#synthetic elements notes

[randomwriteronline]

Itd be fairly easy to assume that Mata Nui doesnt know what gender is since hes a synthetic soul in a robot body, however he WAS created specifically to study other planets and the such, which means its possible that he knows more alien genders than anybody could ever fathom. This still does NOT mean he actually knows what gender IS (he doesn't) because its definition changes constantly everywhere all the time and nobody is ever agreeing on it, so at some point he overwrote everything hed ever noted down about it and replaced it all with just "gender: complex"

He did Not realize he could have a gender tho. He was convinced it was like a Thing that others had but not him. He had to be told he could just pick one for himself if he wanted (he did) and he then proceeded to spend five minutes thinking about it before coming to the logical conclusion that since he was once made up of all the matoran of every element then his gender should be The Harmonic Combination Of All Elements. Kinda like unity but a completely different thing. He pulls up an everything bagel or one of those horrifyingly complex brazilian pizzas and goes that's me

#bionicle #mata nui #random talks #dont. ask me what i am thinking bc i Do Not Know. my mind just conjured this like an evil spell

[kmesons]

a little note from a science nerd to the hatchetfield and tin can bros fans drawing a connection between wilbur cross/uncle wiley and owen carvour (specifically the stair monologues): they aren't talking about silicone (a synthetic polymer often taking the form of colourless oils or rubber-like substances), but rather silicon (an element essential in many technological components, takes the form of a hard, shiny solid). they're easily confused because they sound similar, but the two are very different! silicon is contained within silicone, but on its own is very important for computers because of its semiconductor properties. anyways thank you for tuning in to "Useless Hatchetfield/TCB-related Science Facts that Fans Could Care Less About but I'll Talk About Them Anyways"

#tcb #tin can bros #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #spies are forever #black friday

[elianas-cozycorner]

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕿𝖔 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 | 𝕹𝖊𝖜𝖙 𝕾𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗

Chapter One | Sweden

Summary: Several months after sharing a longing, intimate moment with your boss, Newt, you find yourself in the heart of a thrilling adventure.

Will chasing smugglers, taming dragons, and awkward family dinners be the key to pushing the two of you closer?

Author's Note: Here is the long awaited, long requested sequel to my fiction "Stumped"! Please, to all those who had previously enjoyed the story and requested this, accept my sincerest apologies.

I never knew how to continue the plotline until now. Rest assured, this multi-chapter fic will have everything you could ever desire! Depending on how this goes, I may change the rating. (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

Disclaimer: I have made this work non-compliant with canon for several reasons. Including a) lack of desire to be associated with films 2 & 3, b) for flow and story purposes, and c) because I do not condone J.K.R's behavior and wish to use my writing to bring joy despite the hurt she has caused.

Ao3 - General Audience Word Count: 1099 Warnings: None

"And so it was that you were left to sketch and think. It seemed that Newt was not the only one in a predicament, as confusion too clouded your mind. You were stumped. Stumped as to why Newt had seemed so pleased with your staring, why his smiling never ceased, and why he had chosen to keep you in his company after that. " - Stumped (2020)

/////

The air was hot, the wind scorching, and no relief could be found in any amount of water you carried. Despite the great altitude, no snow decorated the cliff faces and mountain peaks. Each breath only served to fuel coughing fits, what with the dryness and heavy musk of dragon. By all accounts, the world should have been covered in white, howling winds should have whipped ice across the craggy stone, and you definitely shouldn’t have been in a simple blouse and trousers. 

Yet, here you were. Wand drawn and a thin cloth covering your mouth, without any form of elemental protection. You’d always imagined your first trip to Sweden would be for recreation. Though, you supposed, searching for a smuggled Swedish Short-snout hatchling was more exciting than an office job at the Ministry.

“How are you fairing, darling?” A smooth, strong voice called to you.

You looked up at the man, watching him clamber up another outcropping of rock. Newt was in as much a state of discomfort as you were. His once voluminous curls fell, soaked with sweat, into his face, his shirt sleeves were rolled up above his elbow, and the cloth he held to his face was grimy. However, there was a crinkle at the corner of his eye that told you just how much he was enjoying this. You couldn’t help but return his smile though he couldn’t see it. 

“Perfectly content, Mr. Scamander! I only wonder at the heat, it is unexpected!” You tried your best to keep your voice level. 

“She must be in distress,” He took a moment to catch his breath. “I haven’t seen any blue flames yet, so she is still a good way up.”

“I suppose she’s turned much of the mountain side up there black.” You caught up with him and leaned on him for support.

“And any foliage to ash,” There was a fondness in his voice. “It’s likely how she escaped her captors to begin with. Many smugglers are unprepared for the heat of a Short-snout’s fire.”

You nodded and flicked your wand. The charm was quick to take effect, cooling both of you instantly. You would not risk cleansing your attire or casting a verbal spell here. The sweat and dragon musk clung to your clothing like a natural camouflage. It would be hard for the dragon to detect you, much less so if you kept your spell-casting to a minimum. 

Newt thanked you once he’d finished taking a sip of water. The synthetic waterskin was enchanted to keep its contents cool and permanently full. He offered it to you shyly, bumping it against your hand gently. 

“Drink.” His voice was soft, gentle. He wouldn’t command you to drink against your will, but there was a heavy tone of suggestion there nonetheless. It was your turn to thank him.

You took the waterskin, careful not to let your touch linger too long. Ever since that day in the suitcase, when your eyes had met and the world slowed to a stop, things had been different. Awkward. It never hindered your work, never interfered with your capabilities in tending to and drawing Mr. Scamander’s creatures, but it was always there. For you, anyway. It didn’t seem as though Newt understood how wholly that moment changed things for you. He was too sweet, too gentlemanly, to think of it as anything other than a moment between friends. 

“Try to keep up, Mr. Scamander.” You forged ahead, unable to stand beside him for longer than was necessary. 

Eventually, your trek up the mountainside proved fruitful. Newt once again led the way up. The heat only worsened, but that was to be expected when the stone underfoot was blackened and cracked. Any plants that may have grown from crevices in the rock were turned into small piles of ash, blown about by the wind. Which, as it happened, was not wind at all. The second thing to catch the eye of one Mr. Newt Scamander, was the flurry of movement from above. He placed his hand out behind him, palm facing you, and brought a finger to his lips. Then he pointed up.

Above, on an outcropping of stone, giant wings beat the air and battered against the rocks. Occasionally, chunks of char and sediment were flung down or broke off. The sound of the dragon’s beating wings paired with the gusts of wind against your skin. You had not been listening to the rage of mother nature. Instead, it had been the hatchling. With a look of concern, Newt pulled out two sets of thick, rubbery gloves and black, sturdy goggles. No words were exchanged as each of you donned the new accessories. The fire-resistant material felt strange against the skin, but otherwise did not offer much inconvenience. Just as Newt turned to lead you up to the outcropping, a massive chain swung down. It rattled evilly, smacking down across several sharp protrusions, and barely missed the Magizoologist. 

Newt pressed himself flush with the mountain and tugged you with him. “Careful! She must have tangled herself up when landing.”

The chain rose up through the air once more and now it was obvious that with each attempt at flight, the flapping was accompanied by rattling and creaking. Before, you had watched the pretty, pale creature take off into the sky but now she was grounded. A plume of searing blue flame spread out and up into the sky. The smell of burnt hair caused your stomach to twist. 

Looking to the man currently under the employment of the ‘Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau’ you began, “Mr. Scamander–”

He said your name, “It’s Newt. Please. Newt is far shorter and works best in cases such as these.”

You started again, “Merlin’s beard! Alright, Newt. How do you propose we get up there?”

“It’s far too dangerous to go up now, she’ll knock us off or roast us.” He chuckled lightly. “But it’s too dangerous to leave her up there alone. Those chains have to come off.”

“How do you calm a Swedish Short-snout?” You leaned closer to him as another, smaller chain whips by. 

"You know," He looked at you. "I am not entirely sure."

#newt needs to care for himself #mother hen newt #newt scamander #newt #newt x reader #newton artemis fido scamander #theseus scamander #newt scamander x reader #x reader #fantasic beasts and where to find them #fanfiction #fanfic #dragons #swedish shortsnout #newt's book #you're an illustrator #stumped #stumped continuation #continuous #series #sequel #6 years ago #6 years in the making #harry potter #harry potter universe

[floralhippie22]

Why “Plastic Beach” is a Masterpiece

I think something lost in a lot of music is an understanding of story. Music stemmed from the need to tell stories through verbalized communication that extended beyond speech. Morals, teachings, beliefs, were all told through stories, and then translated into song. Music is not music without the element of story. Even the simplest chord, can make one feel a thousand things.

It’s 2010 and I had recently moved into a new house. My parents played an album that I didn’t recognize while we are moving furniture into our new home. It had a very different sound from the normal Lumineers, Radiohead, Mumford and Sons, and Neil Diamond I was used to hearing played prevalently in my youth. “The revolution will be televised” ringing in my ears and I remember feeling a beat, very casual yet meaningful play that, even then, I knew was something deeper than one would think at first glance.

Even then, I knew something of a masterpiece was at work. See, what makes “Plastic Beach” by Gorillaz work is its asymmetrical narrative. The album starts with a fully orchestrated “overture” (if you will) that’s very rare in a predominately hip-hop album. This is what I liked to call “natural” music. All the notes are played like by instrumentalists through natural means. Yet, the album ends with completely electronic music. “Pirate Jet”, the finale, has very few real instruments playing in the song.

But, why is this important? Well, because “Plastic Beach” tells the story of a world where our beaches are filled with plastic, water pollution makes a man a giant, and the industry music is synthetic and fake. While a man, Russel (the drummer for the band), becoming huge cannot happen in the real world, a lot of the ideas and concepts mentioned within “Plastic Beach” are a perfect representation of the dangers of the modern day. The asymmetrical sound of this album represents the natural world (non-electronic music) and the polluted fake world (all electronic music). And slowly but surly, the entire album end’s completely electronic.

However, this is not a testament against certain genres of music. Gorillaz is very well known for a beautiful blend of electronic and traditional instruments within their music. So why choose this as an allegory? Well I liked to use my favorite song ever, that just so happens to be in this album, Melancholy Hill, to explain why.

Melancholy Hill explores the fake and synthetic world of the modern day music industry. While it’s gotten better over the last decade, when the album came out it was near impossible to do well within the industry if you weren’t conventionally attractive, used certain styles, and branded yourself a certain way. Obviously, there were outliers in this statement, however, I would argue that they had to work three times as hard to get where other big names at the time were. And many of these big names… didn’t make what Damon Albarn, co-creator of Gorillaz, saw as music. The lyrics were seen as nonsensical and two-dimensional and the music hardly used any music theory let alone skill within its works. It sounded fake. So, instead of bashing all electronic or pop music, he created a masterpiece that blended everything. Melancholy Hill uses both electronic and traditional music within the song, showing that neither music style should be ignored. A blend of both truly is perfect, in a certain way. Many of the best songs: Empire Ants, Rhinestone Eyes, Stylo, Broken, etc. on the album use this technique of mixing styles, and I think that was very intentional.

Everything above comes together to tell us this story: Technology and the modern world can be used to be create amazing and beautiful things. But, representing naturalistic ideas and our Earth which gives us life, is key to prosperity. We must protect it at all costs… and “Plastic Beach” by Gorillaz is the masterpiece that says it best.

#gorillaz #plastic beach #murdoc gorillaz #2d gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #russel gorillaz #electronic music #music #hip hiop #personal essay

[portraitoftheoddity]

Don't Drink The Paint Water

Ok, the title is a little misleading since a lot of the paint I'm gonna talk about in this post would have been tempera or oil, and not water-based acrylic, so there would be no paint water. But as someone who worked in acrylic and definitely accidentally drank their paint water more than once, the warning is what rings in my mind every time I think of this topic.

Art is great for the soul. Art supplies, however, are not always great for the body.

Humans love smearing ourselves and our stuff with pretty colors made of shit that will kill us. Lead facepaint in Queen Elizabeth's court; Arsenic Green Wallpaper in Victorian parlors; uranium in glassware and wristwatches. And of course, all kinds of heavy metals in paints.

I talked in my post about Caravaggio about how a lot of his balls-to-the-wall batshit insane behavior may have been a result of chronic poisoning from his paints. Many artists through that whole era of history suffered from lead poisoning, to the point that "Painter's Colic" was a term for the intestinal constipation caused by chronic lead poisoning.

Now let's talk about that a little, and the various toxins that some of your favorite historical painters may have had in their systems from the creation and application of their paints...

White Paint: Lead

Lead white has been used as far back at the 4th century B.C.E. by the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, and was THE white pigment in western art up through the nineteenth century (and also appeared in works from China and Japan). It's important to note that through much of history, you didn't just go to the store and buy a tube of paint -- you made your own by grinding up pigment and adding it to a medium such as oil. To make lead white paint, artists would grind a block of lead into powder, releasing toxic dust particles into the air. The pigment's popularity largely stemmed from how thick and opaque it was, allowing for dense applications of radiant, warm white.

Lead poisoning resultantly affected a great many artists who worked extensively with lead white paint, with gastrointestinal, neuromuscular, and neurological symptoms. Chronic lead poisoning resulted in abdominal pain, nausea and constipation, as well as neuromuscular issues such as tremor, loss of coordination and numbness. Neurologically, sufferers could experience loss of short-term memory or concentration, depression, fatigue, headaches, stupor, slurred speech, and difficulty with emotional regulation, which may have contributed to the enduring stereotype of artists as erratic tortured geniuses.

Lead white would eventually be replaced by zinc white and titanium white.

Vermilion Paint: Cinnabar (Mercury-Sulfide)

Cinnabar is a form of mercury sulfide (HgS) that can range in color from bright scarlet to brick-red. It is the most common source ore for refining elemental mercury-- and from both its mined form and creation via synthetic alchemy was used to create a range of red 'vermilion' pigments. Cinnabar was used decoratively dating back to antiquity due to its color, appearing in fine craftsmanship and artworks ranging from China to South America, and was the primary source of red pigment in European painting from the Renaissance to the 20th century.

And of course; it came with the fun fun experience of mercury poisoning! While ingesting cinnabar isn't nearly as toxic as other forms of mercury since the chemical composition is less reactive, cutting and grinding cinnabar to create paint pigment would lead to inhalation of particles, and the more it was ground, the brighter the red it would produce. Plus, heating cinnabar would result in the release of highly toxic mercury vapor which would damage the lungs. Long term cinnabar use would lead to renal failure, and likely other symptoms of mercury poisoning such as damage to the brain and nervous system.

Vermilion would eventually be replaced with the less-toxic cadmium red.

Naples Yellow Paint: Lead + Antimony

Here's a two-for-one poisoning deal! Naples yellow -- a saturated, thick yellow that could range from pinkish orange to an almost green lemon-yellow -- is derived from lead antimonate. Inorganic and synthetically created, the pigment itself dates back to ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, making it one of the oldest synthetic pigments (it was predated by the Egyptians' use of the yellow pigment 'Orpiment' which was made with arsenic, for even more fun!) It was first referred to as Naples Yellow in the 17th century, and became particularly popular in European painting from the mid 1700s to mid 1800s, used by artists such as Délacroix, Jacques-Louis David, and Goya.

In addition to the joys of lead as discussed above, Antimony can cause vomiting, headache, dizziness, and sleeplessness, with effects similar to arsenic poisoning.

While there were a number of holdout artists who continued to use Naples Yellow up to the 20th century, Naples Yellow was largely replaced by Chrome Yellow and Cadmium Yellow by the late 19th century.

--

These are just a few of the more popular culprits in western art history -- and not counting fabric dyes such as Scheele's Green which experienced brief and deadly popularity in the Victorian era (made with Arsenic), or Uranium Yellow pigment used in ceramics and glass, which... I think you can guess where the problem with that lay.

All of which is to say, Art Was Hazardous, and a lot of artists through history quite literally died for the dyes, sacrificing their health, sanity, and years off their lives, knowingly or not, for the colors in their masterworks.

#art history #poisoning cw #paint #pigments #lena rambles #renaissance art #baroque art #Y'all loved the crazy Caravaggio post so here's some deets on what may have made him that way

[beakers-and-telescopes]

The Chemistry of Mineral Pigments

Nowadays, most artists need to give little thought to what goes into making their colors. Indeed, even if they did, most modern pigments are synthetically made, designed and mass produced in a laboratory. However, it was not too long ago that painters needed to be intimately familiar with the chemistry of their pigments, which came primarily from ground minerals mixed with a binding agent.

Many well known compounds that are used in paint making come from the transition metal elements (these ones:)

Some of these are instantly recognizable even to those who know little about chemistry- most artists know that cobalt is blue, iron is red, and titanium is white. Chromium can produce an entire rainbow of colors in different compounds. But how does this work?

When they exist in the crystalline structures used in pigments, transition metals are ions- they have a positive charge which is balanced out by the negative charge of their neighboring atoms, the oxygens, sulfurs, and the like. The electrons in a transition metal exist in specific levels called orbitals. Electrons can jump up to a higher orbital if they absorb energy of the exact wavelength as the gap between orbital energies.

In transition metals, these energy wavelengths often fall into the visible light spectrum. For example, oxidized copper's electrons absorb the red and orange light that hits them, so the color that gets reflected back into our eyes turns out to be a bluish green (the opposite color on the color wheel).

However, these gaps in energy levels can change based on the surrounding elements, the oxidation state of the transition metal (how much of a positive charge it has) and even how the different nonmetal ligands are arranged around the central transition metal element. For some elements, this doesn't make too much of a difference, but others like chromium can produce a wide variety of colored compounds depending on its structure. Chromium impurities are responsible for the color in many gemstones, such as the red in ruby, the green in emerald, and the blue in sapphire.

Here is a reference for the chemical compounds that go into creating some common colored pigments (note that the formula for lead chromate should actually be PbCrO4).

#chemistry #color chemistry #art #art history #painting #stem #science #stemblr #science side of tumblr

[heliossecretdeskdrawer]

A Good Boy

For Rare Pairing Fest 2023 - @tfrarepairing

Prompt Day 5 - On the Sofa

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Megatron/Thundercracker

Characters: Megatron & Thundercracker Warnings: Sticky sexual interfacing, mentioned partner swapping/swinging, background relationships, edging, frottage, vaginal sex, praise kink, mild d/s elements

Summary: In which Thundercracker takes full advantage of Megatron’s willingness to relinquish control.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth | Dreamwidth Event Post Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

While Thundercracker missed Skywarp when they were apart for missions, knowing that he wasn’t limited to being alone in their habsuite was a comfort. They had agreed that while apart, they could keep the company of their own choosing.

“What a good boy,” he said, affectionately patting the heavy armor under him as he sat up tall, his legs straddling wide hips.

Thundercracker thought he had chosen rather well. At least for now.

He wouldn’t have considered Megatron an appropriate partner to take home long-term, but the occasional companionship was worth the effort and blatant violations of the chain of command.

The first time he had Megatron over while Skywarp was out, Thundercracker hadn’t known what exactly to expect. On reflex after his many years of trying to get Skywarp to behave, he had remarked in the midst of a rather vanilla coitus on how well Megatron was doing… and had made a fascinating discovery.

Who would have thought that for all of Megatron’s needs to be in control of situations, that didn’t necessarily extend to the berth.

Or sofa, in this case, given that it was the only place in Thundercracker’s quarters short of the floor that his temporary paramour would fit. Megatron was too wide, unfortunately, but the sofa unfolded into a wide-enough surface to splay out Thundercracker’s prize.

His own spike was pressed snugly against his partner’s larger one. Despite being sturdily constructed to withstand the extreme forces of high-speed flight, Thundercracker felt almost delicate in comparison.

Grinning, he rocked forward, watching as Megatron did absolutely nothing about being flagrantly patronized.

“So good,” Thundercracker reiterated, sliding his palm up the sides of their spikes. “So, of course, you remember the rules.”

The sofa’s supports creaked underneath them as Megatron nodded.

The rules included being quiet unless told otherwise—with the exception of using the safeword—and letting Thundercracker lead the encounter. And, of course, most importantly, no overloading without permission.

Not that there was really any punishment aside from a passive aggressive scolding.

“Good, good, that’s what I thought you’d say.”

He finally closed his fist around their spikes, stroking up and down. Some of their mingled, violet prefluid eased the way, but he had had the forethought to add generous dollops of more durable synthetic lubricant while they were getting settled into position. Easier that way than haphazardly mucking around with the bottle in the middle of things.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, bucking his own hips and thrusting his own up into his hand. The snug pressure against the warm ridges of Megatron’s spike drew a groan out of his own throat.

Of course, Thundercracker knew that it wasn’t fair that he could be as loud as he wanted, could overload as much as he wanted, and do whatever he wanted, but that was the idea. Megatron was allowed to do whatever he wanted outside of their occasional intimate liaisons. This was Thundercracker’s chance to relish some of that power without consequence; Megatron, however, seemed to enjoy the opportunity to let go, if the trembling of his armor was any indication.

“Does it feel good? I bet it does,” he continued, a wide, warm smile on his face. No malice, no secret agenda. It was probably a relief for Megatron to cede momentary control to a lover who could be trusted to have no interest in stabbing him in the back. “Remember, don’t move. Stay nice and still for me—What a good boy!”

Megatron’s spike twitched at the praise as it leaked more violet fluid, but that could be forgiven as involuntary. Thundercracker let his fingertips linger over the slit on the upstroke.

A tingling sensation began to build at the head of Thundercracker’s own spike, accompanying a growing tension in between his hips from his covered, neglected valve. It wouldn’t be neglected for long.

Megatron’s hands gripped at the sofa’s soft padding as he struggled to remain still while Thundercracker had his way. There was just something appealing about having this level of power over someone like this. He could so easily stop Thundercracker if he so chose, but instead he was being obedient, doing as he was told and taking whatever he was given.

Thundercracker ventilated faster, his vents forcing hot air into the room as he pumped their spikes more fervently.

If Thundercracker was getting close, Megatron probably was too, though the stoicism combined with the rule about noise made it difficult to tell at times. The only real tell was the heavy thrum of air being pushed out of Megatron’s wide open auxiliary vents as he strove for composure.

Just to make it that much harder for Megatron to obey, Thundercracker kicked the pace up higher, his hand racing up and down their shafts.

“Don’t you dare overload; you’re not—“ He huffed, struggling to get the words out as he raced towards his own climax. A groan dragged at every word as it escaped. “You’re not… not… allowed—“

Thundercracker’s groan turned into a scream as his vision whited out, his frame shuddering as pleasure shot through his spike. Transfluid pulsed out as he gripped their spikes together. He could hear the hot, silvery liquid splattering thickly across Megatron’s plating.

An absolute mess, confirmed once his optics finally reset.

Megatron remained still, optics narrow in concentration and auxiliary vents throwing off more hot air as the transfluid started to cool and dry on his front. They would need to wipe that off before too long. It would only get in the way of the afterglow when they were truly finished for the evening.

Thundercracker’s frame shook as he came back down, plating juddering as he let his spent spike retract into its housing. His empty valve clenched rhythmically on nothing, locked away behind his panels as he gently patted the stiff spike in front of him.

“What a good boy, you didn’t overload at all.” Thundercracker smiled, turning the pats into a lazily paced series of strokes. “I bet you were really close too.”

He had better places for that spike to go anyway.

The cover over his valve slid back.

“Good boys get to finish inside,” he said pushing himself up on his knees to line up their arrays. “But not yet. You have to be really good for me first.”

He lowered himself slowly, letting just the tip of the spike’s round head kiss where his already wet folds parted. The light pressure against the pliable silicon gave way slightly, promising more. Pushing down, he let the head just penetrate the first ring of calipers.

“So patient.”

Just to rub it in, he sat back up as the calipers tried in vain to hold the spike in place.

After breaking the contact for a few seconds, Thundercracker set himself back down, barely touching the spike to the warmth of his valve as their fluids smeared together. He pressed the head in partway once more, just enough to promise more and then take it away.

“I don’t know if I should.” Thundercracker chuckled.

He repeated the motion, allowing only the shallowest ghost of penetration before escaping. Over and over again, just to be aggravating, just because he could.

Megatron glared up at him, but Thundercracker knew by now that it was the face he made when focusing. An unfortunate side effect of his construction. Instead of fear, Thundercracker only felt pride that he made the game difficult enough for his partner, that it required so much of his active concentration.

How many misunderstandings in the past could Megatron have avoided if anyone else had simply realized that a glare wasn’t always the same as an actual threat?

Alas.

Taking a deep ventilation, Thundercracker lazily lowered himself down, finally letting the thick spike push into his valve as he groaned. The glacial pace allowed him to adjust to the pressure while also forcing Megatron to wait and ride out every single caliper flutter as Thundercracker enveloped him.

It took a few minutes to fully seat himself, far more time than was strictly required, but it was such a delight to tease.

He leaned back with his hands braced against Megatron’s knees, shuttering his optics as he relished the feeling of a comfortably full valve. He sighed, a contented smile on his face as he squeezed his valve around the spike, making it twitch inside him.

“You’re waiting so patiently. Isn’t that nice?”

He sighed again, circling his hips just to feel the stretch as Megatron trembled underneath.

“Maybe one day I can trust you to be good enough to do the heavy lifting without being naughty.”

One of the few times he had Megatron put him on his back, the larger mech had gotten rather too enthusiastic about the words of praise and hadn’t been able to hold back, overloading before Thundercracker had told him to. So, for now, Megatron was on probation and banned from being on top. He needed more practice.

“But, today, if you wait and do what I tell you, you can come inside,” he continued, reiterating his earlier promise, “maybe more than once if you don’t get too tired. You won’t get too tired, will you?”

Megatron, jaw still locked in place to keep quiet, shook his head.

Spikes were unfortunately easy to tire out due to the strain on oil pressure. Such a shame, but they always had alternatives. Hands and mouths and valves and nodes. There were many ways to reward good behavior.

Still, Thundercracker would get plenty of use out of this spike before he would finally let Megatron have his release. These sort of games could be very taxing on a mech’s energy, but he knew that if anyone had the stamina to tolerate a marathon of being edged, it would be Megatron.

He reached forward patting one of the hips underneath him.

“Buck up now, nice and easy,” he ordered, “gentle and slow, okay?”

Thundercracker wasn’t about to do all the work himself.

“We’ve got all night,” he added, affectionately rubbing that hip as Megatron started pushing upward as instructed. With each small, restrained thrust, the spike bumped up against the end of his valve, sending sparks across Thundercracker’s visual feed as he settled back against his hands once more.

If allowed, he knew that Megatron would be holding Thundercracker in place by his hips and going wild. That could be fun sometimes, sure, but this forced pacing, the power of holding such a strong, willful mech’s leash….

Thundercracker moaned quietly, his valve tensing in anticipation as he pushed down to meet the gentle thrusts.

“What a good boy.”

#fic #one shot #valveplug #megatron #thundercracker #2023tfrarepairingfest #megacracker #I /think/ that's what it's called #but who knows

[cleolinda]

(It is, in fact, a perfume)

Juliette Has A Gun: Not A Perfume (2010)

(newly-arrived “discovery set” sample)

I’ve wanted to try Not A Perfume for years; it’s supposedly one single base note that smells different on everyone. Thus, the real allure is, omg what does it smell like on me?

I will preface the rest of this by saying that perfume is a special interest for me, particularly reading about it. As such, I have read a lot about components, and I even have a wishlist of aromachemicals I’d like to huff for myself. And in theory, Not A Perfume would be a chance for me to smell Cetalox.

Allegedly, that’s all this is: “A fragrance made out of a single element called Cetalox. Usually used in perfumery as a base note, it plays here the lead role... Another advantage of this particular composition, is that it is entirely allergen free. The result is minimalist, elegant, pure,” says Juliette Has A Gun’s website.

“An extremely powerful and elegant amber note. Usage: Cetalox® gives rich, elegant effects to all areas of perfumery from sheer florals to modern ambers,” says The Perfumer’s Apprentice, a component supplier I stare at for hours like it’s the Sears Wish Book.

But a Fragrantica article claims,

In addition to cetalox, Not A Perfume obviously contains musks (galaxolide and helvetolide), iso e super and hedione. Together they create a slight floral effect, as if you washed the bed linens with an expensive conditioner with a white flower composition and hung it up to dry on a sunny summer morning.

(For what it’s worth, a commenter on that article says, “According to Dr. Philip Kraft (Scent&Chemistry) of Givaudan - Not a Perfume consists - 7.5% Cetalox along with Hedione, Iso E Super, Ambrettolide, Habanolide, Musk Ketone, Ethylene Brassylate & Boisamberene Forte.” Subsequent googling indicates that this seems to be widely known.)

Like, I don’t plan to do an aromachemical deep dive on every fragrance I talk about, but it seems kind of conceptually relevant here, you know? And I’m willing to believe Not A Perfume is something more floral, musky, and fruity than one (1) synthetic amber, because that Fragrantica description is very much what it smells like on me: dryer sheets. A strong but nondescript white laundry floral. Well-behaved yet loud as hell, like a six-year-old in a Sunday dress with the best of intentions. I sprayed this business into a tissue and barely touched it to my wrist; it gave me a headache within 15 minutes. It did not wash off after four hours. (Modern white musks—like, say, all those (-)olides—are used in dryer sheets and laundry detergent. They repel water; that’s why everything but the detergent scent washes out of your laundry, so I already knew I was probably fucked.) On me, it isn’t terrible, but it sure ain’t “an elegant amber.” My guess is that one note yelling at me in particular is the hedione: “An elegant, transparent floral, jasmine note with a citrus freshness,” known for its “radiance.” It’s been widely used in fragrance since the 1960s, and I’m wondering if it’s why “perfume” in general—in the ’80s for sure—gives me headaches. Goddammit, hedione.

So, dryer sheets. That’s my quiz result. What’s everyone else’s? In Fragrantica user reviews, there is a dizzying range: sour, green, “a fairy sweating,” gasoline, antibacterial hospital soap, “crystalline funk,” animal musk, rubbing alcohol, plain water, nothing, rotting garbage, wet cigarettes, wet burnt cigarettes, dried blood, Dolce & Gabbana’s Light Blue, ghosts, sandalwood, wet cardboard, metal, salt, and pears. Among many other things.

It smells like dryer sheets, and I do not want to wear it again.

I mean, I might. Actually, it smells kind of nice now that I’ve washed it off—oh, hey, I’m getting the pears now. Maybe Not A Perfume would play different in hot weather. I’ll pick some day to schedule a headache and see.

#perfume #juliette has a gun #text post #long post #welcome to hell it’s my blog #controversy! #perfume discussion #sparkling headache #note: musk

[partyanimal167]

The Informant PT 7- Miguel x F!Reader

The end is near~ I wanted to return to kind of the original idea I had of the reader since things got hectic, but old habits die hard~ So why not stress our new boyfriend out 😉

Part One Prev Chap

CW: fem reader, mdni, author knows some Spanish, Afro-Caribbean reader in mind, cussing, smut, brat taming, sir kink

Things were good. The city's been safe. Other Spiders were joining the Society. You had a good thing going with Miguel...but well curiosity always seemed to get the better of you.

Miguel was...happy. And that was new to him. He wasn't necessarily sad or angry, but the stress of being what one may consider as the "Ultimate Spider-Man" could be draining. And somehow, he got thrown into keeping order on a multi-universal scale, so yeah. Life caused some mix emotions.

But. He did have you.

Despite you being thrown into the truth about himself, the relationship brought some type of "normal" to his life. Miguel did struggle with the balances of his life as a scientist and hero, but he couldn't give up his job. He didn't want to. It was another element of normalcy that also assisted him in his heroic life.

For instance, he could get into shady lounges on the pretense of sourcing chemicals and synthetic elements he had yet to get access to at work. There would also be whispers of wealthy weapon brokers and scheming villains. He could gleam some information for sure.

So after texting you that he'd be out late with work, Miguel dressed nicely in a cream colored dress shirt with a spread collar and dark brown slacks. He sprayed some cologne and took out a watch he received one Christmas. He appeared the part he played: a corporate scientist that was young and eager to get any and everything--one with money too.

...

The smell of cigars and other heavy scents bothered Miguel, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity when invited to a secluded room away from the party. A man went on about special dealings, booze, and pretty women, but Miguel only wanted in on one of those things.

So he barely touched his bourbon as he caught whispers of different conversations and noted who was there: an Oscorp rep, another from Stark Industries, others affiliated with the military. The official meeting had wound down, and now people were chatting. There were definitely updates to be made, but Miguel wanted to head out soon. He hadn't heard from you in awhile, and you were a night owl, so it was likely you were still up.

"Can I get you a new drink, sir? It seems you didn't enjoy this one." a smooth voice asked him from behind. He could smell something sweet and familiar, but Miguel didn't budge. He wasn't there for any sort of entertainment--strictly business.

"No thank you." he didn't even spare a glance. However, he tensed when a hand rubbed and pressed into the exact spot of the knot in his shoulder. He quickly turned to grab the offender's hand but paused when he saw their eyes.

Half of your face was covered with a black lacey fabric, but there was a well-known mischievous glint in your eye. "My apologies, sir. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright." Miguel couldn't hide the shock on his face, and it made you chuckle. Your eyes were highlighted with mascara and eye shadow. You wore a short cocktail dress and stood taller in wedges. Miguel knew you hated heels. What the hell is she doing here? "What are you doing here?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

You made a light gasp and covered your mouth. "I'm just working, sir. I do have another job you know."

Miguel knew what you were referring to, but he honestly hadn't expected you to get back into the underground game really. It wasn't that you were too scared, but he figured that you were going to let go of that drive concerning your childhood friend's death. But then again, he never asked you about it truly, so he wasn't sure.

However, for you, it was more than that. You were known and unknown, and this was your way of trying to keep yourself and others protected. Even with the way things turned out with Kingpin, there was always some criminal or shady business that needed information. Plus, your boyfriend did too. A pretty face and good talking skills could have you slip in to work and listen if you played the cards right.

Miguel grumbled. "I-,"

"Excuse me dear," one person called out to you, and you happily walked over to help the gentleman.

Miguel could only stare as you wooed men, laughed, and whispered before going away and returning with drinks. The scene replayed itself a couple of times before Miguel flagged you down. He gently pulled you down and whispered in your ear. "It's time to go home." he stated as he held on tight to your wrist.

You giggled and batted your eyelashes. "But sir, I'm not done with my shift yet." you replied sweetly.

The fiery look in his eyes turned you on, and while you were planning on that reaction, you certainly didn't mind where things seemed to be headed. Miguel only stood up before pushing a bill into the peek of your cleavage. "You have an hour; you better be home then." was all he said before walking away.

~~~

About 75 minutes later, you strolled into your home humming a tune while taking off your heels and coat. You continued on your way to get yourself a glass of water and sighed after the long hours. You didn't think much as you entered your already-lit bedroom and simply ignored the huge man sitting at the end of your bed as your started to let your hair down and undress.

"Hermosa, I told you to be home in an hour." Miguel simply stated.

"And I told you that I had to complete a shift." you matched his tone as you pulled an huge hoodie over before going to the sink to wash off your makeup.

"Tch, you really wanna play that game? What were you even doing there? And don't say work."

You continued to rub the face wash in circles. "I was trying to get some information. I know you had been looking for some updates and insights, so I went along."

Miguel rolled his eyes. "Okay, but did it require you dressing like that and flirting? I'm sure I got what I needed to."

You pulled the towel away from your face and grinned. "Wanna bet?"

Miguel didn't like the look in your eye, but he had to stay strong to prove his point. "I saw all the reps there and know there's a few shipments coming in next Wednesday."

You nodded before walking over to your bed. "Okay, but did you know that a weapons dealer is rumored to have gotten a lovely precious metal from Africa? Did you know that the cargo is being unloaded this Friday? Did you know that there's whispers of our old friend Kingpin making a return?" you chuckled as you leaned passed Miguel to reach for the scarf on your bed.

Miguel took your wrist before pushing you back to meet his eyes. "You're so difficult, sometimes." he grunted out.

You booped his nose and smiled. "But you love it. Now, let me put on my scarf."

Miguel pulled you into his lap before giving you a playful bite on the cheek. "No point. I'm going to fuck it off you anyway."

"Oh really?"

"Mmhm, plus you're in trouble. You're not allowed to go looking all pretty without me. It could hurt my feelings." There was a retort on the tip of your tongue, but you ended up on your stomach--hoodie rising up and ass exposed. "Now say you're sorry."

"What! I didn't do any-," you yelped when a firm smack was placed on a cheek. "Miguel!"

"You heard me. Say you're sorry."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Miguel, I-," you felt a smack again.

"I can do this all night, hermosa." He rubbed a cheek and chuckled. "I'm waiting." You pouted before mumbling into the sheets. "What was that? Couldn't quite hear you."

That smug tone annoyed you, but you raised your head and threw a glare his way. "I'm sorry."

Miguel hummed as he leaned over you and kissed your lower back. "Good girl, what are you sorry for?"

Oh for fuck's sake. "You tell me Miguel. What should I be sorry for-" you gulped as you felt his warm strong hand hold your throat. You swallowed despite little pressure being placed. Your face warmed hearing how the man chuckled meanly. His teeth grazed along the skin at one side of your neck. You nearly whimpered.

"Bebita, tu sabes. You're sorry for teasing others with what's mine." he tightened his grip and bit down. The other hand crept around and rubbed your thighs. "These beautiful thighs are mine." his fingers traced around your mouth. "These sweet lips are mine." he rubbed his face against your head and took in a deep breath. "This precious hair is mine." you whined when he finally cupped at your core and teased your slit. "And this fat, wet pussy is all mine. Let me remind you."

It was always so hard to think that there could be too much of a good thing, but after how long Miguel had been pleasing himself between your thighs, you would definitely consider it a possibility. He brought you orgasm after orgasm; you gripped his hair unsure if you were trying to keep him there or push him away.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please Miguel, fuck!" you pleaded and thrashed though with his grip on your legs, you barely budged.

...

Miguel groaned at your pleas and moved away to look at you. His eyes were half-lidded, hair tousled, face wet and glistening. "What's wrong, mami? I'm just making you feel good. I thought you wanted some attention." he entered a finger and moaned at the sound. "Hear how wet you are? Mierda, let me spoil you." and he returned like he was in a daze. He had to just give you some more.

"So you said, they're arriving on Friday?" Miguel typed away with glasses rested on his nose working away by the night stand.

"Mmhm," you groaned still recovering hours later. Your body thoroughly satisfied and mind barely holding onto the moment.

Miguel continued to read through tabs and check different hacked messages. One popped up, and he recognized the name of the port. "Oh that's going to be a lot to search. Might have to call in Jess and Peter J in." you grunted in response. Miguel chuckled as he turned over to kiss you on top of your head. "You're so good, amor. What would I do without you?" he beamed sweetly.

You hummed as you snuggled against him to finally get some sleep. "Yeah, I wonder."

~~~

FIN.

Thanks so much for reading! I don't remember the last time I wrote a multi-chap fic (definitely been a couple years with like...GrimmIchi?) I really enjoy this fandom and all the Spidermans. Besides being nerds, they can be quite relatable.

I think I'm gonna continue a couple one shots and possibly do some One Piece fics again, but hit me up on the inbox. I'm here to rant, vent, or gush over the favs.

Take care!

#atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #fem reader #miguel ohara x reader #black fem reader #the informant #informer au #canon au #mineart #partyanimal167 #mine #marvel

[boycritter]

1) which elements of the periodic table would make the best and worst clothing

2) best and worst sex toys

3) if they call it refrigerator why reef grift gator Gaylord of of of cold death

4) Explain continuities between land-based empires in the 1750-1900 time period

most fibers (synthetic and natural) are already made of carbon. so carbon makes the best clothing. for the worst, i'm gonna go with americium. dress made of smoke detectors

(authors note: factory, goncharov-propaganda is specifically referring to which elements would make the best and worst sex toys) best: plutonium. plutonium 239 specifically. put plutonium 239 into your vagina WITHOUT A CONDOM. teens of the world obey my call. worst: idk fucking. lithium

i once saw a billboard for a place called gaylord mountain and on the other side of the billboard it told me to find jesus

RACISM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[silverisafukintrainwreck]

this is not at all the type of post i make cause.. no one gives a single shit about My Singing Monsters but it's MY special interest and i get to finally post about it cause i have things to say!!

i fucking hate magical nexus. since 2016 i have NEVER gotten pissed off so badly by an update in this game.

things wrong with the island/song itself: -the song should've come in waves. not only does that give time for newer players to focus on which monsters to bring to level 18 (will get to that later), it makes the song more impactful once the last few waves come -because for what it's meant to be, nexus' song is very much just ok, it's nothing mindblowing or particularly interesting, and by releasing the full thing at once, it's already over. the island's hype is stupidly short lived. -the island desing is marvelous and i am rather excited to see more of the stair shaper's lore, but that's about it for the positive notes i have.

things wrong with the mechanics: -do i have to get started on how absurd levelling up to EIGHTEEN is?? i wasted three million treats on fluoress only! and with the weird mechanic of the nexus' reward being based off how many monsters you have on the island (and still, you're more likely to get SHARDS over anything, as per usual), there's barely any return reward. -i hate the massive increase in incubating time. fluoress is 2-3 hours, but on nexus all 1 elements are 20. i don't even want to know what a two element's time is like. -again, i haven't tried for two element or beyond monsters yet, but the cost of transposing so far is A MILLION. after all the money wasted on treats you have to pay ANOTHER million to just take them to another island.

things wrong with the concept of the island itself: -this part is purely my subjective opinion (well, the whole thing is but this is way more personal, feel free to disagree). -i don't see the reason for another magical island. of course i loved to see some of the "impure" (for lack of a better term) magical monsters make a return, but with they messy way they established the island, it felt like the purpose and impact was lost. -i ADORE magical sanctum. it is genuinely one of my favorite islands. so i held high expectations for nexus and they simply didn't hold up. it makes me think they should've ended the magical class expansion on sanctum. -all other class islands existed for the purpose of expanding on the class. ethereal island expanded on the ethereals on the naturals islands, and etheral workshop expands on the unstable ethereals that were preciously impossible to acquire without synthetic production. nexus doesn't expand. the only thing it serves to expand on is the lore of the stair shaper, and even THAT is severely lacking TLDR; the new island is way too expensive to make it worth pursuing 100%, the song is mid at best and lacked impact and the lore is too weak to be a meaningful expansion. this island shouldn't be here at all.

#my singing monsters #msm #magical nexus #magical sanctum #magical monsters #msm salt #first time someone used that tag ever #i bet #z=47.txt

[flutishly]

Why I’m not remotely excited about Picard Season 3

All of the SPOILERS for Star Trek: Picard seasons 1 and 2. Also ranting. This is very, very long.

I genuinely didn’t realize that Star Trek: Picard was returning so soon. I knew that seasons 2 and 3 were filmed back-to-back, but I somehow still didn’t process that this meant that Picard would leap ahead of the Star Trek queue and be the next show after the absolutely delightful Prodigy ended its first season. (On that note: If you haven’t seen Prodigy, go do that now. In fact, you can probably do that instead of watching Picard season 3, which I obviously haven’t seen because it’s not out yet but for which, as you can probably guess from the title, I am not excited.)

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: The new era of Star Trek has had its ups and downs, but fans rarely agree on what those ups and downs really are. I for instance genuinely love Discovery and think that even with specific flaws in its first two seasons and some sloppy pacing in its most recent fourth, it’s a fascinating show populated with characters that I adore. The vast majority of Star Trek shows come with their own flaws and criticisms, as one would expect of any TV show.

But unlike most other shows (including other new Star Treks), Picard is one that roots itself in a firmly established, beloved character while promising a new story. Legacy characters crop up in lots of different ways in recent shows, but none truly center a fully-fleshed character the way that Picard does. (SNW comes closest with Spock; I will touch on this again momentarily...) Picard also readily reaches into the backlog of TNG characters and arcs in order to further its world.

The problem is that it does so while having promised viewers something new. This, it turns out, is decidedly not true.

The show began promisingly enough. Picard season 1 made an active effort to be an independent show, focusing on a retired Jean-Luc Picard finding a new purpose to his life while surrounding himself with new mentees and colleagues. The season arc questions the humanity of synthetic- or synthetic-hybrid lifeforms. Despite a sloppy ending, the season has a decently coherent thematic structure, integrating elements from both legacy stories and new ones. Soji’s arc is quintessential Star Trek, as she questions her humanity and purpose. Picard’s arc sees him forced to grapple with his longstanding trauma from his encounters with the Borg, alongside reflections of his life, friendships, and role as a mentor/father-figure. Raffi’s arc sees her reclaiming aspects of herself and forgiving others; so do both Rios and Jurati (albeit in very different ways). In between, there are smaller threads of deeply human questions about purpose, doing good, and recovering from trauma. The season doesn’t work so well as a whole because of poor writing decisions in its wrappings (and the sense that it tried to do too much all at once), but it’s still a decently compelling bit of television that tries to give Picard a new perspective, alongside new challenges.

Picard season 2 takes almost everything that season 1 did and throws it out.

The season opening is not bad. It’s a fast-paced, almost whiplash-y set of action sequences that promise to set the plot moving. After watching the first episode, I was asked by someone who had not yet seen it to describe it in three words. I opted for four: “TNG movie meets Picard”. There were some emotional/melodramatic bits, but most of the time was spent on keeping the plotting snappy and the action moving forward. It promised certain themes and character beats. Except none of that came to pass. “The Star Gazer” was a reset episode, taking the characters from season 1 and placing them in new and different places (sometimes in accordance to where they’d been at the end of season 1 and sometimes not). “Penance” reset everything again, as did “Assimilation”. For the entire first third of the season, Picard seemed not to know what its point was.

Yet once it settled into a new normal, the show seemed determined to define these parameters. Soji was obviously gone from the first episode (even if actress Isa Briones was given a small minor side-role) and Evan Evagora’s Elnor disappeared almost as quickly (with even more minor reappearances in the form of baffling, narratively unjustified flashbacks or hallucinations). Rios was isolated from the main team and given his own plot (that can only be described as “extremely obvious” in terms of how it played out and concluded; this is not a compliment), thus also getting sidelined. Raffi and Seven of Nine spent the entire season circling around each other in trying to define their relationship, but the show played it coy for so long that it was genuinely bizarre to watch Rios kissing his new love interest within moments of meeting her, but Raffi and Seven getting dragged out for the whole season (despite... actually having been a couple? and one promised by the season 1 ending??). It made little sense.

There are two arcs throughout the season that work, though to differing degrees. The first is Seven of Nine’s. I’m a devoted Trekkie, but I’ll admit that Voyager is the gap that I’m still filling though I’m decently familiar with Seven’s arc and character. Yet even without having all of the background, from a writing perspective, Seven of Nine’s story is the most immediately coherent. She starts the season in point A and gets to point B pretty directly and understandably. It feels like a more mature version of the classic “what does it mean to be human?” question, taking threads that arose in season 1 and expanding on them. Seven of Nine struggles to see herself as fully human and bears the weight of her Borg past in physical and emotional manifestations. What I liked about her arc is that she never really fully comes to terms with any of it, even admitting as much out loud. Instead, she also learns to accept that despite how she views these as inherently bad pieces of herself, others see them as a whole that is worthy of love and respect. This gives her some space for herself, in a way. It could have been better-written in terms of the specific relationship aspects, but on the whole it works pretty well.

The second meaningful arc is Jurati’s, which mostly survives on the basis of Alison Pill’s excellent acting. I’m not convinced of the writing for this aspect; Jurati starts season 2 at a far lower point than she ended in season 1 and there is an inconsistency in how her character is presented. Her penchant for poor decision-making remains, however, and is the driving force behind her bizarre plot. That said, the core of her arc is not so unlike Seven of Nine’s - it’s one of finding oneself. We have already seen that Jurati is fairly weak-willed, but here it becomes part of a very disturbing bit of internalized play in defining her self-loathing and recreating herself. I didn’t like it, but Pill does an extraordinary job of selling Jurati’s motivations, discrepancies, and horrors. I’m not sure another actor could have pulled it off (given that the writing is still pretty sloppy), but Pill does and so it deserves commendation.

The rest of the season is, quite simply, not good.

There are decent ideas or lines throughout. Picard’s rousing inspiring speech to Renee is a lovely reminder of what Star Trek strives to be; the very premise of Renee’s mission being the linchpin on which humanity’s pluralistic approach to space travel and its environmental future turns is also fairly nice. There’s an important political message buried in Rios’s side story with immigration, as well as Guinan’s dissatisfaction with our contemporary Earth. These little sprinkles only serve to remind us how poorly they fit together.

More than that, there are pieces that could work but don’t, like Picard’s tragic backstory. It’s... fine? I guess it’s fine. It could have contextualized Picard’s emotional reticence and family issues. Instead, it was used with all the subtlety of a serial killer’s axe, in order to further a truly inexplicable romantic subplot that gave Picard absolutely no new depth nor made any sense given the characterizations of season 1. From a technical standpoint, it was also disappointing in its idealized/romanticized framing of mental health struggles. It could have been good; it wasn’t. The recurring theme of season 2.

Same with Q and Guinan in general. Q’s initial involvement is reminiscent of his TNG-era shenanigans. He’s sly and mysterious and his interests are muddled at best, other than the fact that we see their disastrous consequences. Except then... it turns out to be... a sign of love? A misplaced “last hurrah”? I’m all for acknowledging the depth and complexity of the love that Q holds for Picard, but like... seriously? That was the best the writers could come up with? How does it track with any of what we see throughout the rest of the season? All to get Picard to reframe his relationship with love, and with a total disregard for the real people who died to get there?

Guinan’s plot is similarly weird. The idea of recasting a “young” Guinan was cute and I’m fine with it, but... what purpose did she actually serve the narrative? I’m sitting here and thinking about the season and I simply cannot recall what she contributed. Summoning Q, sort of? Existing? Did it have to be Guinan? Was she there just because we know the name?

But the show is called Picard, so let’s focus on the man himself for a moment. What was season 2 about, if we look at Jean-Luc Picard?

On its surface, Picard’s arc was about making space for love. The lifestyle change suggested at the end of season 2 - in which he would no longer resign himself to moping alone around the vineyard and would instead set forth on new adventures with his new crew - was gone at the beginning of season 2. Other than seeing several of the crew newly in Starfleet (Rios, Raffi, and Elnor), there is little indication of how Picard’s synthetic body impacts his life or has affected his perspective. In fact, it seems to come up only haphazardly when he’s physically injured. (Which is itself a bizarre plot point, but sure! Sure.)

In one of the two major threads going for him in season 2, Picard has to come to terms with his parents’ toxic relationship and its complexities. As I mentioned above, this might have been thoughtfully handled, but it mostly wasn’t. The tonal dissonance between the portrayal of mental illness and the murkiness of the abuse/perceived abuse meant that I struggled to take away anything of meaning from the tragedy. It felt like it was constantly just trying to shock and tease the viewer, particularly in how it flipped the script of abuse. Why? What for? Picard might be well-served by a more detailed exploration of his childhood, but was this it?

The other thread is the one that had me rolling my eyes. Somehow, the season’s message of “Picard learns to love!” gets translated into “learns to have a romantic love!”, as though this is the end-all. Picard is certainly a character who has shied away from romantic relationships before and that could have been worth exploring in part, but why does it have to do at the expense of understanding Picard’s general discomfort with acknowledging love? There are so many ways this could - and frankly should - have played out, that didn’t involve a romance with a character that is... well, maybe technically of a similar age as Jean-Luc, but not really the same stage of life? (...synthetic life?) It was weird and uncomfortable and just... pointless. It didn’t make Picard’s character have greater depth, on the contrary - it promoted the extremely silly idea that there is one superior type of loving relationship. Why?

This isn’t a review of season 2, though. No, I didn’t like season 2. I wanted to, at first, but I found myself growing more and more baffled and exhausted as it progressed. Pockets of amusement or entertainment or appreciation (see again Picard’s speech to Renee, which I really did quite like!) appeared for brief moments throughout the episodes and then disappeared again. But the main problem? The main thing that angered me about season 2?

It seemed determined to forget that season 1 had happened, and it did so very obviously at the expense of its own characters. And THAT is why I’m not excited for season 3, or as I call it “the producers went: hey, wait, let’s bring back TNG oh my gosh!!!!”.

Once again: Star Trek has been a leader in the world of reboots and nostalgic callbacks. TNG is a reboot, after all. It opened with a hand-off from an extremely aged-up Dr. McCoy, as a way to tie things together to the Original Series. It found an excuse to include Scotty, Sarek, and Spock in plot-specific ways. Later, it gave Kirk space in its first movie. DS9 and Voyager both played on fan nostalgia in their respective series with the inclusion of legacy characters - Q, Worf, Barclay, Riker, etc. - and indeed even Enterprise tried desperately and disastrously to find ways to milk nostalgia, even as a prequel reboot itself.

As I mentioned at the top, modern Trek has continued this trend. Disco‘s worst earliest instincts were rooted in its attempts to mine nostalgia; while the inclusion of Pike and Spock in season 2 ended up being pretty beneficial for the franchise as a whole (yay SNW! itself an obvious exercise in nostalgia; I’ll expand in a moment), it wobbled in season 1 with Sarek. Lower Decks has consistently been at its most tiring when trying too hard to play to nostalgia rather than telling its own stories (except for the occasional wonderful gag, but the jokes are usually just... too much). Prodigy also felt a little tiring when it tried too hard to be nostalgic for the sake of older fans, rather than just telling its own story, but it did this only sporadically.

And then there’s Picard. Whereas SNW takes legacy characters who have either never gotten their due or are at an earlier stage than what we’ve previously known of them, Picard is the only real sequel to a legacy show, fully centering on a legacy character. In season 1, the show promised that while Picard himself was returning, the show was not a TNG sequel. Indeed, Picard’s biggest season 1 legacy costar isn’t even from TNG, a rather inspired decision on the part of the producers/writers. And with the exception of some cameos and Brent Spiner’s enduring mission to act out as many related characters as he can (a once-mildly amusing trait, now gone sour), the show made a point of introducing new characters: Dahj and Soji, whose stories kick off and define the season. Raffi, Elnor, Rios, Jurati... even the antagonists! Even the legacy characters are fresh! Seven of Nine and Hugh are both in vastly different places than where they’d been in the past. And yes, I’m including Riker and Troi - in their delightful interlude of an episode - who are there to demonstrate just how much things have changed since TNG. This is a new show, a different show, populated by characters who are guiding and interact with Picard in different ways.

So why is season 3 just TNG season 8? Without having watched the trailers, it’s hard for me to say whether or not I’m misreading what the plot actually is, but all of the promotion has been about the TNG crew and their involvement. Soji and Elnor - both wildly sidelined by season 2 - have been fully abandoned; will there be any plot justification for this? Rios and Jurati at least were given send-offs in season 2, but they too were cast aside. I can’t really figure out what’s supposed to have happened to Laris (though while Orla Brady still appeared throughout season 2, the character of Laris... didn’t). This leaves only two of the “new” characters for Picard season 3 - Raffi and Seven of Nine (who is, of course, actually a legacy character). And of course even season 2 seemed more interested in legacy characters, with the returns of both Guinan and Q, and even Brent Spiner’s umpteenth Soong.

Nostalgia can be great. I appreciate a good dose of nostalgia as much as the next person. I cheered at the appearance of Deep Space 9 on Lower Decks. The TOS-nostalgic Prodigy episode “All the World’s a Stage” was excellent. SNW is a great show. But nostalgia cannot be in place of something new. Say what you will about Disco, but it did something new in its first season, even as it tried to link its story to legacy characters (and indeed, failed most strikingly in that effort). Picard seems to have initially understood that lesson and then thrown it aside. Season 3 abandons any pretense of telling some kind of new story about Picard’s post-Enterprise life. It bends over backwards to include the old gang (including Spiner, who I dearly love, but seriously... why?) and to fully center them.

And... much as I love TNG, I find that I am incapable of getting excited about this. I look at how season 2 flailed in its attempt to tell an interesting story, how it fully wasted its potential (2024!!! the Bell Riots! they could have done so much!), how it dismissively discarded its new characters, how it backtracked on any meaningful story about Jean-Luc Picard that might have been told... and I ask myself what season 3 could possibly bring, especially knowing that the seasons were produced back-to-back. Will it rise above season 2′s mediocrity? Will it manage to actually say anything new and meaningful about these characters? About this world, which is the real point of Star Trek?

My sense is no. It’s hard to get excited over that.

#star trek #star trek: picard #tv shows #season analyses #star trek: the next generation #commentary #review #criticism

[1997thebracket]

Round 1B

Erykah Badu’s Baduizm: On and on and on and on, my cypher keeps moving like a rolling stone. Baduizm is the groundbreaking debut album by Erykah Badu, released in early 1997 by Kedar and Universal Records. The album a cornerstone of the neo-soul movement, blending elements of R&B, jazz, and hip-hop in an experimentally-retro musical experience, which drew favorable comparisons from the critics of the time to soul music of the 70s. Badu's sound is recognizable for her sultry vocals and introspective or socially conscious lyrics, while the album’s production stands out with warm, rich live instrumentation. Featuring the singles On & On and Next Lifetime, the album not only stood tall as a leading example in the evolution of the soul genre but also established her as a new force in contemporary music, leaving an indelible mark on the world of R&B and soul moving forward. Baduizm debuted at #2 on the US Billboard charts and #1 on the Billboard R&B/Hip-Hop Album charts, and is certified triple Platinum in the US; it would also win the Grammy for Best R&B Album under the banner of neo-soul.

EMOUSE: The Vacanti Mouse Emails: In August 1997, scientists Charles and Joseph Vacanti published a paper in the journal Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery regarding their research into tissue engineering and regenerative medicine. In the journal, they printed a picture of a mouse with what appeared to be a human ear growing out of its back; within months of this publication, every one of your aunts would forward you an email chain containing the “Ear Mouse” photo, proclaiming it to be a horrifying example of genetic modification and decrying the ethics of scientists playing God. (Note: I’ve opted to show you a cuter photo for the bracket.) In actuality, to create the ear-like structure on the mouse's back, researchers implanted a biodegradable scaffold made of a synthetic material seeded with cartilage cells into the mouse. Over time, the cartilage cells grew and formed the ear-shaped structure; no genetic modification was involved. This did not stop the spread of the emails, which often lacked text entirely or misrepresented what was shown, and incensed both animal rights activists and far-right religious groups to the extent that full-page ads were taken out in major news publications like the New York Times expressing outrage. While the photo remains divisive today, the Vacanti Mouse is an iconic image in discussions about the potential of regenerative medicine and the ethical considerations surrounding such research.

#erykah badu #baduizm #emouse #the vacanti mouse #1997

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Quiet Before (Revenant x Reader)

Theme: No longer a volunteer, but what are you now?

Warnings: Pain, bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, bipolar disorder, mania, depression.

Reader's Notes: I tried to write this so you don't have to have read "Just A Volunteer" first. It means there's a bit of review for returning readers, but hopefully it's worth it. Sorry I got depressed after book 1 and needed a long break. It's a miracle you guys are still here, thank you for waiting patiently for my dumb ass to survive trauma, tragedy, and total emotional decimation to come back and give you this.

Writing Notes: Clean yo damn room and stop making fanfic

Navigation:

(This is the first chapter) | Next Chapter

"Just A Volunteer" (Book 1) | "The Lost Files" (Book 1.5) | "Of Feathers And Venom" (Book 2)

You grab around the giant alpha prowler's muzzle with your whole body, hugging it completely. Six nuzzles into you and whimpers lightly, extremely happy with your increased trust over the last few weeks.

Fall has passed quickly. Revenant has doubled down on his efforts to keep you locked up in this apartment and away from any criminal element that might want revenge, spending all of his season off to spend in the room beside yours. Otherwise, he has been aloof and quick to disappear during the day and sometimes into the evenings, insisting he is still working on leads and "important business". He has insisted on your continued efforts to care for his massive pack of prowlers, raise the stray white kitten you found and named Royce, and decorate your room as you please. You've been able to keep the animals entertained, but Revenant still remains unsatisfied with your room decorations, insisting it requires more than a bathroom rug and a new pillow.

His intent seems to be to keep you busy enough to not sneak out, but the temptation has been gnawing away at you as your surgical wounds have healed up completely. Finally you are well enough to jump around and roughhouse with the dog-like prowlers, and you want nothing more than to get out of here. Although, some part of that might be your manic state, which has started up again as of late. The only thing that holds you back a meager amount is your new synthetic lung, which continues to feel heavier and duller than its counterpart. You simply can't exert yourself as much as you used to, which all in all is not a bad price to pay.

Six pushes his muzzle into you, causing you no pain whatsoever. You can feel the raised scars on your skin rub against your shirt though: now a physical memory of being kidnapped, drugged, shot, and rescued in a night that still feels like a blur. The scars are also a reminder of Revenant's odd protectiveness of you, as he offered up his old Hammond prototype organs from his chassis to keep you alive. You literally can't ever be separated from him now. At least not without being gutted again, which you'd rather not.

Instinctively, you swing your body around Six's muscular neck and manage to grapple onto his back. He winces a bit at your sudden movement, but ultimately allows you to get on his back like he's not opposed to being ridden like a horse. To be fair, your surgery has left you lighter than normal, as you've struggled to keep your diet in check. Although you don't feel too worried about it, you've noticed Revenant insisting the MRVN assistant make richer and richer foods for you to try to get you back to where you were. Six lightly prances around, humored by your giggly nature all of a sudden. He likes the sound you emit and with each chuckle he speeds up a little more, trying to keep the ride entertaining for you.

Six has never seen you manic. In fact, for the most part, Six has only ever seen you in a state of fear and despair. Life is like that: changes can happen at any time and for any reason, lasting days to months at a time. At least Six seems to be very accepting of your changing nature. He adores the excessive affection you bestow on him as well as your apparent happiness when he interacts with Royce now. He was quite concerned when you didn't trust him initially, as far as you could see. He really is a smart creature. It's so odd how much personality Six has. If only the rest of the Outlands knew how wonderful these creatures can be if only given a chance.

"I'm going out, I have a job to—" Revenant announces loudly as he steps out of his room, stopping dead in his tracks as he happens upon you giggling while sliding off of Six's back and onto the hardwood floor of the living area. He goes completely still for a moment, letting his condescending stare follow you as you melt into a puddle on the floor, unable to contain how happy you feel for the first time in ages. He shuffles over to you, seeming a bit concerned. You cannot collect yourself enough to address him looming over you. Six watches you with amusement. Revenant shoots a glare towards the MRVN in the kitchen.

"Hey, what the hell did you give her?" Revenant's wrath is apparent immediately.

"Nothing yet, medication-wise!" The MRVN chirps happily, not picking up on Revenant's underlying accusation tonally, only logically. 

"What are the counts, then?!" He barks angrily at the MRVN.

"The remaining pill counts for the anti-anxiety and pain killers are as expected!" The MRVN remains happily unfazed. Of course Revenant would have the MRVN keep track of the remaining pills. He's been excessively controlling and very thorough about it lately.

Revenant looks back at you, now with a level of bewilderment in his body language. He kneels down over your body, finally reaching out and grabbing you by the wrist, lifting it up to see how you react. As he tries to check your pulse, your wrist tremors against his grip uncontrollably. You see a flicker of realization come over him.

"Ah, it's this fidgeting of yours again. And here I almost forgot how you so haphazardly met me." He almost purrs as he relaxes himself a bit while tightening his grip on your wrist to force it into stillness. The touch helps you focus for a moment and collect yourself.

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"Clearly feeling better. If you can now be this reckless with yourself, I guess you're finally healed." He interrupts you, refusing to allow you time to apologize. His grip on your wrist slips as he stands up, causing you to quickly hug on to his leg from the floor. He reels back a little, not expecting that.

"Please don't leave, just one day. Just stay today!" you beg. He's left every single day this autumn. He's gone the whole time the sun's up, and if he ever spends any time here it's when you're passed out. You've even tried modifying your sleep schedule, but somehow he always manages to be gone while you're awake. It almost feels planned, and you're not sure why. He's kept to himself heavily, staying in the depressingly plain bedroom opposite to yours. On the rare occasion a nightmare has woken you up, you've made a point to knock on his door and let yourself in, always finding him there on the bed, reading an ancient book or periodical alone in the dim light of an old lamp. He'll let you rest next to him, but if you wake up, it's always back in your own room, alone.

"I can't. I have a job to do." He states plainly as he lifts his leg and gently shakes you off of it. You grab the other leg before he can get away.

"Why?! Why must you keep leaving?" You know the answer he's going to give, but it's never satisfying.

"I'm just keeping you safe, idiot." He lifts this leg and shakes you off again, prompting you to grab the other again. "Stop that!"

"No! You have to tell me the truth, or you have to stay! Just one day!" You grapple on as tight as you can, pressing your cheek into his cool, metal shin. If he tries to shake you off this time, he's going to run the risk of kicking you in the face.

"While watching you beg is—" He pauses upon lifting his leg, realizing he can't shake you off this time. He lowers it in a huff, allowing you to stay attached. "While watching you beg is very entertaining, I actually have things to do." He grunts, now starting to drag his leg and you attached to it across the floor as he attempts to limp to the elevator that leads to the exit. "Also, I told you the truth, and no, I cannot stay here today." He reaches the elevator, pushing a button to request it to your apartment.

You really don't want him to leave. You're attached to this simulacrum now, even if he has a mean streak and a terrifyingly foreboding power. Even if you didn't like him before—which you did—the moment you woke up from surgery after he rescued you, you have felt an indescribable bond to him. Maybe it's the organ replacements? Maybe it's the psychological need to attach yourself to your savior? Maybe it was the trauma of the whole event? Or maybe it is something else entirely. You don't know, but your heart races around him more than ever. All you want to do is be in his presence. You shudder into his leg as your psychomotor agitation reacts to your own stress.

"Skinsuit." His voice isn't so aggressive now, perhaps sensing your genuine distress from your unintended tremor. "Trust me."

There it is again. Those two words you've come to dejectedly accept every time he utters them. You groan as your grip relaxes from his leg, allowing him to step out of your grapple and into the elevator car. He turns to look back at you, lying there on the floor to the apartment entryway. His expression reads blank, as his mask remains stoic and his body language is silent in his stillness.

"Finish your room" is the only command you hear as the elevator doors close and the hum of its machinery comes to life.

Dammit.

You're alone, manic, mentally a bit blurry, bored, and unwilling to stay put for any longer. Is it safe to go out? No. Are you concerned about that? Also no. Should you be? Probably.

You jump to your feet a little too excitedly, already knowing you're going to go see Sherry, come hell or high water. Maybe she can help you finish your room too, in some way. Then you have an excuse to leave, right? If it's to finish your room, surely Revenant will understand.

Somewhere deep down you know better, but you choose to ignore that inkling.

Sherry has practically been your sister since you met her while looking to volunteer for the Apex Games. She put her neck out there for you without question when your starting date was delayed due to being the victim of an attack and the subsequent hospital recovery, and she has continually advocated for you since. She's even faced down Revenant for you, although unnecessarily and much to Revenant's condescending amusement. Even Rev has adopted calling her your "girlfriend," making fun of how inseparable you seem and feigning some kind of jealousy. In reality, though, Sherry and Rev's sassy and demanding attitudes make them more of a team against your bashful self than anything else. Revenant has started to show her some level of respect lately too, although it was inevitable with how much they both do to keep you safe.

You know Sherry hasn't left her post at the Apex facility even though it's the off-season. Both you and her used to work off seasons together before your untimely run-in with a trafficking ring; now you've been imprisoned in the fanciest apartment in the surrounding city. Revenant hasn't allowed you to leave without him, instead paying for delivery services and a MRVN butler to take care of everything that might normally require you to leave. Even the prowlers get to come and go with the MRVN, likely using the back alleyways and abandoned underground tunnels to meander undetected. Revenant rescued you when you were abducted, but his current effort to protect you by keeping you hunkered down feels like an emotional prison sentence at this point.

Revenant left you with the key card to get back in the apartment on the off-chance you needed to leave. You slip into your room, finding Royce—the little white kitten you rescued from an adjacent alleyway early in the Fall—curled up and purring happily right where you placed your keycard. You slip your fingers underneath the sentient puff and slip the card out from under her. She stirs a little bit, annoyed that you would take it from her. Undoubtedly she will be ignoring you in favor of Revenant later, but you've gotten a bit used to it at this point. She loves curling up in his scarf and almost seems to know she's kissing up to the one in charge of this whole operation. Revenant indulges her while teasing you that your cat loves him more, feeding her love for his attention further. She will also snuggle up to Six when Revenant isn't around, seeming to understand the hierarchy better than you would have assumed otherwise. Royce still comes to you for attention, food, treats, and toys, but she absolutely appeals to power first and foremost. She is strangely smart, just like the prowlers.

"I'll be back later, you'll have to hang out with Six." You say as you pet her on the head, using your thumb to caress her fur from the bridge of her eyes to the back of her head. She purrs happily as she pushes into your hand, squinting her heterochromatic eyes in relaxation.

Six, hearing his name, perks up from outside your bedroom, looking in your direction. You turn to address him as you twirl your card to freedom in your fingers.

"Six, take care of things while I'm gone! You're in charge!" You chirp as if you have the authority to give to him. He's always in charge when Revenant isn't around, even above you in the hierarchy.

"Wait, what about me?" The confused little helper MRVN calls out from the kitchen, still cleaning up from the morning prowler feeding. The MRVN does a lot of work, but he's not all there logically. Pathfinder is much more human-like, although they share a strange, aloof optimism.

"Six first, then you're in charge." You quickly answer him, not putting much thought into your words as you slip on your shoes. Six leaps up at the thought you might be leaving, swirling around you with nervous energy, desperate to bring attention to your flagrant disregard for the rule against leaving.

"Oh! Well, wait, what about you?" The MRVN asks.

"I'm leaving! So while I'm gone—"

"You're leaving?! You're not allowed to leave! I'm supposed to call Mister Cross if you attempt to—" The MRVN starts to pull out a communication device from a pocket on his little utility belt. Revenant must have given a fake name while signing for the apartment, so everyone around here knows him as "Mister Cross". You jump up from putting on your shoes to try to stop him from making the call.

"Wait! Who is in charge?!" You shout out to the MRVN with your hand outstretched to balance and get his attention. He cocks his head a little at the question.

"Six…? Since Mister Cross is gone..." He answers slowly in confusion.

"Exactly!" You turn to Six, who is nervously circling you and trying to understand where you think you're going. "Can I leave, Six?"

Six whines loudly, clearly upset and disapproving of the idea. The MRVN pauses.

"I am sorry, I do not have the ability to understand prowlers." He chirps sorrowfully towards you, clearly feeling as if he has failed somehow.

"Oh, I do though! Six says I can leave!" You lie, causing the MRVN to perk up again.

"Oh good! I guess you can leave, then! Have fun!" He falls right into your trap.

Perfect. You are truly a tactical genius beyond compare. Only a supercomputer like Pathfinder or a simulacrum like Revenant could have escaped the perfect logical snare you set, so this naïve MRVN had no chance. You brush yourself off a little, double checking your shoelaces as you secure your shoes to your feet.

Six whines as loudly as he possibly can, nervously dancing around in front of you. He circles clockwise, then counterclockwise, then nips at your shoelaces, whines loudly as he tries to catch eye contact, and repeats. You ignore him. You'll be fine. It's the middle of the day, the streets are bright and filled with people, and you have your newly acquired phone on you. The last one was lost on the night of your abduction, but this shiny new device can easily reach help with a couple button presses. Not that anything will happen, anyway.

You slip into the elevator that Revenant left in only a couple minutes before. He's far quicker than his massive frame would ever let anyone know, so you're pretty certain you won't bump into him in the lobby. In fact, you're pretty certain he didn't even take the elevator to the lobby, given that a quick glance upwards reveals the emergency escape door on the ceiling may have been opened recently from the scratches near the latch. The latch is back in its place—the elevator isn't supposed to operate with the emergency hatch open—but it's definitely in Revenant's modus operandi to prefer crawling through the elevator shaft himself than take the elevator car. It's possible that he crawls to the roof instead, choosing to lurk around with his uncanny gecko-like abilities at the top of the skyline rather than meander amongst the common folk on the ground.

You sigh. You're probably right. He had talked about using the roof access as an entrance and exit to "obscure your location" and keep you safe in the past. He's really going above and beyond, and it's annoying. It's like he has clinical paranoia or something, but you can't fault him too much. You did almost die, and he did almost have to deal with that reality. You're just quite certain it was a random act of violence and not really something that's going to be followed up on, but if Revenant has any humanity in him then he's perfectly capable of being traumatized and developing a paranoid outlook. Deep down, you were secretly hoping to bump into him in the lobby: see that look of surprise for a moment, get chided for leaving, then hear more about how your lack of self-preservation is somehow his favorite and least favorite thing about you simultaneously. You just want some kind of reaction from him, just some acknowledgement that he still sees you as a person and not an inanimate treasure to hoard as a dragon does. It's been so damn lonely since you arrived in this pristine condominium prison, and there's no reason for it to be. Revenant is just being flippant and withdrawn for no good reason. At least no reason that's a good enough excuse in your book.

The chime of the elevator snaps you out of your internal ranting. You've crossed your arms in a huff without realizing. Your manic self can be a lot more emotive than normal, so as you step into the lobby you emanate an aura of determination. Enough to where the receptionist doesn't try to address or greet you as you stomp out the front doors.

The end-of-autumn bustle of the city hits you with a crisp and cool breeze and the scent of mulling spices wafting in the air. Every shop on the street is offering some kind of spiced cider, coffee, tea, or pastry for the season, just as they have been for a couple months. However, winter approaches rapidly, and many of the drinks are transforming into something a bit more warming with the addition of peppermints, orange peel, and cranberry. Even better are the pastries, which are beginning to sport a thin powdering of confectioner's sugar to represent snow. The people walk around all bundled up in light coats, carrying lots of shopping bags inevitably filled with gifts for the many holidays contained in the winter season. Many walk around in groups, chatting loudly. Other solo-fliers keep themselves occupied on their phones, either talking to someone loudly or tacking away at their screens. Most of the seedier crowd is nowhere to be found, since the cold drives the loiterers back into their dens. Not to even mention the massive crowds of witnesses comprised of both locals and visitors—it's simply too risky to conduct nefarious business in the open now. Suffice to say, you expect to be fine under these conditions.

The streets are bustling and noisy. The scent is welcoming. The sun is warm and bright while the breeze is chilly. You wish you had a light jacket or winter coat to wear, but you haven't exactly had the thought to buy one, even after the little kerfuffle regarding your visit to Talos, or when you were staring right at them in the department store the night of—actually though, why haven't you gotten any warm clothing? Regardless, it is tolerable enough for now.

You power walk in the direction of the Apex facility, reaching into your pocket to touch your Revenant-branded and endorsed ID in your pocket. It's all you need to get back into the building, although you're a little concerned that the rules might be different for Legend VIPs than for volunteers. After all, volunteers are needed during the off season to keep the facility clean, but Legends and any employees or guests they may have don't have any reason to stick around during the off season. There's a chance your ID won't get you into the building while everyone is on break, but you can always call Sherry to let you in if you need to. Still, the tiny bit of anxiety nibbles at you as you tap the card in your pocket.

Perhaps it's a bit chillier than you thought. The cool air and breeze is nipping away at your ears and fingers, which is just purely uncomfortable. You're a good part of the way there, but there's no reason you can't slip into a nearby shop for a warm beverage and a break. After all, you have money now, thanks to Revenant's excessive repayment for every little favor you've done for him, plus your so-called salary, plus random deposits to your account with weird amounts and even weirder messages and labels. He's as strange, mysterious, and creepy as ever, but he's certainly generous with you at least. Now if only you could convince him to let you leave the apartment freely—without you needing to break out, specifically. You scan the stores along the sidewalk you're taking, finding a store that appears to be a coffee shop. You can slip in there and grab a cider for a few minutes to warm up.

As you turn to enter the shop, a large body bumps into you, snapping you out of your internal musing and back into reality. His arm manages to hit you in the stomach, causing you to reel forward and clutch your abdomen. Your surgical wounds are doing much better, but not well enough to take a hit like that.

"Ah, my apologies. Are you alright?" His voice is airy and strangely calm. You feel his hand touch your back as you stare down at the ground, observing the threshold of the coffee shop and hoping not to cough up anything on the nice, hardwood floor. The hand on your back feels like a prosthetic, not exactly comfy. "Do I need to call a medic for you? If you don't or can't answer, I'll take that as a yes."

You carefully brace yourself against the figure, touching a large metal body rather than the fleshy one you were expecting. A MRVN, perhaps? No, but what are the chances that—

"I deeply apologize, I see you're in pain. It's very difficult to recognize the power gap of being a simulacrum until moments like these. I hope you'll excuse me." His voice doesn't sound very modulated at all; it completely fooled you. Revenant sounds so severely inhuman, whereas this one almost sounds… beautiful?

You manage to slowly bend yourself upright, still holding your abdomen as you do so. Moving slowly isn't too bad, you're pretty sure you'll be fine, it was just a very unfortunate set of circumstances. As you look up, you meet eyes with an unusual looking simulacrum. He has a completely custom build with a uniquely angled head and oddly alluring golden-yellow eyes. His chassis is mainly pearly white with sky blue accents. Despite his metallic form, he is wearing a heavy jacket with fur lining and thick winter pants, but his unusual sabaton-looking feet are exposed. He reminds you of some kind of science fiction mecha in a way, but almost knightly and angelic in tone. He appears to be made of a much more balanced mix of plastics to metals than Revenant's normal chassis, meaning he's lightweight and probably very fast if Revenant's previous lectures hold true. He's a bit akin to Revenant's beast chassis in terms of the metal to plastic ratio, although he is also notably shorter than Revenant. He's still much taller than you, though. You give him a smile to hopefully ebb his fears that he's injured you, but instead of letting you go he begins to lead you into the shop a little forcefully.

"Here, let me get you something to drink. Anything you want. It's the least I could do. Please, sit." He leads you to a chair near the window facing the street, towards a small table intended for two. You don't try to argue and sit, feeling a bit bashful but ultimately okay with the idea of a free drink. "What would you like?"

"Just a warm cider would do me wonders, honestly." You answer through a groaning tone, still nursing your pounding abdomen. He pauses, tilting his head a little as he looks down towards you.

"Juice? You strike me as more of a coffee person. Are you sure? You don't need to worry about the price, I can afford whatever you like, even if it's the fanciest coffee they make."

You actually would prefer a coffee, but caffeine is a no-go after a major surgery like yours. You've already tested that theory once and regretted it. Considering the hit you just took to your abdomen and the pain it's in, you'd rather not test it again. You give him a little thumbs up and a smile to confirm your choice. He hesitates, but moves away to order the drinks.

He soon returns, bringing you the largest spiced cider they sell and placing it in front of you. He also is holding a drink for himself, placing it across from you and sitting down.

"I hope that is sufficient. I'm very sorry about that. I had no idea I bumped into you so hard." He still sounds slightly concerned for you. You finally feel up to talking since the adrenaline has moved past the fight or flight stage.

"You didn't hit me that hard, it just happened to be coincidentally perfect that you bumped me right where I had surgery a few weeks ago." You admit. The horror on his face is somehow apparent in his eyes and body language alone as he reels back in his seat, leaning his head back. "That's why I can't have caffeine, either."

He immediately hangs his head, shaking it back and forth as he brings his hands away from his cup to cradle his makeshift face in very clear embarrassment.

"I am so sorry. I feel horrible." He really does sound mortified. "Are you absolutely sure you're not injured? I will do whatever it takes to make this right."

"I'll be okay. Don't worry so much over it. I have another simulacrum friend, so I'm not too unfamiliar with the overwhelming power." You say, desperate to calm him down. You notice that he lights up a little more at the mention of another simulacrum, immediately perking up in interest.

"Wait, you're friends with a simulacrum? There's not that many walking around here, that's very surprising. Are they ex-military?" He's asking questions weirdly quickly now, gripping his drink again with concerning force but not crushing the cup.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer his questions. You need to hide the fact that your simulacrum is the Revenant, but for once you can't even answer a basic background question honestly if you wanted to. You have no idea who or what Revenant used to be. Maybe that's for the best.

"I'm not sure, actually. He doesn't talk about it." You hush yourself a little as you speak, the white simulacrum in front of you leaning in to listen closer.

"Oh, certainly he was then. Most veterans don't like to talk about what they've been through." He cusps his hands more gently around his cup. He pulls away from you, learning back in his chair. "I don't like to either, so I understand it completely. You fight, you watch your friends die, you give everything… Yet in the end society will cast you aside when your traumas echo through you too loudly to be bothered with. It is truly injustice at its peak."

The somber silence falls for a moment. Are all simulacra like this: somber and tragic? You don't know much about Revenant, but he's right: you can feel the pain of a lifetime in their very being. It's undeniable. The simulacrum takes a moment and begins again, only giving the silence a short stay.

"Sorry, I just don't often get to hear about other simulacra. I always wonder if there are any others out there like me. It's been a weird experience so far. Most simulacra don't even know they're..." He trails off, making a sound that is reminiscent of someone clearing their throat. "So, uh, what's your name, if you don't mind me asking?"

Oh. Well. You don't have one. Not a real one, anyway. You never knew your parents, you've lived your whole life free from any legal name. As you understand it, legally you don't exist, just as much of the homeless or formerly homeless population does not. You've picked up a few names here and there, tried them on, but for the most part you live by nicknames that others give you. Revenant's 'little skinsuit' pet name probably won't work in this situation, so you rummage through your brain for any option to throw out. You're sure you look ridiculous trying to figure out your own name as you pause indefinitely.

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to." He relents. You take a deep breath, deciding to admit the reality of the situation.

"I've never had a name, so I don't know how to answer. I'm sorry."

He pauses for a moment, a look of surprise but heavy interest crosses him. He leans forward a little again, his optics focused on you.

"My name is Samael. Nice to meet you." His hand leaves the cup to meet halfway across the table, palm open and inviting despite the metallic gauntlets' expressed power. You reach halfway, shaking his very warm metal hand—inevitably heated by the drink he's grasped on to so insistently this whole time. "If you haven't any name, is there something you'd like to be called, then?"

His sudden change in demeanor from an awkward simulacrum to one with an oddly charming level of clarity and determination is concerning, but you can imagine that being a simulacra is a tough gig no matter the circumstances. Revenant always seems conflicted and a little depressed at all times, and he claims to be centuries old. This one seems younger to you, so it's quite possible that he's not fully settled into his new life. It's a little disconcerting still, but you can forgive it.

"No ideas, huh? I guess I'd also be unable to come up with a name for myself on the spot too." He chuckles a bit, releasing your hand and returning it to the cup. "I'm going to call you Cider. Hope that's not too obtuse."

Actually, that rolls off the tongue better than you would have expected.

"So, Cider, please accept my sincerest apologies for bumping into you earlier." He continues, no longer waiting for prompts from you to continue the conversation.

"It's okay, I appreciate the drink, really." You say while lightly waving your hand in front of your face. The pain is subsiding quickly, you just needed the rest and warmth. You sip lightly at the drink while gauging if your stomach approves or disapproves. It seems okay.

"So, what kind of work do you do? I mean, I presume you must work in some kind of robotics or military outfitting to have a simulacra friend." He asks plainly. You aren't sure how honestly you should answer. Probably better to play it safe and tell an obfuscated truth.

"I don't actually have a job, to be honest. I just do my best moment by moment." You say in hushed tones while staring down at your cup, not wanting to lock eyes with the machination inevitably worth more than all your savings multiplied by tenfold in front of you.

"Oh, I am deeply sorry to hear that. I didn't mean to hit a sore spot with that question. That's an honest shame, you're quite well spoken and mild mannered, you would do great in most industries with your attitude." One of his fingers taps his drink in a rhythm for a moment while he thinks. "You'd honestly work out great in the organization that owns me."

You sit for a moment in silence. Is that an offer? Obviously you have to decline, but it's truly strange for someone who claims to have no work or income to decline the opportunity for both. Or is it? You're actually not sure anymore. You're panicking internally. Your thoughts aren't quite straight anymore. Your reckless mania is bound to get the best of you if you don't reel back right now.

"Are you quite alright?" Samael asks, perking up and waving his hand in front of your line of sight.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry, I was just not sure what to say to that." You blurt out a little quickly.

"I apologize, I guess I just sort of hoisted that on you." Samael says as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a phone. "Do you have a phone? I can share my contact information in case you're interested." He tilts his phone in your general direction.

You shift to your side and pull yours out of your pocket, after all, it's not like you have any obligation to call him. You can just accept his contact info and let it be forgotten. You move to hold your phone close to his so the contact info can be wirelessly transmitted.

"Wait, how'd you get a phone like that?" Samael exclaims lightly as he sees your shiny new phone. He seems a little taken aback. It must be a nice model or something, but you never bothered to keep track of those kinds of things. You pause. If it's a nice phone, then it must be expensive, and if it's expensive, it makes no sense that your jobless self would own one. If his simulacra eyes could narrow, you're sure they would. You avert your eyes for a moment, deciding if you should just come clean a little.

"Sorry, my simulacrum friend gave it to me." You stop short of admitting anything more. Samael pauses, but nabs your attention when he taps his phone to yours physically.

"No need to be ashamed, I think I get the picture." He suddenly comes off a little flippantly, shrugging a little as his contact info is added to your device. "Please tell me they treat you well, at least. If they don't, you should really consider my offer. It would spare a lot of grief."

"Wait, what do you think I do?" You ask as your face burns a little. Damn blush.

"Listen. Clearly you do something worth quite a bit of income for your 'friend'. Which I understand, it's not necessarily a job where you get paid over the table, but it's definitely better than sinking into the dredges of this hellish city." He accentuates each euphemism strongly, leaving you grimacing internally as you gather his meaning.

"Wait, I'm not a—"

"Whatever it is, you don't get an old fashioned paycheck, now do you?" He shrugs and shakes his head before putting his phone away in his jacket, then carefully sliding his still full cup towards you. "No shame in it, Cider, honestly. I'm in a similar boat myself. Simulacra are bought and sold like property. I serve who I have to, and give unto Caesar what is Caesar's. It takes a while to get to the Brutus moments in life, but the eventual justice is well worth the wait."

You don't quite catch where he's going with that last part, but he seems weirdly at peace with this whole conversation. You look curiously at his cup—now in front of you—realizing just in this moment that he has no mouth to drink it with.

"It's also apple cider. I just wanted to hold it while it was hot. It's a drinkable temperature now, if you want it. You wouldn't believe how much I miss being warm." He scoffs a little to himself, as if he's realizing something. He quickly lets you in on it. "Any simulacrum with the means to do so would want that warmth at their beck and call. I get it."

You sigh, hanging your head for a moment as you realize he probably can't be convinced otherwise without you spilling the whole truth. That's not worth it. You might as well give a summary and move on.

"Well, if it makes you think any better of me, I'm not really running any kind of hustle. I just met a simulacrum who took a liking to me, and he takes care of me like I'm more special than I actually am." You take the cup. At this point there's no reason to avoid accepting his gift.

"I never thought less of you, and I wouldn't even if it was a simple hustle. The Outlands aren't fair and it's filled to the brim with people who play dirty: robbing the hungry just to feed their gluttony. I can hardly blame anyone who is just trying to survive. Honestly, it's a relief to know you've lucked out. Little things like you are always at risk, if we're being honest." His folded hands rest against the table as you drink the second cup. He quiets his voice for a moment, tilting his head, and locking eyes with yours. "I just hope you aren't familiar with the simulacra strength because of something unsavory. If you need an out, just say so."

The cider catches in your throat for a moment, causing you to lurch and begin to cough into your arm. Samael stands up from his chair and comes to your side to pat you on the back gently while you regain your composure. You're a bit teary eyed from the coughing fit, but you manage to look up and address him.

"Thank you, but I promise he's just clumsy, not malicious." You wipe the tears away as your surgical wounds pound a little from the sudden fit.

"I'm glad, but you have my info just in case." He looks down at you for a few moments, gauging your expression before he stands completely upright. "I'm sorry about the accidental bump, but I must be going now. Please give me a ring if something changes, but otherwise, I hope you have a good rest of your day. It was nice to meet you, Cider."

He nods one last time at you before vanishing behind the chime of the swinging door, too rapidly for you to conjure a response more complex than a lazy wave.

What an odd simulacrum. He seems fairly kind, but strangely interested. You take another sip of the cooled cider, trying to clear the tickle in your throat before continuing on your way. He looks so unique compared to others you've seen on television and in the news, but then again so is Revenant. You feel strange about the whole encounter, but you can't find a reason to dislike him. He's just a bit forward, just like the other simulacrum in your life.

You sigh and shrug to yourself. It's not like you'll run into him again unless you call him. Maybe if you're bored, getting a job wouldn't be a bad idea. Data entry jobs are easy to snag since the Syndicate passed a bill giving tax breaks to companies that replace MRVNs with real people in an attempt to get the economy improving, and such jobs can be performed from even your gilded prison of an apartment.

You feel your throat knot. That's mean of you. Revenant clearly pays a lot for that place, and it's all in an attempt to keep you safe. Sure, maybe he's paranoid to a fault and a bit possessive, but it's coming from a benign place. Running away is bad enough, but you don't want to keep thinking of your expensive home as a prison. He clearly has done a lot of work to make you comfortable and has consistently insisted you spend his money to decorate the room you've picked. Heck, he's even given you your own space. Why does it all feel so bad though?

You stand up. You don't want to waste your runaway time regretting running away. That's dumb. You take your cooling cup of cider with you as you resume your journey to the Apex facility. The streets are now filled to the brim with a wide variety of people. As it nears noon, every single person within driving or flying distance of the city is out and about. Every restaurant can be smelled for blocks away as their fryers, stovetops, and ovens roar to life to keep up with demand. Every boutique, gift shop, and major department store has a branded bag in a pedestrian's hands, advertising their business as they carouse the sidewalks. The various electronic billboards are roaring with advertisements for all sorts of products, but all universally featuring attractive celebrities as the bearers of their message.

You let your eyes wander up to the screens as you pass them, watching as some of the Legends you recognize appear as brand representatives. You try to count how many celebrities you recognize and how often they appear, but you find yourself unable to track anyone else as Loba quickly makes a dozen appearances on your walk. She really is beautiful when she's not mercilessly fighting in the Games or standing toe to toe with Revenant. She's really the whole package, huh? She's not a pushover, doesn't take sass from anyone, she's famous and rich, and on top of it all she's got the looks of a goddess. Even though she seems to have everything lined up for herself, Revenant really seems to hate her. Even worse is that those feelings seem to be mutual.

You stop walking for a moment, even though you're across the street from your destination. It hits you like a train. You have no idea how you didn't realize it before. No two people ever hate each other that much without there being some scandalous backstory. You've seen enough television to know where such visceral, ruthless, and conniving levels of malice stem from. It's never as simple as a mere rivalry, nor is it in any way an act they put on for the cameras. It's always far deeper than that, and so utterly obvious to you now: Revenant and Loba must be exes.

Why else would they hate each other that much? Why else would Bangalore absolutely refuse to get involved with their ruthless spats? What else makes sense? And why else would Loba have a mix of concern and distaste for your apparent closeness to Revenant?

You space out for a moment before snapping back to the busy streets. You're kinda glad, since you really do like him. Although, you wonder for a moment... why you? If he could literally have anyone, what makes you so special?

You shrug to yourself and keep walking. You will never have a good answer to that question. You can ask Revenant, but you already know his answer is going to be something about your bold and reckless disregard for your own life. He's been quite consistent in answering that way, but you still don't fully accept it as the reason. He might not even know either. Attraction is weird and varied. You understand that logically, but you can't quite grasp how someone like you would ever mean more to anyone than someone like Loba would.

Maybe you're just lucky? Hard to say. You start walking again, crossing the last street to the Apex facility.

Your manic brain can't be bothered to focus on that thought long enough for it to be catastrophic. If they aren't together anymore, it's a win for you. You get Revenant, she gets Bangalore. You're both happier this way, as long as her and Revenant never come in contact.

You check in with your identification at the gate. Security is halved during the off season, since most of the Legends don't spend the fall and spring at the facility. They have their own places, friends, and family to catch up with—presumably—so it's rare if a Legend ever spends unexpected time in the facility during this period. Even so: on a rare occasion it happens, and keeping the place clean and in check is always necessary. That's why Sherry and a handful of other volunteers stay year-round. Even if there's no end to the work and upkeep required, at least the fall and spring are considerably less busy.

As you walk up the drive to the set of double doors on the side of the building, you pull out your phone and begin texting Sherry.

"Hey, I'm at the facility. Wyd?"

"UR WAT?! Ur not supposed to leave the apt!"

You sigh and roll your eyes to yourself as you scan your ID to enter. It works.

"I'm already here, wanna get food or smth?"

"Fine. Meet in Rev's room."

"GG EZ"

You slip down a couple empty hallways and let yourself into the familiar, unremodeled room that Revenant claimed as his own after Wraith broke the door to his previous room. You actually missed it. You made some memories here already, and it still feels like home in a strange way. You plop yourself down on the red couch.

For a mere moment, you feel sad.

You're going to be allowed to come back here, right? Revenant isn't just going to keep you in that apartment forever, right? You miss him. Things haven't been alright since you woke up from surgery. Some part of you wonders if you were fated to die that night and some part of your soul never came back from that nightmare. Maybe your story was to be just a short fling, a tiny tragedy to end in Revenant's arms, yet you kept going after the story ended. Maybe you weren't meant to make it this far.

You bolt out of your thoughts and to your feet as Sherry's badge causes the lock to click open moments before she enters. She slips behind the door quickly, shutting it behind her before she lets loose a little.

"What are you doing here?! You're supposed to be laying low at that apartment! Revenant is gonna go crazy if he notices you're gone!" She chides you in hushed tones.

"Eh, he won't notice. He's gone all day most days anyway." You gesture as if to wave her fears away before proceeding. "I missed you!" 

Sherry pauses for a moment, staring into your eyes for a couple more moments before shedding a few tears. She doesn't move except to wipe them away.

"Idiot... We were all so worried about you... How can you just stand here and pretend like nothing happened? You almost died! And now you're just—" She waves her arms around a little frantically, trying to come up with the words. "—you're just going to walk around like there's nothing going on?! Like no one is trying to find you and finish the job?! Like nothing can touch you?!" She sniffs, using her sleeve to wipe her nose. "I missed you too. I almost had to miss you forever, you know that, right?" She cries a little more openly now.

You finally move to hug her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone, I just got so sick and tired of being cooped up in that apartment, I decided I was going to leave and go somewhere for just a bit." You confess, hoping she'll understand your perspective without letting it invalidate her feelings.

She takes a little bit, but she pulls herself together faster than you'd expect her to.

"It's fine, you're just frustrating as hell when you're manic." She manages to get out.

"How did you know I was manic?"

"Because you're only this level of reckless when you're manic. Yet you always have the best luck with it. Just don't push it too far." She says as she messes up your hair to try to cheer herself up. "Please keep in mind that people who care about you also would rather keep you around for as long as your body will hold up."

She takes a deep breath and she's completely pulled herself together.

"Speaking of, I'm going to order some of that greasy pizza for us. I have so many gift cards for it now! But we're staying here and you're definitely not leaving the safety of the facility!" She prods into your chest gently, careful not to hurt you but making sure her point gets across.

"You ate that whole thing?!" You exclaim as you huddle over the empty pizza box, still completely dumbfounded at the disappearance of the entire large pie.

"Are you not gonna finish yours?" Sherry asks innocently enough.

"No! That was the largest size! I ate a fourth and I already feel stuffed. How did you manage to eat the whole thing by yourself?!" You motion over the box, still at a complete loss.

The television drones on in the background. While you ate, you watched some show about Silva Pharmaceuticals and how their stim revolutionized the simulacra program during the war, allowing them to go further beyond human limitations. You know Octane is of the Silva family, although he never talked about his connections in the Games or with the volunteers that you can recall. His nearly endless access to stims would stand to confirm his network is pretty strong though, in your opinion. You're still not entirely sure how his dialysis machine keeps up with the amount and magnitude of the drugs he shoves in his body on a regular basis, though. It just seems unreal. You secretly wonder if Revenant has ever tried a stim before, and if so, what happened when he did.

"So... can I have what's left of yours, then?" Sherry lackadaisically asks. You slap your palm to your face without hesitation, unsure of why you're surprised by this development. Of course she's still hungry. She's made of a black hole surrounded by a human body.

"Yeah, sure." You sigh as you shrug, watching her immediately inhale a slice in mere seconds. Her voracity and speed never ceases to surprise you. She finishes her current slice before turning back to you for a moment.

"You'd forgive me for almost anything, right?" She suddenly asks.

You hesitate for a moment, before chalking it up to Sherry's usual teasing.

"Hey, if I let you get away with all the sass over all the years and inhaling ‘the Outland's best pizza’ without even having time to taste it, then I'm pretty sure I can forgive you for just about anything." You chuckle for a moment, standing up to take her empty box to the trashcan in the kitchenette. You toss it in, turning back and slamming into a giant, looming metal figure.

"Good, if it's any condolence... he paid me off." Sherry snickers a little from the background.

You've locked eyes with a set of bright and burning yellow LEDs. They stare down at you with an oppressive silence and harsh judgment for your blatant disobedience for his only rule. You're paralyzed for a few moments, unable to move. He’s managed to make his way into the room completely silently, now standing tall over you with his arms crossed and an aura of pure frustration emanating from him. He is truly terrifying. Then you hear him.

"Skinsuit..." His voice is deeper than usual, and far more angry than you've heard it in a long time. Your adrenaline peaks and without a moment more of hesitation, you bolt on a high of pure instinct, leaving a stunned silence in your wake from the audience.

You burst out of his room, making your way down the hallway as quickly as your legs can take you. You don't even know where you plan to go or why you're running. You're just gone. You start to head towards his old room, the one with the previously broken door. If you can get in there, perhaps you can hide? Your thoughts race illogically, not caring to even question why you're attempting to escape or if it's worthwhile to stop and turn around.

It's only a few moments before you hear the unquestionable sound of Revenant's metal feet hitting the tile floors in a rhythm that implies he's moving at mach speeds down the hallways in your general direction. Thankfully there are enough turns, corners, and even some dead ends to keep you out of his line of sight. You have no clue where he is in relation to you, only that he's going to see you if you don't keep trying to lose his trail. You intentionally round an extra corner to take a longer route to the room, ensuring he won't get a sight on you before you make it there.

You can hear him slow at intersections to thoroughly check all directions for you as your much quieter running brings you to the door in question. You carefully slow to a stop and fumble for your ID card, begging internally for it to work on the door. As you hold it, lifting it up, your vision tunnels and you fumble it to the ground.

Suddenly it catches up to you. Fear. Anxiety. Stress. Pain. It's hard to breathe. Your synthetic lung is heavy and your chest feels like it's splitting. Fear grips you harder than you expected. With what little control you feel left, you carefully work your way down to the tile floors, curling into a ball on your side, and gripping your chest. You hear yourself whimper as your lungs struggle against the strain. The synthetic side is so much heavier and weaker than the other, causing both lungs to feel like they're suffocating you as they desynchronize from one another. The scar on your chest feels like it could tear open on its own. The adrenaline builds into a second burst of energy as your head swims and your senses fog. Your vision is blurred so heavily that everything appears as a smudge now. Why did you run?

A shadow is cast over you as you feel cold, smooth, fingers begin to grab at you. They move swifter than you expect, pulling you out of your fetal position and bracing your chest as you ragdoll for him. He's talking to you, but he sounds so far away that you can't make out what he's saying. The inflections of his pitch makes it sound like he's asking questions, but you can't answer.

It doesn't take long to see his blurred frame start to sharpen as he presses on your chest gently, allowing your breathing to steady as your lungs begin to work in synchrony. You lightly grab on to his wrists as he pushes in, digging your fingers into the wraps and feeling for the metal underneath.

"Just stop freaking out. You're so damn flighty, how am I supposed to stop you from dying like this...?" He's mumbling to himself as his fingers start to inspect the rest of you with his free hand, looking for injuries before finally grabbing your face to jostle it. "Can you hear me? Respond."

You hum in affirmation, still woozy.

"Good, now... breathe calmly. Your lung is rattling a little still." He pushes your chin up and places his palm around your throat as you breathe, pulling your hands with it. His touch is so cold compared to your warm neck, making you instinctively try to push his hand away with your grip, your fingers now utterly tangled in his wrist wraps. He's immovable—per usual—so you have to accept the icy grip on your throat for the moment. You dig your fingers further under the wraps, eventually finding and touching the metal chassis beneath. As you brush your fingers against the volar side of his wrist, his arm shudders happily just a little before he sighs openly, concealing his enjoyment.

"Don't resist. You've done enough of that for a day." He murmurs as you continue to lightly caress where his ulnar veins would be, if he had them. He shudders just a little more with each stroke of your soft fingers, convincing you to continue despite his warning. He likes it. You know that shudder. It's pleasure. Hesitant pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless. His spare hand presses into your heart, presumably feeling for the rattle he mentioned.

You aren't really breathing calmly for him. You're in fearful awe of him, yet so excited to see him, and still so tired from running. Your vision is clearing up slowly but surely, giving you an opportunity to study his masked visage yet again. His facial expressions are non-existent, but his eyes give away a lot of his emotions as his pupils wax and wane with his thoughts. His eyes are sharp at the moment: meaning he is determined and focused, possibly frustrated as well. You'll know you're in the clear when his eyes relax and widen, even if only a little.

"Calm your breathing. You're hyperventilating." His fingers lightly squeeze on your throat, trying to snap you to attention.

"Sorry, you're just so pretty..." You lightly whisper to him. He seems taken aback, leaning away from you for a moment. His eyes widen and his mask pinkens as he registers what you said. You release his wrists, letting your arms fall to your sides. His eyes tighten again as he grunts a bit angrily.

"You're still in trouble with me, little skinsuit." He audibly huffs, returning to your breathing. "Now…" He moves the hand from your chest and covers your eyes with his palm instead, blocking you from seeing his pretty visage. "...calm, steady breathing. I don't need you to hurt yourself because I was too attractive for your weird little heart to take." His fingers are cold on your eyelids. How did he make this more exciting for you? You feel yourself start to naturally breathe even faster, but you force it to steady to try to appease him.

After what feels like half a minute, Revenant pulls both his hands away, clearly satisfied with your breathing rhythm. He doesn't leave your side yet, instead crossing his arms as he stares you down for a few moments longer. He's definitely frustrated, but you can't help but smile seeing him pout with his body language.

"Explain yourself." He demands, staring you down. You don't bother to sit up. You just stay on the floor, still focusing on your breathing before you realize that you'll have to break it in order to speak.

"I needed to run away." You mumble lightly, not really sure how to explain your undeniably manic obligation to leave comfort and safety behind at every turn, careening towards random locations with no goals or intentions in mind. It's a weird place to be mentally, but it comes with a dose of euphoria that makes it infinitely better than depression in your opinion. You enjoyed the run, even if it hurt at the end. You kinda want to do it again. You don't want to stay still. You feel a twitch in your legs as you want to go... somewhere... ideally at high speeds.

"No, you really didn't." He is clearly miffed, potentially unimpressed with your explanation. You barely remember the question he asked at this point, but you feel a tiny, uncontrollable snap in your psyche at his disbelief. Has he really noticed nothing different between you these past few weeks?

"Yes I did! Aren't you paying attention?! I haven't been able to go anywhere or do anything in so long...!" You feel your lungs empty completely and you're forced to brace your chest to prevent a pang of pain. You're unable to go on the long tyraid you wanted to, but you got the point across. Yelling at him can't hurt at this point; he's already mad at you. Plus you genuinely have felt uncared for a number of weeks now. It feels good to get it out, if nothing else.

"I know. You almost died. I remember. I was there." Revenant's angry demeanor falters a little as his arms unfold. He adjusts himself from his hunched crouch to a much more relaxed sitting position. He folds his legs across one another, letting his arms fold at the elbows so his wrists can rest on each knee joint. He curls his spine to lean forward and watch you carefully. You watch him equally carefully back, knowing full well he won't end his chiding there. He sighs, perhaps wishing you would talk more before he continues, but ultimately relents. "I know you didn't ask to be rescued... but you could at least respect my efforts by not throwing yourself into danger for no good reason."

You're not sure if he's wrong for doing so, but that does feel like he's guilt tripping you and leaves a horrid feeling in your gut. It's similar to being verbally punched, but you genuinely question if a proper jab to the abdomen would hurt more or less than this. You choke back a knot in your throat to respond.

"It's not about that. I just want to feel like I matter, or at least to have the freedom to find meaning somewhere else if I don't matter." You speak on your exhale, making the last sentence sound like a giant, wistful sigh.

Revenant pauses for a moment before answering, shuffling a little in position.

"You won't find meaning in our old room. It's probably empty." He grumbles, clearly missing the point but simultaneously hitting a note that affirms your hopes. You reach out and grab one of his legs, pulling yourself towards it to hug it. He recoils a little in surprise at your reaction, even more so when he sees you wearing a goofy smile.

"I don't understand. What are you on about?" He almost snorts like a bull, but with an air of frustrated confusion at your apparent glee.

"You said 'our'." You giggle a little as you writhe yourself further into hugging his leg. The cold metal doesn't deter you in the slightest, nor does his exasperated wilt as he realizes what you're so giddy over. He perks back up only to speak.

"You... you've just been seeking attention this whole time, is that it?" He pinches the bridge of his would-be nose and hangs his head in some combination of disappointment and frustration. "But it's more than that too. Your leg was twitching a second ago and you're acting irrationally again… you're manic. Right. I somehow forgot… So, you need even more attention or else you'll implode in some act of wanton stupidity?" He's asking because he isn't sure enough to insist, but he still asks as aggressively as he can. He stares down at you, registering that you're simply caught in his gaze, not responding at all. As you try to understand why his LEDs have the radiant glow of polished amber under a summer sun, you feel his demeanor soften a bit. "You need my attention, don't you?" His tone is low and gentle suddenly, almost like he doesn't want to be heard by anyone else. Chills run up and down your spine but you're still caught up in the countless ways the yellow light of his eyes create a minor tinting glow on the ridges of his mask. It's scarcely visible, but if his eyes were any other color normally his mask might be washed out by the hue.

"Well?" Oh. Has he been waiting for an answer this whole time? You were too busy fawning over him internally to notice.

You're too excited to answer in speech, so you simply hum in affirmation while you rub your cheek into the metal of his knee joint, hoping he doesn't shuffle and potentially pinch your skin. You giggle mid-hum, sounding absolutely unhinged, so you complete your answer with an aggressive blep—sticking only the tip of your tongue out to rest between your lips and sneer at him. He stares you down for a few seconds longer before slouching openly.

"Yeah, you're deep in mania, and all you want is someone to tolerate you." He grumbles a little, most likely unsure how to act around you with this new information. He pauses a moment longer before reaching down and running his claws through your hair a few times. After a few pets, he gently grasps it near the scalp, making your whole head feel alight with pleasure. It finally feels like the attention you've been craving. He carefully pulls your head back until you finally unfurl from his leg, leaving your throat and belly exposed to him as you roll onto your back. It could be seen as aggressive and cruel to an onlooker, but he's being so gentle with gripping your hair and scalp that you feel no pain at all. You want him to continue, but he releases you before standing up himself. He leans over, casting a wide shadow over you, before slipping his hands under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You carefully balance yourself on your twitchy legs, staring up expectantly at Revenant. He pauses, assessing you.

"Fine. Go. Run all the way back if you must. Just don't trip and fall, and take breaks before each turn so you don't break yourself. I'm going to call a ride and—" You bolt momentarily, making it to the end of the hallway, stopping to turn and lock eyes with him. You want him to chase you again—give you attention—even if it means being a problem to get it. You've seen dogs and sometimes cats do this in the media to demand a game of tag. Surely it can work for you too. Revenant stares at you from a couple yards away, legitimately looking shocked for a few moments before shrugging it off and looking disturbingly determined. He growls in your direction, his already modulated voice echoing in a dark, methodical way.

"Idiot prey, waiting on the predator to start the chase. You should already be running." His voice is mortifying and everything you could have hoped for. His eyes have turned red and are locked on to yours. He steps forward with a fierce gait you don't even get to see in the Games. Before you get paralyzed in his eyes, you take off around the corner, making a rapid sprint for his newer room. You hear his laugh echoing behind you, as if for once he might actually be having fun with your attitude. It shakes you to your core, the adrenaline pushing you to move faster, questioning if you want to let him catch you or not.

As you turn a corner—ignoring his demands to take a break—you feel a sudden knowledge of his presence right behind you take hold of you. How did you manage to avoid him before, and now he's suddenly keeping up and unshakeable?

Before you can fully contemplate the sudden difference, you feel his fingers stretch around your frame and ensnare you. As soon as your feet can no longer touch the ground, he's braced a hand against your heart and pulled your back against his chest. His synthetic breath is silent but it washes over your bare skin as he presses his lips into your neck, as if he might bite at any moment. The motion is all so rapid that you fail to even have the breath ready to scream, but you're captured almost as quickly as you bolted.

Your breath and heart rate slow as the stillness sits. Your lung feels a little uncomfortable in response to running, but nowhere near the pain of before. Perhaps the duration wasn't long enough for it to be reeling. Maybe short bursts like this would be good for you.

"I told you to take a break." He finally growls. "When I put you down, run again… if you like being caught like prey."

You feel your excitement well up again. You can't say it out loud, but you fully plan to run to the next corner as well. You won't be taking any breaks not forced on you. A synthetic set of teeth tease the flesh of your neck causing you to squirm.

"Good. I like a nice hunt." He coos, putting you down gently with enough adrenaline to compete with a stim. "Now… Run."

"Aha, sorry again for snitching." Sherry says as she hangs her head for a moment while you step into the taxi, still a bit nervous at the yellow color and familiar checkerboard insignia on the side. After your last taxi ride turned into an abduction, and the limo ride before that was marred by sexual harassment by your soon-to-be kidnapper, who could blame you? You go to tell Sherry you're not upset with her, but you're interrupted by Revenant.

"You did great, kid. Don't worry about it." He speaks loudly to prevent you from chiding her, not that you were going to. "I'm still working on the leads I have. You didn't remember anything new, did you?"

What are they talking about? It could be about the crime ring, but why would Sherry remember anything 'new' about that? You tilt your head for a moment as you watch Sherry shake her head a little sadly. Revenant taps the top of the cab with his palm, making a loud clang echo above you. He seems a little frustrated, but he doesn't seem surprised by this news.

"Well, if you think of anything at all, let me know. You have my contact info." He pats her on the shoulder before he goes around the cab to get in on the other side. You get a chance to meet eyes with Sherry briefly.

"I'm not mad at all, I'm just glad we got to hang out a little, and tick the big guy off a bit—"

"I heard that!" You hear him interrupt you as he walks around.

"I'm glad too." Sherry sheepishly smiles. "Be safe, okay? I don't want to lose you. Just... listen to Revenant. He's smart."

"She's right you know." He says as he crawls into the seat beside you, causing the whole vehicle to be weighed down on one side. The car is so tilted you begin to slide across the leather seats towards his hulking mass. You feel comforted knowing he's with you. You never would have agreed to take another taxi without him. You immediately turn to him and shove your entire hand over the lips chiseled into his mask.

"Shush, you." You command with no fear. He snickers at your boldness. You turn back to Sherry. "Can you come visit soon?"

Sherry locks up for a moment. It's quite possible she never considered such a thing. Heck, she probably hasn't had any reason to leave the Apex facility in years anyway.

"I'll make arrangements as needed." Revenant pipes up. He's gone from mocking your closeness to Sherry to fostering it. You know that they worked together during your recovery, but you never could have predicted how much they've come to respect one another through it.

"Thanks, are you sure?" Sherry asks quietly.

"Not an issue. This one clearly needs a babysitter at all times. I'll pay you to keep her from doing anything stupid, or at least warning me when she's doing something stupid." He says, mostly directed as a chide towards you. You shove your hand into his face more, forcing his head back a little.

"I said shush!" He's initially shocked as he's pushed back, but he ends up chuckling to himself after a short pause. Sherry mirrors it, but more softly and shyly.

"Alright, I look forward to it." Sherry says as her expression relaxes. "Have a safe trip." The side of her lip curls up a little, or perhaps you merely imagined it. "Oh, and Skinsuit?" Oh no, he's got Sherry calling you that too. She pauses for your attention before lowering her voice and trying to make it sound raspy. "Behave."

Revenant busts out laughing at her impression of him. She waves a little, looking excessively proud of herself as she shuts the car door. You initially pout at her through the car door, but quickly switch over to a genuine wave goodbye as the vehicle starts up and begins to move away.

Even the movement of the taxi brings back bad memories. For some reason they're all the same make and model of vehicle, and they all rattle as they start to accelerate. You could even be convinced that they have all the same suspension oddities as they all bounce in familiar ways to one another. You glance into the rear view mirror, praying not to see a familiar face. It's not. It's just a random, unusually young guy looking fairly bashful at your gaze. He seems to be unsure if he can or should start up a conversation with a literal celebrity and his random associate, but he takes your eye contact as an accusation that he should.

"Is the temperature okay?" His voice is high pitched and airy, ladened with uncertainty and worry.

You pause for a moment, unsure of if it's your or Revenant's job to answer.

"It's fine." Revenant pipes up in your silence, not opening the air to any further conversation. The driver sinks his head a little deeper into the dash, understanding the shutdown but still clearly being emotionally affected by it. He focuses on driving, not making any further eye contact or verbal acknowledgements.

Even with everything as normal and safe as possible, you feel your fight or flight response linger anxiously on the horizon of your mind. The knot in your throat and the pit in your gut are quickly apparent, and you feel slightly nauseous at being in a simple taxi. It develops into a lightheadedness and racing thoughts before you come to the unfortunate realization that the taxi has only just now pulled off of facility grounds and onto the main roads. It's going to be a long drive. You beg yourself internally to calm down, internally chanting that 'nothing is wrong' and that 'everything will be okay'.

You feel a cold hand bury itself behind your lower back, reaching to your opposite waist and grabbing it gently but firmly under your shirt. He pulls you closer so you're sitting right beside him, but he doesn't press or pin you into himself. He's just there, grounding you. He says nothing. You say nothing. The entire ride is silent, but you're grounded now. The thoughts stop swirling, and the panic subsides. That's what really matters.

#apex legends #apex fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction #creative writing #revenant x reader #fluff #romance #revenant #apex revenant #comfort writing #tw: depression #tw: ptsd #tw: mania #tw: bipolar #tw: sharp #tw: pain #tw: graphic content

[disneykhaleesi]

Flowers and its astonishing uses!

Flowers have continually had an amazing association with every single person on this planet. This moment there are a great deal of advantages that flowers present to individuals. Along these lines, flowers are deliberately developed plus gathered for various elements. There's a wide assortment of outstanding flowers in each and every country . From many years, flowers can be used for a great deal of uses. From the deep rooted period, individuals use flowers for planning, perfumery click here as well as clinical purposes. Because of the normal as well as useful characteristics of flowers which has helped humankind in a variety of means.

Here are various advantages of flowers for which these are deliberately become around the world. - Aroma: Each cologne contains flower fixings. Flowers have the fragrance that doesn't just attracts honey bees and bugs, yet also draw in people. The smell created from flowers is refined to use it further. However, you can find artificial synthetic mixtures which have subbed the primary smell, yet flower elements of rosemary, thyme and lavender are as yet trusted. Those who are close to you get attracted towards you because of this luxurious scent , subsequently if you use a flowery parfum just about anyplace, you make certain to get taken note. - Therapeutic uses:

Flowers give clinical benefits as well. Flowering top of Arnica are widely used to regard scraped spots as well as injuries though flowering tip of cannabis has different important restorative advantages. - Honey: Flowers have honey that is an all-normal sweetner. Flowers have nectar that is taken by bumble bees. These bumble bees processes the nectar inside their hives to make honey. Honey is usually used like restorative base. This multitude of bumble bees get tempted to flowers because of its tone and furthermore smell along these lines similarly supporting in fertilization of flowers. - Home insides and outsides can undoubtedly be supported with flowers :

Flowers obviously has the allure and furthermore tastefulness to cause your house to show up very beautiful. You can beautify the insides of your house by setting beautiful fresh flowers in flower compartment put on focus or side work area. You can likewise make you room look significantly more alluring and furthermore engaging if you improve it using flowers alongside fragrant wax lights. You can select practically any arrangement of flowers to decorate your house. Likewise, you can enrich the outsides of you home by establishing botanical plants in and around your yards. The entry of your home looks alluring with flowers . Every one of your companions will surely get flabbergasted by investigating your home. You might gift flowers all things considered occasions : Since years, flowers are accepted to be an extraordinary gift thought. Each lover might want to say nearly anything with flowers. Whether its your first date, or perhaps its your perfect partners birthday, you can welcome her with flowers.

Indeed, even the seniors is amazed by flowers . Your mom will love a gorgeous plan of flowers on her birthday or maybe on Mother's Day or obviously on her commemoration. Your father will love to get flowers on father's day along with his commemoration. Notwithstanding what relationship you share, flowers make it more grounded and more healthy. Thus, with a loads of uses of flowers, one is sure to love these innocuous and regular manifestations on the planet. Flowers are really helping man from ages, so why wouldn't you love and care for these delicate magnum opuses.

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[squirrellyshorrorreviews]

Crimes of the Future (2022)

Humans adapt to a synthetic environment, with new transformations and mutations. With his partner Caprice, Saul Tenser, celebrity performance artist, publicly showcases the metamorphosis of his organs in avant-garde performances.

where can I watch it: hulu

review: 5/10

This is a weird one. Cronenberg iterates on his 1970 movie of the same name. Though it does stand alone it is, very clearly, barely doing so.

This isn’t what I would call a horror movie. More a science fiction with some gory bits and body horror. It feels unfinished. Not just in the VFX department, I can forgive rough effects, but in the script department. I get that it’s supposed to be artsy/art house, but I don’t know. It feels like it needs something else.

it serves Repo-meets-Alien vibes, with a dash of the darker parts of The Fifth Element. It feels like “if PKD did horror”.

My notes include: “The obligatory horror movie sex scene has way more knives than usual.”

it also escalated on the body horror INCREDIBLY rapidly and in deeply weird way, which I can appreciate, but not enough to pull it out of mid status. Though it might benefit from a more critical rewatch.

also Viggo Mortenson is doing is DAMNEDEST.

#Crimes of the Future (2022) #Science-fiction #body horror #movie review #Hulu #Art house horror