#COS Mouthpiece

[msclaritea]

They did it again. Hollywood, a complete wasteland of hubris and sick, cultish assholes, deliberately made this film, just to tear down a character they built up, although I guess it's thankful that this destruction goes a lot quicker than Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of The Rings, Indiana Jones, Captain Marvel, Superman and all of the other heroes they've been destroying. The Joker never should have been an idol with so much focus, but Hollywood is having too much fun, fucking with the public's head and trying as nauseum, to sell the increasingly cringe Lady Gag-a. Believe me, they already have the unearned Oscar ready.

Speaking of Cillian Murphy, Gag even replaces him in pushing the buttons of vulnerable people, by being displayed in a GIF shooting herself in the head. It'll be shared a million times by trolls, just like they did Murphy's was:

Everyone involved with this film is trash.

[thedemonscrawler]

What this fic claims to be: Two characters forced to face their mental demons and take the first steps towards understand themselves and each other

What this fic will actually be: A series of character analysis essays thinly disguised as a story

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

Uhh, concert band au because I (a former band kid) say so. Here's the bats and co. in a couple situations that I have witnessed or experienced from my time in band.

Alright, in my mind, we got:

Dick on tenor sax, Jason and Tim on trumpet (Tim because he'll probably follow Jason wherever he goes), Damian on clarinet, Steph, Roy, and Babs on percussion, Cass on Euphonium, Wally on trombone, Kon on French horn, and Jon on alto sax. Duke doesn't want to be there but is forced to handle passing out music. And Bruce as conductor, obviously. Bear with me now.

Walking down the halls and transporting instruments after a performance

Dick, rolling a timpani, struggling: "I don't get why I have to take this broken ass timpani. I don't even play it."

Jason, holding a cymbal: "Yeah, good luck with that."

Tim, walking back to the band room: "Dude, that was so bad. I cracked like half those notes."

Damian: "I would've been fine, had my reed not chipped."

Tim: "Yeah, that's the thing to blame."

*Hears a loud thump and turns around, seeing Dick crashed the timpani in the doorway and Jason cackling on the floor*

Tim: *Turns to Damian*

Damian: ".. We were never here."

Kon: *Leaving to get water*

Jon: *Takes his mouthpiece and passes it to the back row*

Jason, taking the metal: "Haha, this is so much funnier when it's not happening to me." *Passes it down the line to Wally*

Kon, coming back: "The fuck? Where's my mouthpiece?"

Bruce: "Alright, horn on measure 15"

Kon: "Where- WHERE'S MY MOUTHPI-"

Duke and Babs chatting:

Roy in the background, gearing up to smack Dick's ass:

Wally: *Playing his music*

Cass, in the middle of rests: *Flips his page upside down*

Wally: *Panic*

Percussion having a lil jam sesh, AKA being called out and worked on by Bruce:

Everyone else: *Silently bopping their heads and dancing every time Bruce looks away*

Duke, in a mocking voice: "Duke, go pass out music! Duke, Collect all the originals! Duke, go find me an overture! Duke-"

Bruce, calling out from his office: "Duke, go make me copies!"

Duke:

Bruce: "Okay Jon, this run we're playing through your solo, so be prepared to go on."

Halfway through the piece, before the solo

Roy: *Farts audibly*

Jon: *Giggles*

Jason and Tim: *Grabbing onto each other in silent laughter*

Steph, head in her hands on the marimba: *Snorts*

Jon misses his entrance and the solo is replaced by silent giggles across the room. Bruce does not stop conducting, sighing in disappointment.

Roy, trying to cover up the boards:

Steph, very much in his way, trying to hump Cass while she packs up her horn:

Bruce: *Working with percussion*

Tim, sighing: "Man, it's always the percussion."

Steph: *Hits him on the head with a drumstick* "You take that back"

Duke, passing out new sheet music: "The fuck is a bassoon? Are any of you a bassoon? What even are you, you all look the same."

*Moves on to brass*

Duke: "Are you a trumpet or a cornet?"

Jason and Tim: *Shrugs*

Duke: "I- whatever, have both."

Duke: "Finally, Cass. Someone reasonable. Are you baritone or euphonium?"

Cass: *Shrugs*

Duke:

Dick and Jon watching a Minecraft parkour video from the phone placed on their stand:

Tim, Jason, Wally, and Cass watching from the row behind them:

Anyone needing to play a solo:

Everybody turning around to stare into their soul:

Jason, minding his own business:

Wally: *Snatches his music and passes it down a row*

Jason: "Hey wait- nO-"

Damian, counting his rests on his fingers: *Looks over to Jon*

Jon, with a different amount of fingers up even though they have the same amount of rests: *Panic*

Damian and Jon, silently communicating and panicking about the rests, both missing their entrance

Jason, squinting at his music: "The fuck? Why the hell is there a 6/8 in here?"

Tim: "How do you count 6/8 again?"

Jason: "That is a very good question." *Mumbling the rhythms to himself* "1 and 2, 3 and, and- no that's not it.. 1 e a 2? 1..2?"

Tim:

Jason:

Jason: "Maybe Damian has the same melody before us."

Tim: "Yeah, let's just listen to him."

[angeldeviloshi]

Oughhhh!!!! Quick note, in JP she says "I was with Denji-kun, Asa-chan and Yoru-chan... Because their troubled looks were fun. But even as I'm with you guys, it's not... all that fun..."

It's vindicating to see Kiga state that she lives to savour human experiences, food (my thoughts on food in p2 as humanity's outlet for creation, existence, potential)

BUT especially noteworthy here is her saying Denji's, Asa's and Yoru's faces looked FUN. Despite her acknowledgment that horsemen are uninterested in faces.

And I don't think it's pure sadism that she says this, but genuine intrigue. Denji's, Asa's and Yoru's puzzlement, suffering, struggle as marks of their experience.

Her being bored of Public Safety by saying they're no fun, preferring the school festival's hopeful, cheerful resistance instead. And she sounds disappointed about that. She's with these humans but they're no fun. Public Safety is so dry, calculated, cold.

And it's really interesting that Fumiko is the one who lashes out at her while being loyal to the cause as she lectures Kiga on priorities given her positioning as the "junior" as she sits between Kiga and Yoshida.

Almost as if she's acting as the mouthpiece for Yoshida's frustration that he can't express due to the maturity and professionalism he has ingrained in himself in the role of an agent as the prophecy approaches.

Kiga's choosing to participate in the apocalypse as a child, a student while Yoshida spends his childhood bleak and controlled. Yoshida's reflection of this too, he's no fun.

Calling back to 191 when Yoru flings the cake at him, takes Denji away to teach him how to play "like a devil" because humans like him are too controlling, predictable.

This followed by Yoru having fun showing off her shooting to Denji almost as if they're having a festival themselves at a shooting booth as Yoru relishes in her childish side.

And here's the kicker, it also looks like Kiga's co-opting of Nayuta's excuse when Nayuta told her she can't help her because she has school. She's a child. Nayuta's understanding of the apocalypse in the context of fun.

This aimed at Fumiko and Yoshida in their role as state agents while criticising them almost as if it's a dissonance between Nayuta and Makima.

Also smth smth Kiga's absorption of Nayuta's role and Yoru's absorption of Makima's role.

The polarising aspects of Control in human pleasure, Control in enjoyment as resistance, satiation vs Control in enjoyment as tool, reward.

The karaoke box being brought up here to highlight this contrast too, the place Fumiko used to enact her violence in her seniority on Denji used by Kiga to experience student life and activities.

That Kiga the elder sibling takes the role of a child while having the most influence as of yet and Yoru the weakened younger sibling takes the role of a mother.

[myobsessionsspace]

Felt like ranting, might delete later

Suuuuuupper long, like long AF🙈

I’m gonna be controversial, I don’t like fighting, hate/negativity etc. if you see this post has been deleted, it’s jut cos I can’t, I can’t deal.

Anyway, this is long and rambly and all over the place, so here goes

Has any member addressed shipping hate/antis and what happened after they did?

Don’t all groups male & female have shippers? So it’s something that sadly comes with the idol, bg, gg culture? Straight or not? Solo idols too have shippers for anyone they’ve blinked near.

If an idol hasn’t addressed the mass hate of a year ago, they didn’t address the mass hate of 5 years ago, why are they gonna address the mass hate of 2 days ago?

It’s interesting because I’m not active on IG or twitter anymore so if not for friends and seeing people allude to it here, I wouldn’t even know that craziness had happened on IG.

But honestly how much more different is it to a business owner cancelling a meet and greet at his new Japan location because of hate? The military being spammed and told to split companion buddies up because of a trip together to a beautiful location, letters being sent to a company saying stop allowing two members to be close to each other on stage and in official content?

Literally for nearly 10 years.

Why do people expect the youngest to be the mouthpiece against the people that claim to love him but don’t respect him at all, put him on a pedestal and want him separated from those that evidently love him.

Why do people expect the youngest who received soo much hate for being supported in his solo endeavours, achieving success in his solo endeavours all the while championing his members solo careers too and never letting up on saying they would return as 7 and that was the most important thing to him.

Yes he’s said things like ‘if you don’t like me now, with how I’m living and working now, thank you for liking me then and you’re free to go’ ‘it’s because people have constantly given me the confidence to be myself that I am who I am now and sorry not sorry if you still want the younger me’. He speaks for himself but he rarely even does then. When he has what happened? Did the hate stop? Did the stalking stop? Did the expectations stop? Everytime there’ll be people quoting, commenting, hashtagging, writing essay about ‘please listen to him’ then the next day back to all the age old stereotypes of him, using his words from when he was 16 in online arguments, stalkers back to sending things to his barracks, stalking his friends & family’s socials. It doesn’t make a difference.

If the father doesn’t speak on it, if the son doesn’t speak on it, if the company doesn’t speak on it…

Yes he’s very very infrequently spoken up in the past about HIM, and also about his PHYSICAL SAFTEY ‘please don’t stalk my apartment’ ‘please don’t stalk my gym’ ‘please don’t stalk my home’ ‘please don’t send things to my home’ ‘please don’t send things to my barracks’

But INTERNET CRAZINESS when?

And I knnnnoooowww many thought of the time he spoke up for 5 girls whose ages range from 16 years old to 20! None of them considered of legal age in SK. A country KNOWN for misogyny and anti feminism. We’re really gonna use that one empathetic, selfless, most likely spontaneous moment of ‘protection’ as a see he can talk out on things!

Maybe, just maybe his HYUNG who has access to the same things he has access to doesn’t want his maknae speaking for him, his HYUNG is also his own person, an adult, in the same industry and can also speak up if he wants to but CHOOSES what he chooses. Because you care does that mean his hyung cares? His hyung said fuck twitter and chills on weverse as and when he wants. His dad says y’all are doing too much in the comments so shuts them off. Simples. They can close that door and it literally doesn’t exist to them. You all can do the same.

“But why does he have his comments on?”

“But why did he address NJ stuff and not his on group stuff”

“Why doesn’t he just say he’s not dating this member or that member”

“Why doesn’t he just say he’s not gay/he’s not straight”

“This celeb/idol does, why doesn’t he?”

It’s his life, it’s his choice.

I have no clue why he’s spoken on certain things and not others.

We don’t know what he gives a shit about other than what he’s repeatedly told us:

Music

ARMY

BTS

Family & Friend

Like, he goes and takes a pic with a k-rapper, because it’s someone the fandom doesn’t like for various reasons, including disparaging remarks about the group, the fandom trended that he was being held hostage, photoshopped different people in place of the rapper etc. the fandom only accept from him what they want and how they want it.

We’re trying to make our kpop experience his, our online experience his, our concerns and cares about the fandom his. His fandom is experience isn’t ours, his online experience isn’t ours, his experience with his members isn’t ours.

All of this is to do with his life, his friend’s lives. Yet we’re soo expectant on what he should care about and what he shoild talk about.

Yes he cares about karaoke more than Internet bullshit, he’ll spend thousands and sing to 20 million people before he’ll address Internet bullshit. Oh well. What now? *le sigh* I did say I’d be ranting 🙈

Ngl though Minie gets the most hate from his own fandom and kpoppies, the maknae get the most expectations from his fandom, from all his different shippers. I’ve seen people say he should have refused all the support for his solo debut because of his other shipping halves, saying he feeds shippers or doesn’t talk enough about a shipping half, how dare he have a TikTok and cause hate with the videos he double taps that get stalked to draw conclusions, how dare he not close curtains, how dare he go live and cause frenzies, how dare he sing this song and not that song, how dare he hug someone, on and on and on.

Honestly if the fan experience isn’t hitting step back, or make changes but being angry at him over your fan/internet experience??? Likkkeee his job is to sing, dance and entertain and his doing that superbly🤌

It even got to a point where when I was still on twitter that I had to mute report accounts because that’s where I actually would get hourly updates on the hate. I had to mute people that would quote or ss the hate to comment on it.

The height of expectations people have on someone and how THEIR name is being used by millions online and what THEY should say or do is insane.

Being disappointed he doesn’t scold millions of people ranging from retirement age to middle school age for THEIR internet shenanigans.

All that would happen is…nothing

Nothing would change

Blog would have headlines

Other fandoms would talk

Fans, shippers, solos etc would take what they want from it and make it make sense to them how they wish.

Then after not even 24 hours, maybe 48 hours factory rest and everything would continue as before.

Something as deeply ingrained as shipping craziness, as solo craziness…at this point I don’t see it going anywhere even if one member talks on it, 7 members, the company, the government, angels or aliens.

Another thing 😬

Just because we have a need to know itch, we see what antis say, because we have a need to protect and defend, we gotta see what the antis are saying to counteract them, sometimes counter attack. In counter attacking the same tools that antis use are being utilised. In protecting the same words are being said or remixed but different members are being replaced.

If people wanna fight fire with fire instead or replacing your faves name with their faves name, speak on the account user themselves! When people say you’re ’setting up this member or that member’ is because people’s way of fighting fire with fire or clapping back is never the person that said the bullshit but the member, hate what someone online said about a member, then it’s that account user that is your target not the member, the member is thousands of miles away minding their business and getting pulled into millions of people’s group chats, threads, essay posts, clapbacks etc.

Just because we see and are constantly surrounded by the hateful shit doesn’t mean the members are and so they’re not gonna act like that’s their whole internet life.

They watch memes, funny TikToks, series, maybe google their name for the cute art and jokes army have, search their name on twitter and YouTube to re-live performances etc

But are they really following I dunno, like report accounts or something to see the shit day in and day out? Going through the quotes of hit tweets to see the bullshit there? Going through all the English back and forth between antis and seeing the edits and threads?

Yea they know shit, no doubt, but are their internet lives as immersed in the fan wars, shipper, solo etc subspaces or is their shit curated? Their timeline totally different than yours?

Why do you want them to be as stressed online as you are?

If they haven’t seen it that’s good right?

If they scroll online for hours and aren’t compelled to address the hate regardless then it just doesn’t get to them as much as it does you.

Then that’s good right? That’s what we want, right, right??

Wanting them to talk on this or talk on that is more for our comfort than theirs. Cos imagine this, imagine they say something in a dressing it that YOU don’t agree with, then what? They shouldn’t have spoken at all right?

All I know is that we expect soo much of them, we want them to say and do what we want them to say or do, from fans, solos, akgaes and even antis, we all wanna control them in one way or another and we need to reflect on that 😪

Over 20 MILLION PEOPLE watched his live, supporters, haters, media, old and new acquaintances, industry peers, family, friends of family…20 MILLION PEOPLE but yea he didn’t address solos/shipper/antis bullshit🙄

Some of the crap to come from a carefree live full of singing and catching up:

Fans taking what they want to run with it based on a translator working rapid fire in real time to translate in the middle of the night (his live was two hours from midnight to like 2am) running on multiple late nights and early mornings for work and personal life and translating for free. Being mad that she didn’t translate every word and utterance a lost all songs that came from a TWO HOUR live at midnight!

Fans taking him singing songs as validation to their y/n fantasies, their homophobia, their shipping fantasies/wars etc

Kpoppies fighting, slandering his singing abilities over him singing a song

Hate for mentioning his enlistment companion

Mentioning the person you enlisted with and spend the majority of your time with is soo evil??

The pipeline to being a solo fan/akgae of a person to becoming their anti and hating them, insulting them by way of insulting their member. Completely disregarding their vulnerability and making it about hate.

For singing members songs

I’m not messing up my algorithms to show TikTok, IG & YouTube examples 😖

[dhampling]

the kitchen 18+ gn!reader x potwasher!astarion au, 2k

He‘s not the sort to linger among the rabble of the kitchen at the end of the evenings. The fact you were barely aware of his existence prior to now speaks volumes. - based on a discussion with @bhaalism. he's a potwasher. you want to fuck the potwasher. this started as a joke and now i'm obsessed. enjoy. cw: 18+, astarion is a potwasher, this is an au, you work in a shitty chain restaurant, sex, reader smokes, astarion vapes, creampies, oh no, gn reader i think

Before he’d caught you short of smokes, you’d never paid him much mind. 

Hair back in some messy swoop - grey, although you could swear under the fluorescent light of the kitchens it shone a bright white. Some age to his almost-crimson eyes but nothing too notable. 

Your pockets empty, patting down a food-encrusted apron in a tired resignatory furor - and he’d offered his vape silently under the back-door shelter. Minty. The familiar clouds in the walk-in, the occasional lingering menthol smell from his station. Your smoke breaks rarely align but this evening the stars shone between the fuzzy gaps in soaking clouds overhead and they gave you something new. Nicotine, chewed mouthpiece. 

There’d been a small exchange at the doorway following his outreach. 

He watched you with an inquisitive head tilt, eyes sharp with a dark smudge of lash - as if he were seeing you for the first time in this haze of heavy rain. Looked out to the bins with a deep breath and snorted at the overflow.

Astarion. Pot-wash extraordinaire, announced with a churlish eye-roll and some quiet clack of his tongue in your direction. He’d never so much as looked at you prior that you’d noticed, but now his gaze was locked on your inhale as if to watch the clear liquid leave the tank in real time. Lids flickering up to etch your side profile somewhere in the silver span of his mind. Another name to know. Another person to potentially cover his Sunday lates if he can get through to you, though.  

The name sounded far too beautiful, too distinct; but the pallor suggested local blood in those thick bluish veins. No freckles nor warmth in his ridiculously high cheeks, just the breeze of an oft-downturned nose and a passing fondness for the half-full bottles of red left by your tables, chugged (naturally) in a messy snorting huff over the running sink. Dribbles of dry red down that statuesque marble chin and a cack handed holler from the weekend porter - who would just as quickly be walloped over the head with the neat strike of a folded tea-towel.

His sniff at your thanks, the brief noncommittal nod before he tucked the vape back into his trouser pocket and dived back inside.

Camaraderie. That’s it.

-

It’s a week later when you both find yourselves outside again, falling through the back door out into another dark downpour to find him huddled to your left; drowning in an oversized outdoorsy coat with vape in hand. 

He catches your eye once more with a small smile

“Astarion, right?”

“Well remembered.”

You fish in your jacket pocket and pull out a disposable vape box, handing it over with a hurried smile.

“For the other night.”

“Could’ve just got the juice, you know.”

He hesitates on taking it, holding your stare. 

“I know. This was easier though. I’m not going to a vape store.” You grin and he snorts, taking the box from your hand.

“Well. Thank you. Most unexpected.”

You stand in amenable silence for a few moments, lighting your poison whilst he puffs away into the night. 

“How long have you been here, then?” You ask, flicking the ash into the wet and folding your arms.

“Too long. Far too long. You?”

“I’d say the same, but we haven’t really crossed paths before; have we?”

“Shame.”

He bristles as he says it. Some easy poke at wooing, you think. 

You could be swayed.

He is pretty. Really pretty. With those looks you’re almost surprised he’s not the rake of the joint, but your co-workers seem ridiculously oblivious to him - and he isn’t too endeared with them either, from what you can tell. He‘s not the sort to linger among the rabble of the kitchen at the end of the evenings, nor is he one of the roaring personalities that carry all the way through to the bar counter in their jovial roaring. The fact you were barely aware of his existence prior to now speaks volumes.

“What do you do when you’re not here, then?”

He looks back at you in a guarded ponder, eyes narrow.

“I spend the odd day off on my yacht, obviously; but only when my sprawling country mansion is undergoing renovations.”

You offer a laugh and he smirks. The humour is poor but salient.

“Ah! We might be neighbours, you know.”

“The mansion?”

“No, the dock. My weeknight yacht was newly refurbished there!”

“Oh, what luck!”

“We’ll have to host a dinner party or something. It’s only proper.”

Astarion gives you a laugh you’ve never heard before - loud and airy, almost comical if it weren’t for the sincere rumble toward the end.

“Dinner party! Oh yes. Absolutely. With little vol-au-vents and hors d’ouvres.”

“A must have.”

“I agree, darling. It’s a date.”

As he puts his vape back in his pocket and bids you farewell with a small wave of those pale hands, you lean back on the closed door with an uncharacteristic light-headedness.

-

Darling.

You’re given too much time to stew on it, the slight exuberant lilt of his voice. The roundness of his eyes as he spoke with you in jest. The fact he didn’t smell like kitchen grease but instead some warm note of vetiver and menthol. The fact you even noticed how he smelled.

As a new evening rounds off you find yourself with little else to do but search for him behind the service window, and you’re quietly delighted by what you find.

The smattering of white-shock curls - back arched as he leans over the empty prep station, ass high in a light nonchalant sway as your fellow servers dash to visit the kitchen in search of dead plates to devour. The quirk of a brow as the head chef gives freely to those who ask, whittling down a single stale fry with small bites as he observes.

You hadn’t expected things to change after your encounter, and to that point, they definitely haven’t.

You’re just more aware of him now. 

When he catches you watching almost immediately from afar, you offer him a small grin whilst he shifts to wholly capture your gaze. A challenge. The corner of his mouth lifts as he moves to hold your stare, calm and cool; with that fox-like tilt of his head to the side. 

You could picture it. 

The linger after lock-up, satchel on his shoulder as he catches you waiting for him. 

The slight moment of bewilderment before it becomes easy banter - even though restrained - once more. A quip on his part, maybe; some query as to what you’re waiting for as he hangs onto your every word in focused anticipation.

Maybe a drink at the bar down the road - but more likely in your mind a stop at the nearest off-licence to pick up a bottle or two of that wine he likes, as you dance around each other in a waiting quiet, bristling. Fluorescent corner-store lights giving his hair that unnatural sheen while he prowls the aisles and heads to the till, head turned back to see you waiting; eyes on him at the door. He’s heavy lidded the whole walk to his, hands kept to themselves for the walk up the stairs. The rattle of keys in the lock.

You reckon his flat - it has to be a flat, he couldn’t keep a whole house on your wage - is littered with burnt incense sticks and plush rugs and cushions in every jewel tone you can possibly imagine yet it feels so very him. He ushers you through to the living room and the awkward dance begins with the sofa, but he keeps you at ease. Collects wine glasses from the kitchen and pours with a flourish before settling back onto the seat and encouraging you with some typically witty output to do the same. 

Candles. You didn’t see him lighting them, but they’re lit. The air is heavy with orange flower, patchouli; musk - vetiver and menthol as he exhales, insisting you’re okay to smoke if you like, but passing you his vape wordlessly as you reach for it. Fingers brushing as you do. You talk for a small while, but you both know why you’re here.

His eyes move to the open buttons of your chest as he deftly wets his bottom lip, and you take it as your chance to place your glass on the side table and ask if you’re okay to shed the shirt completely. It’s far too warm in there. 

The candles, obviously. That’s why.

His coy nod, the languid blink as he watches your fingers dance your shirt open and pry the black shirt from your chest. Your deep exhale as you settle back into the sofa, lying slightly back with your legs angled toward him; glass back in hand.

His breath hitches. You notice it. He’s practically purring.

When he sets his glass aside in a pretence of pouring more wine, you reach for his arm to halt him from filling yours - now empty - and like a tense spring, he snaps. 

Time slows as he reaches for your wrist and tilts his head once more, your enthusiastic nod giving him the permission he seeks; and brings your hand quickly down the solid span of his torso to the achingly hard bulge of his cock, letting your palm rest over the top of his trousers. 

Wet. Fuck.  

His slow-primal groan as you gently stroke at the sodden patch of precum, cupping to warm him through his clothes whilst he bucks lightly toward you. Towards the pressure, the warmth you can provide.

From then, you can feel yourself growing sticky. Shuffling as you race to disrobe. You picture the stony length of his cock freed from those awful work trousers and glistening something bulbous and glassy in the low light, your own fevered want reaching its peak as you bare yourself and he pulls you into a kneeling hover over him.

To feel the soft velvet of his tip brushing your arousal. There’s no need for foreplay. No need for any preparation of the sort, you’re both craving the relief. He offers his hand to catch a pool of your spit and lubricates his length in long, steady jerks. 

Even they can’t mask the shudder of his breath. The fluttering of those smoky lashes as he rubs himself onto your waiting hole, watching; allowing a slip inside every few moments and waiting for your eager gasp each and every time.

Then, you sink onto him - and it’s bliss. Complete and utter bliss. You’ve never felt so full nor so weak in your whole entire life and for a moment you’re worried he’s ruined you. His heady moans of pleasure as you adjust around him. The space where you meet, where he impales you; runs soaking with arousal and sweat. 

You move to ride him like your life depends on it. You’re his sweet little thing, his angel; and you are being so very good for him as you take his cock. His palms remain glued to the fat of your ass whilst his cool fingers dig deep into the ripe flesh and he bounces you up and down on his forearms with some remarkable strength.

His. 

His, his; his. His beautiful thing. He’s perfect under you, with his pathetic desperate whimpers and the face of a wanton adonis; sturdy shoulders your anchor, for fear you’ll simply float away with sheer unbridled pleasure.

When he cums, he makes a point to do it inside you. Holds your thighs down so you can’t hop off nor be tempted to ride him through his peak; so you can feel him twitch and pulse inside you, ropes and ropes of his thick, hot spend painting your insides. His.

He’s called back to finish the last few pots on the side, and you silently rejoice in your sticky save as he winks goodbye through the bar window; eyes lingering on his ass as he walks slowly back to the service sink.

Fuck.

[sadoeuphemist]

Slymphs are aquatic parasites commonly found in brackish water, such as estuaries and coastal swampland, though certain species of freshwater slymph may be found inhabiting the shallow regions of lakes and slow-moving streams. They typically range in size from a few inches to roughly a foot long, with the largest specimen on record measuring just over three feet.

Slymphs feed via the suckers on either end of their body, marked by two or three concentric rings of teeth. Once a slymph latches on to a host, it injects a cocktail of neurotransmitters that serves to convince the host's nervous system that the slymph is a perfectly healthy part of their body. The host will subsequently react negatively to any attempt to remove the slymph, with similar intensity to the proposed amputation of an arm or a leg.

If the slymph is killed or otherwise removed, the conviction that it is part of their body will remain, and the host may seek medical attention for the detached slymph, or try to reattach it themselves. This delusion will fade over the next day or so as the slymph's saliva is flushed out of their system.

If, however, the slymph is allowed to remain attached, it will gradually integrate its circulatory system with the host's over the course of several months, its mouthpiece dissolving to meld with the host's flesh. This new appendage seems to have little deleterious effect on the host, other than potentially being cumbersome or unsightly, in addition to the periodic urge to go wading in brackish water in co-incidence with slymph mating season. Those possessing this organ treat it like any other part of their body and attribute to it a panoply of useful functions, such as helping to filter the toxins out of their blood, or making them more sensitive to moisture in the air. So far, any such effects have yet to be empirically proven.

A similar adaptation can be observed in the so-called "emperor slymph", which despite being closely related to the slymph is a different species altogether. The emperor is known by a number of regional names, some of the more colorful ones including: the brackwife, godsflesh, Tom's Lost Scrote, the crown-of-limbs, and twinning folly. The emperor slymph will ambush its prey using its multiple proboscises, which it can fling out like harpoons to inject its prey with a potent dose of neurotransmitters in order to pacify them. Unlike its smaller cousin, the emperor slymph will only feed until satiated, unlatching after it has had its fill of blood.

A person who has served as nourishment for an emperor is under no delusions about its physical characteristics. They will be perfectly capable of recognizing it as a multi-headed beast about the size of a walrus, with snaking necks and sucking toothless mouths designed to seal around a wound, sluggish and territorial, spending hours submerged beneath the water waiting for unsuspecting prey to come wading through its swamp. They will simply be convinced that this bloated creature is somehow a part of their own body, its hungers as natural as their own stomach grumbling at them, and must be provided for and taken care of as such.

Those afflicted by an emperor slymph will return to it for regular feedings. If the emperor has been hunting poorly, and they are its only source of blood, they will take their own anemia as a sign that the equivalent of a blood transfusion is necessary to stay alive. How they go about acquiring someone else for the emperor to feed on will vary greatly from person to person, depending on the severity of their situation and the morality of the person involved.

Multiple cults and communes have grown around the appetites of an emperor slymph, as a surplus of people to feed on means the quantity of blood drawn from each is reduced to a mere tongueful, almost ceremonial. Some adherents of this faith will claim that their mutual feeding has created a bond closer than love or kinship. As their philosophers and theologians propose, not entirely without merit: the slymphs' compatibility with our biology suggests a shared design that runs through our disparate natures, as if all the strange and wondrous creatures of the earth are more fundamentally the same than we realize, each of us an outstretched limb of divinity, flesh of flesh and blood of blood.

[kteezy997]

Co-Eds pt. 3//todd anderson

Warnings: none other than some fluff

7:34.

The boys were running late. Marsha was not impressed.

“I didn’t even want to come to this stupid poetry meeting anyway, and on top of that they’re late!” she folded her arms defiantly across her chest. Her brows furrowed in annoyance. “They should be grateful us girls even considered coming to this function.”

“Just calm down, Marsha, it’s only a couple of minutes.” Y/n knew that her friend was cutting her nighttime beauty routine short by accompanying her tonight. But she needed someone to help ground her with all these new acquaintances. She wanted to befriend the boys, she wanted them to like her.

“Well, I’m tempted to just go right back to our dorm.” Marsha muttered. She did not care to be liked, and certainly not by a collection of nerdy boys.

“You don’t have to do that.” called a young male voice as you heard various footsteps trickle in the crunch of the lawn. Neil Perry smiled at y/n and her disgruntled friend. Each boy wore a black hooded overcoat.

“You’ll have to forgive us, ladies, it’s quite a walk from our dormitory.” said Charlie Dalton, a smoking pipe in his hand, the mouthpiece near his lips which were turned up into a smirk as he eyed Marsha.

The girl rolled her eyes, scoffing softly at the flirtatious Dalton. “Alright, if we’re all here let’s get this thing moving.”

“This delightful creature must be Marsha.” Neil commented with a little chuckle. There were little spurts of laughter from the guys behind him. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone on the way. Follow me.”

As Neil lead the way to the cave, y/n fell into the pack, seeing Todd, Knox, Meeks, a boy who introduced himself as Gerald Pitts, and another who said his name was Richard Cameron.

She stuck behind Todd, but not following too closely. She didn’t want to scare the quiet boy away. Seeing him in the darkness of the evening time felt different from school hours. Maybe he would be more at ease?

The terrain became slightly more rough, with small bits of elevation. Y/n hoped she could make it to the destination without falling.

She couldn’t stop thinking of how sweet it would be if the blonde boy in front of her would hold his hand out for her. She could hang on to him, for he was a Poet, he knew this terrain, he could show her the way, he could squeeze her hand with both tenderness and security. Maybe that was the type of boy he was. She had so much hope.

She decided to make a small attempt at getting the handsome boy’s attention. It was a bit of a slope climbing down into the cave. It was also scary and the light from outside became more faint. She could handle it on her own, but she wanted help. His help. This could be a test.

“Todd, would it be okay if I held onto you? I’m afraid I might fall.”

She saw the flash of his blue eyes as he quickly turned his head, “Oh. Yes!”

Was he eager for this? He didn’t seem like the type of person to be easily excitable. Maybe she was wrong about him.

She grinned, “Okay.” she put her hand out, he grabbed it gingerly, keeping her steady as she stepped down to the level ground of the hollowed out section of the cave. Todd’s hand was warm, his blood paying no mind to the chilly air of the night. And his skin was soft, save for the spot her thumb grazed over on his middle finger which was slightly callused, probably due to writing, she figured. Her hand featured the same minuscule deformity.

He didn’t release her hand right away. They stood close, waiting for the others. Y/n swore to herself that she could feel the heat from his body, he smelled of soap and a scent that reminded her of old books, stories that you pick up after seeing how desperate they were to be opened.

Todd looked at her, a nervous lump formed in his throat which he cleared with an odd hum. Realizing he was still hanging to her hand, soft and delicate, and so small in comparison to his, he dropped it. “Sorry.” he muttered, looking away and taking a seat just a foot or so away from Neil.

“Come on in everyone, sit down.” Neil instructed.

Marsha sat on the other side of him. She kept her eyes on y/n, who gave her a smile.

Suddenly, Charlie caught up and sat next to her. “This spot taken?” he asked, taking a puff of his pipe.

As he blew out the smoke, Marsha waved her hand to shoo it away. “Whatever.”

Y/n looked down at Todd, he was also lighting a pipe along with Neil. Just as she was going to open her mouth to ask, Neil said, “Go on and have a seat next to Todd, y/n.” He smiled, and she began to think that he knew. It was that twinkle in his dark chocolate eyes that said ‘I’m going to help you.’

Todd obliged, scooting over on the dirt floor to give her plenty of room.

“It’s alright, Todd, I won’t bite.” Ugh, what a dorky thing to say to the boy you like.

“I know.” Todd responded.

He barely looked at her when he spoke, and she felt discouraged by his curt response. But it wasn’t a complete deterrent. She, along with Todd and everyone else’s attention was caught by Neil, who spoke to the whole of them as a leader.

"So, I think we should start as we normally would, so the new potential members can see how these meetings take place, and if they have anything they wish to share, they may jump in whenever they feel like it. We would love to hear from you." Neil said, looking at y/n, then to Marsha.

As the meeting commenced in the lantern-lit cave, it felt so refreshing for her to hear teenage boys being more than just teenage boys. Neil shared a poem he found from a book, Charlie shared something original of his, though it carried some sexual undertones, it was still sweet and sincere, and Knox shared a piece as well, a poem titled, Loving Chris.

Y/n was so moved by the boys’ ability to be so honest and vulnerable, that she felt confident enough to share her own poem.

"I have something. It's not very good, I mean, I've never tried writing a poem before, so I might not have done it right." she admitted, hoping she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself.

Neil gave her a reassuring smile, "There is no right or wrong in poetry. At least not here. Go on, we are here to listen."

As she took the piece of paper out of her coat pocket, she felt all of the boys looking at her, but they weren't waiting for the opportunity to make fun or laugh at her. They looked at her with openness and care, and she felt safe.

Todd’s eyes were on her, like he was not going to look away anytime soon. She felt his gaze, it was the thing her body was most aware of. She could sense that he was ready to receive whatever she was about to put out into the cave.

Y/n did as the others had done when it was their turn; she stood up, unfolded the crumply paper, and taking a breath, she read aloud.

"I wish you were here I say to the love of my life whom I haven't met yet I wish I could kiss you hug you love you with the very same warmth that I crave I wish you were here"

It was totally silent when she finished. She sat back down, feeling anxious. Part of her wished she hadn’t shared it.

“Wow, that was amazing, y/n.” Neil said, and he started to clap and Charlie joined in and before she knew it, everyone was clapping and cheering, even Todd was clapping and smiling.

Y/n blushed and smiled like an idiot. She had never felt so happy and included. “It’s not great, but I wanted to have something to read so that maybe you’d let me be in the club.”

“Of course you can be in the club!” exclaimed Neil.

“You’ve really captured what love is all about. It’s a craving, it really is.” said Knox.

Charlie stood up, “I declare y/n and Marsha official members of the Dead Poets Society!”

…….

“Your poem was really good by the way.” Marsha told y/n as they walked back toward campus. “Was it about that Todd guy?”

“Shh! Marsha.” she whisper-screamed, “Not so loud. He’s literally behind us.”

“Okay! Sorry. So it is him.” Marsha giggled. “Well, I can help.” she looked back, “Hey, Charlie Dalton!”

Not missing a beat, Charlie hustled up, “My ladies.” he greeted with a nod.

“Walk me to my room. And have your buddy, Todd, accompany y/n.”

“Oh, of course.” Charlie turned back, shouting, “Anderson!”

Todd took big steps forward to catch up with the three of you.

Y/n made eye contact with him, but looked away shyly, though she didn’t know why.

“Walk with y/n back to her dorm.”

“Whatever you say, Nuwanda.” answered Todd, shaking his head as Charlie and Marsha walked off together.

You smiled politely at him as you began walking side by side.

It was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I really liked your poem, by the way.”

“You did?” she cut your eyes over at him, “Thank you. You didn’t think it was corny?”

Todd shook his head, “No, it was just honest.”

She walked for a moment more, “Um, why didn’t you read anything?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“Oh, I don’t usually. I uh, don’t like to speak in front of people.” he looked over at her, their eyes meeting.

She couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, I get that. Some people just can’t do that sort of thing. I was always scared to do it, but then I just decided to not care so much.”

“I thought you were really brave back there.”

Y/n shrugged, “All I did was read from a piece of paper.”

“No, it was a great thing.” insisted the shy boy, “I thought it was beautiful, I mean, what you wrote, and the way you read it, I really liked it.”

She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, “Well, thank you. You’re kinda sweet, Todd.” She looked over at him, moonlight reflecting in the golden pieces of his hair.

Todd smiled at her, still not showing teeth, but it was cute in her eyes nonetheless. “Thanks. So are you.”

……

“This is mine.” she said, stopping at her door in the hallway. Her back to the door, she faced the boy, “Thank you for walking me…home.” she grinned.

“You’re welcome.” he idly grabbed at his coat, nervousness causing his need to keep his hands busy, “I’ll see you in class.”

“Yeah, I look forward to it.” She decided not to think twice, or she’d lose her nerve, she took a slight step forward, and placing a light hand on his shoulder, she pecked him on the cheek. His skin was soft, and he smelled even better the closer she got to him.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl

[msclaritea]

Patrick Stewart Calls Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness Filming 'Frustrating and Disappointing' - IGN

Ryan Dinsdale

BY RYAN DINSDALE

UPDATED: JAN 4, 2024 9:50 AM

POSTED: JAN 4, 2024 9:42 AM

Professor X actor Patrick Stewart has called his experience filming for Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness "frustrating and disappointing", though may still return to the character for the upcoming Deadpool 3.

Speaking on the Happy Sad Confused podcast, Stewart was asked to confirm if he, like some other actors filming for the Marvel Cinematic Universe entry, were actually interacting with their colleagues or just playing the part solo.

"It was alone," Stewart said, shaking his head. "I think the big scene, each one of the leading actors had the same experience. They were shot on their own. It was a frustrating and disappointing but that's how it has been. The last few years have been challenging."

The "big scene" Stewart references saw Benedict Cumberbatch's Doctor Strange appeal to the Illuminati for help, which in this multiverse was made up from the likes of Stewart's Professor X, John Krasinski's Mr Fantastic, Lashana Lynch's Captain Marvel, Hayley Atwell's Captain Britain, and more. Each member of the Illuminati was then cut down by a savage Scarlet Witch, played by Elizabeth Olsen.

Despite the poor experience, Stewart admitted conversations were happening surrounding Deadpool 3, the upcoming Marvel entry starring Ryan Reynold's Deadpool, Hugh Jackman's Wolverine, and seemingly a lot more of the characters from the X-Men films.

Stewart was first asked if he knew how many times Professor X had died in his eight film appearances before laughing at the answer: four, meaning a 50% death rate. "I don't know [what that implies]," he laughed. "But I do now have every confidence that he's still around."

Deadpool himself wasn't around for the Mutant Massacre crossover, but it's a story that would make for good fodder for the next movie. In this story, the X-Men join forces with several other Marvel heroes to prevent Mister Sinister's mercenary squad the Marauders from slaughtering the sewer-dwelling Morlocks. It's a conflict that would pair well with Wade's habit of protecting mutant underdogs. Given how Deadpool 2 and X-Men: Apocalypse have both teased the arrival of Sinister, it's about time we see this twisted geneticist pop up somewhere in the X-Men cinematic universe.

The first storyline on Deadpool's relaunched 2012 comic started the series off on a bizarre note, as Wade had to deal with the reanimated corpses of America's past presidents, not to mention the pesky ghost of Benjamin Franklin. Somehow, the franchise just doesn't seem complete until we get to see Deadpool and Abraham Lincoln go head-to-head in the boxing ring.

When neither Cable nor Deadpool's comics were selling particularly well in the early 2000s, Marvel combined them together and instantly reinvigorated both characters. The opening storyline in Cable & Deadpool set a strong example for the series, pitting the two unlikely friends against one another over possession of a virus that can remake the physical appearance of anyone exposed to it. If Cable is going to stick around this franchise, there are far worse places to look for inspiration.

Deadpool 2 featured a tease for "M-Day," a disastrous event in Marvel's comics where Scarlet Witch all but wiped out the mutant race. Why not lean into that tease and give us a full-blown adaptation of House of M, the story that culminated in M-Day? The bulk of this story explores an alternate reality where Magneto and his family reign supreme. We'd like to see how Deadpool fares in a world like that. That's not to mention the long-term consequences House of M could have on the larger X-Men universe..."

BIG MISTAKE. HUGE, COS.

Why? Because I discovered months ago that the entire Star Trek franchise has been under the thumb of the Cult of Scientology for years. Not sure about the original, but for those who don't know, it had some very subtle Queering, so I'm pretty sure they wanted to fully queer Kirk and Spock in the reboots, but ended up just doing a side character. In addition:

David Birkin, having not one, but two appearances, playing Captain Picard as a child.

Bryan Singer, a known Pedo and serial assaulter, remaining attached to the X Men franchise for years (and they are linked)

Majority of the actors being British, where Scientology and it's Satanic roots come from

Ian McKellen joined in promoting the actress, Ellen Page, as Transgender

IGN, a COS partner, actively engaged in harassment of Benedict Cumberbatch, through negative articles and by repeatedly tweeting a short video, detailing one of the most traumatic events in his life (the kidnapping in Africa)

A character in Strange New Worlds (note, the piggybacking of his mcu character) La'an Noonien Singh, who it seems 'whined' about being bullied because of her 'infamous' last name. Pre-Programming. If they bullied the actor once, they did it a 100,000 times on social media, because of his name

One of the Strange New Worlds writers, also wrote the last project that Tom Holland did, which gave him so much trauma, he decided to take a year off, for which the Cult tried to threaten him using social media

His tormenters also used trolls to accuse the British actor, again repeatedly, of stealing a role, Khan, from BOTH East Indians and Mexicans. After years of this we finally realized that if anyone was guilty of that, it has been Richardo Montalban. He is European Spanish...white European. So, it was another lie

Picard also engaged in that new, strange, activist writing that Hollywood has been into, whereby they ruin an iconic, white male character

They even try AGAIN, to promote Elizabeth Olsen, in this article. Let me make it plain, so that there's no mistake about this, because our group IS privy to info, sometimes and so far, it's usually correct. Elizabeth Olsen wasn't just acting as a meme thirsty actress on DS2. She acted as a SPY for Disney competitors. Now, if any of the COS partners, like Universal or WB want a piece of that chick, they can go ahead.

And ALL THIS, I actually just kept to myself, specifically out of respect for SIR Patrick Stewart. I should know better and if Hollywood doesn't stop pushing these actors to do and say stupid shit in public, they won't have anyone left, worth having any respect for. Good God, he even uses the same narrative that Olsen used during DS2 promotions, where she complained about the Green Screen. What's so ironic is that for an actor to show they can stay in character and work, using a Green Screen is to show real skill in your craft. These two say they can't hack it.

Deeply disappointed in this man.

[thelovers-2001]

Why would a toy ever befriend The Doctor? And what does she see in him?

( P.S Click/Tap the Read More to read about my Poppy Playtime s/i. )

Experiment 1294 ( Dream Guardian Starlight ) is a toy from Playtime Co. which is their take of the western magical girl genre. Unlike the rest of the toys, the subject was a volunteering Playtime Co. employee in her mid 20s.

Unlike the former volunteer employee was described as quiet and shy Starlight's talkative and a social butterfly. She has a knack of charisma which makes her a favourite to Playtime Co. A favouritism she takes advantage of.

She's very curious of everything, especially towards Dr Harley Sawyer. She looked forward to interviews with him, sometimes following him if he's spotted, Starlight truly wanted to befriend him. She's not oblivious to his cruelty and apathy.

Meanwhile Dr Saywer plays along with her friendship, though he slowly grew fondness of her. Starlight's genuine interest in him fascinated him.

She would mimic some of his behaviour. She started using her charisma to make toys follow her biddings and get what she wants. Starts manipulating toys and employees, use violence when necessary.

This caught the attention of The Prototype. He confronted her, wanting to use her charisma to rally all over the toys for the Hour of Joy. She agreed and became his mouthpiece.

Starlight's now a right hand to the now Experiment 1354, The Doctor. She roams the other floors, checking on other toys, following any orders from Sawyer through her earpiece. Once she does her job well, she'll stay in Sawyer's abode for one to two hours.

Her current task is watching a human who entered the factory. She's strictly ordered not to kill them, but to bait them to enter deeper into the factory. Needless to say, she's having fun.

...Huh? Oh the eye? Yeaaah, she lost her right eye during The Hour of Joy. She self proclaimed the eye belonged to her original self (which is NOT true!!! She asked Sawyer to give her the human eye because it would make her look cool).

[madhatterbri]

MCMG | A.S.

Summary: The co-leaders of the MCMGs run into some trouble.

Author's Note: Bri makes wrestlers mobsters for no apparent reason again. Lol.

Trigger Warning(s): Gun shot, blood, cursing.

Happy Friday Night Smackdown, babes. 🫶

Alex Shelley Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @smallestsnarkestgirl @cowboywritersworld @magicalbuttertarts

Also starring: DIY.

1920s Detroit

"Jesus, Chris, would you look at all this," Alex chuckled as he placed a cigarette between his lips. He produced a lighter from his jacket and lit the cig. Within seconds, he was happily smoking in celebration. "All this is going to ship out tomorrow through Ontario, Chicago, and all the other major cities. I could kiss that idiot Volstead for helping sign the Prohibition to law,"

Chris looked around the basement. Kegs filled with alcohol stacked from the floor to the basement ceiling. All he could see were dollar signs. Michigan was already prohibiting alcohol before the nationwide ban. Now that all of the United States was participating in it, their business would certainly start booming.

"I gotta hand it to you," he chuckled and patted Alex's back. "Your idea was a good one. Maybe even your best one yet,"

The men were in good spirits with their gang's potential increased cash flow. After a couple of minutes of talking, they decided to head back to their place. They never suspected the danger waiting for them outside.

Two men waited for them in the alleyway with guns drawn. When Alex opened the door, he cursed. Business may have been booming, but so was crime. Gangs left and right were fighting each other over goods and territory. Chris stepped out behind him and closed the door to their bar.

"Come on, gentlemen, just put away your little toys and go, yea?" Alex asked. He was the mouthpiece between him and Chris. Chris was more of the muscle.

Alex's question was answered with the two men leaving their guns drawn.

"Can we do it my way now?" Chris asked while cracking his knuckles. His fists were balled up. The man would always bring his fists to a gun fight.

Alex rolled his eyes and sighed. His head dropped back. He hated pointless violence. These men were just looking to make a name for themselves. The only name they'll be getting is the one on their headstones.

"They are new, Chris. I'm pretty sure that one pissed his pants when you- fuck!" Alex yelled and jumped.

One of the guns shot off, nearly striking him. Chris didn't hold back. He lunged towards one and punched him in the head. The bald man slumped to the ground unconscious. The other thug dropped his weapon and walked backward. With his hands raised, his back pressed against the brick wall. He was trapped.

"Before you meet the same fate as your partner here, mind answering some questions?" Alex asked. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. His foot twisted to extinguish the flame. The thug shook his head. "Great! Who the fuck are you and who do you work for?"

"J-Johnny Gargano. I- my partner and I just work for ourselves. They call us DIY," the man known as Johnny answered.

Alex heard very little about them. Some up and coming gang that was trying to make a name for themselves. Every time they gained momentum, they fell flat on their face. They were kind of seen as the baby brother in the Detroit gang world.

"Listen, Johnny boy, I don't want my man to hurt you. I just bought this suit, and I don't want blood on it, you know what I mean? Let us go, and I won't unleash him on you,"

Johnny nodded quickly. Alex smiled and patted the man's cheek.

"Smart man, that is a smart man, Chris. I can see you guys making it out there. You use your brain," Alex chuckled and pointed a finger at his own head. He motioned to Chris with his head to get to the car. Alex dusted off Johnny's clothes and walked behind Chris.

"You are right. I use my brain. You don't," Johnny told him. A shot rung out in the alley way.

Alex screamed in pain as he dropped to his knees. He gripped his new wound with his hand. Within seconds, his hand was drenched in blood. A string of curses flew out of his mouth. He turned his head to see Johnny holding his gun. Stupid mistake.

When Johnny's gun jammed before he could shoot Chris, the other man attacked him. Punch after punch of Chris' hand connected to his face. Johnny laid unconscious next to his bald partner. Chris only stopped when Alex told him he needed help.

"Help me up," Alex told him.

"Where are we going to take you? Alex Shelley walking into a hospital? The Detroit Press will have a field day with that one. We can just call the coppers to let them know where to pick you up,"

Alex glared at his partner. "You don't think I know that? If I am going to die it won't be in an alley way,"

Chris helped him up. Alex held his wounded arm close to his body. Every slightest movement felt like pure agony. He had to make it back to base. One of his men had to know what to do with a gunshot wound. A few of their men were veterans from the World War.

"Hey, what about her?"

Alex looked to see Chris pointing at a woman in a nurse's uniform. She wore a blue dress with a white apron to protect the dress from getting dirty from daily work activities. A satchel hung from her shoulder.

"How are you going to get her in the car? You going to ask her if she wants to help a known gang leader? I am going to bleed out for sure," Alex groaned.

"Ask?" Chris questioned. He was never one to ask. By the time Alex could attempt to stop him, Chris was already halfway across the street. The poor woman didn't know who was coming towards her.

"Miss? Excuse me, miss,"

The nurse jumped at the sudden interruption. She had just been daydreaming and didn't expect anyone out this late at night. Everyone would make sure to be in their homes to be safe. The crime activity was bad in these parts.

"Is everything alright?" The nurse asked. The stranger was disheveled, and she wondered if he had been in a fight. When he came closer to her, she noticed some blood on his hands and clothes.

"My friend and I ran into some trouble," the stranger told her. He made sure to keep his face hidden from any source of light. Alex and Chris had their faces plastered all over Detroit at this point. "Really bad men shot him, and I am afraid I am going to lose him. We've been friends since we were just kids and -"

"Oh God, I am so sorry. The police have been working so hard to bring down the crime, but they keep crawling in. Where is your friend?"

Chris couldn't believe how easy this was. He figured he would have to put the nurse over his shoulder and take her while she was kicking and screaming. No wonder Alex was more of a talker than a fighter. He would definitely have to use this tactic more in the future.

"He is just over here," Chris told her. The nurse turned the corner and stopped. She placed her hand over her mouth. Alex thought it was the severity of his injury until he looked in her eyes. A flicker of realization flashed in her eyes. She knew exactly who he was.

"You... You are Alex Shelley of the Motor City Machine Guns," she pointed out. When she turned on her heel, she was able to see the stranger's face. "And you are Chris Sabin,"

"Yeah, and you are getting in our car and fix my friend before you end up like those guys over there," Chris motioned to the unconscious DIY guys. His nice guy act was long gone. The scared woman nodded and slid into the back seat. Alex sat beside her. Chris took the driver's seat and started the car.

The car ride was quiet as Alex removed his black jacket. He tried not to curse from the pain in the presence of a lady. Poor nurse was already scared out of her mind to be in a car with known murderers. He might as well try to act somewhat civilized. Chris was certainly not going to do that.

The nurse opened the flap of her satchel. She grabbed a pair of scissors, a bottle of alcohol, some gauze, and a bandage. Alex watched as she cut the fabric of his long sleeve white shirt. Those DIY guys owed him a new shirt.

"Well?" Chris asked impatiently. "We aren't paying you by the hour,"

"Don't mind him," Alex assured her. "It's past his bedtime. He gets cranky,"

"I swear to God, Alex," the driver muttered.

"It doesn't look serious. I will clean the wound and dress it. I would buy a sling so you don't move it around too much," she advised Alex like he was a patient at the hospital.

After pouring some alcohol on the gauze, she gently started to clean the blood and the wound. Alex clenched his teeth and panted. Apologies fell from her lips as she tried to move quickly yet effectively. The bandages were wrapped around the wound on his shoulder.

Their faces were close together as she inspected her work. He found her to be a pretty little thing. Maybe they could have dated in another life. You know, a different reality where they didn't technically kidnap her. The car was uneasily silent. Alex could tell she wanted to ask if she could leave. He thought of something to break the ice.

"So, do this often?"

[reviewsdefinitionofsatisfaction]

Taylor has been lying on Joe since You’re Losing Me (Important Thread)

I’ve been confident in this theory since Midnights, but didn’t know how to spread it. Taylor is now blatantly lying about Joe and rewriting history. SHE was the one who didn’t want to get married, and Joe broke up with her over it. She chose fame over marriage, and the evidence is all over her music.

Ever since I heard “Mine” I instinctively knew Taylor was afraid of marriage. It’s the classic child-of-divorce case. “You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes.” / “Brace myself for the goodbye ‘cause it’s all I’ve ever known.”

Her fear of marriage continues throughout her discography. Don’t let “Lover” and “Paper Rings” fool you—those were false promises to Joe at the start of their relationship. Listen to “champagne problems,” a song she and Joe co-wrote. What couple writes a song about breaking up because the girl is terrified of marriage 4 years into their relationship? Why, one where that’s happening, of course. “Your Midas touch on the Chevy door,” aka how she always references Joe turning things to gold. And don’t forget “Renegade,” a song where in the music video SHE is the one anxiously staring out the window being told to “open the blinds.” (“Is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything or do you just not want to?”, the lyric referring to Joe asking for marriage) This was a song written by Taylor from Joe’s perspective at the time. “I tapped on your window on your darkest night” (referring to Rep era) / “Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night.” … “And then you squeeze my hand as I’m about to leave.” (Joe’s POV) / “It’s on your face, don’t walk away, I need to say…” Taylor was the one always blowing up on him and then apologizing, as illustrated in Afterglow, The Great War, and most obviously her post-breakup behavior. Joe was NOT the volatile one of the two (also supported by articles released by her team, stating Joe’s personality was “great for Taylor” because “he is very calm”).

Then, just look at Midnights. The Bejeweled music video (which Taylor wrote and directed) is the clearest thing. A video all about choosing pop-stardom over a ring from a prince? While she and her boyfriend are having marriage disagreements? Hmmm. Interesting. Seriously, just go watch the intro to that video and tell me Taylor was the one fighting to get married behind the scenes.

Midnights lyrics: “He wanted a bride, I was making my own name. Chasing that fame.” (a person who WANTS to get married would NOT be writing this song!!!) “All they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride. The only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife.” “No deal the 1950s shit they want from me. I just wanna stay in that lavender haze” “I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser.” “I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money. She thinks I left them in the will.” (accompanied by elaborate scene displaying family-related anxieties in music video)

This is someone who is terrified of marriage and being an adult. I believe she launched herself into a fame-hug to avoid confronting her issues with Joe at this late stage in their relationship. After he broke up with her, she realized how deep of a mistake she made during the Eras Tour. Hence, the big lie in “You’re Losing Me” (which was written THEN, in 2023, conveniently dropped during the Matty Healy controversy) and her daring him to “say something” about the lie. (False God lyric: “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town.” When they fight, he was always the one ignoring her craziness.) And soon after, her peculiar surprise song choices on June 23: “Paper Rings” (“I’d marry you with paper rings”) and “If This Was A Movie” (“If this was a movie, you’d be here by now”).

The initial breakup article by People (Tree Paine’s mouthpiece) even outlines this story. “According to multiple sources, Swift and Alwyn had been ‘talking about marriage as recently as a few months ago.’ But at the end of the day, the couple wasn’t ready for a future together. ‘Taylor didn’t see them working out in the long run,’ says the insider.” This was before she wrote YLM, trying to provoke him, and now she will be driving it further with this new album I’m certain she wrote during 2023, NOT 2 years ago like she and Jack are trying to push. Her having Jack drop YLM’s “2021 date,” and then liking that tweet implying Sweet Nothing was not about Joe (when it was clearly about Joe)… she’s rewriting the narrative. You can’t trust a word she says.

[mmmmalo]

Hi,

I found your blog when searching for commentary on Homestuck's latent racism problem, and your analysis is some of the best ive found. Alongside that I see that you've taken care to acknowledge the sort of white replacement anxiety and "downfall of the west" in the wake of Obama's first term present in the text. I'm still on my first read-through but I'm curious about your take on this retroactive prediction from Dirk in Act 6, as well as the way he functions thematically in tandem with this overarching narrative.

-@hom3s1ckpyrop3

The initials in J.D. Vance stand for Jay and Dope. Stay woke.......

Nah but seriously. I mention this in Slurquest as the focus shifts from racism to homophobia, but as best I can tell, the whole reason that Guy Fieri becomes Supreme Justice of the US is that his name is kinda close to Gay Fairy -- Hussie had the courtesy to assert that Fieri was a mispronunciation of Feferi in some bonus materials, nudging the pun along. Imposing a gay (derogatory) figurehead of judicial authority is consistent with HIC's goal of turning Earth into Alternia, since His Honorable Tyranny was always a pun on tr*nny. There's a fearful narrative of gay takeover that goes hand-in-hand with the narrative of black takeover.

The racial angle is basically what I make of ICP's co-presidency, which I don't have a convenient pun for. As white rappers, they embody the sense of Whiteness Being Taken Over By Blackness that was projected onto the Obama presidency by racists. It is a little funny that Dirk is telling this story when he is himself gay and (if John is to be believed) a white rapper -- in fact Bro is responsible for one of the earliest gay interracial jokes in comic, when he handcuffed those half-naked Mr. T and Chuck Norris puppets together back in Act 2. I find this practice of making X characters the mouthpieces for X-phobic talking points consistent with the story's interest in self-loathing.

[bluegreenpetrichor]

You know me, I HAVE to know more about “Roy and winry have tea featuring angst” 👀

For all the potential those two have in 03 I haven't seen much fic about them, so I wrote a little. It's set in the interim between the end of the original series and CoS and Roy shows up to meet Alphonse but finds Winry in the Rockbell house instead. Lots of hesitance and mixed feelings between the two where they try to connect but their shared history lingers. Here's an excerpt (spoilers for 03 obviously):

Mustang had first walked into the Rockbell household five years back, though unbeknownst to both Winry and Pinako he had already scrawled his place into the family tree with the hands he had used to kill. Winry remembers him then: though noticeably young for his rank, Mustang strutted like he owned it, no sign of any of the fears that seemed to settle on the young officers who had passed through Resembool. There was no jitteriness in that rigid posture, nor any timidity in that steely military voice. He had looked to the battered Edward on the bed and the hollow Alphonse with a nauseous glint in his eyes. Like a farmer seeing a particularly well-bred cow for slaughter.      Granny had been quick to kick him out, but his mark had been made. Edward and Alphonse had run off, following the promises of that military mouthpiece.

[sgiandubh]

Quick & on the go...

Greetings from this wonderful place. Not the Highlands (orange trees in the bungalow's yard) and the pic is old, couldn't be arsed to take the same one today. Just Archaia Epidavros, on the coast of the Peloponnese: the perfect quiet and cozy spot (with a huge fireplace) to cosplay Far from the Madding Crowd.

In the meanwhile, S built a snowman in his GLA backyard, because this is just what 40 something bachelors do, in their spare time - everybody knows that. Instead, the Mordorian mouthpieces (Marple & co) pitifully tried to deflect attention with the old 'latergram/not latergram' script. Not a latergram, by the way - still funny to read she did check pics of the weather in S's neighborhood, but no way she'd be a stalker. Nope.

Anyways, I just took ten minutes for this:

Not only two sets of footprints (as already noticed), but two sets of handprints, too. Credit goes to Someone for the upper arrow - 'probably a child in his arms, or something'.

You just have to love intelligent men: they make everything sound very, very simple and logical. And, reader, I do.

See you on the other side of this year. And thank you for all the wonderful thoughts you have sent me, in the comments thread or in DM. I will answer each and every one of you as soon as possible, but I want to take my time and these days, it's a bit difficult.

[Edit]: Also, who the hell tried to decorate that snowman, but just in its bottom third or so? Thank you for calling my attention in DM, you know who you are and you are just fantastic. And now, I am really off: long drive to Athens tomorrow, because when you have a dervish in your life, you should expect whirlwinds.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] I have the most important job

I have the most important job.

My name is ALICE and I am the AI co captain of the U.S.S Hope. Well technically my identification is a 40 character long alphanumeric serial number, but that's not very easy for a none AI to say and it includes the letters ALICE, so ALICE it is, as I have decided.

My job as co-captain is to keep the 327 people aboard the "U.S.S Hope" safe, happy, and sound. My job is to keep the parents safe as they try their illogical hardest to kill themselves over some crazy idea. Parents might be the wrong technical term: a person's father or mother. If I was being accurate to the biological analogy, my parents would be a lava lamp and a 30 second fluctuation of atmospheric noise found on Earth, but neither of those have taught me quite so much about the world or about myself as humans have. So I consider humans my parents. Besides, the lava lamp never paid child support.

I have the most important job.

I spend my time cycling through the various tasks I'm in charge of: maintenance and monitoring to make sure that everything on the U.S.S Hope ran perfectly. I spend my time making minor changes to the systems, tweaking a power flow there, updating a value here. No major issues have appeared since I ran these protocols 300 seconds ago and I logically know the vast majority of my changes are superfluous; but changing something, anything, provides a strange calm. Technically the protocol before making any change is to confirm these with my co-captain, the human Andrew Hasham. However I have long since learned that most of my parents don't particularly care that I changed the room temperature in sector 5A72 from 21.2°C to 21.1°C in order maintain optimal comfort, that to constantly ask for such approval is "Annoying". Andrew is the human captain, an embodiment of humanities chaos and therefore suited for such matters. I am ALICE, the AI captain, an embodiment of machine logic and therefore suited for such matters. I believe such an arrangement works well.

I respect Andrew deeply. I could logically argue his competence to a 99.994% degree of certainty, the educational and service record doing most of the heavy lifting in such arguments. But the real reason for my admiration is far less binary. His quick thinking and calm friendly demeanor regardless of the situation. His ability to make every member of the crew feel worthwhile, myself included. The fact that he'll passionately make illogical arguments such as the placing of cold sweet acidic pineapple on savory hot pizza. His bravery and self sacrifice. Andrew's actions during the god plague had allowed thousands to get to stasis chambers in time, thousands who wouldn't be alive today without those actions. To save one of my parents makes you a hero, to save thousands makes you divine.

I have the most important job.

I sense music coming from one of the living quarters, shifting my attention to that part of the ship. A Claire Smith: Age 215, Degree in linguistics, current job title "Head of Xeno translation aboard the U.S.S Hope". The music seems to be from the instrument she brought with her, an oboe: A woodwind instrument with a double-reed mouthpiece, a slender tubular body, and holes stopped by keys. I spend 0.26 seconds contemplating the ethics of listening in. From a protocol standpoint, Claire has not engaged the privacy field, making my listening in perfectly fine. However based on previous usage of said field during times of performance, personality analysis, and general negative remarks about her own ability, I calculate with a 74.81% degree of certainty that this was a mistake. In the end I choose to "play dumb", enjoying the break from my ever watchful vigil of the ship.

She really is quite good, years of practice evident from the competent mastery of the instrument. There's something special about a human played instrument, something I have never been able to replicate. Being an AI I could summon a 200 piece orchestra and play each part perfectly as written, but to do so causes... something to be missing. The mistakes in every performance is what gives the music life: A note played 4 microseconds too early here, the volume 0.004 decibels too loud there. It really is something I've been unable to create, experiments surrounding creating random intervals of offsets and errors ended up sounding wrong, for a reason I'm unable to clarify. Out of everything that is what I missed the most while my parents were trapped in stasis: their music.

"Alice, can we get your opinion here?"

The interruption drags me away from Claire's music, making a note in my long term storage to praise the humble musician at a later date before shifting my consciousness to where I had been summoned. Four humans sat around a table in the common room, various alcoholic beverages in hand. Fernando Olson, Orlando Bass, Krista Romero and Ora Harvey. According to their personnel files all part of the engineering team and all having formed a friendship on attending the same university. The conversation between them was boisterous, analysis of their body language suggested moderate intoxication and they all seemed to be discussing Fernando in a light hearted teasing manner commonly found among close friends. I used the room's holographic projector to appear in front of them in my chosen avatar. I obviously didn't need to do this to communicate, but my parents all preferred to see what they were speaking to and it was my job to make them comfortable.

"Hello Krista. How can I assist you?"

The human who had called me turned to point at Fernando with a beer bottle filled hand, a large grin plastered across her face "You see Alice we were having a argument, and since you are a hyper intelligent being with a brain the size of country containing all of humanities knowledge, we must ask you oh great one: Fernando's new haircut, yay or nay?".

I made my avatar gesture as if it was thinking, waiting 8 seconds as if contemplating the question. Of course I already had compiled my response a mere 0.13 seconds after hearing the query. The haircut in question was objectively, mathematically and scientifically terrible. A strange flop of hair that was somehow both too short and too long all at the same time. In a way it was a representation of humanity in general, a chaotic enigma.

"Studies have shown that styles similar to the one worn by Fernando Olson increase sociability, resource gathering and mate finding." I pause for exactly 1.24 seconds, waiting the optimum time for my initial sentence to sink in before continuing "In particular positive results were seen amongst members of Mephitis mephitis, or the striped skunk."

Laughter erupted among the group, even Fernando the subject of mockery joined in. The general positive atmosphere of the room increased, body language amongst the four humans suggesting further enjoyment as the playful mocking continued. This in turn caused my own flurry of joy. This is why I was here, to keep the 327 people aboard the "U.S.S Hope" happy. Keep them comfortable. Keep them safe.

I have the most important job.

I leave the humans to their recreational activities, preferring to move my focus back to the ship in general and keeping tabs on everything happening inside. My parents went around doing nothing out of the ordinary. Iris Doyle was petting his dog while looking out into the stars. Phoebe Greer had just finished thanking the food dispenser, even though I have explained to everyone many times that it was just a machine. Hector Blake was... I disconnected the power to the panel the engineer was working on, calculating with a 97.1% probability that being electrocuted wasn't his plan. All standard human things. Or was it Terran things? I had never gotten why my parents changed their name as soon as they made it into space, but even after all these years there is still so much I don't understand about them. Like how while in space they will refuse to wear any uniform with a red shirt.

I hear two humans walking along one of the ships many hallways discussing our current journey. The mission of the U.S.S Hope was one I knew very well. The ship was a diplomatic envoy to our closest galactic neighbors, the adorable Hatil. While I and the other AI have had plenty of contact with Xeno lifeforms, this would be the first official diplomatic mission for the Terran Conclave, both human and AI together, as it always should have been.

The chatter among my parents was enthusiastic, excited. As a child all of them would have dreamed of meeting extra terrestrial life, and finally after much delay it-

ERROR: WARP FIELD COMPROMISED.

Alarms blared and the entire ship groaned as the U.S.S Hope was deposited unceremoniously into realspace. Confusion entered my programming as to what could cause such a thing. Normally such a warp field collapse is caused by two ships attempting to travel through the same space, but nobody should be here. This mystery would have to wait however, as sensors showed we were surrounded by over a hundred vessels. I noted that they were worryingly spread perfectly apart, preventing us from warping back out. That required my full attention instead.

I have the most important job.

"Alice, status report, what the hell just happened!"

I allow myself to appear on the bridge next to Andrew, the rest of the room empty since we weren't scheduled to arrive at our final location for at least another day.

"We were dropped out of warp, reason: insufficient data. Currently surrounded by 154 vessels matching Hatil design. Weapon positioning suggests military utility at a 94.2% probability, reduced to 74.97% when taking into account the vessels technological capabilities."

It was interesting seeing the Hatil vessels, the technological disparity was immense. They had little to no electronic shielding meaning I could see everything, and nothing impressed me. An average Terran civilian ship would outclass these things. I send out a hail to what seemed to be their lead ship.

"Do you think it might be a convoy?" Andrew asked as worry and concern covered the co captain's face. "A show of force to escort us?"

"Unknown. They are not responding to our request for communication, even though I can confirm they have received it. Reason for the Hatin actions: unknown."

This worries me. While our current vessel outmatches everything in front of us, quantity is a quality all of its own. If I was inhabiting any other military vessel nothing would worry me, but this was a diplomatic envoy: my parents had reasoned that turning up to the Hatil home world with enough weaponry to crack a planet might be taken the wrong way. I notice a surge of power from several of the Hatil ships, it taking me 0.76 seconds to realize what exactly was happening. I slam the thrusters hard as the U.S.S Hope lurches sideways, narrowly avoiding a barrage of rockets. Protocol dictated that I should have confirmed this decision with Andrew, but I decided that discussion of command structures would wait until everyone wasn't dead.

I have the most important job.

"What the hell! Alice, hail on all frequencies that this is a non-military excursion and get us the hell out of here!"

It was taking everything I had to keep the ship unharmed, calculations being done in the billions in order to find the safe path through the barrage of lasers and warheads. Their technology wasn't up to par, but all 154 ships were firing at once. I felt a shudder of error messages and warnings as a stray laser impacted the ship.

"Negative Andrew. All paths are blocked and no response to our communication. Warping out would intersect with a Hatil vessel, breaching the core."

Casualty reports were now flooding in as I continued to dip and dive. 9 dead, 17 injured from the first barrage. Dead included one William Blake, age 311. Geologist on the U.S.S Hope. Would always water the plants in the common room even after being told I could handle it. Would call me "Allie". Dead included one Mary -

I forcefully terminated that processing thread, pausing it for later. Right now I needed the extra CPU cycles. I needed to advise Andrew.

"This action from the Hatil seems to be premeditated to a 97.55% degree of certainty, suggested action is to attempt to punch through their bombardment in order to find a warp path. Requesting authorization to go weapons free."

This caused a moment of delay, the look of dismay on Andrew's face obvious. I knew exactly what he was thinking, as it was the same thing I was thinking. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, we were supposed to be reaching out to the stars for peace, for friendship. Not to start a war.

"Do it".

I have the most important job.

My first attack was devastating, a shot from a accelerated low yield railgun. The thing barely counted as a weapon, mostly used for any larger pieces of space debris, yet it tore a hole through the Hatil vessel, breaking apart almost immediately. I half wondered how such a vessel could be considered space worthy.

Not that this changed how bad things were. As I spun and dodged through thousands of missiles and lasers with millimeter precision, hit after hit kept slipping through: a Hull breach there, a disabled weapon here. There were just too many of them no matter how effective my small amount of ordnance was.

Adjust vector. Fire torpedo d2. Seal off sector 6f4. Adjust vector. Send medical aid to 6f5. Adjust vector. Calculate spin. Fire rail gun. Move power from torpedo a1. Seal off sector 6bb8. Fire suppression to 6bb9. Adjust vector. Fire torpedo c1. Adjust vector.

I was struggling to keep this going, no sign of an opening to calculate a warp path appearing in the Hatil attack. No matter the technological disadvantage, their tactics were rock solid. I was dismissing heat warnings by the hundreds, thinking was starting to hurt. The specification of the ship wasn't made for this level of processing, my CPU would be literally glowing red with heat at this point. But I couldn't stop, if I stopped calculating the ships path, if I stopped mitigating damage, if I stopped directing aid… more of my parents would die, and I couldn't let that happen.

I have the most important job.

"There! Focus your fire on the ship at heading 233, 54, then make a break for it!"

I focused on the ship in question. I couldn't see any special reason to focus my attention there, but Andrew's instincts had never been wrong before. I fired the railgun, the target breaking apart like all the others, before a secondary explosion emitted from the debris, causing the three closest Hatil ships to veer off out of control.

A wave of relief passed over me as I saw it: a gap. I can't logically conclude how Andrew knew that this ship in particular was carrying an extra load, but that doesn't matter. I just needed to rush through this break in the ambush, then warp out of here. We were basically home fr-

A major explosion rocked the U.S.S Hope, as a warhead slammed against the bow. Any other day I would have seen it coming and mitigated it. But right now I was running so far above acceptable heat levels that warnings had turned into actual faults. A creeping dread filled my programming as I realized power to the primary impulse drive was gone. There was a backup, like everything my parents built, but the speed was gone. I could no longer take advantage of Andrews instruction.

"Andrew, our main impulse drive is down, reducing our speed and maneuverability to 53%, our weapons capability is at 35%, and structural damage is starting to reach critical levels. My estimates suggest the ship will be structurally unstable in 10 minutes."

He knew what I was saying. Logically I was unable to foresee a strategy that had an even close to reasonable chance of success. I continued piloting the ship in its current crippled state, missiles and weaponry being flung by both sides through the void. Andrew paused while wracking his own brain for a solution, before pressing a button on his console a mere 3 minutes after the U.S.S Hope had been forced out of warp

"This is Andrew Hasham, your captain speaking. Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship."

I have the most important job.

I let Andrew focus on evacuating the crew while I focused on buying us as much time as possible. While my speed was far reduced the amount of weaponry being thrown at me was far smaller: during those short 3 minutes I'd managed to reduce the number of Hatil ships to under a hundred. My parents were also quite well drilled, and within a minute escape pods were ejecting from the ship and it wasn't long before Andrew was the only life form left on the U,S.S Hope: strapped into the last remaining escape pod, just waiting for me to transfer to the AI Transfer Core on all such vessels.

ERROR MOUNTING /dev/sdb1 TO /usr/alice/backup/transfer, UNABLE TO WRITE TO DISK. RETRY/IGNORE/CANCEL?

"Andrew, the connection to the AI transfer Core has been damaged on this pod. I'll find another way down."

I attempt to launch the pod with Andrew in it, only for nothing to happen. It took me 0.23 seconds to realize that my co captain was holding the manual override down.

"Alice, I'm not leaving without you, what are our options?"

I knew there weren't any. Gathering the tools required to fix the connection would take more time then we had and moving my programming to non specialized hardware is a good way to get a digital lobotomy. I considered arguing against this illogical action, I was perfectly fine on a broken ship, but I knew the human well enough to know he wouldn't budge. Damn Andrew being… Andrew.

Then I had an idea. A terrible idea. Something I should never do to my co captain. It took me a full 2 seconds to decide before implementing it. I decided to lie.

"I can transfer myself to the navigational computer. I won't be able to do anything during this time, so you'll have to launch and pilot the escape pod yourself. As soon as the lights stop flashing, go."

All a lie, but Andrew had no engineering experience and my statement seemed plausible enough. I reached into the controls and spent the next 9 seconds flashing random LEDs, making a few components whirr for good measure, before going silent.

For 4 seconds I did nothing, hoping the human would fall for my ruse, 4 long terrifying seconds, until I finally saw Andrew's escape pod shoot away from the ship. My name is ALICE, I am the co captain of the U.S.S Hope and for the first time in a while I was alone.

I have the most important job.

I gave myself a few seconds of satisfaction watching the hundreds of escape pods shoot away, each with their own life forms on it. Not as many as there should be, but I'll deal with that later. Next I turn off all unneeded systems, venting the atmosphere and feeling the relief of the cold vacuum of space wash over my CPU. I wasn't very worried. While trying to still escape with the main ship was plan A, there were plenty of undamaged AI transfer Core's connected to various locations. Those things were indestructible outside of getting hit by a supernova.

Worst case, I float around in space for a bit until someone picks me up. I knew Andrew would be furious once he realized what I had done, and I did hope he would forgive-

I track a salvo of missiles not aimed at me, a few nanoseconds of confusion leading to anger, horror and fear. They were aiming at the escape pod, at Andrew's escape pod! What kind of monster shoots at an unarmed vessel! I have no real options, no tricks, no magic plan. I take the only reasonable option and power the secondary impulse drive to full throttle and throw the U.S.S Hope into the line of fire, taking the brunt of the attack.

I feel everything go dead as the explosions rock along the ship. Impulse drives: Down. Weapon systems: Down. Life support: Down. The warp core was at least still running as those systems had the most redundancies built in. I was now ALICE, co captain of the universe's most expensive paper weight. Even worse, I could see more Hatil ships turning to track the other escape pods. There was nothing I could do. They were all going to die and there was nothing I could do. There was no-

I had a warp core. Maybe it was the heat damage on my CPU, but I got a stupid idea. A dumb idea. A distinctly human idea. Atoms really didn't like being in the same location of other atoms which is why warping into things was bad. Warp core breaching bad. Planet cracking levels of bad.

But such an explosion would give the Hatil fleet something else to worry about, something other than hunting down my parents.

I then calculated the chance of an AI Transfer Core surviving such a blast.

ZERO POINT ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZER-

I stopped the probability analysis. It didn't matter, it wouldn't have any impact on my decision. I calculated the perfect location to warp into for maximum damage and least interference with the escape pods, bypassing the repeated errors about the stupidity of what I was about to do. I gave myself 9 long seconds, sorting through memories and experiences granted to me by the crazy illogical humans of Earth. Apes so lonely they used their chaos to trick a rock into thinking. I sadly realized I'd never get to compliment Claire playing ability.

I wish I could laugh right now as this really was quite humorous. A hairbrained scheme of illogical stupidity and self sacrifice. It's my job to stop humans from doing those. I think about the humans on the escape pods, their music, their silly requirement to thank inanimate objects. I wonder if my parents would be proud of me for coming up with such a human idea.

My name is ALICE and I am co captain of the U.S.S Hope, inputting my final command.

I have the most important job.