#(and if that person is your manager or your tech lead... it can be bad!)

[english-mace]

1, 12, 32

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

spite, Terry Pratchett, and autism 👌🏻

12. what's some good advice you want to share?

hmm well that really depends so much on to whom, in what context, with what life challenge in front of them. but let's go with: if you're in a situation with some base expectation of politeness (colleagues, classmates, some kind of group activity - ie not 'random stranger being an asshole') and someone does or says something either wildly annoying, stupid, clout-grabbing, or whatever: try to build the habit of responding with some variety of "Interesting. Could you help me understand where you're coming from with that?"

I'm never one to say 'assume good intent' - no, fuck that, the other person really might be gunning for your shift or lazing out of the group project. But performing that openness gives you all the cards. If they didn't realize they were in the wrong, this lets them save face while dialing it back. If they know they're in the wrong, suddenly they have to justify it in plain language in front of others, and it may seem easier to back off than double down. And sometimes? You actually are missing information that means you are in the wrong - if you come in with a temper straight off the bat, you're gonna be real embarrassed real quick.

at the end of the day work/school/community-building is about getting along with others well enough to get what you want - a good grade, a promotion, invitations back to the next d&d night, whatever. being right can come later, when tempers cool.

32. how many tabs do you have open right now?

on this machine? only 11! 5 of which are Ao3, of course.

do not ask about my tablet. it's terrifying. and my work machines are so much worse. I spend my whole dayjob life writing google docs or reviewing other people's google docs, every single tab is so narrow all you can see is that little blue page icon, I regularly declare bankruptcy and have to keep a doc with a list of all the docs I've read/reviewed so I can ctrl-f for things I was mid-reading when the tab reaping urge (or the audible laptop overheat) struck >.>

[mejomonster]

i nice thing about liking ryu ga gotoku studios games, that was not a benefit of final fantasy/square enix (their ones, not the ones just published by them like Nier Automata), is wow the gift of knowing there’s actually a game coming out every 2 years. when rgg say they’re making a game, they mean it, and they mean it reasonably soon with pretty good certainty. after square enix’s habit of saying a games being made for 5-10 years this is just refreshing

[merrybloomwrites]

She's (Not) Afraid

Summary: Y/N's living her best life as a guitarist for One Direction until faulty tech leads to an unexpected injury. Luckily, her boyfriend Niall is by her side to help her through.

Word Count: 1.7K

CW: burns, fire, injury

AN: Welcome to Whumptober! I'm a big fan of whump and hurt/comfort so I'm excited to be participating this year! Quick note that I am not a medical professional so if there are any incorrect details here, I'm sorry! I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

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Never in a million years did you think you’d get hired as one of the guitarists to tour with One Direction. But still you had to try. So you sent in your audition tape, not expecting to hear back. 

But then you did. And they had you come play in person. After a few more auditions in front of numerous people, you got offered the job. 

It’s been a dream come true. It’s hard, intense, the schedule is packed with shows, travel, rehearsal, recording. But even though you’re exhausted, you’re having the time of your life. 

You’ve grown close with all of the boys, but by the end of the first tour it was clear there was something special between you and Niall. It makes sense, since you both played guitar, leading you to spend more time with him than the others. 

So it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when he’d asked you on a date right when the tour was over. 

It’s been more than a year of you and Niall being together and everything has been perfect. He’s an absolutely wonderful boyfriend, and you’re over the moon in love with each other. 

He knows everything about you, every dream, every favorite, every fear. 

Which is why he tried so hard to fight against pyrotechnics being used for this tour. He knew you had a bad experience with a campfire when you were young, and it had left you with some trauma and fear of fire. 

You wouldn’t go near another bonfire or a lit fireplace, never mess with sparklers or fireworks, even gas stoves made you nervous because of the open flame. 

But management insisted that pyrotechnics were non-negotiable. Niall continued to press and got them to agree that nothing would be set up close to your spot on the stage. 

Now, months into the Take Me Home Tour, you’ve gotten used to the flames shooting up at every show. You still don’t love it, but there must be something to be said about exposure therapy, because by this point you barely notice it anymore. 

You’re on stage, playing guitar in front of thousands of people, sharing some secret glances with Niall. You’re on top of the world, the excitement and adrenaline running through your system making you feel invincible. 

But then your worst fear comes true. You finish “She’s Not Afraid” and go to switch guitars. You place your current one on the stand, but before you can grab the other one, a wave of heat rushes over you. 

Hands grab you and pull you away, but not fast enough. Your left arm is radiating the worst pain you've ever felt. It’s all you can focus on, the sounds of the people in the arena going silent as your ears start ringing. 

You’re shaking head to toe full body tremors, your breaths coming out as broken gasps. Familiar arms slide under your legs and around your back in order to carry you off stage. You tuck into Niall, letting his presence comfort you. 

He places you down on a folding chair backstage, taking your right hand in his when you begin to cry at the separation. 

“I’m right here, baby. Just giving them room to check you out, see where you’re hurt,” Niall says. 

You nod to show you understand, taking a deep breath to calm down and finally choking out, “I think it’s just my left arm. I was reaching for the guitar so that was the closest so I think it’s the only spot that got hit.” 

“Okay, that’s good sweetheart. Chris is here, he’s going to check the burn.”

Slowly, you extend your left arm to the EMT crouched next to you. He’s gentle as he cradles your arm, turning it to see the extent of the injury. 

After a moment he says, “It’s mostly surface level, but there’s a couple spots that are definitely second degree. You can see here, where it’s blistering,” he explains pointing to a spot on your skin. Rather than looking at it you watch Niall, who is focused on every word Chris says. 

“Does she need the hospital?” Niall asks. 

“Yes, she’ll need to see a doctor. I’m going to run cool water over her arm first and then she’ll need to be brought to the hospital.”

“Niall!” A shout catches everyone’s attention, Niall whipping around at the sound of his voice. Robert, one of their least favorite members of management, is walking over. “Encore time, let’s go,” he says. 

“What are you talking about? A member of the band just got burned on stage and you’re continuing the show?”

“They disconnected the faulty tech. Michael’s going to fill in for her. And you will go back out there and tell the audience that it’s a mild burn and everything is just fine.”

“I can’t just leave her-” Niall begins to argue, but Robert cuts him off, saying, “You can, and you will. Now get out there and finish the show.”

Knowing he had no choice, Niall quickly cups your face in his hands. He presses a kiss to your lips and says, “I will be right back. You’re in good hands, Chris is going to take care of you. I’ll only be gone a couple minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, though this situation is anything but okay. 

Niall leaves and your anxiety spikes once again. 

“C’mon kid, let’s get you patched up,” Chris says as he helps you up. He leads you back to your dressing room and into the bathroom within. He leaves you standing there for a moment while he starts the shower and gets it to the correct temperature. When he turns back to you he notices how shaky and pale you are and how quickly you’re breathing. 

“Y/N, I’m going to have you lay here and put your arm in the shower. Careful, gently now,” he says and he helps you lay down on a couple of towels that another EMT placed down. Chris leads your arm into the stream of water and it stings at first before you finally feel relief from the burning. 

Minutes pass and suddenly more voices fill the room. 

“Baby, I’m here,” Niall says and he holds your free hand once again. You look at him with a weak smile and he asks how you’re feeling.

“Better,” you answer. “Doesn’t hurt as much. I’m a little cold.” You’re just realizing that you’re shivering, which you feel is wrong considering you literally got hit with fire, but maybe the cool water is really doing its job. 

“Grab a blanket,” Niall says to someone behind him and you turn in time to see Louis step away. You look out the doorway and see the other boys standing there, all wearing matching expressions of worry. 

“Guys, I’m okay,” you say, hating how scared they look.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to be okay right now. We’ll take care of you,” Niall says.

“I love you,” you reply, not able to keep that thought in. You’re used to being strong, you’ve never been one to be coddled. And Niall knows that. He’s the first person who’s been there for you. It’s still unusual for you to depend on other people, but you’re grateful for the reminder in this moment. 

Louis comes back and hands Niall the blanket which he then gently places over you. 

“How much longer does she need to keep her arm under the water?” Louis asks.

“Few more minutes and then I’ll wrap it up so she can get to the hospital,” Chris answers.

“Ni?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Can you have everyone else leave? Please?” Immediately understanding that you’re overwhelmed by all the attention, he turns to Louis and asks him something quietly. Shortly after that the room clears of everyone except Niall, Chris and the other EMT. 

“Time to dry and wrap it,” Chris says. He turns the water off and pats the area. He’s as gentle as possible, but it still hurts. You turn to Niall who leans close and presses kisses to your face to distract you from the pain. 

Once the wound is covered you head out to the ambulance that they insist you take, which feels more embarrassing than anything. Niall stays with you the entire time, holding your hand for the drive there as well as the entire hospital visit. The doctor there examines the burn, applies cream and bandages it once more. He gives strict care instructions which Niall listens to intently, promising the doctor that he’ll be making sure you heal properly.

Luckily it’s not a travel night, and you head back to the hotel at some godforsaken hour of the morning. Management doesn’t even try to fight it when Niall joins you in your room, knowing that’s a fight they wouldn’t be winning. 

The pain medicine is doing its best, but you’re still somewhat uncomfortable by the time you get in bed. Niall holds you close to him, singing quietly to lull you to sleep.

Of course peaceful sleep is too much to ask for, and you’re plagued by nightmares, multiple ones that are so intense they wake you up sweating, unable to catch your breath. Niall is there, never complaining about the lack of sleep, letting you cry and vent as much as you need.

You’re given time off to recover, and though management still argues to keep the pyros, only two remain onstage, far away from the band. 

Your fear of fire returns, worse than ever. And while some people may laugh at you for getting scared by lightning or campfires, Niall never joins in. He validates your fears. He understands where you’re coming from and never belittles you. 

Over time your burn heals, though the scar remains. You hate looking at it, seeing how ugly it is and remembering one of the scariest moments of your life. But Niall is always there to tell you how beautiful it is, and to remind you how strong you are. While you hate that this happened to you, it’s proved that Niall is there for you, no matter what. And that means the world to you.

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AN: Thanks for reading! Louis x reader up next in 2 weeks!

[b1rds3ye]

Task Force 141 but it's Battlefield's Bad Company - a unit of disgraced soldiers who are valued no higher than cannon fodder but who are also too skilled to simply get the boot. Despite being thrown at the most devastating threats, they are low on resources and lack respect from the rest of the military. No one bothers learning their names, they're not expected to last more than a week. But a small unit of them always manage to pull through.

Captain John Price says he only took up Bad Company because he was given an offer of early retirement if he survived leading the dredges of the military. In truth, he's gone off the books one too many times, his last mission had him temporarily A.W.O.L. as he pursued what he believed was right. If the military can't silence him with retirement, they'll silence him with Bad Company where they'll throw every mission under the sun at him until he inevitably falls. He doesn't comment on how his last official mission went, but if you ever bring up General Shepherd he says he has a special bullet reserved for that bastard.

No one knows exactly why Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley got into Bad Company, he doesn't say. In fact, no one knows shit about him. All anyone knows is that he's a damn good soldier, the longest lasting in Bad Company - he transferred even earlier than Price. Simon says he willingly transferred here because he thrives with the freedom and informality compared to the standard military and no one dares comment on how utterly unhinged that sounds. Still, his personality seems to fit the story; he's not afraid to go off the beaten path to reach the mission objective which seems to have taken out everyone but him.

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish is just a menace, but a crafty one which is a problem for the military. He enjoys being demolitions expert and one day got too bored and a little too curious. Destroying physical objects would be too obvious but he may or may not have infected the military system with a virus to see what sort of information he could extract. He learnt the hard and very expensive way that he has a knack for hacking. Perhaps that's why they transferred him to Bad Company, with trash-quality guns, outdated tech and precisely negative ammo, there's not much destruction he can wreak. Well, that was likely the thought process but Johnny's always loved a challenge.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was framed - he presumes. He excels in all the drills, his performance is promising, he follows all the orders, and yet he's here. What he doesn't know is that he doesn't have the personality superiors desire. He questions too much, he's far too open minded, he can't be molded like other soldiers. He's stubborn - they transferred him because he filed one too many complaints of inefficient directives that could be boiled down into polite military speak of "screw you and your orders, I have a better way (P.S. may your tea always be lukewarm)". He's annoyed the big bad men at the round-table and now he's paying the price. Fortunately, those are the traits that thrive in Bad Company and the exact traits that prompted Price to take him under his wing.

And that just leaves you, the newest member on the brink of promotion to sergeant until you were transferred into Bad Company. You're jittery, you've heard of the nightmare that is Bad Company, how it contains the worst of the worst (and yes you are aware that it apparently includes you now). When you step off the helicopter, you repeat your simple goal - to survive this one mission with Bad Company so that you can go back to your squadron and get your damn promotion.

But as the mission progresses you find yourself getting closer to all the members of Bad Company. You look back fondly at the memory of Price forcing the rest of you to run back into gunfire to retrieve his stupid bucket hat, the same hat he plops on your head if you're ever too on edge. You can only feel thankful for Ghost's unconventional medical advice - you have to give it to him, this discount Bear Grylls has saved your life more times than you can count. You look forward to the new creative ways Soap will blow up an enemy cache, or watch as Gaz hilariously tries to mimic your direct superiors with an overly high-pitched voice as Price begrudgingly talks to them over comms.

And that's when you realise that there will be a day where the mission is inevitably over. And instead of looking forward to your transfer back, you find yourself wanting to risk your life every day with your beloved bunch of military misfits, the group of you against the rest of the world, than whatever stuffy perks come with being sergeant.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[vodika-vibes]

Hi!!! I was wondering if you could write a steamy imperial tech x rebel fem reader? If that’s ok with you. I really love your writing! ❤️

Simple Chemistry

Summary: You and Tech have been playing a game of cat and mouse for what seems like months. It was only a matter of time before things came to a head.

Pairing: Imperial! Tech x Rebel F!Reader

Word Count: 1668

Warnings: Some smut

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So. This is based in an AU type setting where Crosshair's chip never activated, but the rest of the Batchers did. So Crosshair was raising Omega alone, and they ended up joining the Rebellion because it's just him. I hope this is close to what you wanted!

“Well, well, well,” A small grin plays on your painted lips as you saunter over to the tall man leaning against the wall, “Look at what the tooka dragged in. I never expected to see you, of all people, in a place like this.”

This was a club.

One of your favorite clubs, for that matter. With dimmed lights interspersed with blinding strobe lights of different colors and loud, thrumming music that you can feel down to your bones.

This is a regular haunt of yours. You’ve recruited more than one young, hot-blooded young person for the Rebellion here. And you have no intention of stopping.

Even if the Empire found it.

Of course, Tech isn’t dressed like an Imp right now. Clever, he never would have been allowed in if he had been wearing the stark gray uniform of the Imperial Army. 

His dark eyes remain locked on your face, and your smile doesn’t waver.

“Well?” You prod as you lean into his personal space, “What brings you to my domain, darling?”

“I am not your darling.” Tech finally says, his lips twisting as he says the pet name that you bequeathed to him months ago.

“So you keep claiming, darling. And yet, you’re here. And you haven’t taken your eyes off me since I got here.” Your voice is light and conversational as if you’re not talking to someone who’s been hunting you for months.

This isn’t the first time you and Tech have met face to face. You’re both very talented at what you do, and you’ve been playing a game of cat and mouse with him, leading him on a wild chase across the galaxy…leading him away from the other rebels.

He almost caught you several months ago, but you managed to escape with the timely assistance of his own twin brother and younger sister. Though, you’re willing to bet that Tech doesn’t know that.

His eyes narrow at you, “I should take you in for questioning.” He says curtly.

“Oh? For what?”

“You are a member of the Rebel Alliance.” He snaps, his eyes flashing, “And you are a criminal.”

You laugh, “Prove it.”

He scowls at you, “I do not have to prove it.”

“Aww, sweetling,” You splay your hand on his chest, and you feel his breathing stutter, “We both know that the word of a clone is next to worthless to the Imps.”

He stiffens, and glowers at you. Likely because he knows you’re right. 

You grin at him, and hook your fingers in the material of his blacks, “Let’s dance, darling.”

“I did not come here to dance.” Tech says, “I came to arrest you.”

“Oh? That’s too bad. Because I came here to dance. And if you won’t dance with me, I’m sure I can find someone to keep me company.” You say lightly as you turn away from him and scan the crowd for someone else to keep you company.

A strong hand wraps around your thin wrist, and you glance at Tech over your shoulder. It would be so easy for him to hurt you, he’s so much stronger than you are, but his touch is gentle.

“Changed your mind, have you?” You ask with a sly smile.

“I am not letting you out of my sight.” Tech says.

“Lovely!” You twist your wrist and take his hand, pulling him onto the crowded dance floor, and then you press your body against his, your arms sliding around his neck. “There,” You say, your lips brushing against his ear, “Isn’t this better.”

He’s tense against you, but slowly his hands settle on your waist.

You grin at him and you lazily start to move against him, and his grip tightens on your waist. 

“Relax, darling.” You coo against his ear, “It’s just dancing.”

Slowly, very slowly, the tension drains out of his body, as he starts dancing with you. And even more slowly, one of his hands slides down until it’s resting against your ass and his other hand slides up to rest on the back of your neck.

It’s a very possessive hold, and you can’t help but wonder if he realizes he’s doing it.

Not that you mind one way or the other. If you had a problem with being felt up by the man you’re pressed against, you wouldn’t have dragged him to the dance floor.

You consider him for a moment. It’s going to be a bitch to extricate yourself from him at the end of the night, you know. And if you want to be smart, you’d put an end to this now.

But if you were smart, you wouldn’t have become a Rebel in the first place.

Lazily, almost carelessly, you press your lips below his ear in a light kiss. And Tech curses, a low groan falling from his lips. 

Score. One point for the Rebel Scum.

You grin against his skin at his reaction and lightly nibble on the same spot.

This time his groan is a little louder and his hips jerk against yours. 

“Ooh, you like that then,” You murmur in his ear.

Tellingly, Tech doesn’t reply to you, but you didn’t expect him to, not really.

“That’s okay,” You whisper soothingly, “It’s a very normal reaction, Tech. No judgment. And no teasing. Not from me.”

He doesn’t react for a moment, but then his grip tightens. His fingers bite into the skin on the back of your neck and of your ass, and you know you’ll have bruises. 

Tech pulls you back slightly, his gaze dark as he scans your face, and then there’s a flash of something soft, gone so quickly that you think you must have imagined it. 

Then his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is hot and desperate, as if he’s trying to replace everything that you are with himself.

He’s a surprisingly good kisser, his teeth and tongue working in unison to leave you breathless and clinging to him. 

Even with all of that, you’re surprised when he tugs you off of the dance floor and down a narrow hall. And you’re even more surprised when he leads you into a small storage room, and he locks the door behind him with a rough hit of the door panel.

And then you’re pressed against the door, surprisingly gently, and his lips are against yours again. His hands, rough and calloused, dip under the hem of your shirt, and drag against your stomach pleasantly. 

“Not in here to kill me, I take it?” You breathe against his lips.

“Annoying.” Tech replies, as he grips the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, and then he pauses, his gaze lingering on your bare breasts. “...you are not wearing a bra.”

“Nope.” He blinks at you, adorably flustered, and you grin, “I’m not wearing underwear either.”

A myriad of emotions cross his face, “Why?”

“Why am I not wearing any undergarments?” You ask, “Because I came here to get laid, Tech.”

The emotions finally settle on stark jealousy, “Did you?”

You laugh, your head falling back against the door, “Oh, darling, I’m in a locked storage room, half naked, with you. You silly, jealous man.”

He looks slightly sheepish for a moment, and then he glances at the miniskirt you’re wearing, “How often do you go bare-?”

“More often than not.” You say with a shrug.

Tech stares at you for a long moment, and then he releases a curse in another language, and crashes his lips against yours again, his hands burning a path across your breasts, and over your ribs, “I want you.” He gasps against your lips, “Need you.”

“You have me, Tech.” You whisper as you slide your hands under his shirt, tracing his muscles eagerly, “I’m right here.”

He fumbles with your skirt for a moment, before just shoving it up and out of the way. His long fingers slide across your thighs, taking his time to memorize the feel of your skin against him.

“Come back to the Empire with me,” He breathes as he slides his fingers a little further up your thigh, “I will protect you. No one will hurt you-” He’s pleading with you, half begging you, and you smile at him gently.

“No.” You pull him into a deep kiss as his fingers lightly glide across your clit and you release a gasping moan, before you control yourself again. He needs to hear this. “All it takes for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” You shudder as he eases his finger inside you and curls it, “Kriff, Tech-”

“You will not be safe.” Tech whispers, “Let me protect you.”

“No.” You repeat, through breathless moans, and you press your hands against his cheeks, “Freedom is worth fighting for.”

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against yours, “I want you to be mine.”

“I will not sacrifice my freedom for safety.”

He crashes his lips against yours, his tongue sliding against yours, and he slides his fingers out of you, pulling a whine from your throat. 

Tech tugs you away from the door and sits you on a crate, settling himself between your thighs, “Was only a matter of time,” He mutters against your lips.

“What was?” You gasp out the words as he trails his fingers over your bare body. 

“This. Us.”

You laugh breathlessly, “Too much chemistry?”

“Something like that.” He agrees, and he flashes you a slightly lopsided smile, before he kisses you again. 

And, for now, you lose yourself in him. In his lips and his touch. It’ll be twice as hard to pull yourself from him after this, he’ll hunt you to the ends of the galaxy.

But you have a pretty good feeling that, given enough time, you can get Tech to flip.

That’s a problem for later. For now, you have an attractive man wholly dedicated to bringing you pleasure, and that’s more important than anything to you.

[littledigits]

What is your take on the current animation industry and the way its heading for AI and job hiring? Ngl its looking a little bleak and I would love to hear your insight!

HOO. This is going to be a long one, but good question. Please keep in mind I am but one person with my one opinion.

I'm going to give you a little context to what was leading up to the job bust, the shit reality, and the hopeful conclusion.

Its always been a completive industry and unfortunately it will more-so for the next little while, even compared to when I graduated. The reality is, the animation industry GREW SO MUCH over the streaming services greenlighting projects to a point where I was like . WHERE ARE ALL THESE CARTOONS GOING. It felt like we went from nothing to a ton and was amazing that so much work was going around (looking back we see why it was too good to be true) A lot of schools and studios responded to this by growing as well. This means while it may recover, I dont see a way that it could reach the highs we had in the 2015-2021 period - because that wasn't representative of a sustainable model or a model they were planning on sticking with forever.

So the streaming bubble popped, and a lot of the reason why it popped was because streaming wasn't as lucrative when everyone joins in. This is the reality of working under the umbrella of Hollywood companies. Mergers happened, projects got pulled - and it probably wouldn't have seemed as big if we didn't have THE MOST JOBS EVER like, just a year before. It was a big rug pull. With the huge growth came a steep fall and all of it because of bad investments and choices of the people with the money. aka, we all wanted to chase someone elses idea thats making money for them and it didnt pay off - which leads me to AI.

While AI is scary and will do/is doing damage, it will not last forever. The industry only looks like its heading this way because the people who like AI are desperate to make it work, so they're pushing at it from all angles despite no AI company being profitable. ( once companies see that its not going to make them money they will drop it ) Its really nothing but a glorified pattern and predictive text machine that of course looks impressive when you feed it oodles of data. People who live on linked in and drink management courses like its water think that sort of shit is impressive, but they dont actually know how it works and just buy into the tech industry hype cycle . What we're seeing is them trying to make fetch happen, and it wont. (some useful bits will stay around but it doesnt 'think', a lot of this is just pure fakery)

You can trace a lot of things that lost jobs to bad investments from people higher up, who just jump around to different jobs when they make a mistake, or just simply get a bonus.

Its a symptom of the greater issue which is the monopoly of people in media and tech, which have been merging over the years with digital streaming. Lack of regulation in industries since the 80s has lead to a lot of the shit you see all around you, and it starts to be controlled by people who only want numbers goup. Overall , I think the animation industry in north America is entirely too controlled by the major studios and broadcasters, and that's going to be a tricky thing to navigate since they're very mask off about what their intentions are at this point. Its a growth-at-all-cost mindset that leads to things like AI, so while im confidant that what we see as 'ai' will die , we do have to realize as artists that as long as these people are in charge they will always try to find a way to cut the bottom line and not invest in the industry.

Its totally reasonable to feel bleak, but that's the intent. They want people to have to settle for less, and they want them to forget a time that it was better. Demoralization is part of the tactics, and 'starving' people out of jobs so they're easier to negotiate with is extremely common and pretty much what is happening right now. And this is exactly why you're seeing more union push from lots of industries because we're ALL being taken advantage of here. While it feels hopeless, this actually puts us much more in line with the artists and storytellers before us. They were up against the same people fighting the same fight, they were just called communists haha. Different words, same tactics, but the history of moments like this in the entertainment industry is more common then the shiny package we tend to grow up idolizing . ( its good to admire but we do often put these products up on a pedestal to our detriment )

The industry will survive, and it will change into something different which is GOOD. Because what it is right now, while workable and still full of things I enjoy - is NOT sustainable. And if we want to keep the skills of 2d animation, stop motion or any sort of creative trade to continue, we NEED sustainability. This is why collective action is so important, and so is diversity in the amounts of media we have! For example

YOUTUBE INDIE ANIMATION IS KICKING BROADCASTERS ASSES RIGHT NOW AND THEY NOTICE IT.

And while there are ups and downs regardless if you work in a small studio or a large one, I am hopeful that the conversations I've been seeing will spark change. Because as sucky as it is , compared to the rest of my time in the industry ( i think im on like 16 or 17 years now ) , I've never seen so much engagement or even discussion on the topic which says a lot. I think as artists we are always up for putting a lot of hard work into our skills, I think if enough of us point that passion into our community and collective action, we can start building an industry that does not have such a power imbalance, and that starts with community, education and engagement ! ( learning about the history of unions/animation/hollywood/workers rights,and then sharing that stuff! just through convo like this !) I hope this gives you some perspective, its something we're going to have to work at, but not something that is impossible. A lot of how the animation industry functions is not great, but what matters is that we work to make it better and the people who HAVE been doing that work are the ones that you want to find. They are the people with the proactive solutions to show you how to take power back. It helps fight the bleak feeling <3 tldr :

the solution is that as much as it sucks we try to make it better for those who come after us - and you can be involved in that job or not ! even just by supporting or being aware. This isnt animation is all careers, we're all effected by the same thing.

never forget.

[zedif-y]

“So,” Joel says. “D’you think Tango would talk to me if I broke the bow again?”

Which, obviously, is a joke. Obviously. He’s a blummin’ actor, for goodness sake. He can handle an audience of one.

Even if that audience is Tango. And also– not quite an audience, is it, when you’re just two people having a conversation–

Grian pauses, looking up from where he's been checking Joel’s outfit, one hand tracing a seam. "Joel," He replies, deadpan. "You are not breaking another prop just ‘cuz you're bad at talking to people." 

Joel bristles, oi! “I’m not bad at–!”

"Then talk to him like a normal person!" Grian retorts, rolling his eyes. He focuses his attention back on the costume, "Pretty sure he'll notice and chew you out for it anyway. I'm doing you a favor by telling you this, really." Joel scoffs.

He’s choosing not to reply to that, by the way. It’s a choice.

Joel lets Grian do his thing, double-checking his costume until Joel’s arms grow tired of staying up, pinning stuff into place and calling Cleo over for makeup stuff. Joel lets his mind drift, letting Grian lead him in front of a vanity mirror– Ah, look. His handsome face.

Joel studies his reflection for a moment, turning his head this way and that. And just before Grian leaves–

“…Would he really get mad?”

Grian pauses in the doorway, “Huh?” He frowns for a moment, squinting, then sighs. “Yes, Joel. You’re not that cute.”

“Oi!”

Grian lets the door shut with a click, his cackling muffled as he goes. That little…

Joel huffs, glowering at his reflection.

“Not that cute,” He grumbles. “I’m plenty cute. The cutest.”

Someone knocks on the door. Cleo pokes their head in, “Hey, Joel.”

“Hey,” He hasn’t stopped glaring at his reflection. “Don’t ask about Grian.”

Cleo lets herself in, “Wasn’t going to,” She says simply. “Now stop sulking and let me do your makeup.”

With great effort, (not really) Joel relaxes his face, his features smoothing out.

He looks good, is the thing. No matter what Grian has to say. Joel looks– good. Attractive. Drop-dead gor– whatever. The point is, he’s handsome, and he could woo whoever he wanted. Definitely.

(He thinks of Tango, gold-spun hair catching the stage lights, red eyes dark as wine.)

…Probably.

Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Ugh, he’s gonna be thinking about that all day, won’t he?

Stupid Grian. 

—

(“Cleo,” Joel starts. “Am I hot?”

The brush on his face stops.

“The fuck?”)

—

He breaks the prop again.

In his defense, it was still mostly an accident. Mostly.

"How."

Joel squirms a little under Tango's gaze, hoo boy. 

He holds up the broken prop bow, "Ehh, the uh. The thing is, I keep, like, using too much strength on it?" He grins, straightening his back. "You know, 'cuz I'm so strong and stuff. Happens uh, all the time, you know?” At Tango’s silence, he tacks on, “…It's annoying."

Tango raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Joel's grin goes lopsided, withering under the look.

"I– uh," He thins his lips, runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. "...Sorry?"

Tango’s tail sways a little behind him, His arms are crossed, just. Looking at him.

Okay, Joel thinks, palms starting to sweat. Maybe Grian was right.

“You realize I’m not even a props guy, right?” Tango asks. Joel swallows. “Official title’s set designer.”

Joel is so fucked.

“I knew that,” Joel manages, still clutching the damn prop. “Just– you helped me fix it last time.”

And the time before that. And, also, the time before that.

…Joel’s sweating up a damn storm over here.

Eventually, Tango sighs.

"C'mere, I've got something for ya."

Joel's eyebrows leap up. He follows Tango as he leads him deeper backstage, past costume racks and other stage tech-y stuff– none of which Joel can make heads or tails of.

His mind races with questions, half of his brain going why is he leading me all the way back here while the other half is really trying not to ogle at Tango’s–

"There it is," Tango says, jolting him out of his thoughts. He scoops up what looks like a small toolkit, holds it out to Joel. "Here, for the next time you manage to break that poor bow again."

Joel opens his mouth, closes it again. He just stands there, dumbfounded and cheeks burning with shame, "I don't know how to–"

"You've seen me do it like five times, haven't you?" Tango asks, teasing. Joel's going to die. "You're a big boy, you can do it."

What'd he just call me, "Right," Joel squeaks, "That's– Right. Yeah."

He reaches out to grab it–

But Tango pulls it back, his grin growing wider.

"Wha–?"

Tango tilts his head, "There are better ways to get my attention, you know."

Joel's heart leaps into his throat.

He’s so fucked–!

It must show on his face, too, because then Tango laughs and it would've been a win if it weren't at him– "I'm serious, man! You didn't have to do all that stuff– You thought I wouldn’t notice?"

Tango shakes his head, gives Joel the toolkit. He closes Joel’s hand around it with his own.

Joel's breath hitches in his throat– Tango’s touch burns but in a good way, like sunlight on skin, like– 

"It's not like you needed help getting my attention, anyway."

If this were a movie, Joel thinks this is where he’d hear a record scratch.

Hold on. Rewind. What?

Tango looks surprised, “Did you really not know?” 

“I–” Joel closes his mouth. He’s trying to form words, honest, Tango’s hand is just so warm– “Would you believe me if I said I knew?”

Tango laughs, (Again! Joel’s mind crows.) “It wouldn’t be your best performance, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Answer’s no, then,” Joel replies, strangled. A pause. “No as in, I didn’t know– oh gosh, I hope I’m reading this right–”

Tango’s hand falls away, amusement twinkling in his red eyes. Joel tries to remember how to breath.

Tango’s lips pull up into a smile, “You know, you’re way different off-stage.”

Ouch. “Sorry to disappoint,” Joel blurts out, a faint sting in his chest. Tango’s eyes go wide.

“That’s not what I meant!” His tail lashes in panic, “You’re– you’re a completely different person on-stage, you know? Which I get is the point, you’re amazing, just…”

Joel blinks. Is his brain melting out of his ears? It feels like his brain is melting out of his ears.

It echoes in his head, you’re amazing.

A faint red dusts Tango’s cheeks, “…I think I kind of prefer the real deal.”

“Oh,” Joel says, voice faint. Tango’s blush deepens.

“I just made this weird, didn’t I–”

Joel’s brain kicks into gear, finally, “D’you wanna go out some time?” He asks. His hands shake, just a little. “Cuz I think you’re bloody brilliant, Tango, so if you’re gonna be saying stuff like that,” He swallows. “You better at least let me take you out to coffee.”

Tango’s grin is blinding, “Only if you promise to stop breaking props.”

Joel laughs, a giddy rush in his chest.

“I promise.”

(At the back of his mind– Take that, Grian!)

—

Somehow, somewhere, Grian just sneezed.

[20001541]

What do you think being in prison was actually like for All For One? We know he lies A LOT, so I don't think he's nearly as unaffected as he's shown or rather not shown I guess 😓

Thinking deeper on afo's imprisonment it's actually a lot more disturbing the more I think about it.

What afo is going through is basically solitary confinement 24/7. Guns constantly pointed at him ready to headshot him the second he tries tapping into his quirk or squirms too much. Unable to move at all from the neck down due to restraints. So many sensors it leaves him either completely vulnerable or overstimulated at worst. We never see him lying down either. He's always sitting which is painfull and extremely detrimental to a person's health and mobility if done for long hours without standing up.

I know he's an S rank criminal and super dangerous because the only person who could defeat him (All Might) retired, but you're telling me this futuristic society couldn't do anything more humane with all that tech other than shoving him into a death trap? (I wanted to call it a Saw death trap, but I never watched any of the Saw films ummm)

There's also the more creepy implication to questions like how does afo go to the bathroom in Tartarus. There's no way they just let him walk up to a toilet/urinal 😨

All For One is no stranger to dehumanization and he takes almost everything in stride even Tartarus from the looks of it, but that one panel where he almost begs All Might to not go always stuck out to me.

Sorry for the long essay. I just wanted to say something about this and chat with a fellow All For One fan.

you don't need to apologize, it's an interesting topic!

I think afo's time in prison affected him more deeply than he would ever admit. look how they had him ->

strapped to a metal slab, not being able to move his limbs at all, alone for hours constantly being watched and he doesn't have access to his quirks that allow him to navigate the world so he's completely blind here. oh let's not forget that if he thinks about activating a quirk or makes a sudden movement the guns pointed at his head will automatically shoot him. also like you said being in a sitting position for a long period of time will end up being detrimental to your health.

tartarus whole existence is a violation of human rights and that's without mentioning the disgusting way the guards treat the prisoners. yes they did evil things, but I think dehumanization of any group of people is a dangerous road to walk on and can lead to horrific things committed against said group because it's easier to justify doing horrid things to others if you think the other party isn't even human. with all the amazing quirks and technology that is available it's a surprise to see that they haven't come up with a better way to deal with imprisoned villains. maybe it's because they don't care to come up with a better solution because once again they don't see them as humans so why should they bother trying to make their living situation more bearable? awful stuff.

too bad we don't see anyone from our main cast really question this type of treatment, but oh well. I guess it's implied some things did change as we see spinner was allowed to write and publish a book while in prison (doubt they let him free to do it). so he's not strapped to a metal chair all day like the other prisoners we saw. unless he's getting some special treatment, I don't know the story doesn't really tell us about what happened with him after his confrontation with izuku. only shows us that he managed to publish his book.

BUT back to the main question, what was being in prison in like for afo? honestly, I think he had to fight to stay sane while down there. being in those conditions for a long period of time will wear down your sanity. you saw how desperate he was for all might to stay and talk with him despite him being someone he hates. probably the thought of getting yoichi back kept him going, after all when he's down there he gets excited when he's able to hear his voice for the first time in over a century. even the guards freaked out because his the monitor tracking his vitals went crazy when he heard it.

still I think the whole experience disturbs him more than he would ever admit and it was traumatic but he just shoves down in order to focus on the goal ahead of him. no time to process any of that he's got a brother to catch

[cinderella-ish]

If you know anyone who writes music, today has probably been a very crappy day for them.

Finale, one of the most dominant programs for music notation for the past 35 years, is coming to an end. They’re no longer updating it or allowing people to purchase it, and it won’t be possible to authorize on new devices or if you upgrade your OS.

I’ve personally been using Finale to write music for about 20 years (since middle school!). It’s not something that I depend on for money, and my work should be compatible with other programs, so I’ll be fine, but this is very, very bad news for lots of people who depend on this software for their livelihood.

(cut added so info added to reblogs doesn't get buried!)

The shittiest thing is that this was preventable. From a comment on Finale’s post:

As a former Tech Lead on Finale (2019-2021) I can tell you this future was avoidable. Those millions of lines of code were old and crufty, and myself and others recognized something had to be done. So we created a plan to modernize the code base, focusing on making it easier to deliver the next few rounds of features. I encouraged product leadership to put together a feature roadmap so our team could identify where the modernization effort should be focused.

We had a high level architecture roadmap, and a low level strategy to modernize basic technologies to facilitate more precise unit testing. The plan was to create smart interfaces in the code to allow swapping out old UI architecture for a more modern, reliable, and better maintained toolset that would grow with us rather than against us.

But in the end it became clear support wasn’t coming from upper management for this effort.

I’m sad to see Finale end this way.

Finale also could allow people who own the software to move it to their new devices in the future, but Capitalism. It’s a pointless corporate IP decision that only hurts users.

There are three main options for those of us who are having to switch: Dorico, MuseScore, or Sibelius.

Sibelius has been Finale’s main competitor for as long as I can remember. It currently runs on a subscription model (ew). The programs are about equal in terms of their capabilities, though I’ve heard Finale has more options for experimental notation. (I’ve used both; Finale worked better for my workflow, but that’s probably just because I grew up using it.)

Dorico is the hip new kid and I’d personally been considering switching for quite a while, but it’s ungodly expensive (about twice what Finale cost at full price). Thankfully, they are allowing current Finale users to purchase at a price comparable (well, still 50% higher) to what Finale used to cost with the educator discount. It apparently has a very steep learning curve at first, though it is probably the best option for experimental notation.

MuseScore is open source, which is awesome! But it also has the most limitations for people who write using experimental notation.

I haven’t used MuseScore or Dorico and will probably end up switching to one of those, but it’s also not an urgent matter for me. Keep your musician friends in your thoughts; it’s going to be a rough road ahead if they used Finale.

[missfrieden]

Bad Batch ancient Egypt AU

Bad Batch AU Egypt

Introduction

In a land, thousands of years ago, the sun was always shining and life depended on a river. The vein of life, the Nile. The visual representation of Hapi.

This idea came to me, because of personal interests, research and work. I decided to try it, and not be overly too specific with the practices and dynasties. Basically mushing the kingdoms a bit together, so I can really try to also educate in a way. I will try to link information which may confuse, or try to explain it within the story. I a always open to answer any questions.

The start may be a bit well, I either struggle to write the start or not.

Masterlist

Chapter 1: Introduction

Ancient Egypt, a civilization at its zenith with grand pyramids, intricate temples, and bustling cities. The society is hierarchical, deeply religious, and technologically advanced for its time. The Nile River is central to daily life, agriculture, and trade.

Characters:

Hunter: A renowned general in the pharaoh's army. His keen senses make him an exceptional tracker and strategist. Hunter is known for his loyalty to the pharaoh and his unmatched ability to lead and inspire his soldiers.

Wrecker: A formidable warrior and a chief builder of the pharaoh's monumental projects or the noble families. His incredible strength is legendary, and he is often seen leading the construction of temples and houses, as well as defending them from threats.

Tech: One of the palace scribes and inventor, creating advanced tools in his free time and managing the vast records of the kingdom. Tech's inventions aid in agriculture, construction, and even in the military, providing strategic advantages, like making the chariots sturdier.

Echo: A high-ranking advisor and oracle, often seen as a bridge between the mortal world and the gods. Echo’s wisdom and foresight are invaluable in both governance and warfare. His insights are considered divine messages from the gods. Which he recieved after a horrific accident as his time as a soldier.

Crosshair: The pharaoh’s elite archer and hunter, known for his deadly precision. Crosshair protects the royal family and hunts dangerous game. His skills are also employed in strategic assassinations to eliminate threats to the kingdom. Or to keep the harbour safe, spotting foreigners before others can.

Omega: A young priestess in learning considered to be a prodigy blessed by the gods. Omega's unique abilities and pure heart make her a beloved figure among the people. She often assists in rituals and tries to provide spiritual guidance. And often seen playing with other kids.

The golden sun began to rise over the bustling city of Memphis, casting its first rays on the majestic temples and bustling marketplaces. Within a spacious compound near the royal palace, the Bad Batch siblings stirred from their slumber, each preparing for the day's duties.

Hunter was the first to rise. The leader of the siblings, he moved with purpose towards his personal shrine dedicated to Maahes, the lion-headed god of war and knives. The small altar was adorned with offerings of meat and a carved lion statue. Kneeling, he closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. “Maahes, grant me your strength and ferocity in battle today. Guide my hand and protect our land.” The air seemed to thrum with a powerful energy as he finished his prayer. Satisfied, he donned his armour, a leather tunic, and made his way to the palace to meet with the pharaoh’s generals.

Wrecker, known for his immense strength, was next to rise. His personal shrine to Ptah, the god of craftsmen and builders, stood prominently in his room. Wrecker offered bread and beer, his voice echoing through the compound as he prayed. “Ptah, guide my hands today. Help me build wonders that will stand for eternity.” His morning ritual complete, Wrecker headed to the construction site where a new temple was being erected. His presence was a source of inspiration for the workers, who admired his strength and leadership.

Tech, ever the intellectual, approached his shrine dedicated to Thoth, the god of wisdom and knowledge. Surrounded by scrolls and intricate tools, Tech lit incense and offered a beautifully scribed papyrus. “Thoth, grant me wisdom and clarity in my endeavours today. Help me uncover new knowledge and innovate for the betterment of our people.” After his prayer, Tech immersed himself in his workshop, working on an improved irrigation system to benefit the kingdom’s agriculture.

Echo, the spiritual advisor, was already at the temple, performing early morning rituals for Horus and Shai. His dual devotions made his shrine unique, adorned with feathers, small statues, and symbols of destiny. As the sun rose higher, he prayed: “Horus, protect our kingdom and guide us with your divine sight. Shai, help us understand the paths laid out for us and make wise decisions.” Echo’s presence in the temple was calming, and many citizens sought his counsel. His insights were considered divine messages, and his advice was highly respected.

Crosshair, the pharaoh’s elite archer, made his way to his shrine dedicated to Neith, the goddess of war and hunting. He offered a freshly hunted rabbit, his precision and skill evident in the clean kill. “Neith, grant me precision and protect our land from all who threaten it.” After his prayer, Crosshair joined the palace guard, which will be heading on today’s hunt.

Omega, the youngest, was full of energy as she approached her training. As a priestess in training, she honoured all gods, assisting in various rituals throughout the day. Her curiosity and devotion were clear as she participated in the morning rites. She often wants to join Echo, but he says the high priestess decides in which temple she will be.

Wrecker’s booming voice could be heard at the construction site, directing workers and moving massive stone blocks with ease. His strength, blessed by Ptah, was crucial in the monumental task. Tech continued his work on the irrigation system, consulting with officials and refining his designs and keeps to write down the test scribes neatly, never able to do just one thing. His mind, guided by Thoth, was a wellspring of innovation.

Echo within one of the many the temples, where he performed more rituals and offered guidance to those in need. His dual devotions gave him a unique perspective, and his advice was sought by many.

Crosshair patrolled the palace grounds after his hunt was successful, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Neith’s influence was evident in every arrow he loosed and every threat he neutralized.

As the sun began to set, the siblings reconvened at their home. They shared another meal, discussing the day’s events and their devotions. Hunter reflected on the day’s achievements. It was never easy to take care of them all, but he does. The gods are guiding him the right way.

Echo, ever the spiritual guide, said, “Horus and Shai have shown us the way. The omens are favourable, and our future looks bright.” Taking a sip from his young wine. Omega ads, smiling, shared her progress. “I learned so much today. The priests are teaching me well. Soon, I’ll know all the gods.”

As the night drew in, the siblings performed their evening rituals. Hunter offered thanks to Maahes, Wrecker to Ptah, Tech to Thoth, Echo to Horus and Shai, and Crosshair to Neith. Omega even if full of energy goes to fall on her bed tiredly, anticipating to continue her training. After the boys shared one last sweet beer, to make sure Omega did not sneak out again as she manages even to go through Tech’s systems unnoticed, retired to their quarters, their hearts filled with devotion and purpose. Each one thanked their deity before sleep, ready to face the challenges of the next day with the same determination and unity. Their respect for each other’s beliefs and their shared commitment to their roles in the kingdom of ancient Egypt bound them together as a formidable family.

Chapter 2

Tags: @sleepycreativewriter @clonethirstingisreal @babyscilence @happydragon

[dumfanting]

Strap In, ch 1: Surprise

AO3 Link

Rating: E, explicit

Warnings: alcohol, Tech is shy, meet-cute, kissing, makeouts, nipple play, oral sex (F receiving), squirting, handjobs, penetration (F receiving), PiV, creampie, cum eating, Dom reader, Sub Tech, enthusiastic consent | Notes: Fem reader, second person pov, present tense

This one is long overdue! I’ve had the idea since I finished “Orders” over two years ago. This first chapter has been sitting, 99% complete, in my drafts for weeks, and I finally found two seconds to finish it up and post. This one breaks the pattern of the first two in that a single chapter is over 5k words, and we got to the good stuff right away, neither of which was planned. I had to take a break midway through the final part, so you should enjoy it as much as I did. (Also using updated banners for the first time)

5872 words

F! Reader/ Tech

“When I noticed he doesn’t leer, it was a nice change of pace. He doesn’t clam up with any of the others that work here either, so I can put two and two together.”

You’ve had busy nights before, but that was on the small backwater planet you left behind, and a busy night in a Coruscant bar is literally worlds away from what you’re used to. When your manager, a pretty older Chiss woman named Jenko, had shown you around about an hour before opening, it didn’t seem so bad, just much larger than the small cantina you came from. However, almost as soon as the place opened, 79s was overflowing with clones. A few platoons of soldiers had returned to the capital earlier than expected. 

It’s been an exhausting night so far. Your feet are aching, you haven’t eaten in hours, and the persistent wave after wave of men hitting on you is doing nothing to improve your mood. It had been flattering at first, but after hearing the same lame pickup line from three different people within an hour, the novelty wore off quickly. 

You find a brief reprieve when your manager notices that someone isn’t taking your polite ‘no’ for an answer and quickly marches over. 

“I’ve told you two times already tonight to leave the staff the fuck alone, and if I have to repeat myself again I will personally kick you out on your ass,” she says to the man, her red eyes narrowed as she steps in front of you. He grumbles something in response before drunkenly stumbling away as she shakes her head at him. 

“You can’t be nice with these guys,” Jenko says, her voice stern but her expression understanding. 

“Yeah, I can see that now,” you say, unconsciously rubbing your temple. Jenko asks when you last ate. 

“Uh, about an hour before we opened, I think?” you say, turning from the bar and starting to wash a mountain of used glasses in a basin nearby. Your hands are trembling just enough for you to lose your grip on a heavy flagon and drop it at your feet, where it shatters. You curse under your breath and glance around for something to clean it up with. Jenko holds a steadying hand to your shoulder, stopping you. 

“Go take a break in the office honey, we can handle it up here for half an hour,” she says. You’re about to protest, but a loud growl from your stomach cuts you off. Jenko turns you around and gently pushes you toward the long hallway that leads to the refreshers, supply closet, and manager's office. You sigh, but make your way down the poorly lit hall. 

As you go, you’re too focused on whatever Jenko might have in her mini fridge to pay much attention to where you’re going, so it’s no surprise when you run into someone. Having walked face-first into them, you stumble backward and trip over your own feet, landing flat on your ass. You blink a few times before looking up to see who you’d run into. From your perspective on the floor, he’s very tall and almost intimidating, though he appears just as startled as you are. He hesitates, then offers his hand and pulls you back to your feet. 

“Apologies, I-I didn’t see you there,” he says, nervous. He takes a step back and you know he’s looking you up and down, but, unlike everyone else that night, it doesn’t bother you. Besides, you’re doing the same, now that you can see him a little better. He’s wearing what appears to be modified clone-issue armor, but he doesn’t look like any of the other soldiers you’d been dealing with; he’s slightly taller, leaner, and most importantly, sober. His goggles, and the dark, inquisitive eyes behind them stand out most to you though, and you feel your heart beat faster when they meet your own. 

He seems to realize that he’s staring after a moment, then shakes himself before taking another step back. The entire encounter has caught you both off guard, and it takes you a moment to realize that he’d said something. 

“I didn’t see you either, sorry,” you say, trying not to stumble over your words as you speak. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. His voice is different too, almost soft spoken, and his words are thoughtful, deliberate. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You don’t give him time to respond, and instead move around him before slipping into the office, leaving him in the hallway looking mildly confused. 

Around an hour or so later, things are calming down as many of the men leave for the night, which thins the crowd significantly. Every now and then you’ll glance around, wondering where the guy you bumped into had gone. You eventually spot him at a round table at the back of the room with four other men. They don’t look like the other clones either, save for one, and you can’t help yourself from asking Jenko if she knows who they are. 

“Oh, them?” she says, glancing in their direction from behind the bar where you both are standing. 

“Freaks is what they are, fuckin’ lab experiments. Them and the half droid,” comes a drunken mumble from the patron in front of you. You look over and see it’s the same guy who’d been so persistent with you earlier. “Keep your distance. ‘Sides, I’ll take better care of you,” he continues. 

Jenko looks as if she was about to tell him off, but you beat her to the punch. 

“Says the guy that still hasn’t realized he’s dumped his drink into his chest plate. I’ll take my chances on my own,” you say, disgust evident in your tone and on your face.

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he says, reaching for your arm. As soon as he does, Jenko grabs him by the wrist and twists his arm around, immediately pulling his attention away from you and making him yelp.

“Three strikes asshole, now leave on your own before I kick you out myself,” she spits before letting him go. He calls her a ‘psycho bitch’ under his breath, but obeys and leaves the building. 

“‘Lab experiments’. So they are clones?” you say, otherwise not acknowledging what just happened. 

“Yeah, as far as I know,” Jenko says as she wipes up the mess left behind on the bar. She looks over and sees you watching them. “Mind that one with the toothpick,” she continues. You make a questioning sound at her, so she keeps talking. “You definitely can’t be nice with him,” she says. 

“Noted,” you say, shaking your head. “And the rest?” 

“Big guy’s loud, but friendly. Other two are polite. That one with the goggles barely speaks,” she says. She straightens up and gives you an appraising look. “Why?” she asks. 

“Oh, no reason,” you say, looking away from them, and her. 

“I may not know much about you, but I can already tell you’re a bad liar,” Jenko says, laughing a little. 

“I walked into the quiet one earlier in the back, that’s all,” you say, still not looking at her in an attempt to hide the soft flush on your face. 

“Well, don’t expect to see them very often,” she says, then drops the subject. 

It seems that Jenko was wrong, as you do, in fact, see the unusual clones at least once every week or two after that, which is often enough to memorize their regular orders. It eventually reaches a point where, when you see them come in through the door, you’ll have their drinks already made and bring them over once they’ve been seated. The first time you did this, the one you’d run into was nervously shaking so much that he spilled his drink when you handed it to him. Thinking about it later, you hoped that meant he was just as interested in you as you are in him. 

As much as you want to go talk to him, you never seem to have time while on shift; you’ve proven to Jenko to be a dependable worker and there are other regulars that monopolize your attention. While you work, you’ll occasionally glance at the table in the back, wondering if the one you’d bumped into would ever come and talk to you. After several weeks passed and he still hadn’t made a move, you’re disappointed, but accept what you interpret as disinterest. 

One night, after enough time has passed for you to be bumped up to assistant manager, the odd clone with the toothpick, whom you learned was named Crosshair, slinks his way over to where you are at the quieter end of the bar and catches your attention. 

“Save it,” you say, before he’d even opens his mouth. 

“Ooh, snappy little thing today,” he drawls. You roll your eyes at him. 

“What do you want?” you ask, hoping he’ll just order a drink and go. 

“I don’t want a damn thing from you, that ship has obviously sailed,” he says. He jerks his head over at the table. “But he does,” he continues, smirking. 

“He’s interested after all?” you think, and fight to keep your face neutral. “Has he just been nervous?”

“Are you trying to embarrass him?” you ask, your tone flat. 

“What if I am?” he says, watching you. 

“Then you’re an asshole,” you say, exasperated, as you make drinks. “I’ve had a suspicion for a while anyway,” you say. Crosshair raises a silver eyebrow at you. 

“Oh really?” he says, sounding unconvinced. 

“I’m not oblivious to the way you all look at me,” you say, pausing to clean up a spill. “So when I noticed he doesn’t leer, it was a nice change of pace. He doesn’t clam up with any of the others that work here either, so I can put two and two together.” 

Crosshair scoffs dismissively at you, needling you further. 

“So… what are you trying to do here, talk to me for him? He’s a grown-ass man and if he hasn’t said anything to me there’s probably a reason, even if you don’t agree with it,” you say, growing impatient. “Now order something or get the hell out of the way,” you say before waving him off. He scoffs again before skulking away. 

You glance over at Jenko, knowing she’s been watching the entire interaction, and she looks proud of you. You shake your head, exasperated, then she nods her head at something behind you. Confused, you turn back around and see the quiet guy getting up and heading in your direction, looking just as annoyed with Crosshair as you had felt. 

“Take a minute if you want, I’ve got it for now,” she says, obviously trying not to smile, and you nod a quick thanks to her before moving to the very end of the bar, your heart pounding. 

At the round table in the back, everyone watches Crosshair talk to you. You snap at him, hands on your hips, then wave him off, and he returns, grumbling. 

“Ooh, shot down!” Wrecker says, laughing at him as he sits. 

“Again,” Echo says, rolling his eyes. 

Hunter glances at you before he says “I think I like her too,” while looking over at Tech.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tech says to Crosshair, irritated. “And I am perfectly capable of speaking to her myself.”

“Oh? Go on then. Take a shot,” he says, just as annoyed. Tech huffs and stands. 

“Fine, if it will shut you up,” he says, then makes his way over to the bar. His irritation outweighs his nerves, so he doesn’t notice the way his heart rate kicks up when you meet his eyes and smile at him. 

“You need a bacta patch for his wounded pride?” you ask. 

“You shut him down quite effectively,” he says, and he looks impressed. 

“Maybe, but he still got what he wanted,” you say, softly shaking your head. 

“And what’s that?” Tech asks, confused.

“You’re talking to me,” you say. 

“Oh god damn it,” he mutters while briefly hiding his face behind his palm, which pulls a laugh out of you, though it isn’t mocking. 

“Took you long enough,” you say, smiling at him again. 

“You say that like-,” he says, speaking slowly, as if trying to figure you out. 

“Like I’ve wanted you to? Because I have,” you say, being upfront with him. He makes a startled ‘what?’ sound at you in surprise. You nod at him and rest your elbows on the bar, leaning in closer to him. He tries not to look at the way your breasts are straining against the buttons of your shirt as you do this, and his mouth suddenly goes dry. 

“I haven’t had a chance to get to you myself yet,” you say, and you can tell he’s flustered, even if he isn’t saying anything. 

“Although… my shift ends in,” you pause and glance at the chrono on your wrist. “About thirty minutes. Stick around?” you say, and your tone is flirtatious.

“I-if you want me to,” he says. He’s starting to sweat, just enough to be noticeable, and swallows loudly. 

“I do,” you say, smiling again and watching him with your chin resting on your hand. 

“That- that’ll be acceptable,” he says.

“Great!” you say, straightening yourself. He nods at you and turns to walk back to the table, but you stop him. 

“Hey, by the way,” you say, getting his attention. You give him your name, and he does the same. 

“Nice to finally know your name, Tech. Half an hour, okay?” you say. 

“Y-yes, of course,” Tech says, obviously not expecting any of this to have happened. As he returns to the table, he is now vividly aware of the effect you have on him, and a smile cracks his lips before he can stop it. He sits back down and finds that everyone has been watching him. 

“You’re welcome,” Crosshair says with a smirk. 

“That went well,” Echo says. 

“Yeah, I ain’t seen you this happy since we got the ship,” Wrecker says, and Hunter doesn’t say anything, much to Tech's relief. He glances back and finds you watching him. When you see that he’s caught you, you blush and busy yourself elsewhere. 

A half hour hasn’t felt this long since you were back in school. Time seems to crawl past, and you’re getting antsy, restlessly wandering up and down the bar. Every now and then you’ll glance over at Tech, and he’s often doing the same to you. Jenko notices this and calls you over. 

“Go ahead and count out your till, you’ve only got five minutes left anyway,” she says. You’re about to protest, but she chuckles and stops you. “It’s fine. Your mind is clearly elsewhere,” she says. 

You fail to hide the smile on your face as you say thank you, and try not to rush through your task. Once that’s done, you spend a few seconds fretting over yourself in the mirrored back of the bar. 

Jenko nudges your side, getting your attention. “You look fine honey. Besides, the others are leaving. Don’t keep him waiting,” she says, giving you a little push. You take a second to compose yourself and find that, yes, Tech is still in his seat while the other four make their way to the front door. Crosshair shoots you a smug look as they pass.

“You’re still an asshole,” you say, and though he doesn’t respond, the big guy loudly laughs at him. 

You call Tech’s name to get his attention as you approach, though you don’t need to; he’s been watching you since you passed his brothers. You sit and settle in on his right, rather than across from him, but you can see that his body has stiffened, and he’s noticeably uncomfortable. 

“Oh damn, am I too close?” you ask. He doesn’t verbally say anything, but the way his posture relaxes when you move further back from him tells you enough. “Sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t need to be,” Tech says. “You’re the first to ever ask; it’s appreciated,” he says without looking directly at you.��

“You’re not like the other clones I’ve met,” you say casually, turning your body towards him. Tech cocks an eyebrow at you. 

“You’re just now noticing?” he says dryly, and you laugh a little. 

“Oh haha. That’s not what I meant,” you say. 

“What do you mean then?” he asks, his head tilting slightly to one side. 

“Well, the obvious aside, you’re so much more respectful, for one,” you say. “It’s nice to not be stared at or hit on. I’m willing to bet that you’re more intelligent than the other guys too,” you continue, gesturing at the men around you. You notice how his posture subtly shifts as you speak; he’s turned his upper half toward you and moved slightly closer. 

“You would win that bet,” he says, clearly trying not to smirk. 

“There’s no tactful way to ask this,” you say apologetically, “but why are you and your squad so-,” you say, but he interrupts without realizing it. 

“Weird?” he says, sounding exasperated. 

“Different,” you say, gently correcting him. “I don’t think you’re weird.”

Tech meets your eyes and when he sees your sincerity, his breath catches in his throat. He takes a moment to adjust his goggles before launching into how he and his brothers, minus Echo (the one with the cybernetic limbs) were genetically engineered to enhance specific traits and minimize others. You’re paying close attention to his every word, and neither of you notice how you’ve been subtly moving closer to each other. Tech suddenly stops and seems to deflate.

“S-sorry, I’m rambling again,” he says, looking away from you and slouching. You feel a pang in your chest at this; clearly he’s been told to shut up by people he respects multiple times. 

“Oh, no you weren’t! I’ve always wondered about cloning and Kamino, it’s fascinating,” you say. He blinks at you for a few seconds, taken aback by your interest, before continuing to talk as if he hadn’t stopped and gradually sitting up straighter again. 

As he speaks, you occasionally ask him something or make an observation, and he asks if you’re familiar with certain concepts or ideas. He’s consistently impressed when you already know most of them. 

“I have to ask,” he says, adjusting his goggles as he looks at you. “What are you doing working at a bar? You’re clearly smart enough to do something else,” he says. 

“‘Something else’ was too restrictive for my taste,” you say with a shrug. “The drunks aside, I enjoy this a lot more, and I read plenty in my off time. I will admit the conversations aren’t this stimulating though.”

Tech doesn’t comment but you pick up the way he seems to be studying you before getting the conversation back on track. Once he does, you both talk for so long that you only realize how much time has passed when Jenko switches the lights on and starts mopping the floor by your table. 

“Oh damn, have we really been here that long?” you say, surprised, glancing at your chrono. 

“It’s been a few hours, yes,” Tech says.

“Well, it certainly didn’t feel like it. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself with someone like this,” you say, your cheeks getting warm. 

“Agreed. I know I’ve never had the pleasure of such good company before,” Tech says, sheepish. 

The two of you suddenly realize how close you are, and when you meet his eyes, you can see that he’s noticeably relaxed, which is a relief. You then notice how he seems to be glancing from your lips to your eyes. You start to lean in, then remember that you’re technically still at work, so instead back off and clear your throat. You look away for just a second while you recompose yourself, then sigh softly and get to your feet, Tech following you. 

“I guess I should get home,” you say, disappointed. 

“Is it far from here?” he asks. 

“Maybe ten blocks down,” you say. “Walk with me?” you ask, giving him a pointed look. Taken aback, he stumbles over his words. 

“Y-you really, um, want me to?” he asks, flustered. 

“I really do,” you say, surprising him yet again that night. “Just give me a second to grab my bag, okay?” Tech nods and you speed walk behind the bar. 

As you sling your purse onto your shoulder, Jenko stands next to you and nudges your upper arm. You look over at her with a questioning sound. 

“Think you’ll be late tomorrow?” she says with a knowing expression. Your face flushes, and you glance over at Tech, who is now waiting for you by the door. 

“To be blunt, I want to be,” you say, making her laugh. “But that’s not entirely my decision,” you continue. 

“Well, when he’s here and you’re not, he always looks disappointed,” Jenko says. You don’t verbally answer but she can hear the small ‘aw’ sound you make. 

“Regardless, if you won’t be on time then I need you here at least two hours after we open and no later,” she says, using her ‘boss voice’ even though her face is relaxed. 

“Yes ma’am,” you say, followed by a soft but nervous laugh. You take a deep, steadying breath, then move back around the bar and meet Tech at the door. 

The two of you step outside and Tech watches you take a deep breath of the ‘fresh’ air. There’s a small satisfied smile on your lips. They look soft, and he can’t help but wonder what they would feel like on his own. 

“Tech? You coming?” you ask. You had moved a few steps ahead of him and he didn’t notice. He shakes himself and quickly catches up with you. 

Neither of you say much, having already talked for so long in the bar, but the quiet is comfortable. As you walk, Tech keeps getting distracted by the way the multicolored lights of the city reflect in your eyes. He already finds you attractive, but something about you tonight is just-

“Beautiful.” 

“What’s that?” you suddenly say, confused. 

“What’s what?” Tech says, also confused. 

“You just said-? You think I’m beautiful?” you say, your voice soft and disbelieving, and Tech realizes what happened. 

“No, I d-,” he says, but you cut him off.

“You don’t?” you say, more confused. 

“No! Wait, I mean, I-I do, I just didn’t-,” he says, stumbling over his words and getting flustered again. You come to a stop before a small door, watching him. He shuts his eyes and takes a moment to compose himself. 

“Tech? Are you alright?” you ask, your voice still soft. Maker, he loves the sound of his name on your lips. He thinks about how close the two of you had unconsciously gotten to each other back in the bar, and before he can stop himself, he takes a step closer to you, cups your cheek, and softly kisses you. 

You’re startled by this, and reflexively pull away, an unreadable expression on your face; Tech immediately regrets it. 

“I am so sorry, I-,” Tech says, starting to apologize, but you cut him off by moving forward and kissing him back, decidedly less softly. 

It takes a moment for him to process what’s happening, but he quickly relaxes and pulls you closer, resting his hands on your hips. You link your hands behind his neck and press your body against his, humming softly. He shyly swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, and when you open for him, his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. You taste each other and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly. 

A passing speeder blares its horn and the two of you are rudely reminded of where you are. You break apart and both take a step back, breathing heavily and staring at each other for a tense moment. 

“Well… um, this is my place,” you say, gesturing to the door. Neither of you say anything else as you unlock your it, and Tech clears his throat. 

“I should be going,” he says. He’s about to walk away when you suddenly grab his hand. He looks back at you and says your name, confused. You pull your hand back and fidget with the topmost button of your shirt. 

“I…” you say, then pause, swallowing loudly. 

Although he doesn’t have heightened senses like his brother, Tech can tell by your breathing and wide eyes that your heart rate is going up. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“I’ve never done this,” you say, unfastening the button without noticing. 

“But?” he says, taking a step closer. 

“But, I-,” you repeat, undoing the second button, this time fully aware of your actions. “I want you, Tech,” you say, undoing the third button, then the fourth. The swell of your breasts, slightly exaggerated by your heavy breathing, is uncovered the further down your shirt your fingers move. You step closer to him, and he can see the red and black lace of your bra in the dim light. 

“You want me? For what?” he asks, his own breathing becoming heavy as he also moves closer, waiting to see if you’ll say what he’s hoping to hear. 

“I want you to stay with me tonight,” you say, your face now only inches away from his. 

“A-are you sure?” he asks, in complete disbelief for the second time tonight. In response, you suddenly kiss him deeply while taking him by the shoulders and moving him with you as you step through the door. Once you’re both past the threshold, you break apart. 

“I’m sure,” you pant, your voice high and breathy. “But only if you want to,” you say, taking a step back and leaving it up to him.

“Oh god, yes,” Tech says, with no hesitation. He shuts the door behind him, sweeps you into his arms, and kisses you feverishly. 

His hands return to your hips and he pushes you against the door which has barely shut, his lips never leaving yours. His gloved fingers fumble with the remaining buttons of your shirt, and you take the lead by grasping either side of the garment and yanking it apart, popping the remaining buttons off before freeing yourself from the sleeves and dropping it to the floor. Tech uses his teeth to pull his gloves off, and when you feel his hands travel upwards, you arch your back and press your chest against his. 

Your hands also roam his body, but you struggle with the straps and snaps of his armor as he has an equally difficult time with the hooks of your bra. The two of you break apart after a few seconds and huff in unison as Tech shakes his head. 

“Apologies, it’s been a long time-,” he says, unable to look at you. You cup his cheek and turn him to face you before softly kissing him. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never had to deal with all this before,” you say, gesturing at his armor as he takes a step back. 

“Really?” Tech says, methodically shucking off his kit. 

“You sound surprised,” you say, laughing a little. 

“I suppose I am; with the attention you get at the bar I assumed you could have whoever you want,” he says, being blunt. 

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” you say as you reach behind yourself and quickly undo the hooks of your bra with a single hand. 

“Then you have before?” he asks, freezing midway through lifting off his chest plate, and you can hear a trace of insecurity in his voice. 

“I think you misunderstand,” you say, taking the large piece from him and respectfully setting it down on a nearby dresser. “I can have whoever I want, yes, but I haven’t wanted anyone else,” you say. As you speak, you slip your arms out of your bra straps and let the thing fall to the floor with your discarded shirt. You step forward and hold either side of his head as you pull his mouth towards yours, crushing your lips together. 

Your tongues meet again, and when you finally break apart for air Tech is panting for breath. You can see the ‘are you serious’ in his eyes before he even says it and simply nod at him with a wide smile. He shakes his head, in disbelief once again. 

You slip your hands underneath his compression shirt and feel your way up to his chest, making him groan when you experimentally drag the pad of your thumb around one of his nipples. He whips the shirt off, and you touch him the same way with your other hand. His hips jerk forward and he curses under his breath when you grind against him. His hands grab your ass and pull your body even closer to his. 

You move a hand from his chest to the back of his head and pull his face down enough for you to kiss him again. Tech closes his eyes and moans into your mouth, and you take this opportunity to slide your other hand downwards, gripping his belt and pulling him behind it as you take a few steps back towards your bed, stopping when the backs of your knees bump into the mattress. 

Tech unhands you long enough to drop his belt and codpiece to the floor, but before he strips any further, you’re already palming his cock through his blacks. He groans, then reaches up to rub his hand against the very wet crotch of your panties, thankful that you wore a skirt. 

With a gasp and a quick movement, you’ve managed to free his cock from its confines, then spit in your hand and steadily jerk him off, relishing in the sensation of his heated breath in your ear as he moans your name. You kiss him again and your tongues dance as Tech steers you downward onto your bed. You flop onto your back and hike your skirt up over your hips. You’re about to slide your panties down when his hands stop yours from moving. 

He takes you by the wrists and pins them above your head into the mattress singlehanded, then uses his free hand to pull your soaked panties to the side before slipping his digits into you. His long fingers quickly find a spot deep inside that makes you whine and arch your back as he rubs tight circles into it. After a few seconds of this, he changes tactics, suddenly pulling his fingers back out and freeing your wrists as he moves downwards past your waist.

He holds your legs open and dives face first into your dripping cunt. Your hands grab the sides of his head as he lavishes your clit with his strong tongue, his movements making you shiver and gasp. Your fingers tangle into his short brown curls and you don’t miss the way he whines when you tug at them. He slips two fingers back into your wet cunt while continuing to work your clit with his tongue. 

“Oh fuck, Tech, just like that, so fucking good,” you pant, your words a gasping jumble of praise and curses. You pull at his hair again and he whines against your pussy; the vibration of his lips around your clit finally pushing you into your first orgasm. All the while, he never slows down, continuing to finger you through it until he overstimulates you into coming a second time with a loud cry of his name as your body spasms and you soak his face. 

You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he’s suddenly sliding the head of his cock between your folds. He’s teasing you, but you can tell he’s barely holding himself back. You grab at the sides of his head again and yank him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on him as you shift your hips around in an attempt to get him inside you. Catching on, Tech pauses long enough to yank your soaked panties off and position himself against you. 

“I’ve wanted this, wanted you, ever since we met. Please let me have you,” he says, refusing to move any further. 

“Take me, Tech, I’m all yours,” you purr, and he pushes himself into you as soon as the last word has left your lips. You gasp as you stretch around him and hook your hands around his shoulders to keep yourself grounded. He waits just long enough for you to adjust to his size, and once you nod at him, he drags his hips backwards before snapping them forward into you with enough force to rock the entire bed. 

The furniture thumps against the wall in time with Tech’s movements, and the noise seems to spur him into fucking you even deeper. With a particularly strong thrust, you see stars and barely contain a shout. 

“I’ve waited too long for you to hold back on me,” Tech says, then grips your jaw and holds your mouth open as he repeats the motion, all but forcing the sounds out of you this time, loud enough to make your ears ring. 

You wrench yourself free of his grip and clash your mouth against his. You greedily swallow up each other's moans and cries of deepest pleasure, your lips never separating for more than a second at a time as his hips stutter and you feel him fill you. His muscles lock and you hold tightly onto him, wrapping your legs around his hips as you both come at the same time.

After about a minute, Tech’s body relaxes again and he shakily sits back, his softened cock slipping out of you as he moves. You sit up and feel his load leaking from you, and you maintain eye contact with him as you flex and push a little more out. He makes a kind of strangled sound at the display before suddenly diving face first back into your hot cunt, taking care to clean you up as much as possible while eating you out. You shiver, then push him off of you and onto his back, and he seems to snap back to his senses. 

“Oh fuck, did I-?” he starts, but you shut him up by crashing your lips against his again. You break apart to strip yourself completely, and he follows suit, leaving his armor in a pile at the foot of your bed next to your own clothes. 

“If you’re going to make me come a fourth time, it’ll be around your cock, got it?” you say, smirking at him. 

“Y-yes, whatever you want,” Tech says, eyes wide. You pull him into a sitting position and meet his eyes. 

“No, it’s whatever you want. Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” you say, speaking firmly. Tech says he understands, then returns to where he was, laying on his back. 

“So you’re still okay with this?” you say, watching him carefully. 

“Yes. Yes, please,” he says, his voice steady but needy, his cock hardening again. Your eyes gleam. 

“Good,” you say, moving to straddle him. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

Taglist: @madameminor @kaminocasey @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina @jedi-hawkins @bitchyglitterfox

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[eyedoeluhn]

BCF’s author has a lot of questionable word of god statements. A personal favorite of mine to whip out every so often is this one.

What. the fuck?

this one is a lot.

Okay, before I even break this down let’s engage with the contrast of Saint and The Dragonslayers compared to Cauldron. I don’t think they’re Cauldron in miniature, I think they’re an inversion of them. Cauldron knows that Scion is an entity but not much about his behavior, while the Dragonslayers know Dragon is an AI she is communicative. Dragon, as she is in Worm, isn’t malicious nor a major risk of becoming so, Scion snapping is an inevitable event. The Dragonslayers are run by a man with a tattoo addicted to artificial powers while Cauldron by a woman without any to her name who gives others artificial powers and tattoos. And of course the Dragon Slayers are ineffectual and ego-paranoia driven, while Cauldron keeps the world running and is coldly utilitarian facing down the apocalypse. The compare contrast between the groups is actually fairly interesting.

Now the actual comment. Jesus Christ. The most problematic line in all of this is obviously “at no point does either group step back and ask if they are really the best people to deal with the problem in front of them.”

How this is a valid critique of Cauldron, a group made of some of the most powerful capes on the planet including Contessa I’m not sure. I don’t think Congressman Terry is a valid perspective especially since they prop up the government. I don’t think random scientist seven is a great pick since once, Doctor Mother, two, Manton. I don’t see how even if they opened their doors they could find someone more competent than they already have found in the likes of their own. I just….what? Who? Josef isn’t a real worm character and no I would not put him on the list personally anyways even though cauldron would because they don’t care about their egos they care about the end of the fucking world. They don’t like their jobs.

I don’t see the first paragraph of criticisms towards the dragon slayers even applying. Cauldron naturally can’t act earlier. Telling people about the nature of Scion is a massive infosec risk as well as just dangerous to the public and capes at large and frankly it wouldn’t be productive either. Cauldron isn’t a friend group like the Dragon Slayers are it is experts and then their many vassals. The dragon slayers are with outside help barely able to manage dragon tech. Cauldron is the leading shard understanders in the setting. They are the most qualified people in the setting and are a major reason scion died. Cauldron won, folks. They wanted to kill Scion any means necessary and they successfully created the scenario. Saying it was a pure chance thing isn’t a valid detraction considering 1 they were aware of that and doing their best to inflate that chance 2 no one would have done better. Their plan was not to personally kill Scion but arrange the highest possible chance that the dies. Dragon survives, Scion doesn’t, says something about the two groups.

The “wider perspective” on Cauldron and Scion edges into meta territory and again I don’t think your oc/si is superior for having magic knowledge inserted into his brain for free that no one else can get. I think that’s a pretty simple stance but hey I’ve seen it a thousand times. Also on a moral standpoint if we’re going to judge Cauldron harshly that’s a different discussion and also again Jozef is far from moral anyways which is not intentional. But you know whatever cauldron bad case fifty three sad are there any more children Joe can make too nebulously mature to date their own age and then dump his trauma onto

[mysticstarlightduck]

Incorrectly Described OCs Tag

I don't know if this was done before, but I was inspired to make this by the "Badly Summarized WIP Tag" (:

Rules: Describe your OCs (personality-wise) as badly and weirdly as you possibly can

I'll go with some OCs from my WIP Mutant Inquiries for this one.

(Main Cast)

Becca Sillvers - middle kid with daddy issues and strong feral gremlin energy, basically becomes a computer virus after accident and has an overall bad time before deciding to pick a fight with the world

Cory "Diamond" Blythe - has only the power of anime, glitter and vodka on their side. basically made a deal with this world's equivalent of "rumpelstiltskin" (but not really) and regrets life choices.

Luka Stormme - guy with anger issues becomes vigilante during business days after a couple boxing classes. is the "soccer-mom" to his cousins and his friends when he's not fighting crime

Cass Holborn - dropout with a bunch of explosive chemicals in his garage builds underworld empire while successfully failing, but somehow managing, to raise sister

Nydia Tainnen - unstable ballerina with severe childhood trauma decides to become an assassin and give a middle finger to the government

Matthias Harke - runaway tries to keep his friends out of trouble when they decide to mess with the worst people possible, ends up having to take the lead.

Samantha Holborn - troublemaking teen who never learned the meaning of "none of your business" and had too much free time sneaks somewhere she should not be and causes chaos

Jym Callister - over-caffeinated insomniac takes up computer hacking as a way to avoid his problems and just be a menace

Alexey Morikov - cat parent who only wanted to mind his own business and read must get back into the fray after a bunch of unsupervised teens bring the problems he'd successfully been avoiding now knocking on his door

Killien Lux - government experiment and supersoldier develops sentience and starts developing free will while making it everybody's problem. is also a knife

Keilly Phaedre - is the Only Remaining Braincell tm of the team and is completely done with life

(Antagonists)

'Signor' Teague - pathetic guy with severe ego problems, who thinks he's the big man. would be the type of person to unironically listen to those bullsh1t "alpha male podcasts" and take notes like it's an essay

The Mutant Control Agency - bunch of "Karens and Kevins" in fancy suits with lethal weapons and a warrant to chase people around + practice illegal experiments in the name of ✨""""a brighter future""""✨

PHANTOM Industries - big tech company that thinks they're so hip and cool, and are the ones sponsoring the karens above. gives off big "13-year-old playing fortnite and threatening other players" vibes.

Tagging (gently, with no pressure): @oh-no-another-idea, @writernopal, @tabswrites, @rickie-the-storyteller, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs, @little-peril-stories, @clairelsonao3, @jay-avian, @forthesanityofstorytellers, @aziz-reads, @doublegoblin, @gummybugg, @junypr-camus, @olivescales3, @saltysupercomputer @unstablewifiaccess, @late-to-the-fandom and @lassiesandiego

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Wrecker x reader where they sneak off really late at night for a cute little walk because they haven't been getting enough alone time. And it's a new relationship, so everything's still all cute and giggly. Maybe they think they are being quiet when they are sneaking back in, but something funny happens and reader is like dieing laughing and Hunter walks in like wtf is going on. Idk, feel free to ignore. Ily ♡

Warnings and Information: No real age warning for this one. 2nd person POV, undescribed Reader that can be read as gender neutral. Little sprinkling of Mando'a. Minor language (everyone say "thank you, Crosshair!"). It’s all the giddiness of a new(ish) relationship with the powerhouse of Clone Force 99 that is Wrecker. 🩷 Impromptu date late at night. Decided on a Modern!AU for this one where (most of) the Bad Batch work as a construction crew, and there's a few cameos of other Clones too. Hope you enjoy what I came up with! 

Word-count: 4,544

Setting your bag down on the welcome mat, you thread your house key into the lock with an eager sigh. You're pretty tired. You finally have a free night, thankfully, and you've been away from home all day. 

You're looking forward to just vegging out on the couch to catch the season finale of your favorite show for the next hour and crawling into bed as soon as you finish trawling the 'net for other people's impressions of the finale. There's a lot of speculation regarding the dashing rogue of the series, and whether or not they'll finally pluck up the courage to share this big secret the show writers have been dangling over the fans. You just hope some news article doesn't show up in your social media feed only to come along and spoil it in the headline. 

"People really need to learn to tag their kriffing spoilers… It's not that hard." 

You bump the door open and hoist the bag back over your shoulder just as someone calls out your name. 

"H-hey! Wait up!" 

You pause in the entryway, cheeks pinching with a large smile. "Hey Wrecker." The way he's doubled over, hands pressed into his knees while he pants for air, you can guess Wrecker had likely jogged over to your place from his. He lives not too far from you, and it's a jog he's made several times before, but it has been a slightly warmer than average day that has only just begun to cool off in the last few hours. Tech, one of Wrecker's brothers, calls the phenomenon the "heat island" something or other. Effect? (If that wasn't right that sounded close enough.) "You okay? Here, come on in. Would you like some water?" 

"B-but- Weren't you jus' leaving?" Wrecker manages between slowing pants. He used the edge of his sleeve to mop the sweat from his brow once he's upright, fixing you with a woozy smile when you hook your fingers around his own and lead him inside. "Oh, no, I just got home, actually. How come?" You fill a glass from the cold tap and rummage around the freezer for some ice to make it a little more refreshing. Wrecker just ran so hot sometimes you were surprised he didn't pass out on some of his job sites as a construction worker. 

"I- oh, thanks, cyare." Wrecker greedily gulps down a few mouthfuls of water to relieve himself of his thirst, careful not to spill down his front or all over your kitchen floor. 

The intimacy of the pet name makes your ears flush with warmth, and your cheeks pinch a little more with a tender smile. "You're welcome." 

The worst of his thirst now quelled, Wrecker could explain why he thought he had caught you leaving the house. "I, uh, I came over to ask if you wanted to go do something. Together. Jus' the two of us. Worried that I got off work too late or took too long to clean up a bit and I caught you about to leave. I know it's nearly eleven, but it's been a while since we had a moment to spend time together… just to ourselves." There was good reason for the emphasis on the last three words. In the infancy of your relationship with Wrecker, you have only had one date together that wasn't interrupted in some way by his job, or one of your day to day priorities, or one of his brothers. 

You liked his brothers well enough thus far, but sometimes they really needed to learn when to butt out. Or what was appropriate for company. 

"Wrecker, have you seen my live specimen?"

"Hunter! One of Tech's kriffing specimens got loose again! Can't find the damn thing!" 

"Oh Maker…"

"L-let's leave, cyare. It's not a dangerous specimen or nothing, but it's jus' creepy." 

You smiled at Wrecker, and to him, those smiles could have thawed out an ice planet like Hoth twelve times over. Smiles that could get Crosshair, even in his most sour of moods, to return the gesture even for a fleeting moment. "Time just to ourselves sounds very, very nice… What'd you have in mind? I'm down for anything." The minute you pulled him across the welcome mat you decided you wouldn't mind watching the final episode of the season another time. Wrecker was here, and by happy coincidence, your schedules were completely free for the weekend. You could stay up as late as you liked.

"You wanna go for a bite? Or maybe go take a walk?" Wrecker offers. You like the idea of a casual walk, now that it's cooler. You glance at your footwear, a pair of sandals, and think for a moment it'll be smart to put on a pair of closed-toed shoes. "A walk sounds nice," you reply brightly, "You wanna go… uh, how about by the lake in the park?" 

Wrecker grins at the idea. He's got such an infectious smile that gives you butterflies in the pit of your stomach and a booming, boisterous laugh that you just loved. "Sure, tha' sounds nice! Been meaning to go see it one'a these days, but I'm busy helpin' my brothers with work most of the week." He'd love to go check it out with you, he says. 

Going to the lake took you past Wrecker's house, all dark save for two windows. Tech's, of course, and you believe the second is another brother of Wrecker's who's moved in only recently. 

You haven't had the opportunity to meet him yet. You hope to, one day, when he's ready. 

"He's… been through a lot. One'a our other brothers thought it might be a good idea if he came and lived with us for a bit. Quieter. Less people." 

"How many brothers do you have, Wrecker?" 

He had laughed, scratching nervously around the back of his head with a great shrug. "I dunno, honestly. I have a lot of brothers. But, I get along best with Hunter, Tech and Cross… So I hope I get along with Echo too." 

"I'm sure you will, Wrecker. You're friendly and kind and sweet… a-and um…" Your mouth had gotten away from you, then. You had only been friends back then, and you'd slowly grown closer, grown feelings for this gentle giant. You were that close to blurting out that you thought he was handsome, cute even, down to the scar and replacement eye that was a result of an accident on one of his very first job sites. He had said your name with that same jovial laugh and winning smile and, jokingly, asked, "What? You gonna say I'm cute or somethin'?" 

That's all it took. Just a few months later, here the two of you were, playfully bumping into one another as you entered the park hand-in-hand, making jokes and laughing together. 

"No-no-no, that's not what the joke means!" you insisted, feeling the ache in your sides growing the more you laughed until you were nearly breathless. "You realize Cross is messing with you, right?" 

"Yeah, 'course I do!" he replies, "But so am I! It's jus' how the two'a us are. It's a lot of fun to purposely misunderstand a joke and see how long it takes before Tech can't take it anymore. Our record was two hours. Hunter even joined in!" 

"But I thought he hated it when you and Cross goofed off on your job sites." 

Wrecker grins through mischievous laughter. "Naaah. Hunter goofs off on job sites just as much as us when we can get away with it, but he's more… subtle about it. Unless he wants to show off to our older brother Cody. He's a contractor and the one who suggested the job to us; so we try an' behave a little more than usual when he comes to check on how construction is going." Wrecker explains. They've been part of the crew who initially came in to renovate some very old apartment buildings here in this little, growing city, but overnight the sign that had previously said "RENOVATIONS UNDERWAY" for the first few weeks became "DEMO AND REBUILD". Now you know why; Cody's the one who made the call on that, and you wonder why the sudden change. 

"Oh, huge infestation that went untreated for too long. I don't remember what Tech calls them or what they are, but Cody said it was gonna be better to scrap everything and build fresh. I ain't complaining!" 

That was something you appreciated Wrecker for. He complained about very little. He was often optimistic and in high spirits. Happy to do almost anything he was asked so long as he was with his brothers and didn't have a want of food. All that manual labor makes a person hungry, so it doesn't surprise you to find him snacking on something if he's left to his own devices and the thought comes over him. 

Actually, in fact, you hadn't just walked past his house on the way to the park: you briefly came inside so he could throw a few things into the cooler bag he takes to his job sites (he, Hunter and Cross bounced between at least two or three sites if Cody needed a few more hands for something on a particular day) and have a little picnic on the grass with you. You both took care to be quiet so as not to disturb his brothers. Wrecker did however bump into Crosshair in the kitchen, who took one look in the lunch bag and said "Unless you plan on drinking that kriffing disgusting lake water, I suggest you take something to drink, too." before he snatched a few slices of cold pizza from a box in the fridge and shuffled off. 

Not much of a talker, Crosshair. But that's okay. 

"How's this for a spot?" you ask, coming across a bench after walking roughly one half of the man-made lake. Walking and talking with Wrecker was enjoyable, the late-summer air carried by a gentle breeze across the water was cool and soothing here. Not too far from the water's edge, and you could hear some of the lake life, little frogs, croaking and singing in the reeds and lily pads from here. Wrecker nods approvingly, setting down the cooler bag. "Perfect! Here, made this for you. Sorry if it's a little smushed or if I forgot a condiment." 

He offers you a brown paper bag, and inside, you find your favorite sandwich you often throw together when you need a quick bite to eat. "Aww, you made this for me? Wrecker that's so sweet of you, thank you." You bite into it with eager anticipation, and it's definitely the way you like it. "Oh Maker," you moan blissfully, chewing slowly to savor it, "that's a good sandwich." Wrecker smiles bashfully as he takes a seat beside you on the bench, unwrapping his own sandwich. 

"Did I-?"

"No, not a single missing condiment." you tell him. Shyness and uncertainty turn to pride for the man beside you. 

"Oh, good! I made it kinda quick-like from memory so we could get goin' without bothering my brothers." He takes a bite of his own sandwich, and allows himself to chew thoroughly before he speaks again. "I, uh, I make everyone's lunch in the mornings. Except for Tech's sometimes, he's pretty particular about what he takes to his lab." 

You think back to what Tech's job is, but the proper name for it escapes you. "He works in the… preservation department at the local museum, right?" 

Wrecker bobs his head as he takes another bite of his sandwich, smaller this time. "Yeah. Works in at least three labs. Real smart. Like scary smart. He'd get bored if he worked in just one lab. And because I don't remember what lab he goes to on what days, he and I agreed it'd be best for him to make his own lunches most days. Oh, I almost forgot! Here!" He reaches into the cooler bag again and pulls out one of your favorite, non-alcoholic, bottled beverages. "That's for you. Can't have a proper picnic without something to drink." 

Wrecker's attention to detail, his memory of things he's learned about you only very recently, it all makes you feel giddy and warm inside that he's so incredibly attentive to your likes and dislikes. Other romantic partners, whether they had been potential or well and truly established, had not been quite so aware like Wrecker. What had taken others five months or more to remember that you did not like on your pizza, Wrecker had remembered in just five days. 

Hunter had called your name from the kitchen, ready to place an order from a little place new to town called Gregor's Grub-hub and asked what toppings you liked on your pizza, apologizing for not remembering what you had taken from the assortment of pizzas the crew offered to share with you when you stopped by Wrecker's job site to return the comically oversized jacket he loaned you. 

"That's okay, I remember!" Wrecker had declared from the couch as the two of you sat together, trying (and failing) to take this board game seriously. It was just so much more fun to bend the rules or try stacking all the game pieces. Whatever silly idea possessing the pair of you was swiftly entertained. 

It was just so easy to have fun with Wrecker. He found joy in the little things. And he cared so deeply about his brothers. He cared so deeply about you. 

You crack open the bottle, and together the two of you mock-toast to this late-night, lakeside summer picnic the pair of you took on a whim. You're so glad to be out here with him. Just the two of you in the light of the full, silver moon hung in the sky above this beautiful park, serenaded by the frogs and distant cicadas in the trees.

"Thanks Wrecker. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Wrecker laughs brightly, the sound as bubbly as the lapping waves of water against the shore, and as distinct as the ping from the phone in your pocket as your phone begins to blow up with news about the final episode of the season you originally planned to watch tonight. (Damn. Maybe the dashing rogue will pluck up the courage next season.) You can't even be mad about the spoilers. 

You're enjoying this rare evening together with Wrecker far, far too much to be annoyed about that. 

"Nice night for a date…" you murmur fondly, leaning into Wrecker's side as you sit on the bench and eat some of the other snack foods out of the cooler bag now that the two of you have finished your sandwiches. "... thanks for the late, lakeside picnic, Wrecker." You giggle softly when he shyly asks if you're okay with a little kiss on the cheek. He kisses the top of your head for good measure as well, emboldened by the smiles and giggles. "Yer welcome. We should do this more often." he says, looking out over the glimmering water with you. 

You should do this more often. Maybe the next time you come here, you can take him here in the sunlight and come feed the waterfowl on a day that his brothers could get by without his help. Crosshair didn't need help the clambering up onto the scaffolding so he could do his job as a roofer, but he often let Wrecker help him because it eased his brother's fear of heights, or the fear that Cross was going to fall from the scaffolding again after a really nerve-wracking incident, more rather. 

A strong gust of wind had ripped through the construction site before the structure had been secured against the frameworks, and his brother had lost his balance. Wrecker had been there to catch him in the nick of time. 

"Maybe it gets under my skin a little that my brothers make fun of me for my fear of heights," Wrecker admitted somberly to you in private shortly after the scare. "But I'd never willingly let my brothers fall. I'll always be there to catch them… if I can." 

Once the two of you have finished most of the food from the cooler bag, you diligently pack away all of your trash until you pass by another trash can. "Let's finish walking around the rest of the lake. Then let's maybe call it a night." you suggest. It's too nice a night not to. You just hope the city police don't come along and spoil the moment by suggesting that you need to leave, since park lock-up happens at 12:30. It's only midnight, and the rest of the lake won't take long to walk at a decent pace. 

Common opinion is that some of the force can be overly stern, even how the chief of police is characterized as "heartless", but you've come to understand that these officers with red police cruisers (an unusual color choice) are decent men. They're just chronically overworked. You feel for them, now. They're only doing their jobs, however unpopular it might be. 

Thankfully, where you'll complete your full circuit of the lake with Wrecker is not too far from one of these entrance and exit gates that are found along the wall of the gated park. 

Joking and laughing with Wrecker once again puts a pep in your step, now that the two of you are comfortably full and content with the late-night meal. 

Wrecker suggests walking a little closer to the water, just before you leave. Give the lake a closer look, maybe see if he can't get a picture of one of the frogs for Tech. "He could probably tell us all about 'em! Tech loves that kinda stuff… sharing what he learns with people." Wrecker says with a grin as he quickly snaps a photo of a plump frog resting on a lilypad. He's carefully crouched on the edge of the bank in order to get it. You creep down closer to the waterline so you can take his phone for him so he can use both hands to pull himself back up the slightly steep bank. The water is deep here, and you're both hoping to avoid falling in.

"Here, I got it." you offer, holding out your hand. 

You slip on a slick patch of grass and mud as you collect his phone, and as luck would have it, the sandal slips off as you stumble and it falls into the lake with a splash.

Wrecker had caught you before you fell in as well. "Gotcha, cyare! Are you okay?" 

"I'm f-fine," you assure him with a tiny stammer, glad you hadn't dropped his phone or fallen in. "Just lost my shoe. Thanks for catching me." 

"Of course, cyare. Didn't think I'd only be there to catch just my brothers, didja?" He's teasing, of course, but the question makes you flush. No, of course you didn't think that. 

Wrecker peers down into the water, trying to see if he could spot your sandal. Man, why didn't you change into something with laces? You'd thought about it and everything, but you were just so excited about spending time with Wrecker that you dashed out the door without giving it a second thought… 

A car door closes in the distance. It sounds like it's from a car parked near the gate. Uh oh. What time is it? 

"Wrecker, we need to go, I think the-" 

He's up to his elbow in the lake water, carefully swishing his arm around while seeing if he can't find your shoe. "Just a second, I'll find your shoe and then we can go cyare." Wrecker promises, trying to settle your nerves. He's so focused on being sweet and helpful that he doesn't hear or notice the officer starting down the path. 

"Wrecker, c'mon, it's okay. It's just a cheap little sandal, we really should go!" 

The way Wrecker is hunched over the water on his hands and knees in the dim light of the moon, the officer mistakes the position for a starting dive and he calls out in warning. "Hey-! There's no swimming in the lake!" 

Wrecker falls in with a great splash, startled. He surfaces shortly, the water up to his chest. Okay, maybe the water wasn't as deep as you thought. "I'm okay!" Wrecker splutters, coughing up lake water. "I found your sandal!" 

You turn to the officer now standing on the edge of the lake, glowering down disappointedly at Wrecker. "I'm so sorry, sir," you say, "he was just trying to get my shoe and then I think you startled him an- O-oh, Officer Fox! I didn't realize it was you, I'm so sorry!" Fox didn't realize it was you, either, turns out. He speaks your name with great surprise, then takes another look at the sopping wet figure carefully climbing out of the water with your wet, muddy shoe in hand. "Wrecker?"

"Yup!" 

Officer Fox removes his peaked cap and scratches his salt-and-pepper hair with a weary sigh. "... I thought the two of you were a couple of kids or something. Got a call from a "concerned citizen" about some "hooligan youth" in the park. Some busybody of an old man who's constantly inventing problems for me because he has his mind made up that I don't have enough to do…" 

You grimace sympathetically. "Mr. Sheev, again?"

"That old bat's still alive?" Wrecker asks disbelievingly. No one's quite sure how old Mr. Sheev is, but he looks like he's been dodging the grim reaper longer than it should be natural. 

There's a mutter from Officer Fox that sounds a lot like the word unfortunately before the cap is replaced and he has to do his job. 

"C'mon… park's locking up for the night, soon. And since you're wet," he nods to Wrecker, "and you're half barefoot," Officer Fox nods to you this time, "I'll give you a lift in the cruiser." 

Officer Fox takes you both back to Wrecker's place, watching the two of you from the car as you're huddled on the porch, wrestling with the ring of house keys. Darn things seem to make themselves invisible or slippery when they get the slightest inkling that you might be in a hurry to get inside. 

Wrecker says he'll have to mop up the water in a second, trying and failing at threading his house key into the lock with shaky fingers. Lake water was cold and he was soaked to the bone trying to do a kind thing by retrieving your sandal for you. 

Fox, the chief of police for the city, calls from the cruiser that Wrecker better get into some dry clothes soon, and not to feel bad about getting the seats wet. "Shit like this happens more than you think. I gotta ask Cody if he's the guy I gotta talk to about getting a proper walking path around the lake… as soon as I'm done with all this other kriffing paperwork. Goodnight." You help Wrecker get the key into the door and thank him for the lift. "You too, Officer Fox! Thank you again!" 

As the two of you try to squeeze inside, someone knocks over the coatrack bearing three high-vis vests and a crisp lab coat. "Whoops!" Oh stars, that clatter was sure to wake someone up… It was nearly one in the morning now. 

Wrecker's foot slips in the growing puddle of water, and trying to help him, or make sure that he's okay, you yourself trip over the coat rack and fall on top of him with a yelp. Once again, he breaks your fall, and tries to break the nervous tension with a corny joke after you both frantically apologize to one another. 

"Guess we're a couple'a angels if we keep fallin' for one another, huh, cyar'ika?" 

You can't help it. The joke is so silly and undeniably sweet coming from someone like Wrecker that if the coat rack, and then the two of you falling over and on top of one another didn't wake Wrecker's brothers, your laugh certainly would have. Four pairs of feet plod down the stairs at varying speeds, Hunter the fastest. He's fresh out of bed in nothing but a pair of red and black boxers, face wracked with confusion. Wrecker is soaking wet and smells like algae. And you're now damp after having landed on top of him. Hunter was told the two of you were just going for a walk, how the hell did his brother and his date end up getting wet?

"The kriff are you two doing on the floor?" Crosshair yawns from up the stairs. 

"And why are you wet?" 

You smile apologetically up at Hunter, "Wrecker fell in the lake trying to get my shoe for me. I was trying to keep his phone dry after he took a picture of a frog for Tech and-" Your eyes dart further up the stairs when you hear Tech excitedly ask "A frog?" from behind Cross, and you spot the brother who must be Echo behind him. He's a little paler and his face is gaunt compared to the others. He looks rather disoriented and anxious after you probably woke him up so unexpectedly. 

"Oh… hello there; are you Echo?" 

He nods timidly. "I am. And you are…?" He seems surprised to hear you know his name, but he doesn't seem to recognize you. You wait as he carefully makes his way down the stairs, one step at a time. The horrible accident Echo had suffered from was some time ago, but three of his limbs haven't quite been the same since. Minor weakness and numbness, to your memory. You waited until he was closer to put out the appropriate hand to introduce yourself with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you. Officially." Echo manages apologetically. "Sorry, guess I didn't recognize you because I've only ever heard Wrecker talk about the person he's started dating." 

You smile reassuringly at Echo, and flash Wrecker a cheeky look when you hear he's been talking about you to his brothers. You're sure he would look just as flushed as you if the light from the kitchen wasn't so dim. 

"I'll get a mop and clean up the water," Wrecker promises Hunter when his brother takes a look at the floor by the front door after Wrecker picks up his cooler bag and dumps all the trash into the kitchen's garbage can. 

Hunter shrugs lazily. "Nah, don't bother. You two should go shower or something. I'll take care of it. Besides falling in the lake - apparently - was your walk nice?" 

"Oh yeah!" Wrecker says with a giant grin that you return when you share a look. "I think the two of us might do it again soon. This time without losing any shoes." 

You can only nod and laugh softly in agreement. The next time you go on one of these late-night walks with Wrecker, if this becomes a regular thing in your relationship, you are definitely going to start wearing better shoes with laces.

Note from Frost: The idea of Palpatine being a nosy cranky senior citizen who calls the police over "hooligan youths" having fun came out of nowhere but it tickled me too much not to include it lmao. (Poor Commander Fox...)

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

[yanderes-galore]

can I request yandere! 2018! Donatello with a very shy fem! a reader who can't say no to a lot of things? I think it's quite interesting. Thanks!

Alright! As you did not specify concept or scenario, I got to choose ^^

I'm so sorry it took so long, getting me back into TMNT is difficult. Wrote what I felt fit with this and tried to see where the story went.

One Simple Phrase

Yandere! ROTTMNT! Donatello Short

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Manipulation, Attachment issues implied, Taking advantage of weaknesses, Toxic behavior, Forced relationship, Implied stalking, Possessive behavior, Angst.

No.

It seems like such a simple phrase to say. People say it all the time. Nope, no thanks, not today.... It should be easy.

Normally it would be, not with him however.

Donatello always managed to remove any sort of confidence you had. No matter how much you practice, you can never speak your mind. Donatello... has your emotions in his hands.

You'd think it would be easy! Just... say no. Say no to the video games, say no to the little dates, say no to his constant requests.

But you can't.

It's not that he's forceful or anything.... He's just... insistent. Donatello seems so happy when you're around him. His happiness makes you happy.

Which is why you can't just say no.

He says your name so sweetly. He begs you with those eyes of his. He loves your attention and can be so dramatic to get it.

You hate that you can't say no.

Donnie knew this. He knew, with your fragile personality, you could never say no. As a friend, he should help you through this... he should leave you be sometimes.

But no one said he was a morally correct friend.

He likes that you can't resist his charm. It's not like he does anything invasive! He just... wants your attention-

He wants your attention all the time.

Which is why he seems so manipulative with your feelings. In his mind, he doesn't have to share. If he has you around him all the time, clinging to you, no one else can have you.

In his mind, you not saying no makes you easily manipulated! If anything, he's doing the right thing! You're safe from anyone else taking advantage over you!

... by him taking advantage of you.

Call him hypocritical, he doesn't care. Is being a hypocrite a bad thing if he's doing it for your own safety? Around him, you're safe, right?

It's not like you said no to him yet.

You never said no to the trackers. You never said no to the drones. You never said no to any of his tech.

All because he told you it was for your own safety.

This relationship you two have is built on manipulation. Friendship... or something more... Donnie is pulling it into place by your weaknesses.

In his eyes, things were going great. Soon he'd have you to himself! Then... he'd be the only one to be this close with you! You would have no idea about the manipulation!

That's what he thinks....

As time goes on... and Donatello's behavior grows more exhausting... you catch on. You begin to realize this is toxic. What he's doing isn't right.

In this situation, you had to say no.

Even if you didn't want to break his heart.

"Hey, (Y/N)! I wanted to know-"

"No."

At that one simple phrase, Donatello stops his request mid-sentence to stare at you. His eyes hold disbelief, perhaps even panic. You ignore the betrayal in his eyes.

He's such a good liar.

"I... I didn't even finish- (Y/N)-!"

"No."

You say it again, emotions threatening to spill out of you.

"You've lied to me. You've lead me along. You knew I couldn't say no. You USED me!"

"I just... wanted you safe!"

He's trying his best to string the lie together again. To make you continue to believe in him. He was even close to crying....

"Come on, (Y/N)! You know I care for you!"

"No." You say again.

"No you don't."

"You're just trying to make me feel bad, aren't you?"

"No."

Your newfound confidence throws him off guard. Listening to him, trusting him, doing what he says has been too exhausting. You had to say it at some point.

You needed to say that one simple phrase to end this. His happiness was not as important as yours.

Even if your refusal broke the mutant deep inside.

"I-I'm sorry...! I'll be better- Please don't leave me alone, (Y/N)! I just wanted to spend more time with you! You know I'm attached to you! You... you won't leave me, will you?"

You frown at his begging. He says he'll change yet he doesn't in the same breath. You're tired... you want to end this.

"... Leave me alone."

You then feel Donatello wrap himself around you, pulling at you while you panic. Quickly, you retreat back into your more reclusive shell when Donnie stares at you.

"No. I'll never just let you leave me."

"Don, please-"

"Say you won't! Say you'll stay here with me!"

"No-"

"Say you love me, (Y/N)! We're the best together, no one else!"

"Get off me-"

"I don't want you to leave me...."

Even now... even when you say no... you feel like you must retract your statement. No may be a simple phrase... but it isn't one he wants to hear.

You wish to say no, but...

Donatello wants to hear you say "Sorry...."

He wants to hear you say "I love you...."

No is not a simple phrase to him when you say it...

It's a weapon against his obsessive need for you.

He doesn't want you to cut him off. Like a parasite, he clings and begs for your attention. He can't live without you.

Perhaps you aren't the only one who can't say no...

Donatello can't seem to say no when it comes to your attention, either.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What the fediverse (does/n't) solve

No matter how benevolent a dictatorship is, it’s still a dictatorship, and subject to the dictator’s whims. We must demand that the owners and leaders of tech platforms be fair and good — but we must also be prepared for them to fail at this, sometimes catastrophically.

That is, even if you trust Tim Cook to decide what apps you are and aren’t allowed to install — including whether you are allowed to install apps that block Apple’s own extensive, nonconsensual, continuous commercial surveillance of its customers — you should also be prepared for Cook to get hit by a bus and replaced by some alt-right dingleberry.

What happens next is a matter of technology and law. It’s a matter of whether you have to give up your media and your apps and your data to escape the no-longer-benevolent dictatorship. It depends on whether the technology is designed to let you move those things, and whether the law protects you from tech companies, or whether it protects tech companies from *you, by criminalizing jailbreaking, reverse engineering, scraping, etc.

As thorny as this is, it’s even harder when we’re talking about social media, because it’s social. Sociability adds a new and pernicious switching cost, when we hold each other hostage because we can’t agree on when/whether to go, and if we do, where to go next. When the management of your community goes septic, it can be hard to leave, because you have to leave behind the people who matter to you if you do.

We’ve all been there: do you quit your writers’ circle because one guy is being a jerk? Do you stop going to a con because the concom tolerates a predator? Do you stop going to family Thanksgiving because your racist Facebook uncle keeps trying to pick a fight with you? Do you accompany your friends to dinner at a restaurant whose owners are major donors to politicians who want to deport you?

This collective action problem makes calamity of so long life. At the outer extreme, you have the families who stay put even as their governments slide into tyranny, risking imprisonment or even death, because they can’t bear to be parted from one another, and they all have different views of how bad the situation really is:

https://www.theatlantic.com/books/archive/2022/12/the-oppermanns-book-holocaust-nazi-fascism/672505/

The corporate person is a selfish narcissist, a paperclip-maximizing artificial lifeform forever questing after its own advantage. It is an abuser. Like all abusers, it is keenly attuned to any social dynamic that it can use to manipulate its victims, and so social media is highly prized by these immortal colony-organisms.

You can visit all manner of abuses upon a social network and it will remain intact, glued together by the interpersonal bonds of its constituent members. Like a kidnapper who takes your family hostage, abusers weaponize our love of one another and use it to make us do things that are contrary to our own interests.

In “Stop Talking to Each Other and Start Buying Things: Three Decades of Survival in the Desert of Social Media,” Cat Valente is characteristically brilliant about this subject. It is one of the best essays you’ll read this month:

https://catvalente.substack.com/p/stop-talking-to-each-other-and-start

Valente is on the leading edge of creators who were born digital — whose social life was always online, and whose writing career grew out of that social life. In 2009, she posted her debut novel, “The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making” to the web for free. Two years, and many awards, later, Macmillan brought it out in hardcover:

https://memex.craphound.com/2011/05/10/valentes-girl-who-circumnavigated-fairyland-sweet-fairytale-shot-through-with-salty-tears-magic/

“Stop Talking to Each Other” is a memoir wrapped around a trenchant, take-no-prisoners critique of all the robber-barons who’ve made us prisoners to one another and fashioned whips out of our own affection for one another and the small pleasures we give each other.

It begins with Valente’s girlhood in the early 1990s, where Prodigy formed a lifeline for her lonely, isolated existence. Valente — a precocious writer — made penpals with other Prodigy users, including older adults who assumed they were talking to a young adult. These relationships expanded her world, uplifting and enriching her.

Then, one day, she spotted a story about Prodigy in her dad’s newspaper: “PRODIGY SAYS: STOP TALKING TO EACH OTHER AND START BUYING THINGS.” The headline floored her. Even if Valente wanted to buy the weird grab-bag of crap for sale at Prodigy in 1991, she was a 12 year old and had no way to send internet money to Prodigy. Also, she had no money of any sort.

For her, the revelation that the owners of Prodigy would take away “this one solitary place where I felt like I mattered” if she “didn’t figure out how to buy things from the screen” was shocking and frightening. It was also true. Prodigy went away, and took with it all those human connections a young Cat Valente relied on.

This set the pattern for every online community that followed: “Stop talking to each other and start buying things. Stop providing content for free and start paying us for the privilege. Stop shining sunlight on horrors and start advocating for more of them. Stop making communities and start weaponizing misinformation to benefit your betters.”

Or, more trenchantly: “Stop benefitting from the internet, it’s not for you to enjoy, it’s for us to use to extract money from you. Stop finding beauty and connection in the world, loneliness is more profitable and easier to control. Stop being human. A mindless bot who makes regular purchases is all that’s really needed.”

Valente traces this pathology through multiple successive generations of online community, lingering on Livejournal, whose large community of Russian dissidents attracted Russian state-affiliated investors who scooped up the community and then began turning the screws on it, transforming it into a surveillance and control system for terrorizing the mutual hostages of the Russian opposition.

Valente and her friends on the service were collateral damage in the deliberate enshittification of LJ, band the Russian dissidents had it worse than they did, but it was still a painful experience. LJ was home to innumerable creators who “grew audiences through connections and meta-connections you already trusted.”

Most importantly, the poisoning of LJ formed a template, for how to “[take] apart a minor but culturally influential community and develop techniques to do it again, more efficiently, more quickly, with less attention.”

It’s a template that has been perfected by the alt-right, by the Sad Puppies and the Gamergaters and their successor movements. These trolls aren’t motivated by the same profit-seeking sociopathy of the corporate person, but they are symbiotic with it.

Valente lays out the corporate community’s lifecycle:

Be excited about the internet, make a website!

Discover that users are uninterested in your storefront, add social features.

Add loss-leaders to “let users make their own reasons to use the site” (chat, blogs, messaging, etc), and moderate them “to make non-monster humans feel safe expressing themselves and feel nice about site.”

The site works, and people “[use] free tools to connect with each other and learn and not be lonely and maybe even make a name for themselves sometimes.”

The owners demand that users “stop talking and start buying things.”

Users grow disillusioned with a site whose sociability is an afterthought to the revenue-generation that is supposed to extract all surplus value from the community they themselves created.

The owners get angry, insult users, blanket the site with ads, fire moderators, stoke controversy that creates “engagement” for the ads. They sell user data. They purge marginalized community that advertisers don’t like. They raise capital, put the community features behind a paywall, and focus so hard on extraction that they miss the oncoming trends.

“Everyone is mad.”

“Sell the people you brought together on purpose to large corporation, trash billionaire, or despotic government entity who hates that the site’s community used those connective tools to do a revolution.”

The people who “invested their time, heart, labor, love, businesses and relationships” are scattered to the winds. Corporate shareholders don’t care.

Years later, the true story of how the site disintegrated under commercial pressures comes out. No one cares.

The people who cashed out by smashing the community that created their asset are now wealthy, and they spend that wealth on “weird right-wing shit…because right-wing shit says no taxes and new money hates taxes.”

This pattern recurs on innumerable platforms. Valente’s partial list includes “Prodigy, Geocities, collegeclub.com, MySpace, Friendster, Livejournal, Tumblr,” and, of course, Twitter.

Twitter, though, is different. First, it is the largest and most structurally important platform to be enshittified. Second, because it was enshittified so much more quickly than the smaller platforms that preceded it.

But third, and most importantly, because Twitter’s enshittification is not solely about profit. Whereas the normal course of a platform’s decline involves a symbiosis between corporate extraction and trollish cruelty, the enshittification of Twitter is being driven by an owner who is both a sociopathic helmsan for a corporate extraction machine and a malignant, vicious narcissist.

Valente describes Musk’s non-commercial imperatives: “the yawning, salivating need to control and hurt. To express power not by what you can give, but by what you can take away…[the] viral solipsism that cannot bear the presence of anything other than its own undifferentiated self, propagating not by convincing or seduction or debate, but by the eradication of any other option.”

Not every platform has been degraded this way. Valente singles out Diaryland, whose owner, Andrew, has never sold out his community of millions of users, not in all the years since he created it in 1999, when he was a Canadian kid who “just like[d] making little things.” Andrew charges you $2/month to keep the lights on.

https://diaryland.com/

Valente is right to lionize Diaryland and Andrew. In fact, she’s right about everything in this essay. Or, nearly everything. “Almost,” because at the end, she says, “the minute the jackals arrive is the same minute we put down the first new chairs in the next oasis.”

That’s where I think she goes wrong. Or at least, is incomplete. Because the story of the web’s early diversity and its focus on its users and their communities isn’t just about a natural cycle whereby our communities became commodities to be tormented to ruination and sold off for parts.

The early web’s strength was in its interoperability. The early web wasn’t just a successor to Prodigy, AOL and other walled gardens — it was a fundamental transformation. The early web was made up of thousands of small firms, hobbyists, and user groups that all used the same standard protocols, which let them set up their own little corners of the internet — but also connected those communities through semi-permeable membranes that joined everything, but not in every way.

The early web let anything link to anything, but not always, which meant that you could leave a community but still keep tabs on it (say, by subscribing to the RSS feeds of the people who stayed behind), but it also meant that individuals and communities could also shield themselves from bad actors.

The right of exit and the freedom of reach (the principle that anyone can talk to anyone who wants to talk to them) are both key to technological self-determination. They are both imperfect and incomplete, but together, they are stronger, and form a powerful check on both greed and cruelty-based predation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/19/better-failure/#let-my-tweeters-go

Small wonder that, from the beginning, the internet has been a fight between those who want to build a commons and those who wish to enclose it. Remember when we were all angry that the web was disappearing into Flash, the unlinkable proprietary blobs that you couldn’t ad-block or mute or even pause unless they gave you permission?

Remember when Microsoft tried, over and over again, to enclose the internet, first as a dial-up service, then as a series of garbage Windows-based Flash-alikes. Remember Blackbird?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackbird_(online_platform)

But standard protocols exert powerful network effects on corporations. When everyone is adhering to a standard, when everything can talk to everything else, then it’s hard to lure users into a walled garden. Microsoft coerced users into it by striking bargains with buyers at large companies to force its products on all their employees, and then by breaking compatibility with rival products, which made it hard for those employees to use another vendor’s products in their personal lives. Not being able to access your company email or edit your company documents on your personal device is a powerful incentive to use the same product your company uses.

Apple, meanwhile, seduced users into its walled garden, promising that it would keep them safe and that everything would just work, and then using its power over those customers to gouge them on dongles and parts and repair and apps.

Both companies — like all corporations — are ferocious rent-seekers, but both eventually capitulated to the internet — bundling TCP and, eventually, browsers with their OSes. They never quit trying to enclose the web, via proprietary browser extensions and dirty tricks (Microsoft) or mobile lock-in and dirty tricks (Apple). But for many years, the web was a truly open platform.

The enclosure of online communities can’t be understood without also understanding the policy choices that led to the enclosure of tech more broadly. The decision to stop enforcing antitrust law (especially GWB’s decision not to appeal in the Microsoft antitrust case) let the underlying platforms grow without limits, by buying any serious rival, or by starving it out of existence by selling competing products below cost, cross-subidizing them with rents extracted from their other monopoly lines.

These same policies let a few new corporate enclosers enter the arena, like Google, which is virtually incapable of making a successful product in-house, but which was able to buy others’ successes and cement its web dominance: mobile, video, server management, ad-tech, etc.

These firms provide the substrate for community abusers: apps, operating systems and browser “standards” that can’t be legally reverse-engineered, and lobbying that strengthens and expands those “Felony Contempt of Business Model” policies:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

Without these laws and technologies, corporations wouldn’t be able to block freedom of exit and freedom of reach. These laws and technologies let these corporations demand that the state obliterate anyone who gives users the tools to set their own terms for the communities they built.

These are the laws and technologies that transform network effects from a tool for openness — where even the largest, most vicious corporations must seek to pervert, rather than ignore, standards — into a tool for enclosure, where we are all under mounting pressure to move inside a walled garden.

This digital feudalism is cloaked in the language of care and safety. The owners of these walled gardens insist that they are benevolent patriarchs who have built fortresses to defend us from external threats, but inevitably they are revealed as warlords who have built prisons to keep us from escaping from them:

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Which brings me to the Fediverse. The Fediverse’s foundation is a standard called ActivityPub, which was designed by weirdos who wanted to make a durably open, interoperable substrate that could support nearly any application. This was something that large corporations were both uninterested in building and which they arrogantly dismissed as a pipe dream. This means that Activitypub is actually as good as its architects could make it, free from boobytraps laid by scheming monopolists.

The best-known Fediverse application is Mastodon, which has experienced explosive growth from people who found Musk’s twin imperatives to cruelty and extraction sufficiently alarming that they have taken their leave of Twitter and the people they cared about there. This is not an easy decision, and Musk is bent on making it harder by sabotaging ex-Twitter users’ ability to find one another elsewhere. He wants the experience of leaving Twitter to be like the final scene of Fiddler On the Roof, where the villagers of Anatevka are torn from one another forever:

https://doctorow.medium.com/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms-9fc550fe5abf

With Mastodon’s newfound fame comes new scrutiny, and a renewed debate over the benefits and drawbacks of decentralized, federated systems. For example, there’s an ongoing discussion about the role of quote-tweeting, which Mastodon’s core devs have eschewed as conducive to antisocial dunks, but which some parts of Black Twitter describe as key to a healthy discourse:

https://www.tbray.org/ongoing/When/202x/2022/12/21/Mastodon-Ethics

But quote tweeting wasn’t initially a part of Twitter. Instead, users kludged it, pasting in text and URLs for others’ tweets to make it work. Eventually, Twitter saw the utility of quote-tweeting and adopted it, making it an official feature.

There is a possibility that Mastodon’s core devs will do the same, adding quote-tweet to the core codebase for Mastodon. But if they don’t, the story isn’t over. Because Mastodon is free software, and because it is built on an open standard, anyone can add this feature to their Mastodon instance. You can do this yourself, or you can hire someone else to do it for you.

Now, not everyone has money or coding skills — but also, not everyone has the social clout to convince a monolithic, for-profit corporation to re-engineer its services to better suit their needs. And while there is a lot of overlap between “people who can code,” and “people who can afford to pay coders” and “people whom a tech company listens to,” these are not the same population.

In other words: Twitter is a place where you get quote-tweeting if the corporation decides you need it, and Mastodon is a place where you get quote-tweeting if the core devs decide you need it, or if you have the skills or resources to add it yourself.

What’s more, if Mastodon’s core devs decide to take away a feature you like, you and your friends can stand up your own Mastodon server that retains that feature. This is harder than using someone else’s server — but it’s way, way easier than convincing Twitter it was wrong to take away the thing you loved.

The perils of running your own Mastodon server have also become a hot topic of debate. To hear the critics warn of it, anyone who runs a server that’s open to the public is painting a huge target on their back and will shortly be buried under civil litigation and angry phone-calls from the FBI.

This is: Just. Not. True. The US actually has pretty good laws limiting intermediary liability (that is, the responsibility you bear for what your users do). You know all that stuff about how CDA230 is “a giveaway to Big Tech?” That’s only true if the internet consists solely of Big Tech companies. However, if you decide to spend $5/month hosting a Mastodon instance for you and your community, that same law protects you.

Indeed, while running a server that’s open to the public does involve some risk, most of that risk can be contained by engaging in a relatively small, relatively easy set of legal compliance practices, which EFF’s Corynne McSherry lays out in this very easy-to-grasp explainer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/12/user-generated-content-and-fediverse-legal-primer

Finally, there’s the ongoing debate over whether Mastodon can (and should) replace Twitter. This week on the Canadaland Short Cuts podcast, Jesse Brown neatly summarized (and supported, alas) the incorrect idea that using Mastodon was no different from using Gab or Parler or Post.

https://www.canadaland.com/podcast/843-god-save-the-tweets/

This is very, very wrong. The thing is, even if you like and trust the people who run Gab or Parler or Post, you face exactly the same risk you face with Twitter or Facebook: that the leadership will change, or have a change of heart, and begin to enshittify your community there. When they do, your only remedy will be the one that Valente describes, to scatter to the winds and try and reform your community somewhere else.

But that’s not true of the Fediverse. On Mastodon, you can export all your followers, and all the people who follow you, with two clicks. Then you can create an account on another server and again, with just two clicks, you can import those follows and followers and be back up and running, your community intact, without being under the thumb of the server manager who decided to sell your community down the river (you can also export the posts you made).

https://codingitwrong.com/2022/10/10/migrating-a-mastodon-account.html

Now, it’s also true that a particularly vindictive Mastodon server owner could summarily kick you off the server without giving you a chance to export your data. Doing so would arguably run afoul of the GDPR and state laws like the CCPA.

Strengthening these privacy laws would actually improve user rights — unlike abolishing CDA 230, which would simultaneously make the corporate owners of big services more trigger-happy when it comes to censoring content from marginalized groups, and make it all but impossible for those groups to safely run their own servers to decamp to when this happens.

Letting people set up their own communities, responsible to one another, is the tonic for Valente’s despair that the cycle of corporate predation and enshittification is eternal, and that people who care for one another and their communities are doomed to be evicted again and again and again and again.

And *federating these communities — creating semi-permeable membranes between them, blocking the servers for people who would destroy you, welcoming messages from the like-minded, and taking intermediate steps for uneasy allies — answers Brown’s concern that Twitter is the only way we can have “one big conversation.”

This “one conversation” point is part of Brown’s category error in conflating federated media with standalone alternatives to Twitter like Post. Federated media is one big conversation, but smeared out, without the weak signal amplification of algorithms that substitute the speech of the people you’ve asked to hear from with people who’ve paid to intrude on your conversation, or whom the algorithm has decided to insert in it.

Federation is an attractive compromise for people like Valente, who are justly angry at and exhausted by the endless cycle of “entrepreneurs” building value off of a community’s labor and then extracting that value and leaving the community as a dried-out husk.

It’s also a promising development for antitrust advocates like me, who are suspicious of corporate power overall. But federation should also please small-government libertarian types. Even if you think the only job of the state is to enforce contracts, you still need a state that is large and powerful enough to actually fulfill that role. The state can’t hold a corporation to its promises if it is dwarfed by that corporation — the bigger the companies, the bigger the state has to be to keep them honest.

The stakes are high. As Valente writes, the digital communities that flourished online, only to be eradicated by cruelty and extraction, were wonderful oases of care and passion. As she says, “Love things. Love people. Love the small and the weird and the new.”

“Be each other’s pen pals. Talk. Share. Welcome. Care. And just keep moving. Stay nimble. Maybe we have to roll the internet back a little and go back to blogs and decentralized groups and techy fiddling and real-life conventions and idealists with servers in their closets.”

“Protect the vulnerable. Make little things. Wear electric blue eyeshadow. Take a picture of your breakfast. Overthink Twin Peaks. Get angry. Do revolutions. Find out what Buffy character you are. Don’t get cynical. Don’t lose joy. Be us. Because us is what keeps the light on when the night comes closing in.”

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Heisenberg Media (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elon_Musk_-_The_Summit_2013.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[Moses confronting the Pharaoh, demanding that he release the Hebrews. Pharaoh's face has been replaced with Elon Musk's. Moses holds a Twitter logo in his outstretched hand. Moses's head has been replaced with the head of Tusky, the Mastodon mascot. The faces embossed in the columns of Pharaoh's audience hall have been replaced with the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey. The wall over Pharaoh's head has been replaced with a Matrix 'code waterfall' effect.]