now is a result of her trauma and wishes she could go back to how she was around five years ago.

Q: Questions

1. do they ask for help?

Only as a last resort. She wants to be able to show that she can do things by herself and will only ask for help if there is literally no other way she can solve it herself.

2. do they ask questions in class?

She asked a lot of questions about the Freedom Vessel, mostly to Nivviah, once she was comfortable to talk to people after she first arrived. It wasn’t even full on talking to her, but she wrote at least fifty questions in her notebook and gave it to Nivviah to answer, and to the best of her knowledge, Nivviah answered all of them. The questions ranged from “Where did Luna get this ship” to “Why is Oberon like that”

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

Nope. She will change subjects, ask back an equally uncomfortable question, or just lie flat out. She hates answering questions about herself.

4. do they ask weird questions?

Oh definitely. She once asked Icio whether Theuthidans’ dicks were smaller fish (she may or may not have been drunk) and once bonded with Juniper on that month when everyone was on Theuthida where Dryads had tree vaginas (she was definitely sober and the question had been on her mind for those two months).

5. are they curious?

She’s a Ravenclaw, she’s got that curiosity that either gets herself killed or people freaked out.

R: Rules

1. do they follow rules?

Not in the slightest. She gives Luna and Nivviah a heart attack every time she breaks a rule.

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent?

She was a pretty strict parent to Isa and Phoebe in the sense that they had to be back home by sundown unless they had specifically a “mission”, but was laid-back in the sense that as long as they stayed smart and safe, they could pretty much do whatever they wanted.

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?

She was bedridden for a full day after she was shot in the back despite her protests, and now because of her suicide attempt, is forbidden from going into the infirmary alone and must be accompanied by an adult.

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

She does regret breaking her family’s rule of “everyone has to like your friend before they can come over” because she thought that she could trust her first girlfriend and ended up being stabbed in the back.

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

It shouldn’t matter that you’re lactose intolerant, you should be able to drink milk if you really want that milkshake. Also she hates that people still think that slavery’s an alright thing to do.

S: Streets

1. are they street-smart?

Yes. As she was a short, physically weak girl growing up on the streets, Val never was able to play hard, but instead play smart. Steal this, Valerie. Trick this person Valerie. Sneak into this place, Valerie. She had to stay two steps ahead of everyone else just to get a foothold in society.

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

She never got enough money on Biomia to give it to those begging. And there wasn’t any people on the streets on Biomia. People either had apartments or the orphans lived outside the city limits, usually in the slums outside or in Val’s case, the abandoned amusement park.

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Just once, when she was twelve. She was trying to sneak into a hospital to get some medicine for a sick Isa and a guard (known to the orphans on Biomia as a Child Snatcher since they take children on the streets and send them to orphanages) tried to apprehend her. She was able to get away, but not before he got a few good punches in, and she got a well aimed elbow to the temple.

4. has anything happened to them on the streets?

She and Isa were once cornered by a couple of Biomian military agents for the Council of Nine, but for some reason was able to escape, despite them being the only ones there. Whenever she tries to think about it, she just knows that eventually their attention was drawn elsewhere.

5. are they cautious when out?

Val straddles the line between “I don’t care if I die” and “What if I die?” On Biomia she definitely kept an eye and ear out for everything, but now she keeps an eye out just enough that her friends aren’t attacked.

T: Truth

1. are they honest?

Val and Luna are tied for keeping the most secrets. Unless you take special care to get her to trust you completely, there will always be something about her life kept secret.

2. can they tell if someone is lying?

She can tell if someone’s lying to her but finds it difficult to actually pull out the truth. She usually lets subjects drop if she thinks they’re lying and don’t want to talk about it.

3. is it obvious when they’re lying?

She’s gotten lying down pat. Girl’s got a +7 to deception. She’s also lied to people’s faces (like in-game) and hasn’t been called out on it yet.

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

No, she’s actually a little more open than she wants. If she could take her past and the trauma’s she’s faced to the grave, she absolutely would.

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

She once told her ex-girlfriend about her work and then it spread to the entire Biomian government.

U: Underdog

1. have they been bullied?

She’s been verbally roughed up a bit by guards at different establishments, but she always managed to run away before it got worse than that.

2. have they bullied anyone?

She playfully bullies Ciri, Tam, and Castor just because they know that it’s all in good fun and because she knows that they can take it.

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully?

Thankfully no, mostly because no one cared enough about her family to attack them.

4. have they ever been doubted?

She was an orphaned who lived in an abandoned roller coaster. No one really expected Val would be as smart as she was.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

When Luna heard about a seventeen year old genius in Biomia, she expected someone strong, self confident, and mature, not a short, insecure child with a death wish the size of Earth.

V: Vomit

1. do they vomit often?

No, she’s seen enough stuff in the vents to keep her food down.

2. do they get lots of stomach aches?

She used to, but got so used to things in the vents that she has a stomach of steel now.

3. are they good at comforting someone ill?

She’s pretty good. Isa got sick a lot as a kid and would always try to make sure she was as comfortable as could be. She would forego all the blanket space so Isa could have most of it, and tried to get food for her.

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

Just being held and having her head pat.

5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

She hiccups, but mostly she just cries. She doesn’t like vomit in the slightest. It brings back to many memories.

W: Water

1. do they drink enough water?

Unless someone puts a glass of water in front of her (which usually is Ravi, Crumb because they’re the doctors or B3rT13 because he cares about his human and humans need water to live) she will not drink water.

2. have they learned to swim?

Nivviah and Luna taught her to swim when she joined the Freedom Vessel, after she was able to do things on her own.

3. do they like to swim?

She likes floating in the pool more than actively swimming, but she really likes doing handstands or cannonballs in the pool.

4. can they dive?

She can only do it from kneeling position, but once she tried from standing and landed in a belly flop.

5. can they swim without holding their nose?

Yeah. It took a long time for her to learn how to do it without getting water up her nose, but she’s fine now.

X: Xylophone

1. what is their favorite genre of music?

The one thing she can say she likes about Biomia is their music, and really loves jazz music, especially the ones that played at the speakeasies she would sneak into.

2. do they have a favorite song?

‘Young and Beautiful’ by Lana Del Rey

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

She has and will always be gay for Ella Fitzgerald.

4. can they sing well?

She doesn’t have the best voice, but she can sing decently. It was Isa who was the star of the family. She sang and danced on street corners while Val and Phoebe pick-pocketed.

5. can they rap?

She’s actually a pretty decent rapper and can keep up with most beats.

Y: You

1. how old were you when you created them?

I believe 17. My powerpoint for her novel is dated back to 2015.

2. what inspired you to create them?

I was writing a novel about lesbian space pirates that never got finished, and Val was one of the main characters.

3. were they different when they were first created?

Definitely. I accidentally gave her Phoebe’s personality when I made her a campaign character as novel Val is much more controlled, shy, and misunderstood (and went by Valerie). But I love both of them the way they are. It was sort of explained why Val now acts more like how Phoebe did, but it will be explained more in depth later.

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

She and Luna are my two favorite npcs of the campaign. I love all the love interests, don’t get me wrong, but Val owns my entire fucking heart.

5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

As a STEM major who feels the imposter syndrome very bad, I love that Val is a proud engineering girl who never feels like she’s not as good as she is. What gives her anxiety about her work is not whether she’s not good enough, it’s the unintended side effects of her invention. Also she’s chubby and gay.

Z: Zebra

1. what’s their favorite animal?

Platypuses. They just look like they’re not meant to exist and honestly, big mood.

2. do they like animals?

She has a hard time connecting to living things (both human and animal) and prefers to work with robots, but she thinks they’re cute.

3. cats or dogs?

Dogs. She’s afraid of bigger dogs, but she likes medium sized ones or the small ones.

4. what’s their dream pet?

She once saw a Tasmanian Tiger in one of the free zoos on Biomia and thought it was one of the coolest animals she’s ever seen. But a couple years later she went back and it was gone and hasn’t seen it since.

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

Technically Phoebe is a pet, but she prefers to think of the little bot as her daughter. And then B3rT13 is her asshole son.

#imaturtlebug #my characters #Valerie Read #genesis campaign