#And techno thinks they don't care

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Uh oh, it's bad brain time. You know what that means!

-puts a gun to c!Techno's head-

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

It's officially Halloween for me now so I get to post these!!

Reblogs appreciated! ^^

[byberbunk2069]

CDPR needs to collaborate with Cyberdog for Cyberpunk 2077 (and related) stuff

[cdroloisms]

The prison podcast is probably our best look into how c!dream and c!techno view each other and it deserves much more attention and also praise. They really say down for an hour and just talked and it's amazing.

strongly agree / agree / ambivalent / disagree / strongly disagree / don’t care whatsoever

im so sorry for being such a hater AKSDLFJS

don't get me wrong, prison podcast is great! it's just the situation in itself is also...unideal. c!dream is fresh off of a few months of serious torture and scared as hell and c!techno is the first person to treat him as a human person in a long while, and none of that should be discounted like. obviously, obviously that means a lot and obviously c!dream cares about c!techno and even defends c!techno for the whole imprisonment thing to c!sam! like, their relationship is very important to me for sure and i adore prison podcast to bits

all that being said, well, it's still the prison. the situation isn't ideal, and neither of them are in their best form--c!dream has been tortured A Lot, both of them are trapped and being underfed deliberately by c!Sam, c!techno is waiting for c!phil to read that goddamn book, they're both kinda desperate to get the hell out of this place, etc. maybe i'm being pedantic, but it's kinda hard to see this as being the most indicative of c!rivals and how they see each other when a significant part of their relationship (c!dream re: c!techno especially, but also the other way around) is a mutual respect and caution bc of the knowledge that they don't want the other as their enemy. sure, that hasn't exactly disappeared, but you're also seeing a lot less of it when they're lacking in any kind of gear and such.

i think that prison podcast is absolutely an important puzzle piece in c!rivals and should never be disregarded...but at the same time, this is a c!dream that has been put through the wringer. this is a c!techno who kiiiinda needs a second way out if c!phil hasn't read the whole thing in his will yet and doesn't seem like he's planning to any time soon. it makes sense for these things to affect the ways that they act, and so personally i do hesitate to say that prison podcast is the best representation of the dynamic at play here and that both characters were as honest as sometimes people are inclined to think that they were, you know?

[duncanor]

Controversial dsmp statement that appeared in my drunken brain:

cRanboo was to cTechno what cTommy never could be.

And in the end, he lost both of them and it was his own fault.

[faebriel]

calling out sick bc i thought about niki finding the tnt underneath the podium on nov 16 and quietly replacing the dirt that covered it again

[freezethebeez]

What’s the public perception of humans and vampires and half vampires? How does this vary by region? Are there any diseases specific to vampires?

The public perception that humans have of vampires tends to vary from person to person.

Vampires, both half and full, are generally more accepted in modern society, although there's still a bit of discrimination against half-vampires due to the fact that some humans don't know how to perceive them (half-vampires can survive off both fully human diets, or fully vampire diets, although it is advised to have a mix of both to maintain good health).

Back in the day (medieval times and whatnot) vampires were both hunted and attacked if exposed. A human would never win a fight one-on-one with a vampire, so small human communities were formed to take down vampires. This continued into the late 1970s until it became illegal to attack vampires without a warrant (because the government saw a profit in blood banks and knew that vampires had longer lifespans than humans so they could milk more money out of them for longer! Yay corruption!).

Conservative areas are more likely to have a distaste towards vampires, whereas more liberal/democratic areas don't really mind them.

Politics aside, vampires in Catalyst are essentially an allegory for the existence of queer people, and human beliefs on them are formed as such.

As for diseases: yes, vampires can carry disease.

The disease itself does not affect them greatly. It may make their skin peel a little bit, but other than that they don't tend to feel any serious pain or other side effects.

A corpse cannot be affected by disease, it can only carry it. Vampires are technically just a bunch of walking corpses.

This makes for an interesting experience when it's pandemic season (which is every hundred years. Crazy for humans, not so crazy for vampires). Vampires are usually put under stricter regulations by the government, being forbidden from leaving their places of residence out of fear of spreading whatever disease was affecting humans at the time.

[dsmpkinfessions]

I'm a Ranboo fictive whose never actually seen DSMP and it makes me feel terrible. I prefer not knowing my source, but it cuts me off from sourcemates and I feel a genuine loss over technoblade. But we've only seen a few of his videos, so they're not really my feelings to have. I don't know, I am a bit of a mess.

.

[fuctacles]

<< 😺 | 😺😺😺 >>

Eddie doesn't think more about Steph until there's a knock on the door on Saturday morning. He sighs, knowing it's his duty to open since his uncle would take forever on his crutch. And because he's a good nephew and wouldn't make him do that, of course.

He doesn't bother with the peephole, his sleepy brain basically forgetting of its existence. It's only when he opens the door and finds Steph with a duffel bag on the other side, that he realizes he went to open the door in nothing but his old Iron Man pajama bottoms.

"Good morning!" Steph greets him with a bright smile that falters a bit when her gaze drops to his tattooed chest. Eddie couldn't imagine a sight of zombie and spider tattoos giving him any credit in her pretty, middle-aged eyes. She quickly looks back up to meet his gaze. "Did I wake you up?" she asks, looking apologetic. 

Eddie shakes his head, hoping it would send his hair over his shoulders, and cover him up a bit. 

"I did!" Wayne pipes up from the kitchen. He sounds way too happy about running into a cupboard on his way out of the bathroom.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne!" she calls out, making Eddie roll his eyes.

"You can just come in, no need to yell through the whole place."

"Right, sorry," she steps inside tentatively, her hand clutching the strap of her bag. She's wearing a colorful windbreaker and her hair is tied up, showing off the soft line of her jaw and the beauty marks on her neck. She heads to the kitchen, seemingly already knowing her way around, and Eddie closes the door behind her. He quickly runs off to his bedroom (/guest room, now that he's on campus most of the time) and grabs a t-shirt to cover his nipples, tattoos, and overall unattractiveness.

"Visiting Robin for the weekend?" He catches his uncle's question when he steps back in. 

It rubs him the wrong way, not knowing who Robin is. Is he Steph's boyfriend? Maybe they're doing long-distance? He returns to the ancient coffee maker he had abandoned to open the door.

"Yeah. I haven't seen Rob since last month. Our days off finally aligned."

"Can't you stay there longer? I'm sure Eddie wouldn't mind taking care of your cats for a day or two more."

"Hey!" Eddie whips around to glare at his uncle. The coffee maker splutters behind him. "Don't just offer my services like that," he scoffs. Then, he turns to Steph. "I wouldn't, though."

She chuckles and he grins, simply happy to make her smile.

"Try dealing with them alone first, and then we'll talk. But, you really wouldn't mind? If I stayed a day longer?"

He shakes his head.

"Not at all." He still has Wayne's words fresh in his mind. That people weren't kind to her, that she doesn't have many friends to rely on. "I'm assuming Robin is someone important to you?" he half-asks, leaning against the counter all casually. 

Just the thought of Robin makes Steph glow.

"She's my best friend. We met at our first job serving ice cream."

Eddie's a bit embarrassed at the relief of knowing Robin is a girl. Still, a best friend is higher in ranks than your friendly neighbour's nephew. 

"What's it been? Twenty years?" Wayne asks. Steph nods, making him whistle. "I couldn't stand any of my coworkers for longer than a shift."

"Maybe you're bad at making friends," Eddie butts in. "I've known Gareth since high school and we're still going strong."

"You guys are band buddies, that's different," Wayne scoffs. 

"You play in a band?" Steph picks up, her eyes shining with interest that Eddie squirms under.

"Yeah, we play metal though. Probably not your stuff."

She shakes her head.

"Any music can be good when you put your heart into it. My friends listen to all kinds of weird stuff, I've heard everything from classical to experimental techno." She rolls her eyes. "I'd love to hear your music if you have anything recorded. Or you could give me a heads up if you're playing somewhere."

All Eddie can do is stare at her, dumbfounded. 

"Uh-huh."

Wayne, bless his sometimes useful soul, saves his ass by changing the subject.

"Coffee?" he asks the stunning woman at their table. She's just sitting there, in the Munson abode at their kitchen table while they're still in pajamas like it's normal. Eddie wants it to be normal. Wants to sit in her lap and listen to her laugh. 

She looks at her watch. It's white, she must be cleaning it often.

"I only have fifteen more minutes before I really have to go."

"Half a coffee then," Eddie decides for her, grabbing the mugs. She chuckles.

"Fine." She rolls her eyes.

Each of them gets their coffee, and Eddie notes Steph takes her with just a splash of milk. Before he can ask anything, to push their small morning gathering further into a friendly small talk, she reaches into her pocket to fish out her house key.

"I came over to drop the keys," she says, pushing them towards Eddie. "And if you have something to write on, I'll give you Robin's house number in case of emergencies."

"Sure, yeah." He nods, standing up immediately to look for the notepad they plan the grocery list in. In his haste, he catches Wayne's amused stare. He sends him a frown, but the man is already looking away, which only further agitates him. 

[antimony-medusa]

Honestly though like if you're following Philza you should get used to the fact that since the dawn of him streaming RP people have violently disliked his reaction to any angst beats because like, the cc finds angst rp funny and is also a very giggly guy. And if you're here for drama and tragedy it looks like he's not taking the pain seriously, which is obviously going to be something you don't like seeing. Trust me. We have been here before. I have watched DSMP. There were people saying he didn't take Techno's IRL death seriously enough because he was positive on stream. Like, this is top five things people get mad at cc!phil and his characters for, after "breaks the fourth wall" and "is an imperfect person/parent" and "idk his vibes just grate and I read them as Bad y'know".

I personally think that like the fact that he was repeatedly saying to the eggs that they were gonna get Tubbo back, they'll bring him back with the create wrench cause he cares about create, don't worry it'll all be okay; that was all evidence that the character does care about Tubbo and for heaven's sake, if you want angst, read that as denial and you're fully comfortably in one of the recognized stages of grieving. I was making jokes the day people in my life died, this is also one of the ways people deal with loss. But I also see why that's a POV clash if you wanted a more straightforward depiction of grief and angst? Phil was pretty far from being in tears, which is what some people think was warranted. So like, sure, if you've been watching a specific perspective, Phil's reaction was trivializing. I can see that perspective as well.

It is not fun to see someone calling your POV "vile" and "heartless" and "too selfish to consider other people" and the other delightful stuff that I just saw on a scroll through the tag, but like, that's just POV clash, you gotta let people have their own opinions and block the neg tags and maybe block people who are being really loud. Sincerely, it does nobody any good to go beefing about people being mean about your favourite cubito. Post careful lore exploration on your own blog if you want but doing replies, sending anons, all of that is the way down which A Bad Time lies. Sincerely like, this has happened before, this will happen again, just go listen to good music or something and ignore it.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Thinking about Techno who works in a mermaid research/rehab facility and the three mermaids who are super attached to him.

Techno is not a marine biologist. He's a college student who picked up a janitor job at the place for some extra cash. He's only supposed to clean the walkways and maybe feed the mers by throwing fish in the tank occasionally. But somehow, he ends up with three mers who have taken a liking to him and the scientists don't bother discouraging the bonding since it makes them easier to handle.

Phil is an adult arctic mer. He is friendly enough, but very solitary and reserved - like most arctic mers are. They're prone to hiding. Techno is the only one who can reliably lure Phil out. Phil refuses to show himself when Techno isn't around. Catching him against his will would be stressful and could potentially harm him or the humans involved in the project, so the scientists see only upsides to encouraging Phil's apparent bonding with Techno. Even if Techno is around, Phil will not let any human except Techno touch him, so the scientists sometimes have to guide Techno through what he has to do when they need to do checkups and such.

Wilbur is extremely hostile, and will often attack anybody who comes close to him, his pod, or even his perceived territory. He's of indeterminate species, looks like a deep sea mer but seems to not need to live on the bottom of the ocean, so rather peculiar and his health is very weird. He's very dangerous though, and same as Phil he will not let himself be touched or lured by anybody except Techno for some reason.

Lastly, there's Tommy, a tropic mer. He's actually extremely friendly with humans! Maybe a little too friendly. He has injured and (almost) drowned several people working at the facility because he plays very roughly and is always so eager. He's younger than the other two, not having reached adulthood by mer standards. He's like a happy little puppy except a puppy that is very prone to mischief and doesn't know his own strength. Techno is - again, for some reason - the only human he seems to listen to. Tommy does not care when any other human says "stop" or gives an indication he's hurting them. He doesn't always listen to Techno when he says "stop" but does seem to care when he's hurting Techno. So there's that.

The trio forms a pod - traditionally, species is determined by where a mer is hatched, but they can live anywhere after. Most mer form a pod with other mers of the same species and don't leave the area they're born, but Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy all individually happen to get kicked out or lose their birth pods for whatever reason, ending up together in a strange three-person pod. It's a scientific oddity, which makes them so interesting to study.

They're not going to be happy being locked up forever though. Eventually, they'll get sick of the tank.

And who knows, maybe they'll take their favorite human with them when they leave :3c

[artificial-transmutations]

Going Green

"Microtransactions!"

Charles looked around the board members.

"Micro. Transactions. Have you ever heard of that? Anyone?"

Slowly, heads nodded.

"Oh, good! So, you *have* heard of them. Does anyone care to explain to me then why our games barely have any? In fact, I have yet to see *any* microtransaction revenue from our latest release."

"But Sir, 'Orcs and Morcs' is a single player game - and not for a mobile platform, too. It doesn't even have an online connection. It would be highly unusual."

Charles M. Anderson cut the engineer up with a gesture. He didn't even know the other man's name, which wasn't too unusual. Even though he was the CEO of GreenGames for six months now, he didn't bother to learn his subordinates names until they proved useful. And this unnamed engineer could be happy if he still had a job after this meeting.

"I don't care about your techno-babble. Microtransactions is where the money is, so I want them in our products. *All* our products. And make sure to make them mandatory for any progress, too."

Charles usually talked about "Releases" and "Products". To him, video games were just a product like any other. Of course *he* didn't play any of those silly games, games were for children and losers. He only cared for the numbers, the graphs and revenues.

"What about the backlash? I mean, I understand that you want to generate more revenue, but GreenGames is known for providing high quality games that *don't* try to rip their customers off."

"So?"

"So, this could be bad publicity for us. Really bad."

Charles looked around the table and noticed most of the other board members nodding.

"Listen up, everyone. I think there is some misunderstanding here. You think that I care about our customers. I really don't, as long as they continue to buy our products. There is no such thing as bad publicity. So, I don't tell you how to draw your silly ogres and you don't try to meddle in the business aspect of the company, okay?"

Even though the inflection suggested a question, it was perfectly clear that it was neither a question nor a request. Again, heads nodded and tried to avoid eye contact. Good. Respect was very important for a leader.

One woman spoke up. Charles suspected her to be some lead writer or something.

"It's orcs, Sir."

Charles blinked. "What are you trying to say?"

"You said ogres, but our games are about orcs. That is our thing, we make games about orcs."

"There is no difference between orcs, ogres, unicorns and all that whimsy stuff. Leave me alone with your fantasy crap."

"But there is another thing. You are responsible for the story of our products?"

The woman agreed with a careful: "Yes, Sir?"

Charles looked her straight in the eye. "It has come to my attention that there are certain woke elements in our products. As a story writer, I expect you to take care of that."

"What... do you mean by woke? And by taking care of that?"

Charles sighed. Why was everyone so incompetent?

"Apparently, there is same-sex smut in our products, some even have pronouns. That crap needs to disappear asap. It is 'go woke go broke', after all."

The writer woman looked at Charles incredulously. "But Sir! Same-Sex romances are a well-accepted part of the industry for *decades* now. And it's not like the player has to engage in that, too. It's just an option - an option we actually received much praise for in the past. And about the pronouns... It's just a setting that influences some dialogues on how the player character is referred to. Again, it is perfectly possible to play as a straight green cis male if that's what you want to do."

Charles shook his head, his voice now dangerously low. "One more word of that, miss, and you can start looking for a new job. 84% of our customer base is male, and male customers want to see boobs, that's a fact. I won't tolerate wasting company resources on pacifying some noisy minority and alienating our main audience."

"But sir!" the writer woman objected.

Charles' look silenced her.

"One more word and you're out. We'll find another writer. Someone who does the job and keeps their mouth shut. This meeting is over. I expect results end of next week."

Nobody dared to speak up when everybody left the meeting room, and Charles returned to his office. What a productive meeting.

Just as he turned to his computer to check today's KPIs, he noticed a new email.

From: Employee Council

To: Charles M. Anderson

Subject: Going Green

Body:

Dear Mr. Anderson,

we here at GreenGames would like to take the opportunity to point out some concerns about your leadership role.

We have noticed a disturbing development since your takeover and would like to remind you of the values we stand for at GreenGames. We like creating games, and we identify with the work we do. Our players are important to us, and we strife to be open and accessible for everyone. Just like the protagonists in our games, we have honor and use our strengths to better the world. You in particular should be the living embodiment of this ideal. Please take this chance to re-think your methods and decisions and "go green" for real.

Sincerely,

The Employee Council.

Charles was outraged. How dared those subordinates criticizing him? He reached for his phone, ready to phone his secretary to find out who this "Employee Council" was but was interrupted by a ripping sound.

The right arm of his expensive suit jacket had ripped at the shoulder, which was unusual. He would have to have a stern talk with the tailor. Charles stood up and took off his jacket - or at least, he tried to. It was like the piece of clothing was way too small all of a sudden. He finally managed to get out of it, but only with several more rips in the fabric. Charles loosened his tie. He was sweating like mad, and when he looked down on himself, he was in utter disarray. His shirt looked like it was several numbers too small and as he was watching, one button after the other flew off with an audible "pling", exposing his torso underneath.

But was it really his torso? Not only was it *bigger*, it also looked way *hairier*. Charles had never been a man with much body hair, but now, he looked down on a stomach that was showing visible abs covered with a dense treasure trail of dark hairs. They continued upwards where they met with a true forest of curly dark hair that covered the slabs of pecs that were still growing as Charles watched.

He had to loosen his tie again before taking it off entirely. All of his clothes felt constricting, so, he peeled himself out of his shirt, too. His expensive watch was interrupting his growth painfully, but Charles was too occupied to notice, let alone care. With a dull cracking noise, the leather strap broke, and the watch flew across the room, hitting the opposite wall.

As Charles continued to grow, the chair underneath him creaked, but, again, he had other things to worry about. His lower body was still covered by his dress pants and shoes, but that was getting tight, too. His shoes especially were getting painful, and it was a relief when the front broke, exposing large muscular feet and toes. His pants were filled to the brim with heavy, muscled legs now, but there was another region where the capacity had been reached. His groin formed an obscene bulge. That alone would have probably fit - barely - but it was accompanied by an unusual feeling. Charles didn't *mind* his extreme change. In fact, the hyper masculine body turned him on, even. He watched as a dick print became clearly visible outlined against his groin, as his cock grew hard. It pulsed, once, and Charles felt a spurt of precum soak into his boxer shorts. A wet patch became apparent as the liquid seeped through his pants - all from a single spurt. His dick pulsed again, and Charles' head began to swim. The air in the room was thick with sweat and testosterone by now, and Charles groaned from arousal. Man, what would he give for a nice firm manly ass right now, giving him a lap dance.

Wait, what? Manly ass?

But it was true! Every time, Charles tried to think about sexy girls, but all that came to mind were men. Burly, hairy men, twinkish shaved men, green-skinned ogre-man. No, not ogres, he corrected himself. Orcs.

As he thought this word, his dick pulsed again and made Charles almost cry out from arousal. He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He *ripped* apart his dress pants and lowered his boxer shorts that looked like a pair of briefs on his massive body now, releasing a gigantic stiff rod and a matching set of heavy balls - along with a whole cloud of manly, musky smell that made Charles even hornier than before.

He closed his gigantic hand around his shaft and moved it up and down, in a slow, barely constrained motion. He had almost come by that one stroke, so horny was his mind. Fascinatedly, he watched as his cock and balls took on a deep, green color. It looked almost like a cucumber, or the penis of the incredible hulk. Or... an orc. As he moved his strong hand up and down again, the green started to spread in all directions.

Yes! There was no doubt: He was becoming a big, strong, sexy orc! Charles let all restraints fall away and started pumping in earnest now. With each stroke, the green spread, until his entire torso was of a rich green color. His head felt a pressure as his facial structure reformed, and his ears grew long and pointy. His hair lost darkened and grew out into a wild mohawk-like hairstyle. At the same time, a black beard sprouted around his entire jaw, underlining his masculinity.

Meanwhile, the green had swept across his arms and legs, quickly eliminating any leftover pink spots. The green color looked incredibly hot under the coat of dense, manly hair, and Charles felt himself getting closer. He grunted with each stroke like an animal and where his muscular green body touched the furniture or his executive chair, it left a film of manly sweat. Finally, he felt a short bit of pain on his ears and nipples, as small metal piercings appeared there: Short studs in his ears and small rings in his nipples.

That sent him over the edge. With a final bellow, he came, mightily. His large green balls contracted and his massive cock spew cum everywhere: All over his stomach, his chest, his furniture, even his face!

Charr panted in the afterglow of his orgasm. He was the epitome of virility and although he had just cummed all over his office, his mind kept creeping back to sexy guys again. He would be able to go again, soon - but that had to wait a bit. He used the remains of his suit to clean up a bit (although it was still clearly visible and smellable what happened here), stuffed his mighty tool into the cum-stained underwear and reached for the phone.

"Please send the board to my office, I want to issue an honorable apology, and announce our new strategy." He rumbled with his new, low voice. After a moment of consideration, he added: "And please send someone to install our games on my PC."

He rubbed his hands. This would usher in a whole new era for GreenGames - with the greenest possible CEO.

I have the feeling that a lot of companies could benefit greatly from a bit of a greener leadership!

[conarcoin]

Some of my favorite DSMP quotes I think are underrated:

"Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo? ...Nothing good." - Schlatt

"TommyInnit, I am a slow-burning fuse." - Wilbur

"History will forget that a country ever existed in this area." - Techno

"Let the space between the Badlands be total chaos. That's got nothing to do with us! Manberg? Pogtopia? Who cares!" - BBH

"Tommy, you just did a coup. You just did a hostile government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as president. And then you gave it to your friend, but that's still a tyrant, Tommy!" - Techno

"I know I'm forgetful, I know I'm an amnesiac and I'm the comic relief in all your stories, but I still feel this- I still feel things!" - Ghostbur

"For what it's worth, I don't know what went on today. But even though you kidnapped me, and I'm still kinda dealing with the trauma, I think at the end of the day you're just a conflicted person, not a bad person... And I hope one day you find what you're looking for." - Connor

"If you wanted to stop us, you should have brought more than just yourself. You should have brought an army with you." - BBH

"You threw away my life for some kind of fucking sales pitch?" - Foolish

"I've been watching for a long time. One person lashes out and then the other does, until they're both gone. From what I've seen, it feels like people don't stop taking that revenge. Is it ever worth it?" - Slime

"You showed me that when you saw me, something malleable, and all of you made me into the worst parts of each." - Slime

[jaz-it-up]

it was easy to talk about technoblade. everyone knows techno. everyone loves techno.

but now it's been a year since tfc died, and... it's still hard to talk about. i didn't watch his content very often, but i do know this: he was an incredible person. he was kind, he was funny, he had one of the best laughs in the world, and he didn't care what others thought of him or his style of content creation. if that doesn't make him an incredible person, i don't know what does.

my absolute favorite memory of tfc is at the beginning of season 9. scar and a few other people were at spawn, and tfc (i think) was underground, and he laughed at something and scared the living daylights out of scar. his laugh was absolutely infectious, and it hurts like a bitch that we don't get to hear it anymore.

it's hard to talk about someone you miss when you didn't know them very well. it took me five tries to write this post without crying. and while it's been a year, if you're still grieving, if you're still processing, take your time. it's okay. we made it through a year. i'm sure he's watching us, wherever he may be, and i can only hope that he's happy, and he's still making people laugh.

rest well, tfc. keep mining. i miss you.

[artbyblastweave]

Frederick Sinclair is a really interesting foil to Mr. House. I mean you start digging into this and it's just parallel after parallel after parallel. Start at the high level. House sinks inordinate amounts of resources into saving the city of Las Vegas - not the people, but the city- from nuclear destruction; as long as the stage endures, he can get anyone to wear the costumes. Sinclair sets up an entirely new "community" totally off-the-grid for the sake of protecting one woman, plasters that place with her likeness. House is a visionary with a 200-year action plan to rebuild society in his image, bootstrap space exploration, and construct an interplanetary empire; Sinclair sank everything he had into building the most secure facility possible for a woman who he knew was terminally ill anyway, just to ensure that her last few years lived in the aftermath of the nuclear apocalypse would be as comfortable as possible- there's a fundamental pessimism baked into what he was doing. Both House and Sinclair relied heavily on automated defensive systems and cutting-edge, esoteric technologies to accomplish their ends, but House built his power base on proprietary robotics and computing technology, much of which he personally designed- an outgrowth of his policy of never widening his circle any more than he absolutely has to. Sinclair, in his naive techno-optimism, outsourced his utopia, grabbing flashy third-party technologies like a kid in a candy store- opening a backdoor for the Think Tank to poison his city and ultimately getting everyone at the Gala Event killed when the holograms malfunctioned and went berserk.

Their management styles are inverse. House allows countless abuses to occur under his aegis because he subscribes to a libertarian-when-convenient philosophy where he doesn't much care what the little people do as long as he gets his cut and they don't rock the boat too much- a hands-off approach that fosters resentment amongst his subordinates, lets the White Gloves and Omertas get up to untold levels of fuckery while Freeside languishes and Benny conspires against him. Sinclair, by contrast, had a sincerely-held utopian-straight-edge safety-first micromanagement approach built into the very bones of the casino, he appeared to genuinely give a shit about the safety of the construction crew on the villa, and he was well-liked by nearly everyone who had any direct contact with him- and yet untold horrors also went down under his aegis, because his myopic focus on building the vault for Vera let Dean Domino and the Think Tank run circles around him, good intentions be damned. Their respective interpersonal dispassion and obsession are on display in how they react to betrayal. House's tone never rises above exasperation when it comes time to clean house of Benny, the Omerta Leadership and the White gloves; he treats them as problems to be solved, gears that are slightly out of alignment; By contrast, when Sinclair learns that Dean and Vera have been playing him, he channels the monomaniacal energy he previously directed towards protecting Vera towards the goal of building the perfect poetic-ironic death trap for her and Dean.

There are some other parallels in their personal lives. For one thing they both trusted a pastiche of a 40s lounge singer a lot more than they should have. They both tried to digitize, immortalize their girlfriends- and the discrepancy in how they went about it is telling. House's recreation of Jane isn't terribly robust, and in terms of House's overall project she's an afterthought. She's more a sock-puppet than a person, a sanded-down copy of a woman who died forever-and-a-half ago, forever agreeable, never saying no. Convenient. Only the most superficial visual elements preserved- an illustration of her face on a robotic chassis. Sinclair was obsessive in recreating Vera, preserving her likeness. It's all over the villa, her hologram is everywhere, her voice is everywhere. The terminal in the lightwave lab in Old World Blues reveals that he was still obsessed with getting her hologram right even after the love curdled into hate. All of it a monument to the real woman, and yet in all of it the real woman is still lost, buried under the mythologized projection. He didn't respect the real person enough to let her know that she was dying. A total failure of preservation from the opposite direction. (Except in the suites, where you can hear her very authentic dying pleas.)

You find both of them in their basements. House only looks a little better than Sinclair, but he's got much more of a voice in the narrative. He took steps to make sure he'd be around to tell you what he thinks about everything, fine-tuned the voice with which he speaks to the world, the face he presents. It matters to him that he gets to tell his own story. We find out a lot about House, from House; but for the kind of figure that he is, a shocking amount of what we learn about Sinclair comes from other people, people who knew him or wrote about him. The only image of him you can find is a downplayed element of a larger mosaic. The two documents you find that're written from his perspective have been buried for 200 years, and they're yards from his corpse. And the more recent of the two is an apology. I mean admittedly at the point where he wrote that apology Sinclair was personally turbofucked regardless. If the cloud didn't get him the holograms would have, or the radiation, or, or, or. You can read some level of ego into what he did in the face of that. But however futile it was, he died in the specific way that he did because he recognized that he'd done something awful, and he was trying everything he could think of to correct it. Somehow I find it very hard to imagine House doing either of those things- admitting fault or putting skin of his own in the game to make it right.

[zivazivc]

Because of a recent ask about the dad's name I am dropping this old drawing that should go along with a oneshot I doubt I'll ever finish because I don't like it anymore, so better I just put this out there.

The dad's name is Keanu and his husband's name is Wave. I don't actually know anything about them but here they are 😅

And you can find a portion of the unfinished fic with this scene under the cut. Warning: Floyd is a mess. A much much bigger one than I actually/currently think his present self is, hence why I don't like this so much anymore (and it was never meant to be canon to my ex bandmates au anyway). It's still pretty funny though.

. . .

Before Bruce could notice the change in Floyd’s mood his eyes caught movement behind him by the entrance to the restaurant. His grin eased down into a more relaxed smile for him to return to business.

“We have another troll family coming in,” he said and turned around to pick up a set of small, freshly-printed and laminated menus from the counter. “Been getting quite a number of those since we hosted the concert.”

Floyd snatched them from his hand, eager to push the replay of his anxiety to the back of his mind, and get back to work. “I’m on it," he said determinedly. "You take care of the big guys.”

He didn’t even know if he could handle carrying another Vaycaytioner-sized family-sized order of food. He hogged the regularly-sized troll customers as much as he could. 

The new guests had settled behind one of the small inflatable plastic tables in the pool area close to the entrance where the sun was shining through. Even with their lower halves submerged in water, Floyd could immediately tell that they were Techno Trolls from the way their hair flowed in the air, like gravity was just an afterthought to them.

Once he got closer, Floyd saw that it was presumably two dads around his age with their two kids. His eyes immediately glued themselves to the older, more physically attractive of the two men, because that’s what he always seemed to find himself doing in these situations. Not that it was his fault the guy was hot and Floyd had been grounded to perfume bottles, armadillo RVs, and underground bunkers for months on end.

When he made it to the pool edge and stood right above their floating table, he finally caught himself gazing. He blinked and reeled his stupid horny thoughts back in before he would do something dumb like bite his lip and give him the bedroom eyes in front of his husband and kids. Not that something like that had been completely beneath him in the past. But he was currently on a shift in his brother’s restaurant, so…

He put on a more acceptable, family-friendly smile.

“Hi, welcome,” he said easily, sounding nothing like how his spasmodic thoughts felt in his head. “How’s everyone doing? You guys hungry?”

He crouched down and leaned over the edge of the pool to hand them the menus.

“Starving, actually,” the attractive techno troll said with a friendly laugh in his voice, and leaned over the inflatable table to grab them. And Floyd’s eyes traveled down that toned arm and exposed stomach. Not only did he ooze the confident, warm charisma of someone who had his life together, he was also fit. Floyd almost fell into the pool in his attempt to accidentally brush fingers with him. The guy was back in his spot in the water before either of those things happened, much to Floyd’s relief and disappointment.

He straightened up and pulled up his notepad and pencil almost like a shield. Fuck, Floyd, get your head straight! “Can I get you anything to drink while you decide what you'll have?”

“Nah, I think we’ll look first,” the guy replied without lifting his eyes as he handed the menus to the rest.

Floyd was about to give up on his first round of trying to get this man’s attention, and sigh in relief that his stupid wants weren’t being entertained, when he registered a different set of eyes staring hard at him. He glanced to the left, to the other guy behind the table.

The intensity of the glare nearly made Floyd recoil.

His first thought was: Shit, I wasn’t even trying to be obvious. Because when he was, the angry stares he would receive from jealous boyfriends or girlfriends were usually heated and flustered, not intensely sharp and cold. The steadiness with which he was being pinned didn’t even feel like a newly developed loathing.

Shit was also Floyd’s second thought. He’s looking at me like we know each other… I haven’t already fucked his man before, have I? Floyd wasn’t so good with faces or names …or memory in general when it came to certain episodes in his life. But surely the hot husband would have remembered him at least…

Then his mind wandered to the other possibility. Did we fuck??

Whenever he tried to iron out his life, his stupid past actions always seemed to come back to bite him in the ass. He really hoped this wasn’t one of those cases.

He stared at the troll’s face, trying to place him somewhere. Techno Troll (that didn’t narrow it down that much), hair in two different gradients of blue, dark purple skin, a younger-looking face even for a Techno Troll, bright green eyes, and green freckles…

Sweat broke down Floyd’s back, and it had nothing to do with his recovering physical condition.

He swallowed uncomfortably and instinctively pulled his pencil and paper slightly closer to his chest. His eyes finally looked over to the other side of the inflatable table. He had only briefly glanced at the kids before, enough to know they were kids and uninteresting. But looking at them now… Floyd immediately deviated a couple of shades from his natural hue.

Neither had any of the hunky dad’s warm colors; in fact, the kids weren’t even fully Techno. They were mixed like his friend Liv. The scarce strands of thin, luminescent Techno cords were nearly swallowed up by dense, fluffy, regular hair. The girl—they were a boy and a girl—was lounging on a pool float with her feet in the air, and Floyd could see that instead of flippers, she had legs with the unusually webbed feet, kind of something like an amphibian. The other kid—the boy—had skin that didn't have the dim effect or rubbery texture to it that Techno Trolls normally had, and it was an uncomfortably familiar shade of turquoise. Both of them sported hot pink bangs over their eyes.

“Ah,” Floyd uttered out loud like some kind of dumbass.

The three heads who had been engrossed in the restaurant menu all looked up, surprised to see him still standing there. Floyd evaded their gazes only to lock eyes with the purple troll again.

He… He was the kid from the week-long, non-stop techno rave, back when Floyd had been deep in his sour worm addiction and going through a long manic episode to top it off… At one point during the party someone brought out pure citric acid and Floyd blanked out for three days straight after that, only to wake up in an unfamiliar bed with a double surprise…

It was like a switch, but now Floyd could clearly remember the young adult version of this troll floating around his dorm room with the egg from Floyd’s head in his hands, panicking about how his parents were going to kill him, all while Floyd silently lay in bed contemplating if he should mention the other egg stuck in the kid's hair or if he should just say he’s going to the bathroom and then never return.

“Uhm.” He swallowed uncomfortably, wanting to be anywhere but here. Maybe not the crystal bottle, but anywhere else. “…I think I should get you a different waiter…”

The purple troll’s glare did not waver in the slightest. “I think so too.”

Floyd took that as permission to bail on him a second time. He turned around on his heel and practically ran from the pool edge.

“Keanu, you good?” he heard the husband ask, sounding obviously confused about what just transpired.

Well, at least Floyd knew what to call that troll in his head now instead of just "kid"…

. . .