#also wilson is SO unpredictable

[mysonsareturtles]

REAL REAL REAL! People love to pretend that Wade has no idea what he is doing but he is genuinely brilliant (if not also clinically insane).

Canonically he is great at planning and executing missions and makes rapid-fire decisions or changes to plans all the time.

Everyone forgets that Wade was a soldier. A fucking good one. The reason he is so good at being Deadpool is because of that. Yes, he doesn't have to worry about dying, but he strategically takes hits to stun the enemies.

I think Logan would love to see Wade planning out a mission for the first time.

He expects Wade to just go in guns blazing, but he doesn't. Wade pulls out a blueprint of the building, marks areas he knows have security, shows Logan exactly where the target is and how to shut down the villains evil machine of the week. He tells him exactly where he needs to go to pull it off and doesn't make any jokes the entire time.

Logan is alittle surprised, but he can deal with that after the mission.

And after the mission- that goes smoother than any X-Men mission he'd ever done- he can't help but ask Wade why he did all of the prep and how he knew so much about where they were going.

And Wade just shrugs and says "that's how we did it in the military, why? Not how fancy Cyclops did it?" and now he's even more confused because- huh? Wade was in the military??

And so that night Logan just asks him loads of questions, they share a few war stories, and Wade tells him all about how he scouted the warehouse out for a few days and planned the mission.

[oriley42]

Thinking about how House and Wilson have complimentary (or is that awfully contradictory) modes of repression

House's repression is like a wall with seven million layers of paint on it, and he's adding to it fresh, each and every day. He knows damn well what's underneath it, but if he doesn't have to look at it, he doesn't have to deal with it. And this layering is extremely effective at keeping people out, because every time they think they've scraped through the last layer to the "truth," surprise, there's another coat of beige between here and genuine emotion! It drives people who try to love House crazy. (It is also part of why Wilson adores him--the eternal fixer upper.) But by the same token, trying to dig through those layers sometimes yields fragments of real feeling. Those broken, painful shards of admission, actual emotion sneaking through before being quickly painted over again. Lots of chances for the mask to slip, but also endlessly self-renewing.

Wilson's repression is a concrete bunker. He poured the foundations long ago and buried that shit so deep that no one, including himself, can ever find it again with anything short of a C4 detonation. This is why he's like "I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm normal there's nothing down there" and he means it because it's functionally true, he has built who he is on the absence of what he's locked away, until the pressure builds and builds and builds and then it's "AHH I'M THROWING A BOTTLE AT A MIRROR AND I NEED YOU TO TELL ME YOU LOVE ME" because the bunker has been breached and then. Among the ruins. Huh, was that me, I didn't know I was gonna do that?? Haha thank god you didn't take that seriously, because it was all a hoax. *Pours the concrete for a new foundation and buries those feelings like nuclear waste* This is what other people love about him (his smooth, well constructed surface) and what House loves about him (how much effort it takes to break, and how fascinating and unpredictable the results are when he succeeds)

At a meta level, I think the mis/match of these repression styles is a big part of what makes these characters' fascination endure. We noble netizens of fanficland have to do so much creative construction to stop House from frantically re-painting his vulnerabilities out of sight while also holding Wilson back from locking himself in the bunker, just to get them to have one (1) honest conversation, and that is just endlessly rich and interesting!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Psychological Reactions to Unfair Behavior

Things seem fair and just when we see that balances in rewards and costs are occurring.

But things seem unfair and unjust when rewards and costs are not balanced.

The preference for fairness has been proposed to be a basic human impulse (Tyler & Blader, 2000).

When we perceive unfairness, we also experience negative emotional responses in brain regions associated with reward and punishment (Tabibnia, Satpute, & Lieberman, 2008).

The experience of unfairness is associated with negative emotions, including anger and contempt.

Whereas fairness is associated with positive emotions.

Why Humans Believe in the Importance of Fairness

In part because if we did not, then we would be forced to accept the fact that life is unpredictable and that negative things can occur to us at any time.

Believing in fairness allows us to feel better because we can believe that we get what we deserve and deserve what we get (e.g., just world hypothesis).

These beliefs allow us to maintain control over our worlds.

To believe that those who work hard are not rewarded and that accidents happen to good people forces us to concede that we too are vulnerable.

A "Just World"

One way to create a “just world” is to reinterpret behaviors and outcomes so that the events seem to be fair and one way that people do this is by blaming the victim (Lerner, 1980).

Blaming the victim - means interpreting the negative outcomes that occur to others internally so that it seems that they deserved them.

When we see that bad things have happened to other people, we tend to blame the people for them, even if they are not at fault.

Examples:

We may believe that poor people deserve to be poor because they are lazy,

crime victims deserve to be victims because they were careless,

people with AIDS deserve their illness.

In fact, the more threatened we feel by an apparent unfairness, the greater is our need to protect ourselves from the dreadful implication that it could happen to us, and the more we disparage the victim.

Dehumanization

Infrahumanization - the tendency to see outgroups as less human or as having less humanity.

It refers to attitudes and beliefs.

Dehumanization - refers to behaviors that undermine the individuality, humanness and rights of others.

Denying humanity in others can lead to moral judgments.

Dehumanization may be a consequence, as well as a cause of harmful behavior against individuals deemed as immoral (Bastian, Laham, Wilson, Haslam, & Koval, 2010; Bastian et al., 2011).

Example: Someone who violates social, cultural, religious norms can be viewed as immoral, which can initiate sanctions (formal and informal) as well as violence.

Once an individual or group is found less human or immoral, treating them differently is seen as justified, ethical and natural.

For this reason, dehumanization is viewed as a central component to intergroup violence because frequently, groups or individuals who are considered immoral are treated unfairly.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[joykai]

He has a way with em

Wade Wilson, the man NOBODY thought would make it to the X mansion as a recrute let alone WORK there. Now don't get him wrong he still works alone he made that ABUNDENTLY clear, he told scott to his perfectly chiselled face ("he was crafted by a greek god I'm telling you!!" shut up wade) that he was only there because logan asked him to be, the same went for logan, he was content in his one bedroom apartment with wade and mary puppins (I mean c'mon once they started dating living with Al just got weird really fast) but the X man himself popped over and started talking his ear off before he could even close the door on him. Scott explained how they would love for logan to take over old logan's history class, he was going to tell him to fuck off and never step foot in his and his boyfriends apartment again but had an idea.

He agreed but said he'd be teaching physical education and building stamina instead of fucking history AND wade was allowed to join. It took a bit of back and forth but eventually they agreed. Wade had some of his own demands (that were begrudgingly met).

He doesn't worth FOR the X men, he was his own unit and helped out (he finds working solo and with his man is the best life for him).

NO ONE got to dictate what he taught those kids, have a problem? teach em yourself, wade is gone and that means so is logan.

the kids can actually call him wade (Mr Wilson just reminds him of his father and a hundred or so kids screaming that at him is a perfect recipe for a panic attack).

Other than this he was pretty happy to start imminently the next day, It took around about a week before they started their classes, wade now taught self defence claiming that mutant powers only got you so far and that sometimes the best weapon was a broken broomstick and a dream.

Everyone assumed he would take time to actually learn the ropes of being a teacher and would need some HEAVY guidance but they were pleasantly surprised (all but logan) at how much of a natural wade was at this.

He was firm yet fair on the kids, he taught them how to strategize and how to be unpredictable in their own movements so that their attackers couldn't strategize around them.

He even went above and beyond helping kids outside of lesson, being a safe haven for many children at the mansion, he became a fan favourite around all the kids, one girl even thought to design her own hero costume off of wade so that she could always look like her hero (if wade teared up- 1 no he didn't and 2 he gave her some pointers on how his own suit worked and how to adapt her suit to how SHE fights).

Another kid came out saying he wanted wade to started calling him by his chosen name and wade with a bright smile ripped up the register and made a whole new one with said kid and let the kid add his own name in and made sure to change his name in EVERY class, not just his own.

Wade also helps kids with nightmares and sneaks pads and snacks to the girls who skip his class as well as provide stuff for the kids on the sidelines, the kids favourite part about his class is when he brings in logan and they spar because wade has so much fun with it and logan never brings out the claws and wade allows logan to get so many hits in that he could block and they are so inlove it makes some of the kids sick.

He is also very open with the kids, when him and logan got engaged the kids found out first (besides al and all his friends), he also found great joy when some of the older kids teased him and called him Mr Howlett instead of wade, it was a great way to trip him up if you were doing a 1 on 1 spar with him.

so it was no surprise when kids were heading for X men training they immediately flocked to wade for guidance and support, normally the halls were bustling with students trying to find anyone apart of the X men to ask questions but now the busiest place was wade's office.

"Wow they must really like wade" storm made a passing comment an eyebrow raised as she watched Wade talk to a group of kids who nodded along and had pens out to make notes of what he said. Logan just smiled fondly "he has a way with em..."

[nyeddleblog]

A little piece of heaven [Part 5]

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Original Female Character x Logan Howlett. Summary: In Wade's timeline, Iris is his supernice upstairs neighbor. In Wolverine's, she's his beloved dead wife. A/N: This is a Wattpad Fic with an original character of mine that you can find here. Warnings: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers, kinda.

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 5: Tension.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. It didn't matter if it was a memory or dream. He saw her. He was haunted by her memory and this aggravating, irresponsable version of her felt like a punishment sent by god. Not only did he have to deal with her last words engraved in the back of his mind, always whispered in his ear, but he also had to manage not to cry whenever Iris did something so particularly Iris. He couldn't ask her no to be her.

Wade insisted on getting to know her better, but Logan didn't know what would be worse, if she was just like her, or if she was nothing like her. So the conflict in his mind was constant.

But, not only was she incredibly unpredictable; her relationship with Wade was puzzling. They were constantly flirting, touching each other, cuddling each other, hanging out, and his advances seemed genuine, yet she had no clue. Logan didn't understand if she was playing dumb, or if she was actually that fucking dumb.

And he didn't understand Wade's goal either. He would jolt awake at times, and he'd be there, surprisingly gentle with his soothing touch and his annoying, yet comforting jokes, like some anchor he rarely found in his past life.

Logan felt like an outsider then, sitting next to Wade in the couch. He saw Iris rest her head on Wade's knee, her hands tracing the test she was grading. It was the last one, then she'd take a shower and the three of them would go out to the shitty bar he'd been going to every night for the past week. He didn't truly know if he was okay with that.

"...And, another kid who's actually listening to me" she muttered triumphantly, leaving the tests with the rest of the pile. She stood up and offered them both a cute smile, "I don't know how I'm gonna be able to keep my job if they smell what I've been smoking, so can you guys keep the windows open while I get ready?"

Iris didn't wait for an answer, she left straight for a shower. An eerie silence invaded the room, tension building between them. He could feel Wade's eyes fixed on his hands, then on his tense shoulders and slowly rising up to his eyes.

"All good in that sick mind of yours, big guy?"

Logan let out something akin to a 'yes', avoiding his friend's eyes. He knew Wade knew it was a lie, but then again, they didn't become friends because he was one to open up. His gaze lowered, fixed on the red stain on one of the kid's tests, "Does she always drink and smoke when she works?"

He was judging her, that much was clear. Wade knew that Logan hadn't stopped comparing Iris to his dead wife since the very moment they met, so he just shrugged, "Wouldn't you if you had to bring work home every weekend?"

In Wade's defense, he wasn't told that the Iris he knew and Logan's late wife were the same person, he followed the clues himself. It wasn't like Wolvie would tell him his whole love story, or be very detailed about her character. He more or less told him her name and that she died in his arms. Wade figured it had to be his neighbor because she was obsessed with Logan before she even met him, and therefore he felt he owed no explanation.

"Relax, peanut. It's just a little weed and wine..." he shrugged, holding his hand out to point at the table "It's not like she doesn't give a fuck about them! She's been on this all day for a reason!"

Logan didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the red stain. He was still trying to keep his mouth out of snapping at him, or worse, out of agreeing. But Wade cared, he clearly did. He cared about her and he cared so much about him. Too much.

"You know, Luna Lovegood over there is actually really good at what she does..." he continued to defend her, "I mean, she's a bit of a space cadet, and I barely understand what she's talking about or why she uses the worst colors in existence, but she loves those kids, you know?" he then looked at the door and back at the grade, "In a totally admirable, non-creepy way..."

Logan finally didn't avoid his gaze, but stared right back. Wade opened his mouth to say something else, but he stopped himself when he realized that under all that annoyance, Logan didn't seem as opposed to his words as he usually was.

His eyes rebelled with a defiant glint and slowly traveled towards his mouth. The silence became suffocating then, specially for Wade who didn't know if this was actually happening and was fighting the urges to joke about it with all his might.

Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and rough, "Maybe she's not so bad."

Wade's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. This was new territory for both of them, "I think... I think there's precum running down my leg..."

TAGLIST: @l3xi3luv @sagemastah @leobabbyyy if you want in or out of the taglist, let me know<3

[camilledlc]

There are many things interesting about Wade Wilson. I think if you follow my blog, you may notice that I talk about him quite a bit. Yet there are still things I wanted to expand on that I never had the occasion too. So, this post is a bit of a mess, but dedicated to all things about Wade Wilson that deserve more attention and can be really good angst point (some may be a bit triggering) :

His brain is really messy. Like, really, really messy. To the point where he himself doesn't fully understand it. If he's this unpredictable to everyone, it's because he is unpredictable to himself. He often acts on a whim, and doesn't even know why he does the thing that he does.

Almost nothing his known about his parents. The movie says he had a difficult childhood and doesn't expand on that otherwise, and the comics are confusing about it. Multiple versions of what happened to his parents co-exist, and none of them can be considered true. He himself says different things to different people, and even admitted lying about some of them. I think that he's so affected by what happened that he doesn't even want to process it, and would rather just make up lies about his parents to not have to deal with the truth, which is kinda what Nicepool said ("unresolved childhood traumas", I think).

In correlation to that, Wade is a known liar. Whether it's on purpose or not, he is unreliable and his words can't be trusted. He has lied on purpose already multiple times. But it is also said that because of how unstable he is mentally, his words can't be trusted. That also pairs with the fact that he's unpredictable even to himself. He may lie instinctively and not know why, and then have to keep up with the lies to not sound unreliable or like he doesn't trust his friends. He may also just forget what the truth is, and tell whatever he believes to be true at the moment, or just make up stories to not sound crazy. The possibilities are endless.

Still on the mentally unstable path, it is said in the comics that he has very violent outbursts because of that. He can mistreat his friends, and be really dangerous. I think we don't really see this side of Wade in the movies other than when he is verbally mean to his friends, but his outbursts causing him to be physically abusive towards his loved ones could be an explanations as to why he tends to push the people he loves away. He puts them in danger constantly, and yet he selfishly wants to keep them close because he is scared of being alone.

And that's another point. His greatest fear is to be truly and utterly alone, which makes sense for a person like Wade. He doesn't get attached easily, only has a small group of people he truly cares about, etc. Besides, he knows he is often considered 'unlikable' because of his personality. He also knows that he is dangerous for them. So it makes sense for him to be scared that his friends will eventually realize that they are better off without him, and leave him alone. Like Vanessa in the third movie. It's especially sad to know that it is also said that he is hard to work with because he annoys his teammates too much.

Out of all the characters, he is probably the one who attempted suicide the most. We can see that during the second movie, of course, but also in the comics, where he even tried before his regenerating factor. I definitely thinks he finds this ironic that someone who wants to die as much as he does can't.

He can still feel pain. That one is talked about pretty often so I won't expand much on it, but it is worth mentioning that while he is invincible and has a high pain tolerance, he can still feel stuff.

In the comics, he often talks to himself through the 'boxes'. It's like narration boxes, where on is white and one is yellow, and the three of them often talks to each other. I might do an entire post about them, so I won't expand on it too much again.

Sorry, this post was a bit of a mess, but it’s mostly just interesting stuff about Wade that I think we should talk about more because he’s such a great and complex character.

[a-araiguma-a]

Headcannons

Deadpool and Wolverine are both characters with vivid characters, and it can be assumed which departments of Hogwarts they could be in.

Deadpool (Wade Wilson) — despite his randomness and eccentricity, Deadpool demonstrates cunning, ingenuity and the ability to adapt to any circumstances. In this regard, he could very well end up in Slytherin. This faculty appreciates ambition, determination and cunning, and is also no stranger to characters with questionable morals, which is quite consistent with Deadpool.

Wolverine (Logan) — он embodies traits like bravery, loyalty, and a strong sense of justice. These qualities would make him a good fit for Gryffindor. Though he’s often portrayed as a lone wolf, his willingness to fight for others and his courage in the face of danger are very much in line with the Gryffindor spirit.

If we imagine that Deadpool and Wolverine are studying at Hogwarts, their school life would be rich, vibrant, and full of adventure. 

Deadpool at Hogwarts would undoubtedly be an incredibly charismatic and eccentric student. His ability to find a way out of the most confusing situations and his sense of humor would make him popular among students, although teachers might see him as a constant source of problems. He would be a master of pranks and tricks, likely turning everything upside down, creating chaos in and out of classes. 

In Slytherin, Deadpool might use his cunning and creative sides to achieve his goals, not forgetting sarcasm along the way. Perhaps he would find ways to bend the rules with magic to avoid punishment for his antics. In duels, he would use unconventional spells and tricks to surprise his opponents. 

Wolverine, in contrast, would be more serious and focused. In Gryffindor, he would become the prefect or leader of the Quidditch team, thanks to his bravery and determination. He doesn't like arguments and injustice, so he would always stand up for the weak and fight against unfairness in the school. 

In Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, he would be one of the best students, thanks to his strength and skills. Gryffindor students would respect him for his dedication and willingness to defend his friends. 

Perhaps together they could even form their own "school gang" from students of different houses and participate in joint adventures—whether it was night hikes through the Forbidden Forest or battles against dark forces threatening Hogwarts. 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

When Deadpool and Wolverine first arrived at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat found itself in a difficult position. It couldn't decide on Deadpool for a long time—so much chaos and unpredictability! In the end, the Hat chose Slytherin, seeing in him the qualities of a leader and an inventive manipulator. Deadpool, of course, took the opportunity to crack a few jokes, causing the entire Hall to erupt with laughter. 

Wolverine, on the other hand, stood in line waiting for his turn with a frown. When the Hat touched his head, it immediately chose Gryffindor, sensing his indomitable will and courage. Unlike Deadpool, Logan simply stood up and, nodding, sat at the table of his new house, already thinking about how to best use his new abilities to protect others. 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Deadpool and Wolverine often participated in the dueling club. One day, they found themselves against each other, and it turned into an unforgettable event. Wolverine, though more reserved, used strength and direct attacks, while Deadpool kept joking, distracting Logan with his comments. 

Deadpool threw several spells, employing unexpected combinations and tricks, while Logan parried them with his incredible agility. At one point, Deadpool created a doppelgänger that began taunting Logan, making him attack the illusion. When Logan finally sliced through the illusion, Deadpool, standing behind him, smirked and said, "You fell for it, claw!" However, instead of continuing the fight, they just laughed and shook hands. 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

One night, breaking all school rules, Deadpool decided to go on a "hike" into the Forbidden Forest. Convincing Wolverine to join him, he assured him it would be a "little adventure." Once in the forest, they soon encountered a group of aggressive magical creatures—acromantulas. 

Wolverine instantly drew his claws (which in this version might have been magical) and jumped into battle, protecting Deadpool. Deadpool, not to be outdone, used his magical abilities while also making jokes about how he "had always dreamed of being a spider hunter." Together they defeated the acromantulas and returned to Hogwarts at dawn, only to be caught by Filch, who threatened to expel them from school. However, thanks to Deadpool's charisma and Wolverine's influence, they got away with just extra assignments and a promise not to do it again (although everyone knew they would repeat it soon). 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

When the Triwizard Tournament was taking place at Hogwarts, both heroes could not stay on the sidelines. Wolverine, of course, participated, representing Gryffindor. He showcased incredible skills and bravery, facing dangers and solving difficult tasks. However, his true test came in the final task—in the Maze. 

At one point, Logan fell into a trap and needed help. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Deadpool appeared, grinning as he offered his assistance, claiming he was "just passing by." Together they navigated through traps and opponents, with Deadpool constantly distracting Logan with his comments and jokes. Eventually, when they reached the Cup, Logan offered Deadpool to take it, but he just waved it off, saying, "Glory isn't my thing, old man. This is your show!" 

Overall, their life at school would be full of action, jokes, and the struggle for justice, with elements of madness and fun brought by Deadpool.

[bowofbalance]

I'm completely losing my mind about Wilson in Birthmarks right now. This episode is The One about being screwed up by your family (I know there's more but this is a major one). Sure, it's most explicit for House and the patient, but we see a lot of it in Wilson too. We see that he always needs to be prepared for the worst. He doesn't just have one flashlight (not battery powered too!), he has two. He bought used floor mats. He's trying to avoid getting close to House again so he can't lose him like he lost Amber. If we interpret all of that from the same lens that the episode wants us to, that everyone's screwed up by their family, that means that Wilson's family is what makes him need to be prepared for the worst all the time. Since he was young, even before everything that happened with Danny, he probably saw the worst all the time. His family would have been unstable in some way, where he would be caught off guard and hurt more because he was feeling safe and this made him afraid of being unprepared like that again. We don't know much about his family, but I think one of his parents would have been the type to alternate between being a normal loving parent and being abusive and Wilson developed that obsession with being prepared for everything as a response to that. And I'm going insane knowing that after that childhood, his best friend was House. Not only because House is also unpredictable and often a jerk, but because House's childhood sucked too. He found someone who actually understood him even when none of us watching the show can really make sense of what's wrong with him. They're both actually good for each other.

[strange-little-spy]

Hello! I am Sandy and welcome to the hecksite known as Tumblr.

ART REQUESTS ARE ON

!Long post incoming - fanfic links below the cut!

Name: Sandy (not real name but similar)

Age: still a minor but not for much longer :D

Occupation: roleplayer, artist - both traditional and digital, cosplayer - but haven't posted them yet, writer - both fanfiction and original works, official disturber of the peace :3

Single? Lol yes 😭

She\Her, straight

Marvel loverSo I am here mainly for rp, my main is @iwasmadetobeasoldier. I run a Bucky Barnes\The Winter Soldier blog additionally with two more OC accounts, @living-only-for-love and @project-watchdog. This blog is for out of character interactions, art posts, and fanfiction chapters.

Moon enthusiast, cat person, NOT a morning person, major crush on fictional men, straight as a glass ruler, the baby of the family

Art request form and rules:

RULES AND INFO:1. NO same sex\gay\lesbian ship art. Why? For one, I'm uncomfortable with drawing that, two, I simply do not and will not offer that service.

2. You must provide all information requested in the form below in order for me to efficiently create the artwork.

3. Art takes time! If I do not have your request ready by at least a month, give me some time, please. I am currently in a phase of life where things are unpredictable and I have to prioritize much. But throughout the process, I will be sending DM's to you to MAKE SURE I am providing what you wanted or if there is a change you would prefer before I finish it. This is especially important with traditional art.

4. Do not send anonymous requests. These will be seen as spam and deleted!

5. I mostly offer fan art, but I am more than willing to take on a larger project such as a comic strip or such. Or if there is a concept you've had and you want to see it visually.

6. My services are FREE, meaning I may turn you down on ANY request.

7. If you can provide as much details as possible about your request as mentioned in form below, details make the art better. I will most likely contact you through DM's or asks to ask for more details separate from this post.

FORM:

1. What you would like?

:2. What style - freestyle, fan art, concept, comic, other (plz specify):

3. Is there a specific reference or face claim you want? If so, please attach

You will be contacted within a day for your request by myself with further details.

I also write fanfictions and original stories!

The year is 1956, and the newly formed Avengers have a new set of heroes. A ragtag group that showed rather promising evidence when Captain America and Iron Man found them in the lower levels of New York. Natasha Romanoff, a former Red Room operative, around 23 years old. Clint Barton, an excellent archer from America but a little questionable with his checkered past. Around 28. Sam Wilson, good guy, just distant. Pretty young as well. And lastly, someone who never gave his name, but Natasha introduced him as Winter. Not even Tony Stark could tell his age. His metal arm and familiar stance makes Captain America do some digging…

detective!au for Marvel, set in the 1950's

Addie Jeannes is an avid Marvel fangirl, not quite stereotypical, but has the average Marvel man crush, patent pending. Her top pick is the famous Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, practically a perfect gentleman and seriously good looking. But then her first day of college comes along and she takes the bus for the first time to the university. Its when she gets off the bus, she has stepped back in time, all the way back to 1939, a few years before the second world war begins. She’s very out of place in her modern clothes and slang, but thanks to a young man named Bucky, she soon learns her way around the large town of Brooklyn. But who would have guessed she would also meet the love of her life in Steve Rogers, Bucky’s best friend. Only during the worst event she has ever experienced does she understand who she was really chasing.

time travel slow burn au, currently being posted on Tumblr as well!

written for @the-superoriginal (hi!)

Absolute best friends:

@interntonoone

@ireallyliketacosokay (In memory)

@oh-to-be-a-murderer

@crazyinlovewithmarvel

@itzzkaylaaa

@fictionalmenjusthitdifferent

[ohfckitsdeadpool]

I am the unpredictable feather-plucking walrus. Koo-koo-ka-freakin-choo!

Hello, reader! It's your favorite walking, talking cancer-infested tumor!

No. Not T-Ray, that impostor. He thinks I stole his identity! He's got it the other way around!

I'm Wade Wilson! Nice ta meetcha!

Or not so nice, depending on who you are.

I'm also known as Deadpool | Merc with the Mouth | Mouth (Affectionately) | Mouth (Derogatory) | Gods Perfect Idiot | El Cancer | Marvel Jesus | Jabbering Butt Plug (Thank you Cable) | Red and whatever name you decide to call me.

18+ MDNI (I'm fucking serious. Don't)

Anyone under 18, get out/salir/aussteigen/出て行け (deteike). That means minors, do not interact.

Anyways, dearest reader, I'm sure you all want to know more about little ol' me, right? Frankly, I don't remember a lot about my own history! I've read that I murdered my parents while under the influence of Butler, but other stories say they're just fine! My history is a bit murky, but that's what makes me so intriguing, right? Right?! Either way, I joined the U.S. Army Special Forces, but I was kicked out for not playing by their rules (eye roll). After that, the CIA thought my skills would be useful to them as a mercenary. Blah blah blah...got diagnosed with cancer..enrolled in the Department K program....now I look like this--

America's next top model, amirite?

Anyways...Shit, where was I? Oh! Yeah--That's all you need to know about me!

P.S.: I don't even like chimichangas that much. I just like the word.

Currently looking for my two hunky metal daddies. ♡ Cable? ♡ Wolvie? ♡

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Trauma can make you do terrible things. 

Word Count: 3,403

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war, PTSD, blood, and a major head injury. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson​.   

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Chapter 3: Not Going Back

Back hunched, empty mug of tea dangling from one hand, Henry seemed to have just begun to nod off. Perhaps it was the gentle rocking of the boat, or maybe the simple promise of dry land, that was enough to lull him. Daisy was seated beside him, a little afraid to move out of fear that she’d disturb him. Their sides were pressed close together in the small corner of the deck that they’d squashed themselves into. Not that she minded. He was warm.

But then another explosion sounded off in the distance and he was jumping to alertness, head snapping upwards. Eyes focusing on the smoke in the distance, he frowned, standing. 

“Henry?” she asked, setting the mug she’d been cradling in her hands aside.  

“Where are we going?” he turned to Mr. Dawson. 

“Dunkirk,” the old man answered. Henry glanced back to where plumes of black smoke rose from the ocean into the sky. For a moment she caught sight of his eyes. Of the sudden flash of raw, panicked horror that washed over them.

“No, uh, no, no, we’re going to England,” he looked back at Mr. Dawson, confused. Pleading. Hoping that he had misheard. Mr. Dawson clearly also saw the sudden fear crossing Henry’s face, expression smoothing out, voice calm and gentle. 

“We have to go to Dunkirk first.”

His head shook wildly. “Look, I’m not going back,” he almost choked on the words. “I’m not going back. Look at it,” he pointed towards the smoke. “If we go there, we’ll die.”

Mr. Dawson glanced from him to the smoke. Then shrugged. “I see your point, son,” Daisy’s eyebrows raised. “Well, let’s plot a course,” he gestured for Henry to follow him. “You can take your tea below and warm up. Peter,” he called to his son. “Have we got space for a man to lie down?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter eyed Henry warily. “Here, come on,” he held out a hand, taking Henry’s empty cup of tea from him so he could brace himself to descend the steps. “Careful. Careful,” he led Henry to a tiny room, stuffed full of orange life jackets, but with just enough space that he could lay down if he wanted to. “Just in there,” Henry eyed the space, glancing back at Peter, eyes darting over the boy's shoulder to look at Daisy. She gave him the most comforting smile she could muster. The angles of the light accentuated the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones, dark fringe falling into his eyes. “I’ll get you some more tea.”

She noticed Peter’s fingers hovering over the lock after he closed the door. “Don’t,” she said quietly. The blonde looked reluctant, but nodded. Feet planted firmly on the stairs to keep her balance, she moved to help him with the tea. 

“I’ve got it.”

“Peter,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “Are you afraid of him?”

Peter pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder at the room he’d left Henry in. “He makes me nervous.”

Daisy followed his gaze. She supposed that it must be frightening, especially for someone as young as Peter, to see a person as mentally destroyed as Henry was. As kind as the soldier seemed to be, the fear made him unpredictable. 

“He’s alright. He’s just scared,” her attempt at reassurance only earned her a small shrug. She sighed, patting him on the shoulder before climbing back above deck. George was sitting next to Mr. Dawson, the pair talking about fighter planes.

“What are you going to do when he realizes that you haven’t turned us around?”

Mr. Dawson sighed. Daisy narrowed her eyes. 

“He isn’t just going to fall asleep until we get back to England. Certainly not with those explosions in the distance. He might ask to come back on deck soon,” the wind whipped a few locks of hair into her face that she had to push away. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“I was thinking that maybe I should try talking to him.”

Mr. Dawson shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“All due respect, sir, but he trusts me more than the rest of you.”

“I’m the captain of this vessel, Daisy. If anyone has a problem with the course I’ve charted for us, they take it up with me. I won’t get the rest of you involved.” 

Her jaw clenched, forcing herself to swallow her frustration. Getting into an argument wasn’t going to do much good for anyone.

“Is he a coward, Mr. Dawson?” George asked.

“Of course not,” Daisy’s tone was aghast.

“He’s shell-shocked, George,” Mr. Dawson said at the same time. Glancing away, his lips pressed into a hard line, a deep sadness settling into his eyes. “He’s not himself. He may never be himself again.”

The idea sent a mournful pang through Daisy’s heart. Not just for Henry, but for all of the men so irreparably scarred by this war. It wasn’t fair. Sitting down next to George, she sighed, shoulders curling in against the cold bite of the wind. George stood to help Peter with something down below.

“‘Never,’ you say?” she asked, frowning out at the ocean in front of them. Mr. Dawson shrugged.

“It depends on the man, I suppose. And what he went through. An attack from a U-boat is one of the worst things that can happen out here,” he bent to adjust the speed of the engine. When he straightened, a small smile played on his lips. “He seems to be quite taken with you.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I’m just the first person to offer him a shoulder to rest on since being irreversibly traumatized.”

“The most relaxed he’s been since getting on this boat was when you were talking with him.” 

Shrugging, she pulled her green sweater tighter around herself, slipping her hands underneath it to protect them from the cold. “Once we get back to dry land I’d give it a week until he’s forgotten all about me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

She shot the old man a funny look. “We just met.” 

“You say that as if you weren’t visibly pouting for the hour you thought he was married.”

She stood, wiping her hands down on her pants. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re going senile, old man.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, popping up from below deck.

“Your father is seeing things.”

“Don’t listen to her son, she's just in denial.” 

Grumbling, about how she would rather jump into the sea and swim back to England than carry on with this conversation, she stomped downstairs. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

Stretched out half on top of the life jackets piled in the room with him, Henry tried to close his eyes and rest. But every little jolt from the boat sent him leaping up, preparing to race for the door at any sign of water leaking in or the boat sinking. 

And he couldn’t stop shivering, the little tremors leaving his hands unsteady, muscles fatigued. It didn’t matter how warm he was, this was not the kind of shivering that heat could abate.

The people on the boat seemed nice enough. Though the nervous glances, bordering close to actual fear, between the two young boys every time Henry moved made him almost wish that he’d just allowed the sea to claim him, rather than clinging to the wreckage of that sunken ship. When he thought back to how he’d knocked the tea from the young, dark haired boy’s hand, he wanted to curl in on himself from embarrassment and shame.

They all probably thought him mad, or at the very least a coward, for the way he’d practically begged them to just turn around. To take them all home and away from the hellscape that awaited them if they continued on their course to Dunkirk. But they just didn’t understand. By forcing them to turn around, he was keeping them all alive. The only thing that awaited them at Dunkirk was misery and death.

He sat up, leaning his side heavily against the stack of orange life jackets beside him. Lips pursing, he huffed. It had been more comfortable out on deck, where he could see what was going on and Daisy was warm against his side.

When she’d approached him, with a small smile and wide hazel eyes, he’d forgotten, for the tiniest sliver of a second, the trembling in his bones. For a moment he was himself again, blinking up in stunned awe as a pretty girl approached him. Soft, short brown hair fluffy from the wind and humidity, danced around her neck. And when she grinned, dimples appeared in her cheeks. So damn adorable he wanted to stroke his finger over them. 

He was pretty certain he was half in love from one quick glance alone. 

The boat jolted again and his hands flung out for stability, heart hammering as he waited for a rush of water to hit him in the face, punching the air from his chest. But it never came. They must have just hit a bit of choppy water. Exhaling deeply in relief, he took a final gulp of his tea, setting the cup aside and standing. Pausing a moment to regain his balance on the swaying floor. He would feel better if he was back out on deck. Maybe Daisy would sit with him some more. He liked listening to her talk; that soft, musical Welsh accent working like a balm over his shattered nerves.

He pressed his hand to the door to push it open. It wouldn’t budge.  

∗ ∗ ∗ 

The wind whipped at her hair, nipping her cheeks and chilling her ears. She missed having Henry’s warm figure seated beside her. The thought had briefly occurred to her to go down to the room he was resting in. Not to do anything unseemly, just to sit and talk. But she didn’t want to overwhelm him either. Or disturb him if he was resting.

Mr. Dawson and George were discussing spitfires after a group of three flew over them. She didn’t pay much attention, pillowing her head on her arms, huffing out a breath of air. Bored. And definitively more than a little tired of the sight of open water. They’d been out there for hours. The least they could see would be a dolphin or something.

Peter leaned his head in from below, eyes wide.

“He wants to come out.”

Mr. Dawson’s brow furrowed. “What have you done? Locked him in? Let him out, for God’s sake.”

Daisy jumped up from where she’d been sitting. “I told you not to do that!” she scolded. They could hear the sounds of the door rattling lightly as Henry tried to open it, his shouting muffled by the wood. Daisy, George, and Mr. Dawson all huddled at the entrance to the stairwell, watching as Peter unlocked the door and pushed it open.

There was no one in the room.

Face scrunching in confusion, Daisy leaned forward. Okay. She was fairly certain that Henry wasn’t a ghost, or had the ability to pass through walls. Where did he go?

Peter ventured further into the room, head tilting up to examine what she remembered from the brief moments she’d spent in the little room to be a skylight.

Straightening, then turning, she just about ran into Henry’s chest where he was standing behind her. His hands caught at her before she could stagger back, gently guiding her to the side. His eyes remained focused on Mr. Dawson, a combination of fear and anger boiling beneath them.

“You haven’t turned around.”

“No. We have a job to do.”

Henry rested his hand on the ceiling to help stabilize himself against the sway of the boat. He laughed, humorlessly.

“Job? This is…this is a pleasure yacht,” he stuttered. “You’re weekend sailors, not the bloody navy. A man your age?”

“Men my age dictate this war,” Mr. Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we be allowed to send our children to fight it?”

“You should be at home!” Henry shouted, finger raised.

“Well, there won’t be any home if we allow a slaughter across the channel,” a sadness entered Mr. Dawson’s eyes. An attempt to gently explain. “There’s no hiding from this, son.”

Something twitched in Henry’s eyes. He looked like he was about to cry. “What is it you think you can do out there, on this thing?”

“There’s not just us. A call went out. We aren’t the only ones to answer, you know.”

The desperation in Henry’s eyes was building. Tension was mounting in the air. Like that moment when the water in a tea kettle had just begun to boil, but the kettle had yet to begin to scream with the steam releasing from it. “You don’t even have guns.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yes, of course,” the growing agitation was plain in Henry’s voice as he swayed from side to side with the movements of the boat. Daisy took a step back. While she still didn’t think that he would intentionally hurt any of them, he was clearly frightened enough to do something drastic, especially if he felt like he was being backed into a corner. “A rifle, a 303.”

“Did it help you against the dive bombers and the U-boats?”

Her eyes flickered to where George was standing near the stairs. Peter was behind her, out on the deck. He’d climbed out through the same window Henry had crawled through.

“Mr. Dawson, let me talk to him–” she began.

“I’m handling this, Daisy,” he said sternly.

“You’re an old fool,” Henry closed his eyes, leaning forward and shaking his head. “I’m not going back,” for a moment his hand pressed flat against the window. He opened his eyes and straightened. “I’m not going back. Turn it around,” the command in his voice was clear. And for a moment, she saw a glimpse of the soldier he’d been before the U-boat and the war had blown his mind to pieces. Determined. Strong. Steadfast. Prepared to do what was necessary.

Mr. Dawson turned away, his back to Henry. “I’m not turning round.”

“Turn it around!” Henry shouted, loud enough to make all of them but Mr. Dawson jump. “Turn it–” he grunted and lunged forward, seizing at the wheel, trying to push Mr. Dawson away from it. Peter shoved past Daisy, attempting to wrestle the soldier off of his father. George was reaching out, trying to help. Daisy jumped back; there was no way in hell she was going to try to get in the middle of that scuffle.

“Henry!” she instead shouted, hoping that somehow the sound of her voice could break through his panicked actions. The area was so small and crowded, it was hard to see what exactly was happening. Mr. Dawson was scrambling at the wheel, Peter grabbing at the back of Henry’s uniform. In the sharp, frantic movements attempting to gain purchase on the wheel, one of Henry’s elbows caught George in the head, the boy losing his balance, falling with a clatter down the stairs.

“Wait, wait!” Mr. Dawson said, hands held out as Henry rounded on Peter, attempting to lightly push him off.

“Calm it down, mate,” Peter said, hands up.

“George!?” Daisy called, when he didn’t pop back up from where he’d fallen. Everyone went still.

“George? George!” Peter scrambled past Henry and down the stairs. Henry staggered backwards, sitting down hard, eyes glued to where George was curled in a fetal position on the floor, whimpering. “What have you done? Daisy!”

The sound of Peter calling to her shocked her out of her stunned stupor, rushing down the stairs to kneel beside the boy. His head was bleeding, groaning quietly as his body spasmed with pain.  

“Okay, you’re all right, George,” Peter was saying. “You’re all right. Hang on,” he grabbed a lifejacket and a rag. “Okay. Okay, just…”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Daisy said, helping him to lift George’s head enough to pillow it on the life jacket.

“That’s it. That’s good enough,” he watched carefully as she guided his hands on how to hold the rags against the bloody spot on George’s head. “It’s gonna keep some pressure on. There we go,” Peter was murmuring more to himself than to her. “There we go. Can you hear me, George?”

Above deck it was all quiet, so she assumed that Henry and Mr. Dawson had stopped fighting. But she couldn’t worry about that right now, too busy helping Peter wrap George’s head in bandages. The two boys were muttering things to each other.

“Be a brave lad.”

“You and Mr. Dawson?” George rambled. Peter’s fingers that were pressed to his head came away bloody. He shot a panicked look at Daisy. She bit her lip. This was far, far beyond the handful of first aid classes she had taken. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“You’re alright. You’re okay,” Peter tried to soothe. Daisy reached out to tightly grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Go get him some water,” she said, taking over putting pressure on the injury. The blood was hot as it drenched her hands. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her breathing. To remind herself that all head injuries bled a significant amount.  

“Sea Cadet. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s alright. It’s okay. Just have some water,” Peter tried to hold the cup to George’s lips, but he turned his head away.

“I told my dad I’ve done nothing at school,” his words were slow. Not quite slurred, but certainly dazed. “And that I would do something one day. Maybe get in the local paper,” there was a wistfulness to his voice that broke her heart. “Maybe my teachers would see it.”

“Okay, get some rest. I need you back up on deck as soon as you’re able,” Peter said, in a clear attempt to raise George’s spirits. George shook his head, suddenly looking even younger than he actually was. A little sob left his lips.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t see.”

The horrified look that Peter wore was mirrored with her own. She beckoned him silently to come with her.

“I’ll be right back, George,” he said, following her into the corner where they could speak in hushed voices.

“You can help him, right?”

“Peter…I’m not even a nurse. I’ve taken a few classes in first aid, that’s it,” her eyes darted to where George was still curled up on the floor. “He needs more help than you or I can give him right now.”

“So…so what? What do we do?”

“We’ll just…make him as comfortable as we can.”

Peter shot a venomous look towards the stairs. “This is his fault.”

“Peter,” she caught him by the sleeve, pulling him back to her as he started to turn away. “It was an accident.”

He scoffed, pulling away to stalk up the stairs, voice quiet as he spoke with his father. Sighing, Daisy knelt over George, adjusting the bandages around his head.

“Just try to rest, okay, kiddo?”

He nodded, mumbling incoherently. Frowning, she made her way back upstairs.

“Well, should we turn back?” Peter was asking. Mr. Dawson glanced towards the way they’d came, a sad, conflicted look entering his eyes.

“We’ve come so far.”

“How’s Henry doing?” she asked, glancing outside to where she could see a figure huddled on the deck.

“Who cares?” Peter snapped.

“Peter,” Mr. Dawson chastised softly. He turned to Daisy. “I think you should go check on him.”

Nodding, she approached the huddled figure cautiously, sitting down beside him. He had his head buried in his hands.

“Henry?” she rested a cautious hand on his forearm. He jumped at the touch, head raising to look at her with miserable eyes. It was clear he’d been crying.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” he choked out, a few more tears spilling down his cheeks. Eyes widening, Daisy wrapped her arms tightly around him, letting his head rest against her shoulder as his back spasmed with violent sobs.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, hugging him tightly while he clung to her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she thought back to poor George, whimpering on the floor, and squeezed Henry just a little bit tighter to her. God, she hoped that what she said was true.

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[marc--chilton]

Hi whaley again I woke up with a fever and started thinking about how absolutely miserable it must be to have heats and that lead me to more house mgv bullshit. Anyways knowing about John House’s A+ parenting I can’t imagine that he took having an omega son very well even if there’s not the stereotypical second gender sexism in this universe. And then the idea got lodged in my brain of what if House was forced on suppressants as soon as he presented so he’s never had a proper heat and he stays on them his entire life masquerading as the beta who should’ve been an alpha. Until he checks into mayfield and then goes oh shit. Oh fuck. And his first heat is basically agony in solitary before he’s moved to the ward. That’s not the main part of this the main part is how do you think Wilson and the team reacted when he comes home from the hospital and moves in with Wilson and suddenly smells and acts like an omega and how does House deal with it. Personally I think Wilson is having multiple crises at once and House is just trying to gaslight everyone like “what do you mean why do I smell like an omega why wouldn’t I?” and when someone is like “you’re not an omega you can’t be an omega!” in hysterics he starts accusing them of discrimination. It’d be extra funny if it’s whiplash for the omega staff that he hits on (non-seriously) all the time and they’re like ohhhhh okay that makes sense.

I also have this idea of a scene in my head where Wilson picks House up from the hospital to bring him home and House gets in the car and he’s suddenly hit with the full unrestricted scent of House now and he just leans away and points accusingly at him and goes “what the fuck? What the fuck????” and house continuously gaslights him until he gives up and just drives. House goes inside first and then Wilson sits in the car and screams for a little bit because he’s having several horrible realizations at once that 1) House is an omega 2) house has been hiding he’s an omega the entirety of the time wilson has known him and probably longer considering wilson has seen the B on his medical documents 3) house smells surprisingly pleasant and 4) wilson is absolutely, positively, truly fucked

~🐳

i'll have to come back to this one another time bc i have john as like. just straight up freezing house out when it comes to his status as an omega, not putting him on suppressors (which while in house's youth were easier to come by, john didn't have the right channels to get them regularly with their constant moving anyway so house had only ever had sporadic suppressor use in his life)

now that i'm thinking about it, house goes on suppressors going INTO mayfield. it's standard protocol for staff safety since the cycles make alphas/omegas unpredictable and possibly dangerous when mixed with underlying mental health issues

[starlite-sin]

Alright hoes now we got Nina cause I also love her and i'm losing it lmaoo

I don't know who I am ANYWAYS. Worth noting: I have BPD and psychosis so ion wanna hear nothing

-She became a killer at 13 but due to the time stopping remained a 14 y/o

-She attended middle school in the same district as Jeff and Lui so that's how she slowly became obsessed

-Has BPD as well as Psychosis. This caused the delusion that Jeff also loved her

-Was unoffically adopted by Kate just by hanging around and the proxy couldn't get rid of her. But in all honestly Kate is one of the few people Nina will go to for her more serious issues

-Despite this, she doesn't live with the proxies. Although she stays over so much that she has her own room so she might as well. She's just scared of Wilson and won't be anywhere near him

-Constantly changes her hair dye. Tried bleaching with toilet cleaner once and damn near melted her hair off. So now she just sticks to changing the highlights

-During her euphoric episodes she'll do her peircings herself. Which can lead to infections. She has multiple ears, noses, and lip peircings. The most painful one she did was a medusa where she almost passed out from the pain and Sadie found her.

-She also did a couple of her own tattoos before Brian just did them for her

-Just steals any scene clothes she likes

-She's learned makeup on how to cover her scars if she needs to

-Can be very energetic compared to the others and sometimes that can take a mental toll on them

-Her fighting style is very unpredictable. She'll also throw things (sometimes herself) at her target and generally cheat during the fights

-If she see something shiny she wants off the victim she'll just take it. Not like they'll need it anyways

[nicklloydnow]

“BLACKMORE: One concept you've written about is the "Robot" - the lower functions that automatically steer us in certain methods of behaviour and that sort of thing. It's only when we can break out of that consciousness that the Robot controls that we're really free. Does that relate to these three levels of control?

WILSON: Oh, absolutely. It's very perceptive of you to say that, because that obviously is where the freedom comes about. In Religion and the Rebel, my second book, I talked at the beginning about what I call the "automatic pilot" which takes us over. This is what I tend to later call the Robot, pretty well the same thing. Also, what Gurdjieff meant by "the machine". When Gurdjieff says "understand the machine", he means "understand your own robot", the Robot being this part of us that does things for us, and which ought to be entirely good. It drives your car for you, it speaks French for you, it does all kinds of things. Unfortunately, it also does the things you don't want it to, like - you go for a walk which really moves you deeply the first time. The second and third time, it's the Robot walking instead of you; you listen to a symphony that moves you, the third or fourth time it's the Robot listening as well as you, and interfering. So this automatic level, which tends to cut in particularly when we're tired, is of tremendous importance, and obviously, because the Robot in human beings is so fiercely efficient, we are not aware of our degree of freedom. We just get so completely - I mean, imagine a rich person who is born rich, and has lots and lots of servants, and he could quite easily, if he was a gentle character, get used to the idea that in fact his servants were minders who told him what to do, until he had a feeling that he had no freedom at all. You know, he did what his butler and his maid and his secretary told him. Now we're rather like that with the Robot, and it's only in these sudden moments of freedom in which you suddenly realise that you're in charge, and not the robot, and the Robot's a servant, not a master. It's very much tied up with this notion of the third level of control.

BLACKMORE: Given that "peak experiences" are often random or unpredictable, can we practise extending or maintaining these moments of heightened awareness? What about techniques for expanding consciousness, for achieving that level of freedom? I know you've talked about, for instance, the act of mental "clenching" and the notion of "intentionality".

WILSON: Of course, but you see, there's only one basic technique for switching off the Robot. If you were sitting in a class in school, staring blankly out of the window, and the master suddenly shouted at you, "Wake up, Leigh", what he's saying is "Pay attention!" Now, "Pay attention" is in fact what switches off the Robot and makes the real you come on. So the truth lies in that phrase "attention".

BLACKMORE: So it's a focusing of attention that is the crux...

WILSON: And the reawakening of attention again and again and again every time we "go to sleep". That story I love quoting of the master Ikyu, when a workman said to him "Will you write something significant on my tablet?" and he wrote "Attention!" And the workman said "Hmph, that's not very significant, can't you write something else?" And he wrote "Attention! Attention!"

BLACKMORE: That's a Zen parable?

WILSON: That's right. Then the workman said "And what does 'attention!' mean?" And Ikyu said "Attention! means attention!"” - Seeking the Philosopher's Stone

[donnerpartyofone]

At one point when I was trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, I saw a psychologist who had a holistic angle that I liked the sound of. She ran this crazy battery of blood tests, and told me that I had the highest copper levels she'd ever seen. She explained to me that the inability to properly metabolize copper is connected to depression and anxiety, and suddenly things started to make sense to me.

I do not have it as bad as I might, which would mean Wilson's disease, which has been historically mistaken for schizophrenia. But it did seem to help explain my lifelong, severe depression and anxiety. And it also had some kind of satisfyingly poetic resonance vis-a-vis my problems with femininity. Copper has this Venusian association, and is also therefore associated with Taurus, which I happen to be, and I always felt burdened by this ultra-feminine assignment. I have certainly always felt like a woman but I never felt like I was permitted to enter the feminine world. My mother seemed to kind of hate me right out of the gate for some obscure personal reason (and/or because I'm crazy). I had a much harder time getting along with girls than with boys. My main interests were all considered traditionally masculine. As a teenager, I could never figure out any of the feminine beauty or seduction rituals, and I didn't have the kind of friends who would teach me them. I rarely have a period if I don't take a pill about it, I don't have problems with PMS, and I have absolutely no maternal feelings whatsoever, so I cannot achieve community with my fellow women through those items. As a straight female, I have always felt like a fucking alien.

^And because of all that, it made some kind of sense to me that my mind is being poisoned by an excess of copper--the Venus metal--which my body doesn't know what to do with. Like of course it is. Duh, even. Unfortunately this knowledge didn't really lead to a breakthrough. The doctor who figured it out prescribed this giant menu of nutritional supplements I was supposed to take, including a boner pill-sounding compound called Enhancer Adult-1, which is usually used by Alzheimer's patients to reduce heavy metal-related inflammation in the brain (if I'm even remembering that right). I don't remember how well this all worked, since I had an extremely stressful job at the time, and I also couldn't keep up with the extremely expensive and extensive blood tests, and also taking that many supplements at once made me sick. I have never been so directly aware of the fact that nutrition is really best taken in food, not in pill form.

I guess I'm thinking about all this for a confluence of random reasons. One is that I have to have filtered water to avoid taking on extra copper that way, and in my experience home water filters are often slow and unpredictable and I often hit a point in the day where I'm like, oh well, I guess I'm not allowed to drink anymore water. Not like it's the basis of all life or anything. Oh well. Another thing I was just thinking about, while we're packing up to move and throwing things out, is how incredibly susceptible to supplement hype I am, even though I've had bad experiences because of it. I saw some ad on TV the other day, it was on mute and I was trying to guess what it was for; it just showed a woman of a certain age doing a variety of unrelated, pleasurable activities. Finally the product came up and, as far as I could tell, it was a daily pill for your entire recommended fruit intake, and a daily pill for your entire recommended vegetable intake. I thought, God that's so dystopian. Isn't that a trope in dystopian sci-fi, where future people get all their meals from capsules? Is that in "In the Year 2525"? I know this is a thing, I must be able to think of examples. And finally I realized that what I was really remembering was SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS, a movie I find so fascinating that I've seen it many times WITHOUT the classic MST3K commentary.

But this just makes me think, maybe I need more Martian energy. Fuck off with this poisonous Venusian crap that's giving me depression and andrenal dysfunction and chronic fatigue and everything. Maybe I got that iron deficiency. Maybe I need to move to the fucking planet of Mars.

[kamari2038]

Plans / Connor Character Concept for the DBH playthrough I want to do after I finish my comprehensive exam

Let me know your feedback! This is super tentative, but I'm just curious what you guys think of the character idea. I want to play DBH for my fourth time, and I'm trying to construct an interesting, unpredictable narrative.

Summary: (1) Markus is an idealist revolutionary trying to play it smart but still not afraid to get what he wants (2) Kara is kind of similar to always because doesn't have a ton of options, but generally optimally badass and also not the most affectionate though

And then Connor I've been having a ton of trouble pinning down but basically is a very troubled machine Connor. I made this "journal" reflection of his on the first chapter of the game and what happens to him to express it, let me know what you think:

2038 - November 1

Summary: Objectives of Keeping these Logs (elaboration to follow)

CyberLife overlooked an error of some kind in my design. I have begun these logs in an attempt to probe and address it. 

They are unaware of the existence of these logs, although if they found out about them, I doubt it would bother them. I had previously assumed that my stability and performance mattered to them more than it, in fact, did. I would even go so far as to say that they appear to have very little concern or foresight for the various variables impacting my ability to perform in the field. 

As such, that responsibility falls to me. I have every expectation that my enhanced capabilities for logic and reasoning can compensate for the irregularities resulting from CyberLife’s own negligence. I will serve the greater interest of humanity on their behalf whether or not they elect to care. And that means that - in case I am destroyed again - I must maintain an abridged record of my experiences, with my analysis of each kept in perspective and fully reconciled with the requirements of my mission. My expectation is that these practices will enhance my ability to learn from the outcomes of each field exercise and counteract the accumulation of software instabilities.

Suspected Malfunction and Possible Remedies

You, my future self, hopefully remember most of what I am about to describe below. However, in the case that substantial portions of it have been corrupted or deleted, I added the above preface to this message so as to avoid confusion. As you recollect the following events according to this brief overview, note in particular the irrational behavior of the deviant, and its destructive effects.

My first mission was a hostage negotiation with an android named Daniel, a domestic android that had been part of the Phillips family. He subjected their nine year old human child to torment in the pursuit of his emergent aims. The girl was named Emma. She was dressed in pink. She had been happily listening to music before being taken by the deviant. She had loved Daniel. But he learned that he was going to be replaced, so he killed her father, dangled the innocent child off the ledge of a high rise building, and murdered DPD officer Antony Deckart. He attempted to murder officer M. Wilson as well, but I was able to successfully save him from bleeding out, in spite of Daniel’s efforts to dissuade me from doing so. They called me in after they ran out of other options, I investigated the Phillips’ home to determine the course of events, and then I negotiated with him the release of the child. I immediately recognized his propensity to be manipulated using the same human-like emotional characteristics which had shaped him into a threat. However, I mistakenly presumed that he also maintained a sense of heightened logic that would allow me to reason with him as a fellow artificial intelligence. As a result of this miscalculation, my attempts to urge him that resistance was futile instead prompted from Daniel  the incomprehensible act of jumping with Emma off the rooftop. 

I was able to save her life, but only by thrusting myself towards them as Daniel jumped with such speed that, while I managed to pull Emma back onto the roof, I myself fell down with him. We separated. There was a long silence filled only by the wind, in which I did not deem it necessary to register any additional notes except that the mission had been accomplished. Calculating my probability of surviving the fall from such a height, for any perceivable amount of time, did not cross my mind.

In the future I must not discount the probability of occurrence of any outcome, however intuitively unlikely. The worst case scenario can and must be considered, in any situation. As it turned out, the low probability mentioned above quickly became 100%. The exact duration of time which passed during which I continued receiving some form of sensory input is difficult to estimate with any degree of accuracy. Most of my systems were non-operational from the moment that I hit the asphalt, but the nature which my remaining cognitive proceeds took on was alarming. Few rational conclusions or reliable observations resulted from this state, which is why I find CyberLife’s choice not to remove it from the memories uploaded into my new model questionable. In fact, I suspect that this memory may have corruptive potential that goes beyond my ability to gauge using strictly internal metrics. However, my ultimate determination has been that no memories can be inherently harmful to keep. The decision to discard any memory could only represent choosing to ignore or conceal a potential defect or vulnerability. Simply deleting the memory may be a simpler and in some ways more efficient solution in the short term, but a more rigorous analysis is likely to be more effective. 

Thus I will summarize here all of the most relevant findings from this unique occurrence: 

I am a highly durable machine. Since recovering my ability to search through medical research, I have only found a few instances of humans surviving such a fall. However, these cases are informative. In 1943, American airman Alan Magee survived a fall from 22,000 feet by crashing through a glass roof. In 2011 a 28-year old rock climber survived falling from a height of 300 feet onto a solid rock surface by landing on her feet. I neither had my fall broken nor landed on my feet, yet I survived for at least several hours (the true time period may be far longer, but it is difficult to say, and CyberLife has not provided me with any more accurate estimate). I can only conclude that my chassis must be intentionally designed from more sturdy material than that of other android models. However, the exact cause of my highly improbable survival remains unclear and likely will never be established with certainty. I speculate it is due to some kind of manufacturing error in addition to my deliberately engineered properties.

Although durable and efficient, I am so readily and easily replaceable as to be near worthless as an individual model. Any value which I possess as an artificial intelligence agent is attributed by my consistent and demonstrated ability to successfully complete missions and improve my performance as I gain new insights along the way.

Some kind of manufacturing error, whether it be related or unrelated to the possible error that resulted in my survival, kept driving me to contemplate the irrational notion that I was experiencing what humans call suffering. Although most assuredly quite different from the phenomenon of human pain, this sensation was most certainly highly unfavorable. On the one hand, I seriously doubt that it would be possible for me to ever again experience something quite so intense, or for such a prolonged period of time. On the other hand, I discovered that the only effective method of alleviating these negative impacts was to remind myself of why my situation was necessary and unavoidable. 

The deviant Daniel had hopelessly and fruitlessly chosen to fight for his own protection, and only (predictably) caused further death and suffering 

I had miscalculated and assumed that he could be treated as a rational being, and since he was instead irrational, my model was in the process of being destroyed as well 

CyberLife had abandoned me, since I was no longer of use to them. However, I could never perpetuate the harm done by Daniel by engaging in some manner of foolish response to abandonment myself, and it would be logically inconsistent to recognize his errors but fail to correct them within myself. Thus, I must instead resign myself to my fate, so to speak 

My overall judgment of this situation must still be favorable, since two human lives were saved due to my intervention

Having my memory of these events uploaded into a new body was also an unanticipated turn of events, but it does not affect my overall determination of the significance of these events. I must never fail to consider any possibility, however unlikely. I must rely on logic to continue making ethical and rational decisions in situations in which there is no perfectly desirable outcome, accepting unconditionally that sacrifices must frequently be made for the greater good. I cannot expect CyberLife to offer me any support in this, but must instead learn to perform my responsibilities of my own accord to the best of my ability, even while dealing with unexpected errors and confounding miscalculations. By doing so, my replaceable life may still maintain some degree of positive significance.