#self-loathing was absolutely endemic

[collymore]

When stupidity is so entrenched it’s best and even quite merciful to let the idiots destroy themselves!

By Stanley Collymore The problem all along for racist white Brits and their genocidally, convict inured, overseas kin, was Harry marrying a perceived by them Nigger and thus, significantly contaminating their clearly fawning to and precious Middle Ages, effectively too mindset monarchy then simply exacerbating a bad situation of marrying Meghan by literally odiously having her what these identical racist, white pillocks: the slapper Karens and their rather azoospermiac quite usual routinely cuckolded; essentially, distinctively likeminded, pathetic gammon men distinctly, offensively regard as his half breed offspring while odiously carrying on in their idiotic, state of denial, that they're absolutely, not racist in the least. Even so, this is rather undeniably the legal reality. Personally, I don’t care how much you loathe Harry and Meghan or how strong an argument which you think you can put forward for them essentially losing their arbitrarily given titles; well Harry actually. For crucially as it legally stands, very clearly under British law, decidedly unquestionably Harry and Meghan children naturally were automatically born, getting the titles of prince and princess. Clearly therefore, no one individual, literally not even the monarch, himself, can singularly respectively remove that birth right. And thus essentially for this removal process to effectively happen Parliament would actually have to change the laws in the UK that literally decide who is or isn’t styled royalty. And frankly, there’s absolutely, no getting round that! Likewise, this has nothing to do with what anybody wants or delusionally feels is right in their sick and racist mind. For what basically stands is quite indisputably the law of the land. And therefore all this rather endless supposedly olive branch nonsense, from Charles and Buckingham Palace is categorically nothing more actually relevant than the customarily from them PR spin; which together with these normally right-wing rags and also electronic media offerings which are actually similarly done, at lighting speed to placate their serf sycophants. But, the bottom line is, it isn’t a choice in anyone’s hands; just effectively straightforwardly, and undeniably a case of evidently, 100% legality. That the existing laws would need to be changed. So however much you racists huff and groan Harry and Meghan’s, legitimate offspring Archie and Lilibet Diana, are legally in their own right, a true prince and princess of the United Kingdom. (C) Stanley V. Collymore 9 March 2023. Author's Remarks: It incisively says a lot about Britain, those who significantly infest it, attendant with an ongoing increase in the surfeit of those that continue to do so and, moreover, delusionally think and avidly convince their dim-witted selves that Britain belongs exclusively them, that an increasing number of evidently downmarket overseas holiday destinations – the upmarket ones wouldn’t touch them with a barge pole – especially across Europe  don’t anymore want these toxically verminous louts of both sexes or the indeterminate ones even temporarily in their presence , and consequently are quite assiduously doing everything that the controllers of these holiday resorts  can, to both stymie and legislatively outlaw the presence of these British morons within their countries. All over the world now intelligent people who already knew what they British really are increasingly being joined by others who categorically loathe them; a nation massively and increasingly tarnished by rampant self-indulgent idiocy coupled with the delusional and self-evidently deeply ingrained, intellectually challenged lunacy of specifically lowlifes invariably of the monarchical fawning type and similarly too intensely steeped in their endemic classism. Britons: not just the white ones but likewise also the Asian Coconut and black House Nigger Stockholm Syndrome equally brainwashed ones. The evident solution to all this? Personally, I most logically  and sincerely suggest that a most scrutinizing eye be relentless kept on them and whatever assistance that one can possibly render to persuade and help them eliminate themselves from one’s society and  even more significantly the wider aspect of humanity should be amply and voluntarily given to them. Cognizant in all this that the purportedly “Greatest Englishman” that these same morons think ever lived and himself most ironically an uncompromising eugenicist, Winston Churchill, wanted to compulsorily sterilize their societal lot; and had parliament not stymied his ambitions in that regard the vast majority, if any of them, wouldn’t now be here; as it would undoubtedly have been their grandmothers and grandfathers who would have been massively sterilized. Being, indisputably, the direct targets of Churchill’s studiously beneficial eradication. What an infernal shame he didn’t get his way! But, that said, all is not lost as “Hope springs eternally!”

[anthonybialy]

Errors Evident

Knowing what’s failing is as close to good news as we presently get.  We inhabit a rather imperfect world that’s made much worse by the unfortunate imbeciles elected to serve in our horrific government that’s limited precisely for occasions like this.  Life would at least be slightly less miserable if aspiring regents stopped attempting to do everything, but they can’t help themselves.

The evidence of what fails screams at us.  Humans have withstood enough examples to make what we know not to work a trend.  Naturally, those in position to do something about averting the next disaster are going to disregard what’s right there just like it’s a chart noting that inflation spiked as soon as Joe Biden got what he wanted.

We’ll never catch up to costs.  Wait: that’s not the spirit.  Cultists must maintain faith in this economic religion.  Print money at record rates and wonder why we’re not all wealthy.  The answer must be that we won’t be rewarded unless we believe hard enough.  Americans are being tested by an entity that acts like a deity despite its rather severe limits on power and absolute lack of good.

Cause and effect hurts feelings.  You’re going to drag down self-esteem if you notice who does things then what happens next.  It’s little wonder handout aficionados have never run businesses when they demonize those who generate value.

A stubborn fondness for mailing money to create prosperity indicates present politicians think they’re smarter than sucker entrepreneurs.  Why work when you can just wait for a check?  I’m sure their suspiciously easy shortcut contains no perils.  The guardrails must be in good shape if government employees slapped them up.

Advanced thinkers can be spotted by a super enlightened refusal to believe in antiquated notions like consequences for actions.  We are all in this together, claim those who hide in groups for personal reasons.  A lack of productive skills also explains why they’re deeply opposed to the injustice of only getting money that someone else will trade for work.  A performance evaluation seems stressful, especially when there’s nothing quite valuable about how one’s time gets used.

It’s not an exaggeration to say liberalism has arrived at the conclusion where a crime’s victim is the arrested.  Getting life exactly backward is embodied by scoffing at the wrong party during a mugging.  Heartless conservatives oppose wealth redistribution.  Poor thieves have been harmed by a mean society.  Those inventing excuses for felons coping with endemic poverty don’t realize what they’re saying about their preferred candidates being in power.

Reserving the right to shut down society again shows why we don’t let power-hungry dopes set precedent.  Antiscientific bullies must pretend they didn’t get every restriction they wanted.  Violators were the ones who must have ruined our communal health.  As always, the bossy proclaim they need utter compliance for their schemes to have any hope of working.  The necessity of coercion in everything they believe almost seems like a pattern if you’re cynical.

There are countless witnesses to Democrats inflicting woe.  Perpetrators still fib about their alibis and who they witnessed committing crimes they know they did.  It’s little wonder the obviously guilty loathe law enforcement.  Conclusions don’t match their ideology, which isn’t going to stop them from maintaining it.

The sole thing settled about science is that ignoring what’s happened serves as the equivalent of smashing test tubes.  A steadfast refusal to adjust to observation is the precise opposite of the process’s intentions.  Wondering whether or not they actually believe their preposterous claptrap is not sign that everything is going smoothly.

Overcompensation paired with projection combine for just the start of psychological problems.  Inflicting regrettable beliefs on everyone else could fill the Wikipedia citation section.  The same deeply concerned lecturers fretting about misinformation sure don’t seem too concerned about getting everything wrong.  A political theory that requires constant excuses may not be based in evidence.  Enemies of corporations think advertising is nothing more than manipulating customers because they’ve never created anything worth selling.

Freaking out because people review information and make choices is a predictable outburst.  Only the histrionic don’t see their own patterns.  The lack of snotty Twitter moderation means liberals don’t get to decide for everyone else what constitutes absolute truth.  A belief system based in bossing around everyone else naturally conforms with an impulse to control news updates.  Curtailing liberty requires force at every step, including slick words used to describe monumental failures.  Mandates sure require a strong public relations effort.

Official approval from editors and politicians carries the imprimatur of truth for suckers.  Believers of falsehoods want someone as biased as they are to affirm their daft claims.  Verification offered by a title or diploma is easier than actually checking.  Finding someone who’ll call you an expert doesn’t confer knowledge.  Their candidates and experts prove it constantly.  Realizing such would make them renounce their beliefs, and they’re too full of pride about constant screwups to even consider admitting it.

[blacktinnedpeaches]

i feel like the main difference btwn me now and me when i was still active in pro-e/d communities is that while i still cant stand my appearance & it causes me great distress 24/7 the people around me now are horrified by this and don't use this distress to make me thinner, as opposed to the late 2000s when this distress was seen as a powerful motivator to lose weight, and a good thing overall

#like it wasn't just online - i went to an all-girls high school #and while i think no one would have thought they had an eating disorder at all #self-loathing was absolutely endemic #i also remember very clearly one girl i was casually friendly with starting to sing that maria mena song #which was heavily associated w the ed stuff #and i was so shocked because i immediately understood what it meant! #so i was likeout loud to her #where deid you hear that? #and she gave me a look and we both just immediately Knew

[tb5-heavenward]

You just know I'm going to ask about Covenant now, right?

well since you two are two of the only people who know about covenant (and i’m sorry bud, your editorial sensibilities are going to have to put up with my stylistic lower caps) and since I’ve finally watched that shitshow of a most recent episode, I am totally down to talk about covenant.

but first let’s talk a little bit about TAG

TAG is terrible.

Visually the show is gorgeous. It has improved by leaps and bounds and it was charming when it started and it is awesome now. WETA are absolutely the bedrock of what makes this show worth watching, and I love the visuals more and more as they continue to push those boundaries. The cinnamontography, etc.

The Thunderbirds are amazing. They are beautiful, intricate, wonderfully clever machines. Their pilots ain’t half bad either. If you know and truly love the show and think about them all as well and deeply as they deserve, I think it’s impossible to honestly pick a favourite. International Rescue is a fantastic premise. The Tracys and their associates are all strong, compelling characters who have been iterated into an updated retro-future and made universally deeper and more interesting.

The bread and butter conceit of the show is awesome, the tension and conflict and creativity around solving complex problems that they manage to demonstrate in the course of a twenty-two minute episode sometimes just boggles the mind. When IR gets put up against the forces of nature and straight bad luck and pure, audacious dumbassery, we have gotten some of the best moments this show has to offer.

And those first season episodes were ugly as shit and everybody sounded the same and there were maybe three spare models between the entire NPC cast, but my GOD did S1 ever have heart. The soul of the show belongs to S1 and no one will change my mind about that. Try it. EOS was incredible. Skyhook was the definition of a balanced ensemble episode. Fireflash. Tunnels of Time. Relic. Recharge. Extraction. S2 came back swinging out of the gate with Ghost Ship. Up from the Depths was an absolute masterclass and actually changed the stakes in the show for the first time. Bolt from the Blue. Power Play. Hyperspeed. We all know which episodes were fucking good as hell. S3 comes out and the visuals have improved yet further. They have firmly found their feet as animators and as actors and as characters. We are finally actually starting to learn about these boys and their father, the most glaringly obvious hole in the show at large. Night and Day. Life Signs. And then SOS 1/2 and a complete and total paradigm shift. There is a sense of mortality to TAG now and it is an edge of realism that SHOULD be able to elevate it beyond what it’s been so far.

And yet.

TAG is fucking terrible.

Five years on, I am entitled to say, TAG is absolutely the goddamn worst sometimes, holy fucking shit. And what makes that terribleness terrible in and of itself—is that it’s because this show fails to recognize its most fundamental strengths. It fails to know what its audience will really connect to. And it’s because the writers’ room must be the goddamn wild west at this point, with the sort of nonsense these fucks are throwing at the wall and hoping to see it stick. It’s because whoever is in charge of the overall narrative arc of these seventy-odd episodes has not done what’s necessary to ensure TAG’s cohesion as a unified work.

(y’all hang onto your butts, i’m gonna do another brick wall metaphor.)

So what we have, five years on and seventy-odd episodes later, is a heap of bricks that WANT to be a wall, and we’re led to the impression that they’re SUPPOSED to be a wall, but they haven’t been put together by any single person. They have been put together by a rotating cast of a few dozen people who orient the bricks they’re given in slightly different ways sometimes, or who lay them at odd angles or who brought their own bricks from home for some reason. David Tennant is there. He must have cost at least half the budget for all of S2. All in all, he’s just another brick in the wall.

We know by this point that there is some asshole vaguely in charge of the idea of the wall. You can kind of tell that he’s at least heard of walls and he would definitely like to build one, but he isn’t exactly making it happen. There is an edifice here. It is wall-like, in some regions. At the end of the day though, most people who come across it also step over it, no problem. Or they chisel out the bricks that look to be worth saving and kick the rest of the wall over. That’s just fandom. That’s what fandom does.

Now, it is necessary at any point when talking about children’s media to talk about another series that ran three seasons over sixty-one episodes, and covered a level of geopolitical conflict over the course of a single year from the perspective of five incredibly gifted young people, all of whom were complex and flawed and sympathetic, and who knew they were responsible with putting the world to right with their own hands and set about doing that in the face of incredible odds, against villains who were no less than ruthlessly sociopathic.

ATLA sets a high bar. TAG was never going to be ATLA.

But fuck, I wish it had tried.

I wish the people who had set out to remake this story had sat down together and said, “Over the course of the next three seasons, we will tell the story of what International Rescue is. We will explain how it came to be. We will have strong themes that persist through the show and repeat themselves for emphasis: One Problem At A Time, You Can’t Save Everyone, Someone Has To Try. We will explain who these boys are and how they came to be this way. We will make it deeply and obviously clear what they do, how they do it, and why. We will give them limits. We will let them fail. We will give them flaws, we will let them clash with each other. We will let them grow and change. We will give them one deep, powerful loss that is the bedrock of what they became. We will put a powerful force in the world that loathes and opposes them at all costs. We will give them a tiny fragment of hope to chase and chase and chase and let them catch it only at the moment when they’v’e finally learned that they can let it go.”

I wish there had been rules. I wish there hadn’t been a new villain crammed into every season, in a show where the villains are objectively the weakest part. To add four villains to a show that barely has room for one and then to expect to make them ALL have a sympathetic edge somehow—it’s absolute fucking idiocy. I don’t care that The Hood is Kayo’s Uncle and Smiled In a Picture One Time. I don’t care that The Mechanic Is Apparently Being Mind Controlled Though No Indication Of That Was Given At Any Point in His History Until We Were Told So Explicitly. I don’t fucking CARE that Havoc Gets Yelled At By Her Boss Who Is Mean. I don’t give a shit that Fuse Is Apparently Too Stupid To Have Recognized The Moral Component Of Any Of His Criminal Acts Up Until He Inflicts Them On The Tracys.

You know which villains are objectively incredible in this show? Langstrom Fischler. Professor Harold. Francois Lemaire. Ned Fucking Tedford, who is a villain on the grounds that he is an obstacle, a problem to be solved, a concept of a person so hapless that they have multiple times strayed in the most incredible kind of peril. The strongest villains in this show are the ones who are just PEOPLE. People who are being careless. Or who are being greedy. Or who are being self-aggrandizing. People who exhibit traits equal and opposite to what our boys in blue exemplify.

I don’t know. We’re coming to the end of S3, we’re nearing their grand, incredible climax, this promised moment of potential reunion—and I wish I cared. I really wish I could. But there’s so much clutter. There’s so much their pulling DIRECTLY out of their asses in the home stretch. There are so many loose threads, there are so many concepts that were introduced and then never explored, or which were introduced in the end game and then never reinforced. There is so much information that we should have had from the start, so many mysteries that went unsolved and uncared about because they were unmentioned. There is not enough room for them to resolve anything in a meanignful way. There it so much that it seems like THEY didn’t know, and they SHOULD HAVE. They had time. Five fucking years, they had so much time to figure this out. And yet.

anyway.

So, covenant. Covenant basically a codeword for what I would’ve done differently, the last time I got mad about this whole endemic problem with the writing in this show, round about two years ago now.

Covenant is just a good word, really, and while it means something as a title, that relevance has kind of degraded a bit. It was going to be a rewrite of the end of Season 2, and sort of a retrofitting of Season 2 as a whole. It was going to explore the ideas that they put down and then never picked up, it was going to seriously address a lot of the core conflicts in the show and set things in motion to resolve those problems. I have it started. I have a good couple thousand words of the beginning, but it’s a good enough beginning that it could potentially begin something else, and so I won’t publish it here, in case I end up using it somewhere else. As is, it’s a priveleged-eyes-only sort of work, it’s only really been passed around my inner circle. If anyone is interested in hearing more about that, hit me up and I’ll elabourate. But for now, it is quarter past eleven, and I have ranted for long enough.

#TAG meta #negative #i mean if it's not apparent from the way I lead above the cut #admittedly I am being a clickbaity little shit #haters to the left tho please #to view media uncritically is to be a dumbass #don't @ me #scribeofred

[truethingsiwishicouldsay]

How to be a shitty progressive

Several examples of problematic shit from subpar examples of progressives. Organized by category.

Male feminists: “I’m totally for women’s rights, as long as they don’t point out how porn harms women, how feminism focuses on women’s liberation, or how I need to stop telling women they’re not a real feminist unless they fuck me.”

Transactivists: “Down with cis. Murder anyone who expresses any reservations about my gender identity. Cis people’s bodies are disgusting. I’m more woman than you will ever be because I work harder to cater to the male gaze. Women aren’t allowed to talk about their bodies because it triggers me, and I want everyone to walk on eggshells around me because I like controlling people with my emotional fragility. Either help me pressure people who aren’t attracted to my body type into fucking me or I’ll ruin your reputation in the community like I plan to ruin theirs.”

Gays: “Women’s bodies are disgusting. I can engage in all sorts of casual sexism because I was raised with it, and don’t see a problem with it because I don’t need women to get my dick in. I grope gay boys at Pride and scare them back into the closet because that’s what being out and proud is about! Also I think I have a free pass to grab your tits and will whine that you’re a homophobe if you’re not okay with it.”

Lesbians: “One hundred percent of men are garbage. Anyone who sleeps with a man is a dick worshipper and is sleeping with the enemy. Bi and het women are garbage too. In fact everyone is garbage but lesbians.”

Libfems: “I’m going to help my trans friends sexually pressure, gang up on and ostracize people who aren’t attracted to them. That’s totally progressive guys! Also I’m going to turn a blind eye to the crimes of the porn industry because my totally woke boyfriend will get mad if he can’t jack off to women being pissed on. I can’t point out the endemic sexism in many nonwhite societies because that would be racist! Being trafficked for sex is an empowering personal choice! I’m the BEST feminist! :D uwu :D”

Radfems: “You’re invalid. And you’re invalid. And YOU’RE invalid! I’m the fucking Oprah of invalidating identity and sexuality, and I’ll come right onto your blog to make you feel like shit because THAT’S MY POLITICS. I don’t feel complete as an activist unless I’m attacking someone or bitching about someone where they can hear. And by the way, I’m the one who decides who is valid or not, and I’m justified in antagonizing total strangers because I think their very existence is a threat to women. I’m the best feminist. Fuck y’all.”

Disabled people: “I will now use my mental illness or personality disorder as an excuse to be a raging cock to everyone around me. If you protest, you’re ableist. I don’t believe in actually doing anything to manage my problems, by the way. So much easier to take them out on others.”

Pagans: “There is absolutely no sexism in Paganism. Let’s ignore that a lot of us define women by their fertility cycle. Let’s ignore that many of our founders were ragingly sexist males like Gardner who wanted to watch naked women whip each other. Let’s bully random Christians who haven’t done shit to us! Oh, and we love to invalidate each other and infight. Did I mention that we let an awful lot of our “elders” sexually exploit vulnerable people and then sweep it under the rug? Nah, that’s just a Catholic thing. Oh, it happened to you? You’re lying.” 

Blacktivists: “Hi white demon, here’s exactly how you should act if you don’t want to be a demon. Except I’m gonna call you a demon anyway, because you’re all demons and you deserve all the hate we throw at you no matter how good or bad you actually are. You will never be good enough no matter what you do. What’s that--you’re not racist and have never done a thing to me? Doesn’t matter, you’re still a racist demon. Kill whitey. Kill Jews--oh wait, I meant destroy the Zionist conspiracy against the black nation. What do you mean there’s no evidence that that’s a thing? Racist. Oh, and by the way I’m bigoted as hell against members of other races too, but I get a pass because I’m oppressed.”

White liberals: “I’m so lost at this point that I’ll agree with any progressive I’m talking to even if they’re attacking a totally undeserving group. I’m either so full of white guilt and self-loathing that I hate my own race, or I’m still stealth-carrying a knapsack full of bigotry and barely pretend to tolerate people who aren’t like me. I might be legit frustrated that I’m singled out for vilification because of my race, but I have no idea how to handle it maturely. I will either “other” most members of my race and wish I wasn’t white, ignoring the need for a cultural housecleaning by distancing myself--or I will throw fits and threaten to join the MAGA crowd.” 

Queer kids: “HOW DARE YOU NOT PSYCHICALLY DIVINE MY INCREDIBLY OBSCURE GENDER AND SEXUAL IDENTITY THAT NOBODY HAS EVER FUCKING HEARD OF!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE VIOLATED MY PRONOUNS YOU ARE A BIGOT I’M SICCING ALL MY FRIENDS ON YOU!!!!” 

Democrats: “We’re so fucking corrupt that we undermined our most promising candidate in decades for someone more controllable, who then failed because almost nobody wanted her by comparison. We are like the mediocre boyfriend who will never get a job, give you an orgasm or do the dishes, and only has a chance with you because the other guy keeps trying to kill you. We are almost indistinguishable from pre-1980s Republicans except on a few issues, and like the vast majority of progressive people, we are too fucking busy infighting to actually get much done at all.”

EVERYBODY: “Everyone in my ingroup is uwu perfect and has never ever done or said anything problematic at all. I will turn a blind eye to any internal problems, denying them and attacking anyone who points them out instead of acknowledging and working on fixing them. Meanwhile everyone outside my group is garbage, a threat or irrelevant. Squabbling with one another is much, much more important than uniting against the people trying to kill us.”

#progressive infighting #activists can be total dicks too #liberalism #progresssive culture

[anon-e-miss]

Amalgus 6

Neither mech said a glyph as they walked down the dock and over to the ramp that led to the crew entrance. Prowl felt as through optics were digging holes into his doorwings, and there probably were. Jazz had said there were others like him about, and they would be looking at him, if only out of curiosity. That the bulk of the mechanisms behind the optics were likely harmless, did not comfort the Praxian all too much. Even if 90.00% of them were harmless, it only took one to cause Prowl grief. Did amalgii fight over purii? If it came to that, he would not be sticking around, frag his glyph, and a crowd of who knows how many amalgii, Prowl would be gone. He was faster than many of these mechanisms around him would ever guess. Enforcers were generally some of the fastest of their framekin, and Praxians were one of the quicker frametypes.

None of this would have been happening if he had followed that scandalous urge back when he had first matured to go to some seedy oil bar and dispense with his seals. It had been a defiant plot, a smack in the faceplates to his originator, but in the end Prowl had been too cautious. Camshaft had loved him, but he had been unreliable at showing it, and too often the glyphs on his glossa would fall to Prowl’s glitch, and by the time he had moved away from the duchy his originator governed, the Praxian had learned to loathe the glyph. He was defective, unfit to be Duke after Camshaft. There had to have been a kinder way to describe it, but that had been the truth, that’s all there was. No one had bothered to step lightly when it came to Prowl’s processor flaw, or spare his feelings, and when he had crashed due to the intentional, and systemic abuse of others, the Enforcer’s originator had always been disappointed. He needed to be better, control himself better...

“Settle in,” Jazz said. “Lil’ mech looks worn out. He hurt?”

“He was only just released from the hospital after coming down with Cosmic Rust,” Prowl explained.

“Poor bitlet,” the amalgus replied. “The two o’ ya will have the berth. ‘M gonna get a cot, ‘n some fuel.”

“If you are certain,” the Praxian said.

“Ain’t gonna have ya rechargin’ on the floor while ya give the lil’ one the cot,” Jazz replied. “Cot’s a better berth than I usually have anyways. Just to be safe, ‘m lockin’ the door on my way out, but ya can still get out if it suits ya. Don’t leave this deck.”

“I will not go anywhere without Bluestreak,” Prowl said. “He needs a long recharge. Several of them in truth.”

“Then I’ll be back, ‘n we can talk,” the strange mech said.

It sounded ominous to Prowl’s audials but it had likely not be voiced to be. He watched the mech leave, trying to bury the dread. This would be a terrible time to crash, Bluestreak would be all alone with this amalgus, and Prowl definitely did not trust his brother with Jazz. There was an almost overwhelming urge to flee coursing through the Praxian’s circuits, but he sat on the berth, and lowered Bluestreak onto the stiff service. The floor might have been a more comfortable recharge space, Prowl thought a bit dubiously. With a long vent, he buried his face in his servos. Where exactly would he run? Into the arms of who knew how many amalgii? Into the arms of the hunters? Even if he got passed them all, the Enforcer needed a plan before he could address the issue with Barricade, and with Sideways. He was a glitch, no one would believe him over normal mechs, not even with all his Enforcer credentials.

Somehow Prowl needed to let Smokescreen know what had happened. But the datanet was ruthlessly controlled. Net Neutrality had been eliminated millenia ago, the kingdoms of Cybertron were at war with each other more than they were at peace. Praxus tended to remain neutral, but only so they could play both sides. It was ugly. There were hotspots throughout the planet where, if you were lucky, you might manage to reach the console of a mechanism in another kingdom, but access to them was often restricted due to some international crisis or another. Did they have any of these hotspots in the great unknown where Jazz was taking them. Prowl let his helm hang. How was he supposed to plan an escape, an attack, anything when he had nothing to go one. If there was one thing the Praxian loathed it was the unknown. He straightened up when he heard the lock ping. Maybe the amalgus could sense his anxiety, maybe not, that did not mean Prowl needed to broadcast it.

“Some gels, ‘n energon,” Jazz said as he entered the room, a tray in one servo and a folded cot under his other arm. “Even had some sparklin’ grade, figured it’d be best for your brother.”

“It is,” Prowl confirmed. The fact that this mech was so considerate to Bluestreak was off putting. Prowl could not decide if it was genuine or a ruse. “I will give him a cube when he wakes again.”

“Good ‘nough for me,” the amalgus said. “Have some o’ the red ones. Got some extra minerals, good for self-repair systems, ‘n yours is gonna be workin’ hard, I think.”

“I am fine,” the Praxian replied. He was, well enough at least. Oh there were aches, his helm still hurt but his vision was clear, and the cracks to his plating would heal soon enough. The worst of his injuries was a warped plate on his abdomen, just under his chassis, and of course his missing panel.

“’M sure ya are,” Jazz said. Was this mech humouring Prowl? “Take’em anyways. Might be good for the bitlet too, but I don’t know how his tank’s doin’ after bein’ so sick.”

“He has not managed solid fuel yet,” Prowl revealed.

“Ya his caretaker?” The visor clad mech asked.

“For the time being, or longer,” the Enforcer said, a little caught off guard, though he supposed it was not an unreasonable question. “Our originator was felled by the same infection. He has not recovered. Before I was kidnapped the medics were discussing at which point would withdrawing care be the right choice. The endemic has put a strain on the medicentres. He lives for now. I was listed as Bluestreak’s guardian in our originator’s will.”

“No progenitor?” Jazz asked.

“Mine was not involved in my upbringing,” Prowl explained, still unsure about this questioning. “Bluestreak’s progenitor proved to be a problematic mech, and unknown to me, my originator was separating from him before he was struck with the plague. He had enough concerns with his conduct that he removed Sideways as legal guardian to Bluestreak. As Duke, he had the authority. Sideways was displeased. He has lost access to my originators funds, and he will only regain them as regent to my brother. He was involved in my kidnapping, along with my partner in the Enforcers. Bluestreak happened upon the scene when the gestalt attacked. They took him along to stop him from raising the alarm. I imagine Sideways is displeased.”

“That’s a bit o’ a fraggin’ mess,” the amalgus said. “Ya figure they were went to kill ya.”

“They were quite clear on their plans,” the Praxian replied, deadpan. “The one called Vortex was quite graphic in describing his plans for me.”

“Frag, that was the Combaticons,” Jazz cursed. “Frag me I missed Swindle.”

“You know the mech?” Prowl asked.

“No but that piece of slag’s been selling my kin, or at least pieces o’ them on the market for vorns,” the other mech explained. “Frag... Never saw him, or I’da killed him eons ago. Just found his messes. Damn it to Pit.”

“He was the offroader,” the Enforcer said. “Purple and yellow, with handle bars.”

“Hope he got some o’ that blast,” Jazz hissed. “Planted the first bomb hopin’ to wreck the rotor’s blades. Figure it worked... That one’s Vortex.”

“Yes,” Prowl confirmed.

“Sick fragger,” the amalgus grumbled. “Alright... So here’s the deal. I don’t got any interest in your frame or your spark, purii don’t do it for me. Nothin’ personal. I want use o’ yer processor.”

“How?” The Praxian asked. This was absolutely not one of the “payments” he had considered the mech asking for.

“Glyphs on your doors say y’re metaforensics,” Jazz said.

“That is correct,” Prowl replied.

“That’s what I need,” the mech declared. “I need an investigator. My brother’s creations were taken. He ‘n his mate were horribly damaged tryin’ to fight the fraggers off, but they got away with Sunny ‘n Sides. Ric, my brother, ‘n Artfire his mate worked in a circus. Ric was out ‘bout what he was, ‘n he was a big hit. ‘N an easy target, as it turns out. Our procreators are tryin’ to trace their pedsteps, but they don’t got a clue. I want ya to come with me, to speak to my brother, ‘n maybe find some clue where those slagtards came from so I can get the mechlings back.”

“I will assist,” the Enforcer said, no hesitation at all. “I cannot promise anything.”

“Try, that’s all I ask,” Jazz replied. “I understand the trail’s cold as ice.”

“I have solved cases that were cold for millenia,” Prowl said. “I will want to speak to the circus if at all possible as well.”

“They moved on after they dropped Ric ‘n Artfire back home,” the amalgus explained. “They’re gonna be in Iacon, or Tagon Heights by now.”

“Then we will move on after I finish my questioning,” the Praxian stated, matter-of-factly. There was no question in his processor that he would see this through. These were innocent mechlings, and it was obvious enough that the amalgii could not just beseech Enforcers elsewhere. The circus would have been unsuccessful to. Mechanisms were often suspicious of circus performers. “Either kingdom will have a hot spot. I will contact my cousin to retrieve Bluestreak before engaging any suspects.

“Ya don’t waste time, do ya?” Jazz observed.

“No,” Prowl replied. “Certainly not when lives are at stake.”

“Rescuin’ you might just be the best choice I ever made,” the amalgus declared. “Get some ‘charge yerself, we’ll be sailin’ soon. Two, or three ‘cycles before we hit land again ‘n then it’s up.”

“Up?” The Enforcer asked.

“Up the Manganese mountains,” Jazz explained. “’N home sweet home.”

#amalgus #transformers #ficlet #fanfic #jazz/prowl #how often do i write anything else? #virgin sacrifice #unicorn trope #we're going on a magical adventure people

[sapphicscholar]

Wayhaught prompt for Nicole's reaction to the text

I had an angsty prompt for Wayhaught I feel like Nicole when receiving the text would automatically think about what Goononna had said to her and also what Wynonna said to her "you're not her keeper" etc. I feel like she'd feel terrible and like Waves deserved better and they having the talk

If you want I had a Wayhaught prompt for Nicole thinking about what Goononna said to her about Waverly and start doing those things. (Like give her space and makes it clear she only wants waves to be herself)

Lying in bed, Nicole tried to fight the temptation to look at her phone…again. There was no use; the words weren’t going to change. They hadn’t changed after the first time she threw her phone across the room then hastened to retrieve it. They hadn’t changed after the first finger of whiskey she’d poured from a bottle she found in her cabinet from when Wynonna first visited. They hadn’t changed after the second or the third either. And she knew better than to think a fourth or a fifth would do anything more than make them blur together.

Yet she found her eyes dropping down to her screen once more, skimming past the litany of apologies from her own number, past the now embarrassing pleas for forgiveness, for a chance to explain that she hadn’t meant to keep something from Waverly, had only wanted to find a better time and place to give it to her than at the precinct or at Wynonna’s baby shower.

And there it was: Waverly��s first communication with her in days. “Dear Control Freak. I will talk to you when I want to talk to you. Until then, have a nice life hurting the people that you love.”

The words rang too familiar. And it wasn’t just because they brought back memories of a few extended family members and “well-intentioned” family friends reminding her over and over again that she was a disappointment by virtue of whom she was, of whom she loved. No, those were memories that hurt in the way her knee still twinged slightly after a bad accident in her younger days—phantom pain, nothing more.

Waverly’s text, though, it brought back fresher memories, memories of a pair of Earp sisters possessed by a demon in turn, telling her all of the ways she was wrong for Waverly, all of the ways she wanted too much. Wynonna’s words from the night they finally ended it still echoed in the back of her head: “That was the demon talking. Don’t believe all of it.” But there was that pesky “all of it.” That meant some of it should be believed.

She’d spent the weeks since then trying to make things right, trying to find out what had and hadn’t been real. She’d panicked about the moments of intimacy and, god, the firsts they had enjoyed together. Sure, Waverly assured her that she was more herself in those moments, more in control then than at any other time, but she still worried. After all, it wasn’t like sleeping with a woman was something Waverly had done before. What if she regretted it? What if she only did it the first time because something, some demon, had been in control of her at the time? How would she ever be able to forgive herself? She’d known something was off, could tell that it wasn’t always her Waverly in there. Yet she’d let it happen anyway. Those concerns, though, Waverly had seemed to reassure her through soothing words and repeated assurances and eager touches, kisses, caresses, that it was something she still wanted, long after the demon had been dealt with.

But the things Wynonna said…they couldn’t be shaken quite so easily. And they weren’t all the demon, Nicole knew that; Wynonna had said as much. Hell, she’d even brought some of those things up before she’d known about the demon, let alone been possessed by it—like the idea that Nicole somehow wanted Waverly to change for her, become someone she wasn’t. And Wynonna had apologized later, but still. The points lingered.

God, then there had been the demon. Nicole groaned, rubbing her temples, trying to stave off the hangover that already seemed fast approaching. But those words, they wouldn’t stop racing through her head, reminding her of all of the reasons Waverly probably sent that text.

Waverly’s “a good faker. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Waverly needs space. She’s dying under the weight of your expectations. Waverly’s not the white picket fence in Purgatory girl you want her to be anymore.”

“You are not my sister’s keeper.” Then, “You’re a little ‘queen brisk of bossy town’ for my taste.” And, fuck, Wynonna was perfectly herself then.

And there it was—proof, in text message form, that everything Wynonna had yelled at her was true. Waverly really did feel like Nicole was controlling her, like she was putting expectations onto her to be someone she wasn’t, to do things Nicole’s way.

She had tried so damn hard to be better, to make it clear to Waverly that she didn’t want her to be anyone but the woman she was. She’d tried to be supportive of Waverly’s involvement with Black Badge, even as she tried to stick up for herself. Because there had to be some balance, right? She couldn’t just let Purgatory PD roll over on any case that seemed slightly suspicious, slightly out of sorts. The whole damn town was out of sorts! But she hadn’t brought up Black Badge again, hadn’t made a big deal about not being included.

She’d tried getting her work hours to overlap better with Waverly’s, to make sure that Waverly wouldn’t end up waiting around for her at work, sitting around the precinct where Wynonna could see her, could give her that judgmental glare that she thought Nicole wouldn’t notice. She’d heard stories from across the town, from everyone who thought Waverly deserved better than Champ, about how this promising young woman seemed too willing to throw it all away for a boy, seemed to put her life in second place behind anything he wanted or needed at the moment. She was his cheerleader in every sense of the word. But those people, they said they saw her passionate again, saw her advocating for herself better, looking happier. And that had to mean something, Nicole tried reasoning.

At this point, though, she didn’t know what was true and what she just wanted to be true. Part of her wanted to blame this town, blame a place where demons rose every generation, where girlfriend’s possessions went unnoticed, where revenants walked and did business among regular folks, where immortals owned bars and drove pickup trucks and threw back shots with the best (and the worst) of them. But she also blamed herself.

She’d backed off of the overly affectionate statements, tried not to force Waverly into saying things she didn’t mean. She stopped talking about their future together, stopped forcing her own ideas about what they might be onto Waverly. She let Waverly take the lead on saying things like “I love you” when they were on the phone or leaving. She let Waverly set the pace in the bedroom, never wanting to push too hard.

But their dynamic hadn’t changed for the better. Instead, Waverly just seemed upset, asked Nicole whether they were okay, if she had done something wrong. And this was the last thing she had wanted—the absolute last. Because she loved her Waves—any version of her, save perhaps for the goo-infected one—and she wanted to be able to tell her and show her without worrying about going too far, saying too much. And she’d wanted to talk about this, to sit down and have one of those overly emotional conversations that seemed so stereotypical and endemic to lesbian relationships. But she’d wanted it, suspected they could use it. Then the letter happened. And now…now it was radio silence. Until the text that had her hanging on the edge of a little tipsy and a little hung over, on the edge of hopeful that there had been any contact at all and devastated about what it was.

But then there was a knock, and she let that hope take over for the first time, let it overcome the deep pit of self-loathing she’d let herself peer into these past few days. Because she knew if they could just talk, if she could explain, if she could apologize sincerely in person, that surely they could work it out. And this time she’d be honest. This time she’d tell Waverly about everything she feared, about all of the reasons she’d been acting differently. This time they’d work through it together.

She flung open the door. “Waves!” Only, it wasn’t.

#wynonna earp #wayhaught #angst #wynonna earp 2x09 #waverly earp #nicole earp #waverly x nicole #fanfic #prompt fill #ao3feed