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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

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Canada’s ground-breaking, hamstrung repair and interop laws

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

When the GOP trifecta assumes power in just a few months, they will pass laws, and those laws will be terrible, and they will cast long, long shadows.

This is the story of how another far-right conservative government used its bulletproof majority to pass a wildly unpopular law that continues to stymie progress to this day. It's the story of Canada's Harper Conservative government, and two of its key ministers: Tony Clement and James Moore.

Starting in 1998, the US Trade Rep embarked on a long campaign to force every country in the world to enact a new kind of IP law: an "anticircumvention" law that would criminalize the production and use of tools that allowed people to use their own property in ways that the manufacturer disliked.

This first entered the US statute books with the 1998 passage of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), whose Section 1201 established a new felony for circumventing an "access control." Crucially, DMCA 1201's prohibition on circumvention did not confine itself to protecting copyright.

Circumventing an access control is a felony, even if you never violate copyright law. For example, if you circumvent the access control on your own printer to disable the processes that check to make sure you're using an official HP cartridge, HP can come after you.

You haven't violated any copyright, but the ink-checking code is a copyrighted work, and you had to circumvent a block in order to reach it. Thus, if I provide you a tool to escape HP's ink racket, I commit a felony with penalties of five years in prison and a $500k fine, for a first offense. So it is that HP ink costs more per ounce than the semen of a Kentucky Derby-winning stallion.

This was clearly a bad idea in 1998, though it wasn't clear how bad an idea it was at the time. In 1998, chips were expensive and underpowered. By 2010, a chip that cost less than a dollar could easily implement a DMCA-triggering access control, and manufacturers of all kinds were adding superfluous chips to everything from engine parts to smart lightbulbs whose sole purpose was to transform modification into felonies. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business-model."

So when the Harper government set out to import US-style anticircumvention law to Canada, Canadians were furious. A consultation on the proposal received 6,138 responses opposing the law, and 54 in support:

https://www.michaelgeist.ca/2010/04/copycon-final-numbers/

And yet, James Moore and Tony Clement pressed on. When asked how they could advance such an unpopular bill, opposed by experts and the general public alike, Moore told the International Chamber of Commerce that every objector who responded to his consultation was a "radical extremist" with a "babyish" approach to copyright:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/copyright-debate-turns-ugly-1.898216

As is so often the case, history vindicated the babyish radical extremists. The DMCA actually has an official way to keep score on this one. Every three years, the US Copyright Office invites public submissions for exemptions to DMCA 1201, creating a detailed, evidence-backed record of all the legitimate activities that anticircumvention law interferes with.

Unfortunately, "a record" is all we get out of this proceeding. Even though the Copyright Office is allowed to grant "exemptions," these don't mean what you think they mean. The statute is very clear on this: the US Copyright Office is required to grant exemptions for the act of circumvention, but is forbidden from granting exemptions for tools needed to carry out these acts.

This is headspinningly and deliberately obscure, but there's one anecdote from my long crusade against this stupid law that lays it bare. As I mentioned, the US Trade Rep has made the passage of DMCA-like laws in other countries a top priority since the Clinton years. In 2001, the EU adopted the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 copy-pastes the provisions of DMCA 1201.

In 2003, I found myself in Oslo, debating the minister who'd just completed Norway's EUCD implementation. The minister was very proud of his law, boasting that he'd researched the flaws in other countries' anticircumvention laws and addressed them in Norway's law. For example, Norway's law explicitly allowed blind people to bypass access controls on ebooks in order to feed them into text-to-speech engines, Braille printers and other accessibility tools.

I knew where this was going. I asked the minister how this would work in practice. Could someone sell a blind person a tool to break the DRM on their ebooks? Of course not, that's totally illegal. Could a nonprofit blind rights group make such a tool and give it away to blind people? No, that's illegal too. What about hobbyists, could they make the tool for their blind friends? No, not that either.

OK, so how do blind people exercise their right to bypass access controls on ebooks they own so they can actually read them?

Here's how. Each blind person, all by themself, is expected to decompile and reverse-engineer Adobe Reader, locate a vulnerability in the code and write a new program that exploits that vulnerability to extract their ebooks. While blind people are individually empowered to undertake this otherwise prohibited activity, they must do so on their own: they can't share notes with one another on the process. They certainly can't give each other the circumvention program they write in this way:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

That's what a use-only exemption is: the right to individually put a locked down device up on your own workbench, and, laboring in perfect secrecy, figure out how it works and then defeat the locks that stop you from changing those workings so they benefit you instead of the manufacturer. Without a "tools" exemption, a use exemption is basically a decorative ornament.

So the many use exemptions that the US Copyright Office has granted since 1998 really amount to nothing more than a list of defects in the DMCA that the Copyright Office has painstaking verified but is powerless to fix. We could probably save everyone a lot of time by scrapping the triennial exemptions process and replacing it with an permanent sign over the doors of the Library of Congress reading "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

All of this was well understood by 2010, when Moore and Clement were working on the Canadian version of the DMCA. All of this was explained in eye-watering detail to Moore and Clement, but was roundly ignored. I even had a go at it, publicly picking a fight with Moore on Twitter:

https://web.archive.org/web/20130407101911if_/http://eaves.ca/wp-content/uploads/2010/Conversations%20between%20@doctorow%20and%[email protected]

Moore and Clement rammed their proposal through in the next session of Parliament, passing it as Bill C-11 in 2012:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copyright_Modernization_Act

This was something of a grand finale for the pair. Today, Moore is a faceless corporate lawyer, while Clement was last seen grifting covid PPE (Clement's political career ended abruptly when he sent dick pics to a young woman who turned out to be a pair of sextortionists from Cote D'Ivoire, and was revealed as a serial sex-pest in the ensuing scandal:)

https://globalnews.ca/news/4646287/tony-clement-instagram-women/

Even though Moore and Clement are long gone from public life, their signature achievement remains a Canadian disgrace, an anchor chain tied around the Canadian economy's throat, and an impediment to Canadian progress.

This week, two excellent new Canadian laws received royal assent: Bill C-244 is a broad, national Right to Repair law; and Bill C-294 is a broad, national interoperability law. Both laws establish the right to circumvent access controls for the purpose of fixing and improving things, something Canadians deserve and need.

But neither law contains a tools exemption. Like the blind people of Norway, a Canadian farmer who wants to attach a made-in-Canada Honeybee tool to their John Deere tractor is required to personally, individually reverse-engineer the John Deere tractor and modify it to talk to the Honeybee accessory, laboring in total secrecy:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/11/12/canada_right_to_repair/

Likewise the Canadian repair tech who fixes a smart speaker or a busted smartphone – they are legally permitted to circumvent in order to torture the device's repair codes out of it or force it to recognize a replacement part, but each technician must personally figure out how to get the device firmware to do this, without discussing it with anyone else.

Thus do Moore and Clement stand athwart Canadian self-reliance and economic development, shouting "STOP!" though both men have been out of politics for years.

There has never been a better time to hit Clement and Moore's political legacy over the head with a shovel and bury it in a shallow grave. Canadian technologists could be making a fortune creating circumvention devices that repair and improve devices marketed by foreign companies.

They could make circumvention tools to allow owners of consoles to play games by Canadian studios that are directly sold to Canadian gamers, bypassing the stores operated by Microsoft, Sony and Nintendo and the 30% commissions they charge. Canadian technologists could be making diagnostic tools that allow every auto-mechanic in Canada to fix any car manufactured anywhere in the world.

Canadian cloud servers could power devices long after their US-based manufacturers discontinue support for them, providing income to Canadian cloud companies and continued enjoyment for Canadian owners of these otherwise bricked gadgets.

Canada's gigantic auto-parts sector could clone the security chips that foreign auto manufacturers use to block the use of third party parts, and every Canadian could enjoy a steep discount every time they fix their cars. Every farmer could avail themselves of third party parts for their tractors, which they could install themselves, bypassing the $200 service call from a John Deere technician who does nothing more than look over the farmer's own repair and then types an unlock code into the tractor's console.

Every Canadian who prints out a shopping list or their kid's homework could use third party ink that sells for pennies per liter, rather than HP's official colored water that cost more than vintage Veuve Cliquot.

A Canadian e-waste dump generates five low-paid jobs per ton of waste, and that waste itself will poison the land and water for centuries to come. A circumvention-enabled Canadian repair sector could generate 150 skilled, high-paid community jobs that saves gadgets and the Earth, all while saving Canadians millions.

Canadians could enjoy the resliency that comes of having a domestic tech and repair sector, and could count on it through pandemics and Trumpian trade-war.

All of that and more could be ours, except for the cowardice and greed of Tony Clement and James Moore and the Harper Tories who voted C-11 into law in 2012.

Everything the "radical extremists" warned them of has come true. It's long past time Canadians tore up anticircumvention law and put the interests of the Canadian public and Canadian tech businesses ahead of the rent-seeking enshittification of American Big Tech.

Until we do that, we can keep on passing all the repair and interop laws we want, but each one will be hamstrung by Moore and Clement's "felony contempt of business model" law, and the contempt it showed for the Canadian people.

Image: JeffJ (modified) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tony_Clement_-_2007-06-30_in_Kearney,_Ontario.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/

Jorge Franganillo (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Duga_radar_system-_wreckage_of_electronic_devices_(37885984654).jpg

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

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chaaistained · 3 months ago

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the breath that passed from you to me

amortentia breakdown : what i smell + what i smell like aka what regulus smells

what is love? baby don’t hurt me *ahem* anyway . muggles study the science behind love in their chemistry classes, they come to understand what sorts of hormones and chemicals mix in their mind to make their hearts race, their palms sweat, their lips smile. they study the logic behind the love

but as magic folk, we know that logic can only explain so much, the truly illogical nature of love is one that cannot be replicated by a mere mix of naturally occurring chemicals — you can’t conjure it, you can’t cast it, you can’t control it — it is a form of magic older than most anything in the world, and yet that never stops us from trying .. that’s how Amortentia was born

a potion so strong that it can induce romantic, intimate and enticing emotion towards any individual chosen. this proclaimed “love potion” is more accurately a manufactured drug that brews feeling from folly, and for that very reason, it is extremely coveted (mostly by teenagers who know no better)

probably explains why we’re taught how to make it as teenagers — a sneaky way for professors to corner us into The Talk ..

i shudder as i move on from this sidebar.. Amortentia, yes, the masterfully manipulative potion : as students of magic, we’re taught that Amortentia has three distinct scents, unique to each individual. if brewed right, this potions potency will only add to the metaphysical sensations of the brewer when they try to discern each specific scent — paired with the aroma is an atmospheric transformation, subtle yet undeniably present, and this is because of the powdered moonstone

a crystal known to enhance intuition and encourage emotional alignment? the perfect product to blend into such a potion — silvery and soft and ever so sly, it imbues the mixture with the ability to make you feel what you smell, throwing you into nostalgic memories that never existed, a dream of desire so deep it makes you wonder what is and what was and what will be

now, what you came for, my amortentia —

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

drowning intoxication —

“she felt the splash against her ankles, the ghost waves of a weekend spent in water, the small and unnoticed scratches on her shins stung ever so slightly from the oceans salt, it called her name, it breathed promises of protection and she felt herself drawn, forward and forward, like a soul bound to a sirens song” » “it heated up the tip of her nose when she went to take a deep breath, some synthetic scent filling her lungs, a sharp droplet of something warm and waxy haunted the back of her hand, it held her heart in toasted embrace, it blinked between her eyelashes, bright and comforting” » “the air around her was aged and ink heavy, the gentle rustle of leafy sheets, soft and supple between her fingers from years spent being pages turned, her curiosity had taken control, her mind wanted to peel back every layer, pull apart every query, the intoxicating need to know and be known, by who? she did not know liar”

.. OCEAN AIR .. is for :

a welcome to the wary — pearlescent — a warped mystery — salt encrusted knowledge — a riptide of an individual — ravine deep emotions — hidden alcove of secrets — eternal lighthouse — lullaby currents — crashing against limestone — alluring serenity — a world slowed — give in to being engulfed

.. CANDLE WAX .. is for :

flickering souls — guiding light — aged and melted and scraped and repurposed — ever changing — responsibility — being bent to burn — a sparked comfort — controlling shadows — that which is sought for — elegance in refinery — spectacle candelabra displays — the unassumingly powerful

.. MUSTY BOOKS .. is for :

status — wisen and wonder — timeless thought — intellectually stimulating — discipline — deigned significance — history has the answers — secured success — worn out — secrets beneath the layers — influence of intelligence — stories known to souls long gone — a mystery waiting to be unravelled

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

aflame with desire —

“it was sweet yet sour, tart and tantalising, he felt comfort from the familiarity but could not find it in himself to admit his longing for the real taste, it left his fingers with that odd little filmy layer of fruit juice, berry juice, involuntarily he licked his lips, as if some remnant of dessert was left, an utterly uncouth behaviour and yet it did not bother him in slightest, it felt almost natural” » “something crackled behind his ear, it whispered against the back of his neck, it filled the air with the charred ash of words lost to flame, the soft spit of ink and smoke wafted past, a light that died down with each second leaving an air of desperate desire, an inner urge to go looking, go searching” » “one whiff and time stopped entirely, washing the world in a dew drop daze, warmed cheeks, chilled lips, a prickly taste of rain on his tongue and yet he could feel the sun on his face, crisp and fresh, it filled his lungs and made him dizzy for an eternity spent in this scent or whoever it was meant for”

.. BLACKBERRIES .. is for :

supple flavour — tangy and taunting — bramble hearted — blooming too soon — a sweetened stain — blood red finger tips — bountiful harvest — a searching soul — thorn covered through evolution — cloud white blossoms — buried splinters — a mere ingredient in the recipe

.. BURNING PARCHMENT .. is for :

messages meant for moments in time — forever found in flames — what could be said — protection — enticing one’s soul — spell caster — paper trails — inked in the stars — the correspondence of the ages — hidden behind blackened ash — embers floating in the air — the yearning to know

.. HAZEY SUNRISE .. is for :

nostalgia — altar of the sun — slow and quiet — foggy fields — the one that sings the stars to sleep — a mist covered heart — ever present — searching for … — goosebumps and wind gusts — spattered sunbeams — mysticism — a world washed in clouds — unbridled whispers of hope

[ marauders dr intro ]

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

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dissensionads · 2 months ago

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𝑺𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆.

Welcome to Volner-Downe Inc., where progress is not just measured—it is curated. You’re about to embark on a journey toward personal-professional harmony, powered by our proudest innovation: the Dissension Procedure™. This patented, board-approved neurological separation offers participants the ultimate gift—a life unburdened by labor or personal pains better left at home. Imagine waking up refreshed, unaware that another version of you has been contributing tirelessly to society’s advancement. No stress. No guilt. No pesky memories of filing reports or sitting through time-inefficient meetings. Just you, at your best—half the time, all the reward. We understand that new developments can raise questions, even mild emotional fluctuations ( don’t worry—we’ve accounted for those ). Please know that all Dissension participants enjoy top-tier medical observation, plush ergonomic seating, and curated social interactions designed to maintain morale at industry-leading levels. Should any adjustment period occur—say, a brief disorientation, the occasional mirror hallucination, or a strong emotional response to sunshine—our Cognitive Reintegration Specialists are fully equipped to assist. Such incidents, of course, are exceedingly rare, and often resolved with herbal tea, light recalibration, or a brief nap in our Reflection Pods. We take pride in rewarding exceptional behavior, whether that’s through commemorative pins, snack vouchers, or a featured spot in our quarterly Employee Luminary Ledger. We at Volner-Downe believe that one day, humanity will see the Dissension Procedure not just as a milestone, but as a moral obligation. Why suffer from the weight of dual responsibility when we can tidy it up for you? The self is a luxury that was never meant to multitask. So relax. Unclench. Your Outie is safe, your Innie is productive, and your endowment to our future is already happening; so we thank you for your contribution—however subconsciously rendered. Welcome to Volner-Downe Inc.™: Your life, organized. Please note: Volner-Downe Inc. is not liable for any deaths, surgical irregularities, loss of cognitive integrity, spontaneous emotional eruptions, or permanent dissociative consequences resulting from participation in the Dissension Procedure™ or any adjacent sub-protocols. By proceeding, you accept all terms as lovingly implied. Thank you for your service—even if you don’t remember giving it.

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚.

THE HOUSE OF DISSENSION is a 21+ original, psychological horror, drama, and political roleplay set in a retrofuturist 2028, where identity has become a product, obedience a prescription, and silence the only permitted rebellion. Inspired by Severance, Succession, The Sims, and Control, it explores corporate surveillance, manufactured realities, and the ghost-like aftermath of partitioned lives. The aesthetic is mid-century modern gone sterile: sleek chrome, synthetic smiles, and cocktail parties hosted beneath the glare of hidden cameras. Centered around profound character evolution, embracing dark narratives, intricate personal journeys, immersive world-building, and transformative plot developments designed to challenge your character and reshape the very fabric of their reality. This world is curated to the point of collapse, built on a foundation of inherited power, manipulated memory, and the slow, aching horror of being erased while alive. More information will be declassified on May 18th. Until then—remember your place, repeat your mantras, and above all else: we’re happy to be here.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘, 𝗙𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗢𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗘𝗫𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 & 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗗𝗜𝗕𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗦 !

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unknowns-musical · 2 months ago

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Okay, starting off this is gonna be my little brain dump for how I think the trains are made in this universe. So, prepare for a lot of text and silly scribbles. If you make it to the end, I'm gonna explain why I first came up with this idea and that it links to Hermes and his past.

To start off with, the trains are toys they can't be born but made. Even as toys, Control sees them as real trains/people, meaning that they have to be made in his world and not just in the real world as their toy forms. But, since he sees them as people that also means they can age and I do believe this is a thing considering Momma, Poppa and og Belle are older than the rest of them, and have a history from when they were younger. If any of you know transformers, I'm basically gonna describe cold constructs in my way.

The first step is to make a base form of what kind of engine or car you want. A simple frame work that contains their internal structure that holds their power source and lets them keep their form. In a way like their version of a skeleton, organs and muscles. You want to make an engine? Their chest would contain the engine part, and the rest is spread out under their "skin". For a freight or coach? They still have a power source, only it's smaller as to make room for their original purpose to hold/carry things or people in their chest cavities.

This is just a rough idea of what they would look like in my head. Kinda like a puppet, a basic form that can be changed and molded to what they're being made for.

However, in this state they are just lifeless, an empty shell of what they should be. So, to give them life they need a spark to give them life. That power that the engines have the strength and speed to race, that power that gives the Freights and Coaches that energy to do what they need to do. That spark is shared to give these base forms life.

The spark doesn't always work though, it won't give these base forms life if they were made incorrectly most of the time or if the user is incapable of sharing the spark in some shape or another. Be that age, an injury, or a fault in their own system.

If they spark can be shared then it is a race to finish the base form before difficulties arise. The spark not only gives them life, but the last bit of energy needed to finish the outside of the body. An outer shell that can fuse to their form, that gives them protection and allows them to grow as they get older. Giving them an overall human appearance, which varies on what you make. A Steamer needs a form of chimney or vent to let their smoke and stream out. The electrics need extra padding to prevent themselves from shocking others on accident and prevent rain from getting into their systems. Diesels need several vents to let out their smoke like steamers, but also a large room to for their internal controls and to monitor their engine, as well as store their oil.

The energy is used up at this point to finish off the form and give them life, creating a child of a varying age depending on how old they were designed to be. Usually they're about six to eight, sometimes older if they're in a rush for them to get to work faster since they have less time to reach that maturity. But creating them younger is overall more beneficial as it gives them more time to learn about the world and develop properly.

Now we're onto why I created this idea and how it links to Hermes. His backstory is very basic: he was found as a toddler by CB who was a child at that point and was adopted into the family since he looked similar to him and CB wanted a little brother. That lead me to thinking about his backstory more... If the trains are created, then like a birth certificate they would have a certificate of manufacturing. Saying who made them, where and what their original purpose was. What kind of train or car they are, so in future if they had to be converted they could convert them without harm.

Yet no one knows who made Hermes or where he was made they have no where nearby that a child like this could come from, which gave me the idea of what if he wasn't complete? If he wasn't complete, then he wouldn't have a certificate of manufacturing, meaning something happened that stopped his creator from finishing him and somehow got separated once he gained consciousness. But if he wasn't finished, no one knows what he was meant to be so the Freights, and their guardians attempted to finish him without knowing what he was. So, the body he has when he is older isn't his true form.

Now, I will say who made him and what he was meant to be but no one in the yard knows. Og Caboose was his creator, his father and by default Hermes was meant to also be a Caboose like his dad and technically his bio brothers as well. What stopped him from fully finishing Hermes I don't know, I have yet to decide. Despite being incomplete being a Mail Freight in a sense is close enough to his original purpose. He carries both people and mail, for long journeys and travels a lot.

Now, being incomplete I had the idea that the extra energy that was meant to be used to finish off his form never left. It was meant to be used up before he gained sentience, but it was never used up, so instead it stays with him. That energy is why he is always energetic and why he is so fast, even faster than the engines.

As a byproduct it creates two issues: he rarely gets tired and he wears out his parts faster then everyone else. With all that extra energy, it's hard for him to get tired in general so he has to work twice as hard and twice as long just to tire himself out enough to sleep. Then we have the wearing out his parts faster than the others, being on wheels more often his wheels and pistons are gonna wear down from over use. Easy enough to replace and fix, but annoying to deal with since it means he needs more medical attention compared to others.

That's everything I have so far and thank you for reading this if you made it all the way through!!

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eueuphoriaz · 4 months ago

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This is going to be my wildest hypothesis ever. Please take it with much pinch of salt and love for baby Hange. 😍

I am always intrigued by Eren's yellow titan lightning in Season 4, when he was scaring Hange.

Why? Did he transformed? He did have the titan marks though, so is it the same situation as the timeline where he went back in time to spend the last 4 years with Mikasa, before going back to the same timeline to die under Mikasa's swords?

If that is so, at what point did he return to scare Hange? Had Eren been practicing how to use the war hammer titan to escape, that's why he had the titan marks when he grabbed Hange's collar?

Now, I dont think that the yellow lightning is a sign of his intense emotions. Firstly, there had not been other titan shifters who had the yellow lightning when they are emotionally out of control. Case in point Bertolt in Season 2 when Armin tried to trigger him in human form.

Eren could not be possibly transforming cos there is no visible sign of self-harming actions he was doing. One of the condition for transforming is self-inflicted injury.

But we know that Eren can activate the founding titan's power when he comes in contact with someone of a royal blood. And both of them do not need to be in titan form. In fact, Rod Reiss had also proven that there is no need for one of royal blood to be a titan to retrieve some founding titan's powers.

So, does it mean that Hange has some royal blood in her which trigger the yellow titan lightning?

Come to think about it, the Titan research academy had existed way during the Eldian Empire. And the Reiss/ Fritz family had to be close to some scientific people to continue to manufacture the titan serum, or even the armoured serum.

What if Hange comes from a family like this, or some branch of royalty, and she, being the advocate for freedom, disagree with what was happening and drifted away from the family....

#hange zoe #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #manga analysis #hange analysis #need hange backstory so badly

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outletcrash · 1 year ago

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My poison ivy! I'm extremely proud of this. backstory under the cut :)

its been in the back of my head that ivy is indian since forever. i literally have no clue why its just There. she's tamil specifically, because i have favoritism regarding the script its written with.. it tickles my brain...

anyways heres my Poison Ivy: Origins comic i made last night in like 3 hours.

(theres a section here on her early life and the backstory of her parents that im still workshopping. basically she was a bastard child that only her mom supported and they left for gotham)

Bhavani got a job as an accountant for a law firm on recommendation from an uncle who had a company that worked in Gotham (he was kinder to the pair). She was always gifted in math. Bhavani raised her daughter the best way she knew how, even without the support of her family.

Pamela (now nicknamed Ivy due to multiple kids misreading her last name as Ivy. And she was very nature-focused even as a kid, digging in the dirt and identifying different kinds of trees using books she got at the Gotham Library with her mother) excelled in school, surpassing most of her peers. The pursuit of knowledge was the one thing she enjoyed. Her classmates were sticky and loud and irritating, and when she wasn’t ignoring them she was tying their shoelaces together as revenge for talking too loud during quiet time. She managed to make just enough casual friends to not worry her mother too deeply, but this was the start of a downward spiral.

She lost friends, and not many could take on the effort of befriending her. She lost herself in biology, the study of life. Especially plants and conservation. Plants were just so… simple, compared to human society. But their structures and functions and genetics were fascinating. She skipped grades to take higher-level classes on genetics. Her grades were phenomenal but her social skills were extremely underdeveloped. Not like Ivy cared. Humans were a plague on this earth, pumping the atmosphere with CO2 and poisoning rivers and cutting down forests. In her mind, they did nothing but harm the serenity of nature she so cherished.

After graduating with a PHD and doctorate, she got a job as a genetic engineer. She studied alternative ways to help regrow ecosystems after deforestation. Her Gotham University coworkers were wary around Ivy. She was a woman none of them knew anything about, who would say ecoterrorist-aligned comments offhandedly the few times she ever spoke.

Ivy was working on a genetically engineered plant on the day of the accident. It was designed to nurture plant species by sending chemical signals, and it took in energy through waste products left by deforestation and manufacturing. At least, in theory.

Ivy was working all alone in the lab at 2am. She hadn’t slept for hours, she was so close to her breakthrough. She was so close to making those billionaire bastards pay for what they did to the earth. She wasn’t wearing proper safety equipment nor using proper containment procedures during the incident. And as such, she was infected. The plant didn’t just take in waste material, it took in living flesh. Ivy’s cells were transformed in a gruesome fashion, her entire genetic code was re-written as it spread through her body. Her skin was green and her lab coat was bloody. Her newly-red hair flowed behind her as she escaped the lab, running through university grounds. Each footstep brought grass and dandelions cracking through the concrete in full bloom. Trees and grass grew to get closer to her, reaching for her.

Ivys powers were completely out of control. She was crying and hyperventilating as her mind was warped. It had given her a need for flesh. When she made it to Robinson park, she couldn’t overcome the primal instinct. Plants still crawling at her ankles, and she killed a squirrel with her bare hands and ate it raw. This only fueled her fractured mind to want more. Ivy's first ever murder was a pedestrian, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He tried to flee when he saw a bloody green woman with a squirrel carcass in her mouth, but it was to no avail. He was strangled to death with poison ivy vines, and eaten.

Finally, the primal instinct was satiated. Ivy escaped to a warehouse in the industrial district of Old Gotham. She tended to her injuries as best she could, soon discovering she had healing abilities. The injuries from her being torn apart had already mostly healed. She slept on an old couch, dreaming about what she could use these powers for.

When the news broke on the mysterious and grisly death of a random pedestrian, the media was all over it. Since he was killed by poison ivy, and from security footage the culprit was seemingly a woman, the media dubbed her Poison Ivy. Many believed it wasn’t possible, and that the footage was faked, but the GCPD was stumped.

Batman looked through the footage and, by process of elimination (matching the appearances of the scientists who had access to the laboratory, keycard scanners throughout that day and evening, as well as their known affiliations and potential criminal history. Two of them did deal weed but it was nonviolent and they didn’t match the woman in the tapes.)

Dr. Pamela Iyer was the clear suspect. She matched the woman's appearance (besides the green skin and hair, she was a tall woman with long straight hair and a flat nose.) Batman interviewed her coworkers and found she had a history of being antisocial with eco terrorist beliefs. None of them knew where she lived, however. And when the bat interviewed her mother (the only person her coworkers had ever heard her speak to in a positive light) she was very concerned. Suspicious of Batman, clearly, but worried for her precious daughter's well being. She said that Pamela had always loved being near nature, and that she didn’t care for the quality of structure she had to stay in. But other than that, her mother couldn't help. She does bring out the intimidating motherly stare at Batman, making him promise to bring her daughter home safely.

From here, Batman goes on a search. He prowls rooftops and streets and uses the grappling hook for fast travel. All while monitoring city-wide security cameras (thanks Alfred!) and paying attention to police radio. He stops muggings and thefts and helps get a cat out of a tree as he scans Old Gotham.

He came to the conclusion Poison Ivy must be in Old Gotham due to damage on the Robinson Park Bridge, connecting Somerset with the southern island. The damage matched with what had been seen on the sidewalks and streets near the University and the scene of the crime. Dandelions and crabgrass taking the shape of human footprints, cracking through concrete. Batman notices some trees down a certain alleyway in the east streets are warped inwards. Very similar to the trees in the park and university. He follows the unusual growth pattern of the trees, like they were hands outstretching to reach a light source.

There, he finds an old warehouse. He scales the building with a grappling hook, not wanting to be ambushed on the lower levels if he enters on the boarded up front door. Entering through an old broken skylight, he finds what must've been a long abandoned drug dealer hideout covered in fresh blood. Very, very carefully, he examines the scene. But there's nobody there. She just got away, her blood on the rotting old sofa is still warm. He also notes three strands of long red hair, which he places in crime scene baggies for DNA analysis.

His current theory is that the doctor was mutated by her own research. He read her notes and the plant she was experimenting with was extremely dangerous. And the security footage (before it cut out during what he believes was the time of the accident) showed her using improper safety equipment.

He’s on patrol for hours, but can’t find any sign of her.

That night, Bruce synthesizes a pesticide-like chemical that could prevent Ivy's powers. However, he talks to Alfred about how the plant would adapt to it almost like a bacteria, and that it might not be effective more than once.

The next morning Bruce Wayne is scheduled for a charity event. Many rich people are there tied to a business venture Wayne was not aware of. The event was for funding for healthcare systems in Gotham. Little does he know, this is the exact place Ivy plans to attack. She’s hated the rich for years and many politicians and businessmen that support an amazon rainforest deforestation project are there.

She interrupts their little charity event at a historical building in the financial district of old gotham with a surprise. Ivy broke into one of her old greenhouses at the university, taking small samples of extremely poisonous amazon rainforest plants with her. This happened quickly and silently while Bruce was still at the function.

Ivy crashed through the large art-nouveau stained glass windows, supported by giant vines. She is lifted down the staircase like she was floating, more vines and deadly plants crawling in from the giant hole in the glass, moonlight from the full moon peeking through the clouds and illuminating her entrance. London Planetrees from around the building grow in front of doors, sealing all the possible exits.

All of the rich and fancy people in dresses and suits meandering around the building are screaming and trying to run, which is when a mad-with-power Ivy releases her plants.

They grow to gargantuan sizes in moments, releasing toxic spores and fumes and burning people's skin. Ivy finds the most heinous offenders of the rainforest bill and feeds them deadly plants by hand, graphic symptoms ensue.

In the pandemonium, Bruce pulls out some tree facts about the flammability of a certain species, managing to throw a fire source directly at it as a diversion before escaping through a vent in the opposite wing of the hall. Alfred is already outside with the Batsuit, he brought it as soon as he learned of the attack.

Bruce suits up and re-enters. It's a grueling and difficult battle, the most difficult he has fought so far. He manages to spray Ivy with the chemical, and she goes down, all the plants in the hall going still. The excessive toxic fumes suddenly go back to normal levels. Bruce uses an extremely strong tranquilizer on her, she’s still fighting to get up. Finally, Ivy is defeated.

Almost the whole charity gathering was injured in the attack with seven people dead and immense damage done to the structure of the historical hall.

Ivy’s powers are sedated and she’s taken into police custody, where she is deemed insane. Half of the insanity conviction was her actual insanity and the other half was that Arkham is the only facility capable of holding her, especially since it’s located on an island. Batman agrees with Jim Gordon on this comment.

Ivy didn’t say anything during her trial, silently glaring with little remorse. The physician diagnosed her with ASPD (which wasn’t right but it's on her legal documents.)

The comic ends with Ivy in Arkham, talking about the rich swine tearing apart the world, and how she finally has the power to stop them. How she can feel the mutation inside of her slowly winning against the sedative drugs, adapting and consuming the chemical to turn it into energy as it was designed to do. How she will return the world to ecologic harmony, with her own hands. It ends with her in the Arkham cafeteria, staring at a mysterious blonde prisoner a few tables across…

the writing isn't like, a fanfiction. its a guideline for a comic in a series of origins comics im planning. do not get your hopes up these'll be done in like, 10-20 years at my current speed. i have a scarecrow and riddler outline in the works, and plans for a batman, joker, harley quinn and probably a penguin comic eventually. and more villians. once i'm done with all the origins comics i'll be doing like, a regular batman series. just for fun yknow.

#poison ivy #pamela isley #the blonde woman was harley this is 100% a harlivy endgame universe #dc fanart #gotham rouges #harlivy #dc #poison ivy fanart #this plant creature and this gay girl wanna FUCK #ivys the type of fucked up fool to get gender euphoria from being called a critter. an organism even #just like me fr....#harley steals blood donor bags from local hospitals on ivys birthday its like cannibal wine tasting #ivys a cannibal she has to eat raw meat but she doesnt have to eat human meat #its like 2 birds with one stone to her yknow #outletverse

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lavendersugarplum · 7 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐍 | umbrella academy reader insert

𝟎𝟐 checkmate

THE WEIGHT OF SUSPICION settled like frost across Zero's shoulders as she watched shadows creep across her room. Each tap of her finger against the armrest measured out the seconds like a metronome of doubt, the sound sharp and hollow in the chamber's artificial silence. Reginald Hargreeves – father, jailer, enigma – had buried his secrets so deep that even the walls seemed to hold their breath, waiting for truth to surface.

Her gaze traced the transformation of her sanctuary. The pristine walls that had once contained her now bore witness to something ancient and inexplicable. Cosmic script crawled across every surface like frozen lightning, her mother's language bleeding through reality itself. The symbols seemed to pulse with their own inner light, each curve and stroke a whisper from beyond the veil of ordinary existence.

Zero's hand trembled as she reached out to touch the nearest inscription. The contact sent a shiver of recognition through her fingertips, though her mind refused to translate what her soul remembered. Her own desperate annotations marred the elegant cosmic calligraphy – "虚空に落ちる" scrawled in frenzied strokes, the characters fighting against each other like caged birds. "ご" stood stark against the white wall, a cry for help in a language she shouldn't know but couldn't forget.

The duality of the script mirrored the war within her – one part clinical and precise, cataloging each new mystery with mathematical detachment; the other wild and untamed, reaching for memories that slipped through her fingers like stardust. Her breath fogged the window as she leaned closer, studying her reflection superimposed over the ethereal writing. Which version of herself had written these messages in the dark? The cosmic entity she once was, or the human she was becoming?

Time seemed to bend around the edges of her awareness, reality rippling like heat waves over desert sand. Each new symbol she discovered felt like another piece of a puzzle she hadn't known she was solving, another thread in a tapestry too vast to comprehend from this close. The complexity of it all sang to something deep within her, that part of her that still remembered walking between stars.

Her fingers ghosted over the inscriptions on her bed frame, feeling the subtle vibrations of power trapped beneath the surface. Even in sleep, she couldn't escape the messages – they whispered in languages older than time, speaking of truths that made her human mind recoil. Yet she couldn't look away, couldn't stop searching for patterns in the chaos, even as each new discovery threatened to unravel the careful constraints of her manufactured identity.

The thrill of unraveling these mysteries warred with the frustration of her own limitations. She was a being of infinite potential trapped in finite form, reaching for understanding through the fog of human consciousness. Each revelation felt like another step toward a truth that might shatter the careful illusion of her existence – and still she reached, driven by a need that transcended mere curiosity.

In the growing darkness, the symbols seemed to shift and dance, rearranging themselves like stars wheeling across the night sky. Zero sat perfectly still, watching the cosmic choreography with eyes that struggled to remain clinical, even as her heart thundered with recognition. She was close to something – something vast and terrible and beautiful, something that tasted like freedom and felt like falling.

~ ☂︎ ~

The isolation chamber's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the chessboard between them, transforming each piece into a soldier in their unspoken war. Zero's fingers traced the edge of a pawn, her touch light enough to disturb dust motes that danced in the sterile air. Across from her, Reginald sat with the rigid posture of a man who had spent decades perfecting the art of control, his eyes carrying the weight of secrets she couldn't quite grasp.

The soft click of her pawn against the board echoed in the chamber's artificial silence. An unorthodox opening – she watched the subtle shift in Reginald's expression, the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes that betrayed his surprise. The game board spread before her like a mathematical equation waiting to be solved, each piece a variable in an endless series of probability calculations.

"An interesting choice," he mused, amusement coloring his words with a patronizing warmth that failed to reach his eyes.

Zero met his gaze with the flat stare she had perfected over years of observation. Behind her eyes, scenarios unfurled like origami flowers, each possibility branching into a thousand more. This wasn't about victory – it was about understanding the subtle dance of power that had defined their relationship since she first arrived in this sterile prison he called protection.

"You inherit certain... traits," Reginald continued, his words hanging in the air between them like suspended particles, loaded with implications she couldn't fully decode.

"An unfortunate consequence of genetic proximity," she replied, her voice carrying the clinical detachment that she wore like armor. Each word was carefully measured, stripped of the emotional weight that seemed to burden her siblings.

A dry laugh escaped him, the sound as hollow as the promises he'd made about her containment being temporary. "Perhaps. But your mind, Zero, is a fascinating anomaly. Untainted by the emotional impulses that plague your siblings. You are... precise."

Her hand hovered over the knight, calculations running behind her eyes like lines of code. "Precision is a product of necessity," she said, the piece making a definitive sound as she placed it. "Emotional impulse is an unnecessary variable."

The air between them grew heavier, charged with decades of unasked questions. Reginald leaned forward, his movement subtle but deliberate, like a chess master positioning his queen. "Control," he said, "is a crucible. It sharpens the mind, refines strength."

"Or breaks it." The words left her lips without inflection, a simple statement of fact backed by years of watching her siblings crack under the pressure of his expectations. "Your crucible has yielded inconsistent results. The data supports that."

Something flickered across Reginald's face – a shadow of doubt, perhaps, or a moment of recognition. His carefully maintained smile wavered, like a light bulb threatening to burn out. "They were not merely children, Zero. They were instruments, each with a role to play."

"Instruments," she echoed, tasting the bitterness of the word. Her fingers brushed against the cool surface of the board, seeking answers in its geometric certainty. "And what is my role? The scalpel or the sledgehammer?"

"Neither." His voice softened, taking on an almost paternal tone that made her skin prickle with distrust. "You are something else entirely. Different. Unique."

Zero kept her eyes fixed on the board, processing his words through the filter of logic that had become her sanctuary. "Different," she repeated, the word hollow in her mouth. "Or simply another experiment in control?"

The hum of the isolation chamber's systems filled the silence between them, a constant reminder of the barriers – both physical and metaphorical – that defined their relationship. Reginald's fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin, his gaze dissecting her with scientific precision. "Both, perhaps," he conceded. "Your potential is limitless, but it is your rationality that sets you apart."

Her next move was calculated, precise, like everything else about her existence in this sterile cage. "And yet, you've confined me. Limited my access to information. Why?"

Reginald shifted in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him like a confession. "For your protection," he said finally, the words worn smooth from repetition. "And for theirs."

A smile ghosted across her lips, as cold and lifeless as the chamber itself. "Protection? Or containment?"

Their eyes met across the battlefield of black and white squares, and in that moment, something passed between them – a current of understanding that transcended their usual dance of questions and evasions. "Sometimes," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, "they are one and the same."

The silence between them deepened like a widening chasm as the game progressed, each move echoing with unspoken accusations. Zero watched Reginald's queen claim her knight with the same detached fascination she might observe a butterfly being pinned to a board. His subsequent sacrifice – the queen for her rook – was elegant in its brutality, driving her king into an ever-shrinking corner of the board. The inevitability of checkmate hung in the air like the antiseptic smell of the medical supplies that now defined his existence.

"I'm disappointed, Zero," Reginald's words cut through the silence, each syllable weighted with years of calculated expectations. His hands, once steady with the surety of absolute control, now betrayed the slightest tremor as they hovered over the pieces.

Zero lifted her gaze from the board, meeting his eyes with the cold clarity of winter frost. "You overestimate your importance," she replied, each word precise as a surgical incision. "This was never about the game."

Something shifted in Reginald's expression – a tightening around the eyes, a subtle clench of his jaw that spoke of pain he refused to acknowledge. His attention drifted to the array of medication bottles on the bedside table, their white caps gleaming under the sterile lights like chess pieces waiting their turn. Zero's eyes followed his movement, her mind automatically cataloging each prescription, each chemical compound, each silent testament to his failing body.

"Your decline is inevitable," she observed, her voice carrying the same emotional weight as if she were commenting on the weather. "You have contingencies, of course. But none that will halt the march of time."

His hand trembled more pronouncedly now as he reached for one of the bottles, fingers brushing against the label like a blind man reading braille. "Even the most meticulous calculations falter in the face of time's relentless march," he murmured, the words catching slightly in his throat.

The air between them grew heavy with unspoken truths. Zero's eyes narrowed, focusing on the minute tells in his expression – the slight dilation of his pupils, the almost imperceptible tightening of his shoulders. "You've hidden something," she said, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Something vital."

A flash of vulnerability crossed Reginald's face, gone so quickly it might have been a trick of the light. "There are... limitations," he admitted, his voice barely disturbing the air between them.

Zero leaned forward, the movement deliberate as a predator scenting weakness. "Limitations for even you? What are you hiding, Reginald?"

The weight of secrets seemed to press him deeper into his chair, aging him before her eyes. His exhale carried decades of carefully maintained control beginning to fray. "The universe is vast, Zero. There are forces at play that even I cannot control. Some knowledge is a burden too great to bear."

Her expression remained as unchanging as the mathematical constants she found such comfort in, but her mind whirred with possibilities, each more improbable than the last. "A convenient excuse," she said, her words carrying the bite of winter wind. "Or perhaps another manipulation?"

Fear flickered across his face like a shadow, there and gone. "Some truths are better left undiscovered," he rasped, desperation seeping into his voice like water through cracks in a foundation.

The hum of medical equipment filled the silence as Zero weighed his words against the cold logic that formed the bedrock of her world. "Truth is inevitable," she finally declared. "It's only a matter of time."

Reginald's lips parted, but Zero silenced him with a gesture that carried the weight of years of containment. "Your time is running out," she stated, each word falling between them like stones into still water. "Whatever secrets you're hiding, I will uncover them. You won't stop me."

His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of pride and regret that seemed to age him further. "I never doubted it," he whispered, the words almost lost in the mechanical chorus of his life support.

Zero rose from her chair, her shadow falling across his diminished form like a premature night. "Obsolescence," she pronounced, her tone carrying the finality of a mathematical proof. "That is your fate, Reginald. And your secrets will die with you."

His hand reached out as she turned away, trembling like an autumn leaf clinging to its branch. "Zero... Protect them. Protect humanity."

She paused, his plea hanging in the air like smoke, acrid and insubstantial. "Humanity," she echoed, the word sitting foreign and awkward on her tongue. "That is your concern, not mine."

His eyes fluttered closed, defeat written in every line of his face. "You will understand," he murmured, the words dissolving like sugar in rain.

Zero walked away, leaving the sterile room and its dying occupant behind, the game board still set in its final configuration – a battlefield abandoned mid-war. The door closed behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo with finality, and one word escaped her lips, cold and precise as the logic she lived by:

"Obsolete."

"𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎"

ZERO

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