#or like. however that diverging population thing works. you know what i mean. hopefully.

[anthonycrowley]

is there a gomens fic of all time people recommend that they base characterization off of. just wondering

#my post #i will be honest i OCCASIONALLY read gomens fic of course but the chracterizations are mostly me marinating characters in my brain #and also talking to beloved friends and mutuals like we're greek philosophers. but very rarely fic #gomens #idk if i'm gonna read it it'll just fascinate me. i think the general gomens tv fandom is like a different species of trout to me #or like. however that diverging population thing works. you know what i mean. hopefully.

[bluerose5]

The Ghost of Paradise (Exile AU)

Chapter 2: By the Minute

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,796

Tags: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Scott Ryder, Reyes Vidal, Reyder, Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, Flirting, Secrets, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, Rivalry, Engineer/Mechanic Scott Ryder, Jealousy

[Read it here as well on ao3.]

“Our agents say that you were speaking with Reyes Vidal at Kralla’s,” Nola said. She didn’t even give Scott a chance to breathe. The second he was through their gates —which were still a work in progress— Scott was ambushed. “Do I even want to know what you have planned?”

Scott grinned at her.

“Why must I always have something planned?” Scott asked. “Reyes is a good friend. For all you know, we could have been catching up over drinks.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean that you were.”

“Fair enough.”

As she fell into step at his side, Nola led him around while they spoke, appraising their growing community with pride.

“Scott, as governor of Paradise, should I not be made aware of any transactions that might affect us?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tell me what I need to know then. Nothing more, nothing less.”

As if he could refuse her insistent prodding. Every time he left, he always forgot how relentless she could be upon his return, but only when it pertained to matters that could have both predictable and unforeseen effects in their future.

In a way, Scott was grateful to have someone with that type of dedication on their side. They’re going to need it.

“I swear, it wasn’t anything particularly groundbreaking,” Scott promised. “I gave him some seeds from our latest project in exchange for a long-ranged scanner modification. That’s it.”

“Hmm… A decent enough trade.”

“Glad to have your approval.”

Of course, it was too much to hope that she would leave it at that.

“What is it for?” Nola asked.

Scott knew from experience not to lie to her face.

He sighed. “I’m going to scout out some of the Remnant ruins nearby. See if I can get a read on their bots, or a turret if I’m lucky.”

She cocked her head to the side and considered that for a moment, lips pursed.

“Promise to be careful then. I know you would gladly give your life to protect any of these people, but we don’t need you to throw it away because of pure recklessness,” she reminded him. “If it comes down to an altercation, we would rather have you here than some lousy turret schematics. Besides—” She shrugged. “You would probably be the only one who could make sense of them anyways. You and that stupidly genius brain of yours.”

Scott scoffed, suddenly uncomfortable as he shifted in place.

“Got it from my parents, or so they say.”

Ellen and Alec Ryder. The woman who literally gave her life to perfect biotic implants and the man who created a whole new type of AI. Quite the legacy to live up to.

Good thing Scott wasn’t living his life based on their achievements. Andromeda was a whole different playing field compared to the Milky Way. The work he was doing with Paradise was incredible in its own right. At least, he liked to think so.

If he could change at least one person’s life for the better in Andromeda, then he considered that a success.

Based on the feedback he was receiving from the residents, he was doing a damn good job, and that was enough for him.

But Nola had a point.

People relied on Scott now. As much as he was willing to dive headfirst into danger, he needed to refrain from doing so.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised her. “If things start to go south, I’ll ping you and Nakamoto.”

“Thank you,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Scott hated to worry her so, but there was that one other matter.

“If it’s any consolation to you,” Scott said, trying for a lighter tone yet failing, “Reyes offered to accompany me on the trip.”

Nola stopped short, and Scott skidded to a halt. She narrowed her eyes at him with a sneer curling at her lip.

“No, that is not of any consolation to me. Scott Ryder, you know how he is.”

“Charming and witty?” Scott tried for his best smile, but Nola wasn’t buying into that bullshit, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Flighty and untrustworthy, especially once his back is against the wall.” Then, she amended her statement, taking on a slightly accusatory tone. “That’s assuming you didn’t pay any of his ridiculous service fees.”

“Puh-lease.” Scott chuckled. “If anyone should be spending their credits, Reyes should be the one paying me for my company. I’m a treasure not many can afford.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nola snorted, “but at least you know your worth.”

“They say that time is money, after all. I’ll make sure to charge him by the minute while we’re together.”

“Please do, and make sure to get a picture of his face once you show him that bill.”

Scott was only happy to see her smile again.

“Will do,” he said.

“While you’re at it, drop a few hints here and there that Paradise might be looking to contract out some exclusive deals with top-rate smugglers. Leave out the ‘top-rate’ part, of course. Can’t have that going to the poor man's head.”

“His ego is already insufferable enough without the compliments,” Scott agreed, “but isn’t the whole point of secrecy for you and I not to draw attention to our connections here?”

“A woman can dream though, can’t she?” Nola sighed.

“So much for Reyes being ‘untrustworthy.’”

Nola didn’t even hesitate, brushing off his attempt to use her words against her.

“Skill is skill, and we don’t exactly have the people or resources to be picky right now. Everything is a commodity on Kadara, even integrity. If he betrays us, we’ll deal with him, simple as that.”

Right.

Still, it was laughable to think that the Charlatan would take on a contract with some of his direct competitors.

Although, that sounds like exactly the type of stunt that Reyes would pull. More than likely, he’d have an ulterior motive for doing so, but Scott could see it happening.

Did he support the idea, though? Definitely not. 

“I don’t know,” Scott muttered. “I couldn’t see Reyes limiting his business to one group, especially if we’re only starting to get our feet wet.”

“You would know how he operates better than I, but I suppose that attitude is understandable. Disappointing, but understandable.” Nola grumbled. “Well, if nothing else, tell him the least he could do is give you a discount.”

“Trust me, I’ve been working that angle for a while. No such luck.”

“Greedy bastard.”

As they finished up their routine patrol, they soon switched direction, heading towards Nakamoto's clinic to conclude their meeting. There, Paradise’s leaders convened. They reviewed the requests that their colonists posted on the message boards around the settlement. Together, they decided on what matters they could approve for certain and which ones would be placed on the docket for a community vote. After that, they moved on to logistics, including topics such as requisitions and inventory.

To draw the meeting to a close, Nola relayed their latest numbers for colonial development. Water production was steady. However, food stores would be struggling soon to keep up with the recent influx of residents, so security personnel and all of those who knew their way around a gun were strongly encouraged to increase hunting and foraging activities while out on patrols or while performing their daily tasks. A roster will be posted on the local message boards to look for volunteers who would like to fill a full-time hunter-gatherer role.

Hopefully, what few angaran scientists they had amongst their people would be able to process their first batch of nutrient paste after their next harvest. It wasn’t exactly the tastiest solution available, but it was a necessary one if they were to survive.

In terms of population, there was a rapid spike in enrollment when word spread that Paradise actually got shit done and held true to their promises, but they expected the effect to eventually plateau once people settled in. Angara enrollment was up at the moment, especially after Scott appointed Nola as governor, and they have even seen a few Initiative members join up, having made the journey all the way from the Nexus to be reunited with friends, family, and loved ones.

Scott asked that they spread word for people to be warm and welcoming. The request probably wasn’t necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Their community would make no friends by tearing people apart, and they prided themselves on being close and tight-knit.

It was important that they not only claimed to be but that they acted like it as well, backing up their words with actions.

Security assignments were then posted. Patrols would have to be upped to make up for an increase that they were seeing with gang-related attacks. Once automated security measures were in place, they would revisit the matter in order to assess which sectors needed heightened security. Emergency drills would be held at the end of the week.

With all of their needs addressed, Nola called the meeting to a close.

Once the meeting was adjourned, Scott approached Nola and their Head of Security, requesting a full census to be done within a day's time. Scott needed names, numbers, faces. Each citizen’s profile needed to be updated within their database.

If Scott was going to make an effective defense matrix for the colony, then he would prefer to program an IFF system that only a select few could remotely activate. For the system to work as intended, all of the colonists' photo IDs and biometric profiles would need to be kept current and constantly updated in real-time.

Nola promised to see to it that Scott got what he needed, shooing him off.

Apparently, he was hovering, but Scott could take a hint. He could tell when he was no longer needed, and he knew that Nola worked best when he wasn’t constantly worrying after her like a mother hen.

Departing from the settlement, Scott cloaked himself the second he went beyond the boundaries of their walls.

He was almost halfway back to Port when he received a message from Reyes. Figuring that he was in the clear, Scott made sure that the coast was clear before deactivating his cloak.

Pulling up his omni-tool’s interface, Scott opened the message. Along with it, there was a set of coordinates, sent from Reyes’s location.

R: Think I’m ready to cash in on those shuttle repairs. Wouldn’t mind the company right about now.

Scott’s fingers hovered above the holographic keys, contemplating his next move before deciding to hell with it.

S: Miss me that much?

R: Am I that obvious?

He didn’t even give Scott a chance to reply before he sent another message.

R: If it’s still in question though, let me put it bluntly.

R: I want to see you.

Scott pursed his lips, cursing his stupid heart for racing in response.

S: Give me a few. I’ll be there.

R: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Before he could embarrass himself, Scott closed out his messages. He quickly made his way to Port, grabbing his bag of tools and gear before venturing back out into the badlands.

From there, Scott followed the coordinates to a cliff, overlooking a nearby valley. The sun was slowly but surely sinking down over the horizon, lightning up the sky in array of pinks and oranges and reds.

Reyes was already waiting for him by the time he arrived, the shuttle powered down for the moment.

However, the second Scott noticed that Reyes was facing away from him, he instantly slowed his walk to a crawl. He bent his knees into a slight crouch and shifted his weight with each step, toe to heel as he snuck his way up behind him.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

Scott delighted in watching him him jump in shock, only to have a blade at his throat in the blink of an eye.

As soon as Reyes realized who it was, all the blood drained from his face.

“S–Scott!”

Hands raised in surrender, Scott raised an eyebrow at him incredulously.

“You know, I was kind of expecting a warmer welcome,” he admitted, careful of the firaan's sharp edge. Keema must have given it to him. “Have to say, though, would it be weird if I was a little turned on right now?”

Reyes scoffed.

Trailing the blade along the outline of his throat, Scott swallowed thickly when he eventually felt its pointed tip press underneath his chin. Reyes tilted it up, and Scott followed, lest he risk being cut.

Their eyes met, and Reyes smirked.

Bastard was toying with him.

Retracting his knife, Reyes sheathed the firaan while Scott tried to catch his breath. The goosebumps left behind in the dagger's wake soon receded, yet a warm heat lingered.

“Tsk.” Reyes huffed at him. “Ryder—”

Uh-oh, back to last name basis. From experience, that meant trouble.

“You know better than to sneak up on me!” Reyes scolded.

“I do,” Scott said, not even afraid to acknowledge it, “but I love getting a rise out of you.”

“What if I would have hurt you?”

“But you didn’t.”

Scowling, Reyes placed his hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Scott, what the hell am I going to do with you?” he asked, releasing his nose, half-fond and half-frustrated.

“I’m sure we could think of something.”

Reyes hummed in agreement, watching Scott approach the shuttle with his bag tossed over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground, then immediately got to work.

Watching him closely, Reyes leaned against the side of his shuttle with a thoughtful look.

“Maybe I could take you on a date?”

While Reyes tried to sound confident, his attempt ultimately failed. Instead of forming the words into a bold offer, they fell flat, sounding more like an uncertain question.

Scott stopped what he was doing. He spared Reyes a brief glance, only to return his attention to the task at hand, hiding his flushed face.

“Wouldn’t Zia disapprove?” Scott asked, being rougher than necessary as he practically took apart the control panel.

Envy curled inside him, spreading like an infection through his bloodstream. There was a sharp squeeze around his heart as it was encased in the feeling.

Reyes called him out on it, way too perceptive for his own good.

“Ryder, are you jealous?” Reyes chuckled.

Scott glared, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender.

“Just asking.”

“And if I am?” Scott retorted.

“Then I’d have to put your mind at ease.”

“It’s really none of my busin—”

Reyes closed the distance between them. Reaching out, he cupped Scott’s cheek, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. Weak as he was, Scott leaned into his touch for a split second. His eyes threatened to flutter closed, but he had to remain firm about this one matter, if nothing else.

As he started to pull away, Reyes said, “There is nothing going on between Zia and I.” Scott froze into place. “We went out for drinks a few times, nothing more.”

“You swear?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I swear.” His voice grew heated, impassioned. “I might be a bad man when it comes to many things, but I wouldn’t ever lie about that to you.”

Scott considered that before replying, “Well, like I said—” He cleared his throat, eyes averted. “ It’s not really any of my business, so I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He trailed off, uncertain why he was acting that way.

Reyes furrowed his brow.

“No need to be sorry. If you had crossed a line, then I would have said so.”

“Even then, you’re not mine. Your relationships are your own.”

“I could be.”

Scott regarded him skeptically.

“Could be what?”

“Yours,” Reyes answered instantly, staring intently at Scott. “Just say the word.”

If only they weren’t both keeping secrets from each other at the moment, then Scott might take him up on that.

Turns out, being with the Charlatan would be a huge conflict of interests. Who could’ve guessed?

Silence settled between them. It was as if the whole world was awaiting Scott’s answer with bated breath. Time itself seemed to stand still in anticipation.

“I—” He struggled to find the right words. “Give me time.”

That’s all he could ask.

Reyes’s hopeful expression fell, and that alone felt like a stab to the chest. Scott's breathing trembled a little, as if it was becoming difficult to continue drawing in one breath after another.

God, he didn’t want to hurt him, but neither of them could really afford to rush into things half-cocked.

Scott copied his earlier gesture, reaching out to cup Reyes’s cheek. The change was almost instantaneous, how the tension drained away, only for Reyes to melt into Scott’s touch. He leaned into his hand, starved for affection.

Scott swallowed thickly, unable to pull away, let alone take his eyes off of him for even a second.

“All I ask is that you give me time,” Scott repeated. “That’s not a ‘no.’ I just need to think a few things over, iron out a few details.”

Reyes listened, then agreed.

“Alright.” He pulled away with a small, private smile. “As if I could deny anyone such a reasonable request, especially you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Returning his attention to the shuttle, Scott got back to work. After all, he didn’t want to neglect the poor bird, and it appeared that the shuttle was in desperate need of a little TLC.

His diagnostics only confirmed his suspicions.

When a couple of sparks resulted from his prodding, Scott chastised Reyes for mistreating their baby. Reyes grew defensive, both of them falling back to old habits as they bickered.

This was the type of work that Scott did on the Nexus after he got sidelined and shafted. Systems repairs, shuttle repairs, routine maintenance… That sorta thing.

It was how he met Reyes to begin with. Few pilots had the energy to hang around and talk shop with Scott while he worked, especially since a lot of them had only recently returned from failed colonization efforts. Understandably, most people didn’t want to entertain idle conversation after watching their friends die out in the field.

That was fine by Scott, but Reyes had always gone out of his way —even then— to make sure that Scott had anything and everything that he needed.

They might have taken his shuttle out on a few joyrides together, gotten in trouble for wasting fuel, but Scott wouldn’t trade that time they spent together for anything in the galaxy.

Even now, it felt natural to settle back into their old routine. While Scott worked, Reyes watched, and they talked about anything and everything.

Time passed, and Scott only got deeper into the repairs and modifications. Despite the setting sun, he still broke a sweat, a light sheen glistening upon his skin.

Eventually, he had to take off his shirt, leaving him in a plain tank top that quickly got dirty along with his hands.

Swiping at the perspiration beading at his hairline, Scott grunted as he came to a stopping point for now. He reached for his bag, but what he was seeking wasn’t there.

“Shit.”

Turning towards Reyes, Scott huffed at him.

The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide his staring. Face flushed, he was biting teasingly at his bottom lip, brown eyes dark as he watched Scott through a hooded gaze.

Getting to his feet, Scott crossed his arms over his chest.

“See something you like?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re shameless.” Scott shook his head in disbelief, tsking under his breath. “You’re just as bad as that one time when Gil Brodie asked for a ‘second opinion’ on some fix he made. Turns out, I ended up doing almost all of the work while he sat back and watched.”

“Smart man,” Reyes noted, giving Scott a thorough once-over. “This Gil must have great tastes.”

Scott snorted.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you really want to make me happy, then you would grab your water bottle for me.”

“Did you forget yours?” Reyes asked, slightly concerned. After all, being caught out in the badlands without water was just asking for dehydration or heat stroke.

Nevertheless, he got the bottle for him. Scott placed his hands over Reyes’s, shrugging with a flustered blush.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “I thought I had packed it! I don’t know where it could’ve wandered off to.”

“Perhaps you were in a bit of a rush to get here,” Reyes said, trailing off suggestively.

Scott figured that he would allow that.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but what else do I keep you around for, if not the water? You wouldn’t want the guy repairing your shuttle to get dehydrated, right?” Scott smirked. “I could get delirious, and it would be very unfortunate if I just so happened to forget to install an essential component.”

Reyes gasped dramatically, relinquishing the water to Scott, who was quick to take a swig.

“You always have to watch out for the pretty ones,” Reyes grumbled. “Always causing trouble, keeping secrets…”

There it was again. That sense of knowing , that sense that both of them were holding something back. It was left unsaid. Neither confronted the other about it, but they knew that the secrets were there.

Before the sudden lag in conversation could get too awkward, Scott took another swig of water and asked, “So, you think I’m pretty?”

Reyes chuckled, glad for the change of subject.

“Kian seems to think so,” he muttered. Leave it to him to avoid the question. “He keeps asking when you’re going to start working for him at Tartarus.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“As a dancer?” He had to make sure he was hearing right.

“Yep.”

“Could you imagine?” Scott scoffed. “Me, shaking my ass for money? A tempting offer. It would probably be more profitable than the odd jobs I take on here and there, but I think I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Damn,” Reyes sighed, “what a shame.”

Scott raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“You saying you would have come to watch me?”

“Not only that, but I would have paid to watch you,” Reyes said, “especially if I could have gotten a private show out of it.”

Scott tried to imagine it, grinning in spite of himself.

“What’s so funny?” Reyes wondered.

“Nothing, nothing,” Scott said, brushing off his concern. “That just made me remember a thought that I had earlier.”

“What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Scott gestured vaguely. “Just that I should start charging you a fee for when we spend time together.”

Reyes winked at him.

“It would be worth every credit.”

#mass effect #mass effect andromeda #scott ryder #reyes vidal #reyder #mreyder #my writing #my fanfic #scott ryder x reyes vidal #exile au #hopefully tumblr doesn't screw with the order of my paragraphs again :/

[entergamingxp]

Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris Review — Fails to Fully Actualize its Ambitions

August 11, 2020 11:00 AM EST

Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris attempts to revamp the franchise and breathe new life into it, with very polarizing results.

Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris starts players off with a bang, and for fans of the anime, it’s quite different from how the series starts. After a very basic tutorial that introduces the block, attack, and Sword Skills, you’re thrown in the season’s final battle against the all-powerful Administrator. The fight itself is impossible to lose, as nothing happens if Kirito’s (the protagonist) HP is depleted.

The mechanics of combat are simple and don’t require much effort to learn. However, the controls for combat are rather subpar. Somehow, the controls are both slippery and floaty, meaning it’s difficult to maneuver Kirito without him sliding around and completely missing the enemy. There is an upside to this opening battle and combat in general, at least — it feels incredibly satisfying when you land a skill. At this point in Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris, there are tons of skills to choose from and they all have that nice anime flashiness to them, not to mention the substantial damage they hit for.

Once the Administrator’s health dips below a certain amount, her and Kirito engage in a final heated clash of swords.

“The plot develops slowly, and I mean at an absolute crawl at times.”

After a bright flash of light, Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris‘s main story actually begins with a de-powered Kirito who’s been thrown into a mysterious but somewhat familiar virtual world known as “Underworld.” He soon meets a young man named Eugeo who helps him get accustomed to the village and the world at large. As Kirito explores more, he realizes what makes Underworld so special: the A.I. that populates the world behave just like humans and are completely unaware of their status as fictional beings.

Under the belief that Kirito is essentially a chosen one who is dropped into his world by the gods, Eugeo tours Kirito around his village and shows him the Gigas Cedar, a giant tree that drains energy from his village. It is his Calling — a special goal given to each villager to work towards each day or die trying — to cut down this tree with a power axe. Kirito tries to help but discovers how daunting the task is. Eugeo then reveals that his family line has been working toward this goal for 300 years now.

As Kirito and Eugeo work and train (with the former’s goal of figuring out how to complete the latter’s goal quickly so he can be escorted into the main capital) we also find out about Eugeo’s younger sister, Alice, and how she was taken away by an Integrity Knight for violating the taboos of the land. The plot switches its focus to saving her and it continues from there, following the general story beats of the anime with the exception of a new female character named Medina who joins the roster a bit later on.

The plot develops slowly, and I mean at an absolute crawl at times, as Kirito uncovers more of the secrets permeating the world. Though the pacing is off, I enjoyed watching their relationship mature and Kirito get to know each major villager. And because Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris has far more breathing room to spend on developing the characters, they feel more fleshed out and it’s much easier to become invested in their world and growth. Eugeo, of course, benefits from this fleshing out the most, unlike in the anime where they barely have enough time to get a sprinkling of chemistry before the story whisks them along.

Alicization Lycoris still features the classic mechanics of the series, such as building Renown. By either speaking with NPCs or by completing quests, you can increase this stat which determines how people perceive you. This also affects your Affinity with them as well. It’s similar to the stat found in other Sword Art Online titles, which has the same effect of allowing the player to recruit more party members.

“And while the combat has been completely overhauled and simplified to allow for a seemingly more accessible experience, it is not very good.”

This is also an important feature for the usual dating sim mechanic that is present in any SAO game. By answering questions correctly in the heart-to-heart minigame for each eligible bachelorette, you increase their Affinity toward Kirito, which can unlock a special ending and scenes with them. As usual, if you’re invested in that sort of thing, it’s there, but if you elect to ignore it, there’s no penalty against you.

Kirito and other party members possess several stats: System Control Authority, Weapon Type, Ex Skills, Persona, Anima, and their current Affinity with Kirito. There’s also Proficiency, which correlates with how often you use a weapon. Raising this stat, or its Bond, is important for mastering certain abilities. Requiring Kirito to essentially level up his weapon usage is a visceral way to earn his power and skill, and it matches perfectly with the more organic fantasy setting of Alicization Lycoris that rewards a hard work ethic.

You can also affix equippable abilities, called Attachments, to armor which can have a range of passive effects. More powerful Attachments tend to also have a temporary usage period to mitigate any overuse. Although these stats suffer from the same issues as other SAO titles, in that they’re often convoluted and not very useful, it has been far more streamlined in Alicization Lycoris. The UI is also much less cluttered and easier to navigate which is a refreshing improvement.

Combat consists of controlling Kirito as you give directions to your normally AI-controlled party during any given sorte. Your team can perform special team-up skills as well, which are vital for some of the stronger foes. And while the combat has been completely overhauled and simplified to allow for a seemingly more accessible experience, it is not very good. As stated before, the controls are often floaty and imprecise, despite the decent lock-on mechanics. And though skills are satisfying when integrated with normal combos to devastating effect, landing those skills can often be an exercise in frustration thanks to said skills having little weight and impact, as well as being difficult to time in the first place.

Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris is an experimental title to be sure. It eschews the tried and true conventions of the franchise and instead attempts to create a more unique experience. The beginning, despite its glacial pacing, is also refreshing in its focus of drawing out the personalities of both Kirito and Eugeo while creating a charming world that you slowly become invested in. Even the inclusion of Medina is interesting since she’s the first herald of how the story will alter from the second half of the anime. Her character itself is intriguing and I found myself wanting to learn more about her and her importance to the plot.

The biggest roadblock with the plot, though, is the same as in the animated version. Once you hit the Sword Mastery Academy, the plot takes a noticeable nosedive. The newly introduced characters are bland window dressing solely there to service Kirito’s (and to a point Eugeo) own arc.

Though I will admit that once again the title’s slower pace makes the characters a little more endearing in this incarnation, there is no excuse, however, for this game to still have the infamous sexual assault scene from the anime. And while it doesn’t graphically depict said scene, this would have been a perfect opportunity to completely remove it and create an entirely new scene that serves the same character arc purposes, since it’s already established that this game will be diverging from the original story.

“Alicization Lycoris‘s best feature is its multiplayer.”

Alicization Lycoris‘s best feature is its multiplayer, which you unlock after clearing the first chapter. It features a pretty competent character creator (decent options that are standard in any SAO title) to go along with the enjoyable mission and side quest-based gameplay that’s often a welcome break from the occasional monotony of the main game. It’s a shame that such a fun part of the game is hidden behind over 12 hours of initial gameplay.

However, neither the single or multiplayer can hide the technical and graphical issues. It’s important to clarify that these are easily the best-looking graphics to date in a Sword Art Online game. The environments are uniquely designed, vibrant, colorful, and sometimes even pretty. But there are plenty of poorly rendered textures and the pop-in is extremely noticeable. Even worse are the frame rate issues, which for a turn-based JRPG would be forgivable, but are absolutely unthinkable in an action JRPG where timing is vital and slowdown can cost you a hefty chunk of dealt damage. Fixes have been coming to at least improve the abysmal FPS, so hopefully, those who already purchased the title will have a better experience moving forward.

Overall, credit is due to Sword Art Online Alicization Lycoris for trying to change up the far too familiar formula of the franchise and offer both veteran and new players a brand new experience. But the problems in the plotline, gameplay, graphics, and technical issues impact it significantly. Although it’s not a bad game at all, it’s also not a very good one and becomes difficult to recommend to anyone outside of series fans.

August 11, 2020 11:00 AM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/08/sword-art-online-alicization-lycoris-review-fails-to-fully-actualize-its-ambitions/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=sword-art-online-alicization-lycoris-review-fails-to-fully-actualize-its-ambitions

[redsdesktop]

Namelessshipping: What If...

Chapter 11

Pairings: Red x Green Oak

Warnings: None

AU: Canon Divergence.

As the sun began to set over the tropical waters of Alola, Red felt like he had achieved a good first date. Out here alone with Green, his friend could be himself, he didn't need to worry about what others thought of him. Red had always accepted Green for who he truly was, something not many people got to see. Green wasn't perfect by any means, no one really was. The way Green had been living though had to change, it just wasn't healthy. Red paused in packing away the remains of their lunch, looking over at Green who was completely unguarded. He was busy talking about some of the most exciting battles he'd gone through, it didn't take much to see he was enjoying himself. It had been far too long since Red had seen that sort of excitement and happiness in his eyes, back when they were kids talking about their future.

The future hadn't exactly turned out what they thought it would, there were regrets and things Red could've done to make things better. However, he was here in the present with Green, he had a chance to bring Green back into his life. Something had to give though, Red wasn't one for publicity, for crowds of people. Green was, he loved the limelight and Red didn't want to take that away from him. There had to be some sort of gray area where he and Green could both be happy. He knew he likely already had his face plastered all over the internet from the battle with Green, he was already dreading going back to the civilized world. The man who defeated the legendary champion Green, a mystery. He didn't really use the internet that often, only to post pictures of Pikachu and Eevee. He had used Pikachu to fight against Eevee in the battle though, even if it was earlier on before the crowds grew.

"Green." He finally spoke when Green paused for a breath, drawing his friend's attention as it was the first word Red had said in a while. Red would nod or make a small sound of thought at Green's one-sided conversation, only to show he was listening. "Have you ever thought about taking a break?"

Green looked a bit surprised by the question, looking over at Red to see if he was serious but as usual Red's face was impassive. Green turned to face the ocean once more, the sunset bringing out the golden hues in his hazel eyes. "Not really, I never had a reason to. I've traveled to so many regions, seen everything I could. Everywhere I go, someone recognizes me. There's always someone who wants to take on the Kanto Champion, wanting to prove their worth. I can't really turn them down either, it'd look bad on me. I thought working at the Battle Tree would change it up a little, this place is a tropical paradise. Its the same thing over and over again, just a different scenery. Not to mention I have to stay strong and cocky, because people will prey on your weakness. I'm not sure why, maybe to feel better about themselves to belittle someone who's popular?"

Green sighed and tossed a bit of grass he'd been plucking away from him, looking almost defeated by the weight of it all. "I thought I'd like having all that attention, but after a while it just got to the point where people only liked me at face value. They expect me to be perfect, I'm scared that if I make one mistake that they'll all hate me for it and leave." Red tilted his head a bit, for him it didn't go over his head to know what Green was getting at. Reaching over, Red placed a hand over Green's, offering comfort from just a single touch. His hands were rough and calloused from hard work dealing with Pokemon, a stark contrast to Green's smoother skin. It made Red think that Green was almost fragile in a way, all it took was one tap and he'd shatter. As Green's best friend, he felt responsible and he wanted to make sure Green would be able to enjoy life as Red did.

"Take a break. Spend some time away with me, we can go on adventures like we did when we were little." Red offered hopefully, he was an adult know but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy exploring a little. It also followed along with his research as well, so all around it would be a win-win. Though he wasn't certain if he could really study the Pokemon here when he most likely would be paying more attention to Green.

"But what about you, Red? What if people come up and crowd us? I know you don't like people getting too close." Green looked concerned, the way he gazed over at Red made his heart race a little. It was silly, to feel such a thing, but just a small concern like that from Green made him feel light and warm.

"We won't stay long in populated areas. Pokemon like the wild areas." He reassured with a nod of his head, already he had the perfect spot in mind he wanted to take Green. There weren't a lot of people there, since the island had a lot of strong Pokemon and not a lot of tourist attractions. Already, Red felt excitement for this adventure with Green, it was more exciting when he had to someone to share the adventure with. As kids, Green had always ran off ahead of him, always in a rush to become better. Now, there was nothing that would make Green run off ahead of him and hopefully, his friend would stay by his side.

"Well, if we're going to go mostly off the radar, we can't stay at the resort. People will be wanting answers after that public display you put on." Green frowned as he was reminded of that defeat, when he was younger, it might've upset him. Now that he was older, it didn't hurt that bad, it was almost sort of a relief. No longer did he have the weight of being undefeated, Red had been the one to do it too.

"What do you have in mind then?" Red queried, he didn't have enough money to afford another hotel, so it would be all up to Green. He didn't like relying on others for money, but in this situation, he didn't have a choice. He'd sacrifice pride just so he could spend more time with Green.

"Well, I'm not staying in a two-bit motel, I might have been defeated but I still have standards." Green brushed a hand over his chest, smoothing out his black silk button up shirt, drawing Red's gaze for a moment. "So we'll just have to rent a beach house. A place just for ourselves, it'll be like camping all over again!"

"Its not camping if you stay in a house and not a tent." Red pointed out, a bit of amusement in his eyes. "Last time you got scared and we had to pack up and go back home. And we were just in your backyard."

"Hey! You don't know what could've been out there! It might've been a ghost!" Green exclaimed, looking defensive once more now that Red pointed out the fact he'd been scared. Red couldn't help but to laugh softly under his breath, making Green fold his arms in that stubborn, but cute sort of way. Red pushed himself up onto his feet and dusted his worn out jeans from grass, then hefting up the lighter cooler now. Once everything was situated, he offered a hand towards Green, who looked like he wasn't going to take it for a moment. Eventually, he reached out and grabbed Red's hand, pulling himself up onto his feet and dusted his green capris off with one hand.

As they made their way back to the resort, Red didn't dare to comment about the fact that Green hadn't let go of his hand.

#namelessshipping #originalshipping #trainer red #trainer green #what if #fanfic #fanfiction #alternate universe #au #canon divergence #trainer blue #green oak #blue oak

[sinesalvatorem]

How Discrimination Works (Copied From Chat)

I mean, I think racial discrimination and profiling as they now exist are mostly a side effect of living in a huge, atomised population where you can’t keep track of everyone you’re going to meet individually.

So, different groups of people are going to differ on averages for how they act - whether because of culture or incentives or w/e - but this doesn’t affect how you behave toward them under a certain number of people.

You don’t care about averages when you know every life detail of individuals.

Like, imagine you’re hosting a dinner party and you have 15 friends. Based on your years of interaction with them, you know Dave and Maria are going to start fights with the other participants, so you don’t invite them.

It doesn’t matter that Dave is a white guy or Maria is a Hispanic woman. You know them personally and, from knowing them, can predict what they, specifically, will do.

At this level, the demographic characteristics of people don’t matter /at all/. You’re using actual, individual knowledge to discriminate on who’s allowed at your event.

This is also the situation with the least false positives and negatives. Discriminating against groups will always leave you with a lot of false results because, while the groups may differ on averages, there’ll always be people in the tails you wanted to keep or exclude who you couldn’t.

So, why would anyone use a courser, looser, stupider proxy for figuring out if someone is actually an asshole? Well, costs.

I am told that people who aren’t me often have a hard time cultivating deep friendships with a hundred people which allow them to judge the character of every soul. IDK /why/ you guys aren’t on my level and think you should git gud, but I am accepting of your frailty.

But, anyway, that means the costs of personally tracking that many people are too high for you to discriminate on character. Instead, you want to discriminate on something that /correlates strongly/ with character.

It’s only a proxy, but it’ll still let you keep out a lot of the bad folks and keep in a lot of the good folks. Hopefully.

So, say you run a pub. You have a few regulars that you know things about and who’s character you can vouch for. Sometimes one of them has a bad day and yells at someone, but you know that this is a rare occurrence, so you just give them a stern talking to and leave them be.

The next day, a rando comes in. He’s had a bad day and he yells at someone. You ban him from the pub.

Why? Because /most/ people who randomly start yelling at other patrons are assholes. In the case of your regulars, you know them well enough to be aware that they aren’t personality-level assholes, even if they act like assholes once in a while.

Meanwhile, you have no way of knowing that this rando off the street is a firefighter with three cats and a heart of gold who just learned that his mother died.

You just don’t have that background because you can’t pay that much attention to that many people. Kicking anyone who becomes verbally abusive is a rule that /usually/ works, so it’s worth the costs when it fails. The rules are the rules (if you have nothing better than rules to work with).

This also means that a group having explicit rules is a sign that its members don’t know each other well enough or can’t agree well enough that they don’t need coarse-grained methods like these. Friend groups rarely have written rules; corporations usually do.

As you ascend the ladder of number-of-people-to-deal-with, you notice that the main constraint is how much time and attention you can spend on each person.

The dinner party host could spend hundreds of hours on each guest over the course of their friendships. The pub owner may have been able to watch the rando customer for half an hour before he started making a ruckus. What happens if you have five seconds?

Imagine you’re a bouncer for a club and have to decide who to let in and who to keep out. You’re the most important gatekeeper, so it’s on you to keep out as many assholes as possible - but you have to wave people in or tell them to fuck off /quickly/.

So, with just a few seconds to make your decision, you have to default to an even more visible proxy than the pub owner did.

Unfortunately, as proxies become more visible, they also tend to work less well, so you’ll be even more imperfect than before.

As you’re only human and have to work fast, you look people up and down and judge their hair and face and clothes. You form an intuitive impression of whether this person looks like The Right Sort.

Of course, this is going to be somewhat divergent from who is and isn’t an asshole and /notably/ correlated with social class. Whoops. But, well, you had five seconds, dude. What did you expect?

However, it’d be even /worse/ if you had effectively no seconds. When you get big enough for a bureaucracy with forms to fill out, you can’t even /look/ at people. You can only discriminate based on features someone can write down on a form.

So you exclude all the black men on the assumption that they’ll start fights. This is /ridiculously/ lossy. This is a false positive extravaganza. But, above a certain size, this is all you’re gonna get.

So, the obvious response to arriving at level 3 or 4 and realising that this profiling thing is out of control is to ban discrimination. However, I think that misses important facts about the situation illustrated above.

The first is that the discrimination is serving a purpose. Sometimes that’s avoiding fight-starters, but it could really be anything. It doesn’t matter much /why/ people value it, just that they do so strongly enough that they clearly put a lot of effort into it.

But something that falls out of that is that /people don’t stop/. As the proxies for discrimination become more stupid and useless, people /keep using them/. 

They seem to be pretty desperate to find some way to filter who they let into their homes and pubs and clubs, so you should expect them to be willing to swallow a lot of costs to keep doing so.

So, when you start banning discrimination, what actually happens? What do people do?

Well, they seem to find the one method of discrimination that hasn’t been banned and can’t be banned: Price.

Most notably, in urban housing markets, zoning laws that make construction difficult and drive up prices until the poors move out. They aren’t a bug; they’re a feature.

“Has enough money to buy a house in San Francisco” is a very lossy proxy for someone’s propensity to start fights, get drunk, break windows, or otherwise be a bad neighbour. But there are too many people to filter to use a proxy that /isn’t/ super lossy.

Of course, this is a filter that’s way more costly than the others, because it comes with a massive deadweight loss - you’re paying a $300k premium to not live around poor people, with “poor people” being itself a proxy for the actual set of people you want to avoid. It’s not enough to /say/ you have this much money - you have to /actually pay it down/.

And that’s why I basically don’t think the Bay Area’s housing crisis is going away, unless there’s another white flight and suburbanisation becomes a thing again, which would /also/ be shit.

Like, there are people who want to go back to a time when houses weren’t ridiculously expensive, so they want zoning to go away. Meanwhile, there are people who want to go back to a time when cities didn’t have no-go areas, so they want to Zone All The Things.

I think that, as long as price discrimination is the order of the day, this tug of war isn’t going away.

No, I don’t have suggestions. I’m just the person who waves at problems suggestively and hopes someone else will solve them.

I can say that allowing people to discriminate on wealth-in-the-bank as its own metric would lead to basically the same distribution of “rich people /here/; poor people /there/” that we currently have without the massive deadweight losses.

But that’s still “making the current situation suck a little less”. We still have the problem of how all discrimination got super coarse-grained. If we could get as fine grained as the dinner party host, then we could bring salvation to the realm.

But, until then, we’re still haggling over ways to become marginally less fucked.

#copy pasted from a conversation #society #politics #economics #racism cw #long post cw

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (15/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: I could try to give all the excuses for why it took so long to write this chapter and get it out for you guys, but ultimately I just have to say that I’ve had a really, really unreasonably tough month that has taken away from my time to write this story quite a bit. But, hopefully, the length of the chapter can somewhat atone for the sin of having left it for so long. Thank you all fo being so patient with me, it means a lot.  

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, Isame, Snozzlefrog, and Squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.5: In the Public’s Best Interest

"You honestly just don’t know when to give up, do you?” Chromia asked in irritation. “Did you miss the part where you were thrown in jail for a few hours without due cause because of this maniac and how he runs this Primus forsaken planet?”

Windblade of course didn’t have to be reminded of such things. She had just watched her fellow delegates nearly give her a sentence for the very same injustice. 

“I didn’t,” she answered Chromia instead, pushing on forward through the halls of the very capital that had been her prison just beforehand. “And persistence will never be a bad quality.”

“Too much of any quality can be a bad thing,” Chromia muttered, though it wasn’t lost on Windblade. 

She knew she was pressing her luck. She had known that before she ever fully accepted her position at Cybertron for the Mistress of Flame and Caminus. Perhaps he had gone at these things with a certain naivety and self-righteousness. Maybe she had been knocked off her feet more than once by Cybertron and its ever incredulous leader. 

But Windblade at least could not clall herself naive anymore. 

“Things are only ever going to change around here if mechs like us refuse to allow the utter nonsense that is Starscream’s governing,” Windblade declared, finally leading them directly into the innermost chamber of Metroplex’s body and to the secreted away brain module. 

“There is no way that Starscream won’t figre out where you’ve gone to if we’re here,” Chromia continued to object. “They’ll be on us in minutes.”

“I only need a few,” Windblade assured her, walking toward the console before the brain module. “Util then, I’d appreciate if you could watch the door.”

“Don’t I always?” Chromia sighed, producing her battleaxe and taking charge of the door.

Windblade smiled apologetically toward her friend before stepping up to Metroplex’s brain. “Hello, Metroplex. I’m sorry I haven’t been by recently.”

Wind-voice. he greeted her as usual. There was a note of hesitation before he continued. You are... upset.

Offering the Titan a gentle smile, Windblade reached toward the brain module and began to pull for the direct connection. “Frazzled more than upset,” she admitted. “But I’m hoping you can help.”

Help. I will. For Wind-voice.

“Please, Metroplex,” she said, connecting the line directly from his brain module to the side of her own helm, “let me see through your eyes. Help me search for someone who wishes to cause us all harm.”

The Titan seemed alarmed, if not exhausted, by the request. There was an understanding of the underlying danger and nervousness of his citizens that Metroplex had been aware of, but beyond that the specifics had eluded him until their linking. 

Stop them, Wind-voice. 

Windblade nodded. “I absolutely will, Metroplex. You know I will. We just have to find out where they are first of all. Can you help me?”

Immediately, security feeds throughout Metroplex’s system began popping up all around Windblade. There were more than she could reasonably get through herself, but fortunately her connection to Metroplex was giving her the ability to scan through them quickly enough.

It was like searching a Titan for any of the various system errors or pains it might have been feeling, but accelerated. 

Metroplex was taking Windblade’s lead and specifically honing in on parties he had no innate connection with -- those who, in a sense, had not belonged to the city. That were foreign to him. 

But the more their focus shifted to that concentration, the more feeds began to pop up. Dozens quickly became hundreds and suddenly they were both staring at unfamiliar faces all over the city. 

Don’t know them, Wind-voice. Still mine, Wind-voice. 

Her own head was throbbing and Windblade reached up to her mantle. “I know, I know,” she said out loud. “This is all wrong--”

Getting Chromia’s attention, the bodygard turned enough from her post at the door to look worriedly at Windblade. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“This, what I’m doing -- the way I’m doing it. It’s wrong,” Windblade explained, looking tiredly at Chromia. “Metroplex has become a hub -- a metropolitan between all of the city-states of Cybertron’s surviving population, of all the colonies. We are looking for those who don’t belong based on Metroplex’s relations to them, his familiarity, and all it’s doing is making everything muggier. None of us belong at the end of the day by that definition.”

“Find another way then,” Chromia replied, seemingly unaware of the problem truly at hand.”

“Chromia, you don’t understand,” Windblade said, exhausted already. “Think about the targets thus far. Think about Error’s actions. He’s out of place in Metroplex, maybe, but they aren’t the actions of an unfamiliar resident,” she said. “It’s not truly a colonist at work. These are the actions of someone familiar. Someone at home.”

Chromia crossed her arms. “You said that Metroplex doesn’t know him.”

"He doesn’t,” Windblade agreed. “I don’t... It doesn’t make sense, I know, but neither does trying to trifle through everyone on the streets and abusing that power when we have no indication that we’re even on the right lead. That’s something Starscream would’ve asked me to do if he wasn’t so sure that I was a part of this mess somehow.”

Chromia turned fully and tilted her helm. “But Starscream didn’t think of this. You did.”

“I know, and that scares me,” Windblade replied. She looked back to the Titan’s brain module before her. “I’m so sorry to have abused your power like that, Metroplex. I won’t do it again,” she promised before unplugging herself from the system. 

“You’re not Starscream, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Chromia said without hesitation. “I know that look on your face -- that’s your look of I’ve messed everything up. You haven’t. There hasn’t been anything to mess up yet. So don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Windblade asked critically, looking to her bodyguard and friend. “Chromia, don’t you remember when we spoke with Optimus before? When we talked about Shadowplay and mnemosurgery... how he said that their ethics were debatable? How horrified I was to hear that from not only someone we trusted but from someone who was a Prime?” 

While she didn’t look convinced, Chromia apparently knew Windblade well enough to not continue the debate. “What’s the solution then? You need to find Error -- not just to save lives but to prove your innocence in all of this nonsense. How are we supposed to do that without crossing any lines?” She frowned, looking off with some amount of shame in her optics. “You would know better than me. I’ve crossed too many lines before. We both know that.”

Dropping her head, Windblade hugged her arms and tried to think. 

Her optics flickered back up to Chromia as she had an epiphany. “Why was Rattrap so convinced that he saw myself and Rodimus -- someone I don’t even really know -- with Error? Convinced enough he went to Starscream and got him to act on it. Like he was genuinely afraid of what he had learned.”

Chromia gave the question a genuine frown. “Is it not enough to just assume that he has a name like Rattrap for a reason? He’s one of Starscream’s cronies plain and simple.”

“No,” Windblade said with an affirmative shake of her head. “It’s not that simple. Rattrap is in this for himself, not for Starscream. And for him to react to myself and Rodimus with the vitriol that he did is significant. It was genuine fear -- he believed that we were somehow involved and endangering the rest of Cybertron.”

“Then he’s a crony and an idiot,” Chromia replied defensively. “Where are you taking this thought train, Windblade?”

“To the next logical conclusion, Chromia,” Windblade answered She turned to Metroplex’s brain module and reached out to it softly once more. “Thank you, Metroplex. And I promise again to not abuse our relationship like that again. I trust you to do everything you deem necessary to protect all Cybertronian life.”

Wind-voice. Thank you.

Relieved, Windblade turned sharply and started back out the doors. 

“Where are we going now?” Chromia asked.

“Following that thought!” Windblade answered zestfully before quickening her pace. 

As familiar as she was with the capital, it did not take her long to lead them both exactly to the medlab that Ratchet had all but taken over from Knock Out and First Aid in the past few weeks. Chromia, always a speedster herself, didn’t miss a step, always shoulder to shoulder with Windblade the whole way. 

Just as they reached the threshold, however, Optimus Prime himself was stepping outside of the room with Knock Out, of all bots, at his side. 

“Optimus!” Windblade called out, getting the Prime’s attention as she came to a halt by him. “Is Rodimus in there? I need to speak with him.”

Knock Out released a sarcastic vent and rolled his wrist. “Good luck with that. There’s not much upstairs in that bot right now, if you catch my drift.”

“I do not think that is the best idea at the moment, Windblade,” Optimus said more gently. “At the moment, Ratchet is reconstructing a base frame for Rodimus, and against all of our suggestions, he has refused to be placed offline for the procedure. Rung, the psychiatrist, is sitting with him through the process and I do not believe the session should be interrupted. For anyone’s sake.”

“This is important, Optimus, I promise,” Windblade argued. “I’m trying to track down exactly why Rattrap thought we were agents of this cult.”

“Delegate Windblade, is that the wisest decision for you?” Knock Out asked, crossing his arms. “Given the close shave you nearly had before the Council and the fact that another honored delegate has accused of steep atrocities, I would assume you would do your best to keep your nose out of the investigation from this point on.”

"Sounds like Council meetings haven’t been enough to give you a real idea of who Windblade is,” Chromia half mocked. 

Windblade ignored the two of them, instead focusing on the Prime. Optimus still seemed distant in thought -- more so than she had ever seen him before. And his dire attitude had not been improved by whatever business had taken him to the Lost Light and back. 

“Optimus,” she said, stepping up to him. “If nothing else, I’d appreciate knowing your perspective on all of this. At the very least, you have more stakes and understanding of the elements and mechs involved than I do. I’d value your opinion more than any right now.”

He focused his optics on her for a moment, but they were not filled with the warmth of the Matrix. 

“My opinion should not carry more weight than the others. Especially not now,” Optimus answered instead. “Please do not disturb Ratchet and Rung’s work at the moment, Windblade. I trust you to do whatever you deem right or necessary, but what they are doing right now with Rodimus is vital work. It may save Rodimus’ spark.”

He then continued to walk away, Knock Out reluctantly following behind him for some reason. 

Chromia looked after them, helm tilted to the side. “Wonder what that’s about. Any ideas, Windblade-- Windblade? What are you doing?”

Settling on the floor outside the door, Windblade rested her back and wings against the wall. “Waiting until I get the clear to speak with Rodimus. I need answers. He seems to be the only one with anything close to them.”

Staring at her, Chromia shook her head. “You’re one stubborn bot,” the bodyguard sighed before taking a seat on the floor opposite to Windblade. 

Sharing a small smile with Chromia, Windblade hugged her knees against her chest. “Thanks. You are, too.”

Ultra Magnus was no longer the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, and his status as Second-in-Command was questionable given the general confusion of having Co-Captains. But he took his appointments, former and imagined, with a note of seriousness that would have turned lesser bots’ energon to crystals in their pipes. 

And with one such Co-Captain down, Ultra Magnus had never been more affirmed in his duty helping to keep the Lost Light in functioning order. 

Megatron sat back in his desk with servos stacked before his eyes. He seemed even more ancient and brittle than the war itself had ever made him seem. And that was after one of the few encounters between him and Optimus Prime that hadn’t come to actual blows. 

“Is there anything you need me to do, Captain?” Magnus asked, nearly feeling as tired as Megatron looked. 

“Yes,” Megatron answered without hesitation, actually managing to surprise Magnus some. “I need you to get Bainstorm in here. Quickly. Before I rethink anything.”

Confused, Magnus reached to his wrist so as to send out the communication. He waited a moment, looking to his exhausted leader. “Are you certain you wish to meet with Brainstorm? You have not met with him one-on-one.”

“And I will continue with that record, you are staying here, too,” Megatron ordered flatly. “Send it out.”

Allow a twitch of emotion to cross his faceplate, Magnus sent out the signal at last and shook his head firmly. “As you wish, Sir,” he replied flatly. 

Considering the very public, very close to success, assassination attempt that Brainstorm had attempted on Megatron on their very ship with time briefcases and nonsense abound, it was not exactly a Luna One level mystery of Cybertron why Megatron had not had much contact with his would-be killer compared to the other survivors of the mutiny. 

Which made the certain change suspicious, if nothing else. 

There was apparently some hesitation at least on Brainstorm’s end as it took him more than thirteen minutes to get to the Captain’s office whereas Ultra Magnus had calculated multiple times that a bot of his make and model could have easily traversed the space from the science lab to them in at least nine minutes. 

Given the circumstances, however, Ultra Magnus neglected to bring up the discrepancy. 

“Uh, you asked for me?” Brainstorm asked cautiously, barely poking more than his helm into the room. 

“Yes, now get in and shut the door behind you,” Megatron ordered impatiently.

Brainstorm glanced from the captain to Ultra Magnus warily, but there was little encouragement to be offered. Instead he simply did as was ordered and came barely into the office, just enough steps to bring in his wings before the office door shut behind him. 

“Alright, guess you’re being serious about... whatever this is,” Brainstorm joked lightly with a turn of his wrist. 

“I’m going to be curt with you, Brainstorm,” Megatron explained. “You were one of the least injured among the survivors on Eukaris. And your attempt on my life well before the mutiny is well known for its... elaborate nature and decades of planning.”

“Ooo-kay,” Brainstorm replied, tilting his helm. “Thank you? I guess?”

“Which is why you have raised my suspicions,” Megatron continued.

“What?” Brainstorm balked. 

“Please know that any truthful reply to me at this point will not be met with reprimand but with honest consideration,” Megatron explained, red eyes flickering with meaning. “I wish no harm to you now than I did when it was first learned you were going back in time to undo my life and its work.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Brainstorm asked flatly. “That’s just ambiguous enough that I can take it to mean you’ve really wanted to kill me since that day. Just saying. Maybe we should hash everything out before this conversation continues--”

“Sir, perhaps it would be best to allow me to work out some proper lines of questioning here,” Magnus offered. “I believe yours are... dubious at best--”

Megatron held up a hand and silenced them both, much to Magnus’ chagrin. 

“We haven’t the time for double meaning, only answers, I assure you,” Megatron explained. “Brainstorm, have you at any time -- recently or in the past -- been approached by this cult which seems to be at the center of undermining our mission to find the Knights of Cybertron and undoing the very fabric of the peace back on Cybertron.”

For a moment, Brainstorm simply cycled his optics in disbelief, then he pointed at his own chest plate with a thunk. “Me?” he asked critically.

Somewhat stunned himself, Ultra Magnus leaned toward Megatron’s desk. “Sir, perhaps there is a better way to parse your question--”

“Perhaps, but there’s not a more direct way,” Megatron said without so much as looking Ultra Magnus’ way. “Brainstorm, I want honesty in your answer. No repercussions will come of the truth. You have my word.”

“Oh, that means a lot!” Brainstorm cried out, throwing up his arms. “Are you being serious right now? You think I would betray the ship? Betray Rodimus after everything? This is my home! And I almost lost it once on the Necrobot’s planet already!” 

“Perhaps you were approached beforehand, your values have shifted,” Megatron offered. “Perhaps the group became more militant in your absence. You have played both sides before.”

Brainstorm’s optics narrowed and he yanked off his faceplate viciously, the tearing of metal causing Magnus to flinch. “You see any insignia or flames on this? I don’t even have the Decepticon brand anymore, I removed it the moment I was placed on probation on the ship. Sir.”

Ultra Magnus could feel the air growing stale once more, neither bot on both sides of the room willing to relent.

“Some marks can only be seen at the spark,” Megatron said simply in return. 

“What are you fraggin’ getting at!?” Brainstorm demanded. 

“Why were you left relatively unscathed? Why didn’t Starscream take the opportunity to arrest you? Why were you the only member of Rodimus’ away team which did not make it into the caves with them before the attack?” Megatron asked in rapid fire succession.

“If you’re trying to say something to me, Megatron, you need to say it directly to my face!” Brainstorm snapped back angrily. “I am not a traitor! I am not! And being accused by you, of all bots, is an indecency I can hardly muster!”

“And yet you know no bot has more reason to suspect,” Megatron replied darkly. 

Having heard more than enough, Magnus stepped between the two of them clearly, holding his hands up. “This cannot be continued,” he said plainly. “It is inappropriate and unseemly.”

“You mean he is inappropriate and unseemly!” Brainstorm snarled, snapping his faceplate back onto his helm. “I’m done with this meeting if you are.”

“I have not received my answer yet,” Megatron said calmly. 

“Frag you, Megatron,” Brainstorm growled, heading out the door in a brash fashion. 

Flinching as the door slammed shut, Ultra Magnus then turned to his captain suspiciously. “Satisfied, Sir? I think given a few drinks at Swerve’s and one story to either Tailgate or Whirl and this entire fiasco will have alienated the entire ship from you.”

Megatron scowled. “Believe it or not, that was not the intention of the meeting,” he announced.

“I’d appreciate being informed as to what was the intention then,” Magnus replied dryly.

“We already turned the recordings over to Optimus Prime,” Megatron reminded him. “That much of the investigation is out of our hands. But we can still act on what we know. And what we know is that Brainstorm was not heard on those recordings.”

“That makes him guilty?” Ultra Magnus asked skeptically.

“That makes him a link, and if he is half the genius he makes himself out to be then he would understand that significance as well,” Megatron answered, denta gritting. “Nothing these menaces have done thus far has been without reason. And no one recognizes that more than myself.”

“I suppose not,” Ultra Magnus replied. “But do you think Brainstorm understands his significance even in that much?”

“Not after that exchange,” Megatron sighed. “That was honest. And Brainstorm does not seem to me to be quite a liar.”

“Only in matters of building time machines,” Ultra Magnus said dully. 

“Careful, Magnus,” Megatron said, rubbing at his optics. “Rodimus might not take kindly to you growing a sense of humor while he was gone.”

If nothing else, Optimus could always rely on Starscream’s flare for theatrics. 

He was suspicious from the moment he had been summoned by Cybertron’s appointed leader, after all there were few things that he and Megatron agreed on but not trusting Starscream had been high among them. But when he entered the room to a bleak darkness and found that the former Seeker leader was looking for a one-on-one, Optimus felt confidence flare up from his spark.

Starscream was hoping to corner him, but was more afraid of witnesses should he corner himself. 

At the very least it meant that Windblade had been right in her suspicions. Though there was a morality question on whether or not to encourage her snooping any further. 

There was definitely something Starscream was attempting to hide. 

“Took you long enough,” Starscream snapped as soon as the door was closed. 

“Apologies for any inconvenience,” Optimus Prime said with as little spark behind his words as possible. 

Turning toward Optimus, Starscream shared what was becoming his characteristic, world weary scowl. “I already know it’s next to useless to ask you what you’ve learned from the expedition I sent you on to the Lost Light,” he said flatly. “Seeing as how your first instinct upon reaching Cybertron was to completely undermine my executive authority before the entire council.”

“Then I would say you do not understand my motives very well,” Optimus argued firmly. 

“Oh, please,” Starscream sneered, rolling his optics. “Prime, there are few things in this or any other world a Cybertronian has ever stepped foot on that are less understandable than your nobility and motives. I’m certain you can explain away your motivations for assisting and defending a friend who got himself in over his head and found himself in the midsts of a plot to undo the very fabric and stability of our very unstable current society.”

Optimus let out a long vent and shook his head. Starscream had developed very little over his time as leader, even less so than Optimus had once dared to hope that he would. 

The mech was incapable of accepting other points of view or reaching out for help in the idea of simple compassion and kindness. 

A ruler not to be revered, one could argue very firmly. 

“If there is nothing you would ask of me then I would rather make myself more productive and useful elsewhere, Starscream,” Optimus somewhat threatened. “I have much to discuss with the medical staff--”

“Oh, I’m certain you do,” Starscream mocked. “Seems everyone is suddenly very busy around your little second stringer protege.”

A flicker of anger quickly rose within Optimus and he turned to leer at the supposed leader of his planet, his home. But nothing came of it, though the reference to Bumblebee and the condescension toward Rodimus were not outside of Optimus’ grasp.

“A lot can be said about the allegiances we hold and in what order we hold them, Starscream,” Optimus said clearly. “I will not make apologies for where mine have come to lie.”

“Then let me make it abundantly clear, once again, just where mine lie, Optimus Prime,” Starscream snapped back. “Mine are with the good of Cybertron. And I am not above wickedness or betrayal of lesser goals to ensure that. That is what makes me the leader of this new world’s order rather than you. And the more savagery and chaos your presence and the presence of your followers brings to us, the longer my reign will flourish. Because if there’s one thing this world trusts less than me as a ruler, it’s war heroes who are still fighting.”

“That may be true,” Optimus admitted wearily, “but you were far from a bystander yourself, Starscream. And no one knows the scars of war and strategy as well as you. Which is why I know to come to you for this request rather than your council.”

Starscream hesitated, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. 

“You have me curious, I must admit,” he said lowly. “Do go on.”

“I believe that it is more and more apparent that this cleansing that Error and his cult have called for has to do with the Matrix and those who have bore it,” Optimus explained carefully. “I have reason to believe that it was the reason for targeting Rodimus psychologically, for targeting me physically, and for targeting you politically.”

For a moment, a flicker of surprise came across Starscream’s face before hardening into anger. “You believe I am targeted. Prime, if you have evidence of a conspiracy against me and you haven’t been forthcoming with it, then I will charge you with being part in that conspiracy--”

“It is apparent,” Optimus clarified. “These threats have done nothing for you politically, and I believe there is reason behind Windblade’s suspicion of you in regards to Error. And I believe that the three of us are connected by one thing.”

“Please, I wore the Matrix momentarily compared to the two of you,” Starscream scoffed. “That putz Hot Rod saw to that himself. Before Megatron put a hole exactly where that Matrix belonged. What an irony that they now serve together thanks to your intervention--”

“The amount of time would not matter to those radicalized enough to believe that a valid response to any perversion of Primus’ will is worth murdering and slaughtering over,” Optimus warned. “So if there are not any connections as Windblade suspects there are, I believe it would be within your best interest to keep it that way.”

Starscream narrowed his optics. “You have a plan, I presume?”

“I will use myself and the Matrix to draw out Error, somewhere away from the city’s population and away from the energon supplies to prevent any threats of spreading the disease they have weaponized,” Optimus proposed grimly. “In return, all that I ask is that there be more guards for the medical ward and for yourself.”

“For your fanboy and your enemy,” Starscream surmised. “How kind of you, Optimus.”

“I simply do not wish for Cybertron to fall into chaos without a decisive leader,” he clarified, He could only hope that his tone hid any disgust he still felt at his core from having to regard Starscream as such. 

“I can grant it,” Starscream announced. “But you won’t be going alone on this suicide mission.”

“But--” Optimus began only for Starscream’s hand to come up.

“I’m sending another member of the Council to, at the very least, bare witness to this catastrophic idea of yours. You and I may not think much of the Matrix and those who have touched it, but you are correct about the sway it holds for others. In the unfortunate circumstances that you should fall, I would rather have someone I trust nearby to take the mantle for you rather than this genocidal maniac Error,” Starscream clarified. 

“In that case, I will go with whoever you assign,” Optimus said regretfully.

“And while you are gone, I will do my best to uncover whatever evidence it is that you have been so keen on keeping from me that you found on the Lost Light,” Starscream warned, a clever smirk on his face. “So don’t think we’re done with these elating conversations just yet, Optimus Prime.”

“Neither of us should be so lucky,” Optimus responded grimly. 

#writing #tf fic #TF: Twisted Legacy #Windblade #Ultra Magnus #Optimus Prime #Chromia #Metroplex #Knock Out #Megatron #Brainstorm #Starscream

[photogracyblog]

A Space That Wasn’t Made for Me (My Op-Ed for the Tufts Observer)

I am solely speaking about my experience as a queer, Persian man. I do not claim to understand or hope to speak for anybody else but myself. My experiences have been socialized by the immediate environment in which I was raised, and I fully realize how I have historically been complicit and involved in some of the systems and organizations that I criticize in this piece. My effort to improve as a person and to hold myself accountable for my actions is one that is not devoid of mistakes.

During recess one day in middle school, one of the coolest kids in my class, an attractive White male, asked me who some of my favorite singers were. Anxious to make a good impression, I thought of the Whitest shit I could come up with to please him: Red Hot Chili Peppers, Kurt Cobain, and Dave Matthews Band. I think I threw in Lil Wayne as well, because I have found that many White boys love reaffirming their “hipness” by admiring and “identifying” with Black rappers.

I grew up in a predominantly White, affluent neighborhood and attended a “prestigious” prep school in the greater Boston area. I quickly learned to value White activities like theater and tennis, both of which I really enjoyed, but all the while felt excluded from socially. I began to consider White, muscular men with rigid jawlines and blue eyes to be the epitome of attraction and beauty, shaping the way I began to look at myself in the mirror, and later contributing to the ways that I would begin to modify my body.

At the same time, my experiences assimilating to various aspects of White culture seemed to juxtapose with my identity as an Iranian-American. My parents emigrated from Iran to France and finally settled in Brookline, MA. I grew up in a house with Persian art, poetry, and music. I ate home-cooked Persian food every night, spoke Farsi with my family, and celebrated being Iranian by attempting to recognize the social implications that I thought being Iranian would mean.

Growing up, I always imagined that I would experience a universal bond with other Persians. I believed that the experiences we seemed to face as a community would transcend our often divisive, intersectional identities; however, I didn’t recognize how difficult it would be to navigate my Persian-ness as a queer man. I didn’t want to acknowledge the deeply rooted masculinity and patriarchal structure embedded within Persian culture that doesn’t give space to those with divergent and non-normative identities—specifically, queerness.

Identifying as gay, then eventually developing my sexuality to fit my own definition of queer, became an aspect of my identity that began to deteriorate the bond that I had tried to sustain between the Iranian community and myself. Once I began to realize how difficult it would be to find any space where my queerness and race could interact, I began to feel a deep sense of resentment towards myself. Never feeling quite Persian enough became a recurring sentiment at events, vacations, and dinners with my extended family. I found that my queerness seemed to dissuade my desire to “feel” Iranian by participating in the hyper-masculine activities and homophobic discourse that is rampant within many Persian social contexts that I have experienced.

As I sought to develop my identity further in college, something about associating myself as brown and not specifically as Persian began to muddle my identity and prevent me from characterizing my experiences as separate or unique. I don’t know what it feels like to be Latino. I do not identify as South Asian, nor do I consider myself an Arab—and so to experience struggle through the lens of an identity that cannot be located has made me feel that my brownness will not, and cannot, find a space to exist freely. Whether it is being misidentified or having my racial identity questioned, I have developed an uncomfortable relationship with claiming, accepting, and embracing being Iranian.

Whenever people used to ask about my ethnicity, I always responded by saying, “I’m Iranian.” Recently, however, I have begun to use the ethnic origin of my identity as a signifier of the unique culture that I ascribe myself with. Identifying and introducing myself as Persian marks an important and unique ethnic exclamation that has reaffirmed my desire to separate myself from other Middle Eastern and Arab cultures. (Contrary to popular belief, Persians are not ethnically Arab.)

Growing up and hearing Iran described as a threatening or evil country also made me uncomfortable publically identifying as Iranian. The inability for people in this country to disassociate Iran’s government from its people created this self-destructive pattern for me to constantly prove myself as a good Iranian, or disassociate from my racial background altogether. Today, I still find it terribly difficult navigating being Iranian given the current immigration ban that Trump’s administration has brought forth. Beyond the fallacy that the nations listed in the ban have contributed to acts of terror in the US (not a single one has), I also find it disheartening to hear Iran constantly being referred to under a false pretense of danger, terror, and otherness.

Despite the many “diverse” spaces at Tufts that foster important discussions for people of color, queer and trans folk, and women of color, I have found that, in order to join or feel welcomed into these dialogues or spaces, I have had to compromise aspects of my Persian-ness or succumb to adopting a generalized Middle Eastern identity in order to engage in discussions. I think that the socially conscious and active community at Tufts, which claims to create an inclusive space for marginalized individuals, tends to fall short in understanding or acknowledging the nuances of certain intersectional identities that exist on this campus, mine being one of many.

I grew up speaking Farsi, and the food that I have always eaten at home is so specific to Iran that I’m disheartened when our culture is generalized and placed within the socio-cultural landscape of others within the Middle Eastern region. Obviously, I am not angry or even shocked that people don’t know much about Iranian culture. It is rather the disregard or almost a sense of entitlement that many people on this campus feel when trying to locate my identity that puts me off. Surprisingly, people who major in American Studies, Sociology, and Anthropology have been among those who have asked me things like how spicy I like my food or if I know how to make homemade hummus. Iranian food is not spicy at all, and we don’t make or eat hummus unless we go out to restaurants.

Many times when White social justice activists on this campus ask me how to create more inclusive spaces for POC, I find that I want to respond by saying, “Stop trying to speak on behalf of identities that you don’t understand. Stop trying to locate us to fit into your social justice narrative or use us as a token to investigate intersectionality when you’re blindly unaware of the fundamental differences among our cultures.” For example, not identifying as a Middle Eastern gay man but rather as a Persian queer man is often read as commendable or “interesting” by socially active folks at Tufts, but rarely incorporated into important discussions or dialogues about queer POC on campus.

The socially unaware, uninvolved, and generally conservative White population at Tufts is truly, however, the largest demographic of individuals who have contributed to my anxieties, anger, and frustration. Whether it’s the toxic White gays at previous Rainbow House parties who have commented on and fetishized my “exotic” appearance, or White girls who love to tokenize my foreign queerness, you have all failed to recognize your internalized racism and homophobia. From the one frat brother who spat on me and my friend outside of a frat house window next to Moe’s my freshman year, to the multiple athletes who have physically pushed and verbally assaulted me at campus events, you have reminded me that regardless of how hard I try to make myself palatable to you, I am still a Persian faggot.

Despite all of this, however, I am constantly reminded of how privileged and lucky I truly am. My parents worked hard to put me through private school and then a liberal arts education, and I am forever grateful to them for the sacrifices they have made for me. My family has given me the space to explore my identities and embrace me for wanting to hold onto or discard certain aspects of both. Many queer Persians, however, do not experience the same socio-economic security, access to education, and support that I have, and I recognize how fortunate I am to even be able to speak up and feel safe to talk about this on a platform where my thoughts can hopefully be validated.

Luckily, I have been able to surround myself by some incredible Persian individuals on this campus who strive to include the intersections of my queerness and Iranian identity into a dialogue, giving me a platform to exist comfortably. Given the current socio-political climate of this country, I have found an immense amount of strength and desire to make our identities as Persian known. My unequivocal love for Persians is the strongest it has ever been. No ban on earth could prevent us from succeeding wherever we go, and I hope that people at Tufts and those within my close circle of friends will seek to learn more about Iran’s immensely influential history, culture, and society before calling themselves allies.

For me to not speak up after three and a half years of having people speak for me would further detract from the importance of celebrating my overlapping, yet individually valid, identities. Tufts, especially in its attempts to create or foster a space for inclusiveness, does not incorporate the nuances of socio-cultural and ethnic identities into a space that unidentifiable individuals can claim.

To the handful of professors and sociology majors that see my identities as unique and different, I’m appreciative of you. To the greater socially “active” and “progressive” White activists, women, and queer folk on campus, practice what you preach. Don’t think that individuals like me are not constantly trying to make ourselves palatable to you either. And finally, to the ex-lovers, friends, and professors who have pushed me into a space where self-hatred and discomfort have permeated the past 15 years of my life, I look back on my experiences with you not as moments when I wasn’t strong enough to speak up against you, but rather as a time when I just didn’t know where to locate that strength.