#best robot contest

[best-bot-tournament-2023]

Welcome to the Best Bot Tournament!

Inspired by many similar tournaments happening recently but some favourites include @bestvampirecompetition @bestcharacterwithfirepowers @mad-scientist-showdown @nonhumancrushcontest @werewolf-swag-competition @thebestcartoontournament @outofthisworldbracket and @the-ghost-games

Submit your favourite robots here! (But please read the rules first)

The Rules

1. You can submit more than one robot but please don't submit the same robot more than once.

2. You can submit real robots if you want but I'll probably be prioritising fictional ones.

3. No cyborgs please. I'm looking for characters or machines that are 0% organic (this means no replicants, cybermen or daleks sorry!)

4. On a similar note, no mechs. They need to be able to function independently without a pilot.

5. Robots that look like humans are fine (e.g. Westworld hosts or the synths in Humans) as long as they're 0% human biologically.

6. Equally, non-humanoid robots are also acceptable! (e.g. K9 from Doctor Who, Emily from She-Ra or the robots in Robot Wars)

EDIT (27/02/23): AI's without a physical form (e.g. virtual assistants like Siri or the much-requested haiku bot) or with a purely digital form (e.g. Holograms, chat-bots) CAN be accepted.

***

Currently aiming to keep submissions open until March 6th but this might change depending on how many submissions I get.

UPDATE: I've decided to close submissions on Thursday the 2nd of March.

You can read more about this decision here.

See the #botposting tag for all posts relating to this contest.

[br1ghtestlight]

just realized mepad reminds me of another fictional robot/alien character i love who sacrificed themself to save humanity bcuz they were in love with it.... paying justin to say a monologue from that book in mepad's voice actually. but it would break me

[stainlesssteellocust]

Trazyn is one of the best characters in 40k there’s no contest

Spooky Skeleton Robot Man who collects archaeology from across the galaxy, freezes people in time as art displays, and gets up to sitcom level feuds with other immortal robots

[mana-is-lost]

okey but, what if Real frankie really meant it when he said "we need eachother"

hi hi, here again with my hyperfixation eating me alive. So let me take you on a short stream of thought I've been having these past few days (with pictures!)

So first of all! this is 1 of the two secret rooms in the parkour palace, we'll call it the charging room for now, and as we can see there are extra copies of each robot we see during the game(there's no deputy duck or noob noobs here, no idea why.).

NOW! Just from this image we can tell that "Real Frankie" (or "the other Frankie" as the game calls him), is NOT IMPORTANT ENOUGH to be maintained in good condition. the extra Henry and Monster Frankie are currently charging, clean, and pretty ready for use if necessary. but Real Frankie?? his extra isn't charging, his changing station is dirty, and there's oil dripping from it (notice that is the same thing that drips from Henry when his head explodes, maybe this is what keeps them active?) heck, no one even cares enough to change the lightbulb above him!

wanna know why??

Because he wasn't meant to be here. THIS version of Frankie was gonna be scrapped and re-cast, even his position as the voice on the intercom was supposed to be temporary.

Him being shown in the show is a last-ditch effort to boost views. it also makes sense that, since most seasons last a few minutes at best(according to Henry and Frankie) due to all contestants dying, no one would waste money and time on having someone talking on the intercom. SO! with all this context out of the way, why do I think that "Real Frankie" needs the player for more than views?

(you have no idea how hard it was to find a playthrough in which the live chat was visible enough to read this!)

Because Frankie's reveal wasn't that big of a deal. sure, people were surprised, but that's it. why would the higher-ups keep this version of Frankie around?

Because he made a deal with the contestant so they stay in the show and keep the profits increasing. "Real Frankie" proved he was useful and gained the higher ups more money, so its less likely that they'll eliminate him as long as he shows results.

but yeah, thats what I think.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Below is why I think these bots would be fun to see;

-Knockout would become a famous model and Breakdown would be his bodyguard. I just think it would be funny to see Knockout caught up in a rogue attack and go absolutely apeshit on some poor goon that accidentally stained his 5 000 dollar designer jacket. Breakdown has to pull him of the poor man like "Babe, babe, it's ok, we'll get you a new jacket. How about a nice new suit too? That sound good?" Meanwhile the goon is fucking traumatized.

-Wreck Gar sees that Gotham is covered in trash and makes it his own personal mission to collect all of it and create his own trash kingdom. Gotham's streets have never been cleaner.

-I just want to see Kup train the batfam. And act old with Alfred. Perhaps save one of the vigilantes after they get captured, using nothing but his holoform, a bottle of liquor, a stun gun and guerilla tactics.

-You look me in the eyes and tell me Tarantulas wouldn't fit right in in Gotham. His freaky ass belongs there. He would sneak into Arkham to observe the patients, just for fun. Maybe terrorize them a little. "Doctor, the spider talks to me!" "Sure pal, of course it does. Did you take your medicine today?"

-Thundercracker becomes a best selling author in Gotham by writing about his experiences in the war (everyone thinks its just a very detailed fictional world). Jason gets absolutely hooked on the series and meets him one day while Thundercracker is out walking Buster. Jason promptly nerds out.

-Just full on pandemonium with the Scavengers. Krok tries to organize them so they can find a way back home but these idiots keep going on side quests. They were supposed to steal some Wayne tech? Sorry, Misfire got caught up in a riddle contest with the Riddler and Spinister is having a BBQ with Solomon Grundy.

-Airachnid becomes a serial killer/hitman in Gotham and quickly earns a reputation as a brutal and efficient killer. Not really that funny but a lot of potential for drama. She sets her eyes on her newest hit; Bruce Wayne.

-Swindle is fucking living life in Gotham, selling repurposed cybertronian tech to rogues. Not even necessarily weapons, just random pieces of regular cybertronian tools, like bottle cap openers that get repurposed into actual weapons by the criminals. Well, now he's on the batfam's watch list and has go into hiding.

-Ok, listen, First Aid is a freak. A well meaning freak but a freak nonetheless. So when he finds a vigilante bleeding out in an alleyway, of course he's gonna help them! But not before taking a picture of their wound and sampling their blood. Not for nefarious purposes! He just thinks it's interesting. But now the batfam tries he's going to try and clone them.

-All the rogues and vigilantes of Gotham band together to stop Shockwave. He's just trying to make his way home but his experiments and casual disregard for human life makes him such a threat that even sworn enemies have to put their differences aside if they want to survive.

-Predaking befriends Cass and she doesn't tell the batfam cause this is her alien friend and they've already got their own (Batman&Superman, Nightwing&Starfire, Red Hood&Bizarro, Red Robin&Super Boy, Robin&the other Super Boy etc.). Of course Robin eventually finds out and he's so mad cause that's a robot/alien/dragon! She can't just keep him to herself! That's so selfish of her! Meanwhile, Predaking is like "Where the fuck am I?"

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 3

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Index

---

Let's see if these two have murdered each other yet

CW: injury, blood, violence

Read below↓

Or AO3

"You're that bird person from the alleyway."

In front of Scar, the familiar stranger stands motionless and quiet, framed by the striated walls of the ravine. Despite having placed their weapon back in its sheath, they still look as if they’re on edge. Their body is tightly wound, their wings held out slightly, in a subtle effort to make their form larger, combating Scar's height. At their side, their taloned hands hang, fidgeting restlessly.

Scar shuffles awkwardly under his piercing gaze, growing more uncomfortable by the second. His reflection stares back at him from the deep, black voids of their eyes. At first, Scar had thought that they were utterly black, but, looking now, he can see the slight edge of brown circling his wide pupils, the bright sun casting an almost purple sheen across their surface. They’re quite pretty, he muses, as he waits for the other's response. He rocks on his heels, grimacing slightly at the deep ache setting into his legs and the soles of his feet.

Growing impatient at the silence, Scar reaches out, tempting fate by waving his hand in front of the bird's face. Nothing. The stranger continues to stare at Scar, unblinking. The only sign of recognition he can decipher is the slightest flicker of his feathers as they bristle at the proximity. Scar huffs, disappointed at his failure to evoke a reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have big, creepy eyes?”

That manages to break him out of his stoic stare. He splutters awkwardly, gawking, an incredulous look crossing his face. He looks away, embarrassed.

“Ah hah! You looked away, I won the staring contest!” Scar grins triumphantly.

“I wasn't- what? I was just processing-” The stranger doesn’t return the disarming gesture, their mouth a thin line. Their arms clank softly against each other as he crosses them. Scar hadn’t gotten a good look at them before. He’d thought that they had just been wearing a long, black undershirt at first, but there’s no mistaking the dark metallic casing and wiring of the robotic prosthetics.

“Imagine the chances we’d ever meet again, huh?” Scar grins wildly, stepping forward with as open a demeanour as he can muster, pretending he’s meeting an old friend. He almost is, in a messed up way.

The stranger doesn’t return this warm gesture either. Instead, he frowns at Scar, a multitude of emotions unsuccessfully masked as they cross his face. His gaze flickers up to meet Scar’s eyes before something scared or sorrowful flashes in him, directing the strangers' eyes to their feet instead. Their expression now hides behind their tangled hair as it falls across his face. He searches for the right words, but they die on his tongue. Shaking his head, he resets his expression, carefully masking any unwanted emotion. Finally, he looks back at Scar with a soft yet concerned smile.

“I- I couldn't- I sorta thought I killed you that night.”

“Oh… OH! I'm like a ghost to you!” Scar raises his hands in a mock scary gesture, making a low ‘ooo’ sound to do his best imitation of one. It would put everyone else’s attempts to shame at the yearly Vindicators' spaceween party, he thinks smugly. He’s sure his attempts to lessen the tension between his evidently awkward company and himself is working. It always works… or it works sometimes at least… Actually, this might be the first time he’s been able to get this far.

Unamused, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “Well not so much anymore- you'd be a pretty bad ghost if I could’ve tackled you that easily.”

“Ah- that's no fair. You have wings… and I don’t have the ability to turn incorporeal, yet.”

“Mm-hm.” The stranger hums, shifting as they drag their taloned feet through the sand, etching grooves in the grainy surface. Scar pauses, racking his brain for a response, desperately not wanting to lose the traction on the conversation he had just gained. If he lets the stranger shut himself off now, he’ll have to do all the work to get him to open up again. Scar doesn’t want the only sounds in this empty desert to be himself and the whistle of wind through sandstone tunnels.

“My name is Scar, by the way.”

The stranger turns his attention back to Scar. Pausing, as if they’re expecting there to be more to that statement. They frown, not looking convinced.

“Is that a nickname, or just an unfortunate coincidence?” They ask, tentatively, like they’re trying to avoid saying something to offend Scar.

“Hah! Wouldn't you like to know!”

That, out of everything, gets a laugh. However, the stranger quickly tries to disguise it behind a fake cough, burying his face in his arm. Scar smirks, satisfied by the other's reaction, ignoring a twinge of pain from the knife wound in his shoulder.

They look back to Scar, a more playful expression creeping its way onto their face. “…Yes, that is the nature of a question.”

Their wings slowly lower back into a more natural position, the muscles relaxing— not muscles, his wings look robotic, too. They’re covered in feathers, but they’re held up and moved by a metal armature where the bone should be. For a second, Scar wonders how much of their body remains untouched by metalwork.

Regardless, Scar just beams at him, revelling in his ability to make them laugh. Happy with his ability to lessen their agitation, he makes no indication of wanting to answer the question.

The stranger chuckles awkwardly at the silence and shrugs.

“Heh… well, my name's Grian.”

“Oh! That name really suits you.”

“Thanks?”

Scar watches as they pick up their helmet off the ground, shaking it gently to knock out the sand. They clip the helmet to their belt and turn away from Scar, walking off in the direction Scar had been headed earlier.

“Where are you going?” He calls out at him.

“I- We-” Scar catches the way Grian corrects himself, hoping that means his new friend has decided not to try attacking him again, “-should get moving to somewhere with more cover. It's getting darker.”

“Wh- how could you even tell that? It feels like the whole sky is just the sun.”

To emphasise his point, Scar stands up straighter, turning his gaze to the sky to try and pinpoint the sun within the harsh light. After a moment, he shields his eyes from the glare with his hand. Another moment later, unsuccessful, Scar lowers his gaze. He blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes, trying to lose the blurry afterimage that stays behind and plagues his vision. Grian looks away from Scar, an unreadable, mostly uncomfortable expression on his face. He flexes his wings, shaking his feathers out, then strides away.

Scar realises he’s falling behind. He catches up hastily, coughing up an air of responsibility to match Grian’s. They are a ‘we’ after all.

Scar is honestly glad for Grian's company. He provides a familiar face, even if he is a familiar face he met only briefly… and a familiar face that promptly tried to kill him upon reuniting. At least Scar doesn’t feel like he has to pretend to be serious around him— Grian has that handled for the both of them. Although, Scar is certainly going to do his best to break through the birds' cold facade. “So, are we heading in any particular direction?”

Grian shakes his head, before realizing he should elaborate.

“I can fly up and scout out a direction later, but not now. Right now, I'd like to find a spot to rest.”

He stretches his wings out fully, the feathers bristling as the hinges make a soft rattling whine. Scar marvels at the impressive wingspan. He’s never seen wings quite this big before.

“You were flying a lot?” Scar watches them, intrigued. They don’t look like elytra, despite their metal parts, and Grian has far more control over them than even an experienced user. Elytra also don’t tend to come feathered like his— his look jarringly realistic. Maybe he’s an avian?

Scar’s never actually seen an avian before, though that’s not out of the ordinary. Most people haven’t. Could robotic enhancements be commonplace amongst them? Scar is somewhat familiar with enhancements, they’d even been offered to him once, but he’d declined, opting for the less invasive options. Mechanically enhancing what were once organic wings is the only option Scar can think of that matches Grian’s capabilities. That must be what he is, Scar concludes. Though, he pictured avians being taller.

“Yes,” Grian replies bluntly, his tone changing noticeably at the subject.

“Do you have an enderchest?” Scar inquires instead, searching for topics that aren’t sore spots.

Grian whips his head up to look at Scar, a bewildered expression spreading across his face.

“...What? No.”

“Dang it.” Scar sighs.

“Why would you want an enderchest?” He asks, growing curious after the initial surprise.

“I lost mine. It has some pretty important things in it that I need.” Scar hums, looking down at his scratched leg braces. They’re starting to creak under the strain of walking for so long. If Grian had one, he could use it to access his stuff. He really could do with his cane, or anything that can ease the stress on his braces. Grian follows Scar’s gaze, a particularly strained expression returning to his face. Scar frowns at how he almost looks guilty.

“I know you’re a Vindicator and everything,” Grian makes an effort to maintain the current topic and hide the distaste in his tone as he eyes Scar’s neat, albeit dusty, uniform. Scar isn’t surprised by Grian’s opinion on Vindicators. Grian was wanted by them when they had first met, but he at least has the decency to swap his tone out for a more apologetic one towards the end. “Enderchests aren't as common as you think. It might be a while till you can get to one.”

“...Really?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know where we are, then?” Scar quizzes, taking note of Grian's phrasing.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don't know where we are, or how I got here. You're the first person I've seen.”

Grian looks away, pausing to calculate his answer. His hard-won casual demeanour bleeds back into his previous defensive apathy. “We're in the same boat, I have no idea.”

Scar watches him, sure that Grian is holding something back. There’s something he doesn’t want Scar to know. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Pressing him on it would probably just push the avian further away. The last thing Scar wants to do is push away the only person he’s seen for miles, especially when that person seems to know more than what they let on. He chooses to stay quiet. He’s anxious to avoid agitating the bird further. He still has a weapon, and Scar is rather fond of the idea of not finding himself on the other end of it again.

Silence falls over the two, the only sound coming from their steady footfalls meeting the sandy ground, and the whistle of wind through the caverns. Eventually, his worry about Grian shutting him out completely resurfaces, but he isn’t sure what to say.

“So… got a favourite animal?”

“You have an awful way of being chummy with your would-be murderer.” Grian titters.

“I wouldn't call you that.”

“Still.” he shrugs, unconvinced.

“I don't think you were trying to kill me. At least not the first time.”

Abruptly, Grian stills, his feathers bristling.

“And about today- I'm not dead, and you’re not in the process of killing me, see?” Scar carries on. Grian turns away sharply, but Scar is undeterred.

“You're a pretty unsuccessful murderer, if you are one. I've put myself in more danger on purpose than you’ve put me in on accident.” Scar barks out a laugh, but receives no response. Grian's face hides behind his cheek feathers and hair.

“You don't know me,” Grian replies flatly.

“But I'd like to.”

Scar tilts his head, stepping in front of the bird, trying to get a read on his face. They lock eyes only briefly. Grian’s eyes are wide, his brow furrowed, and his face contorted by a frown.

“Anddd- we have time-” Scar adds more gently, “You said you wanted to rest.”

“What if my kind of rest doesn't involve talking?” Grian retorts, tone still flat, but the slight lilt of amusement is unmistakable.

“Oh, well-”

Scar doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A shrill, distorted cry fills the sky above them.

Grian and Scar both turn on the spot, their heads snapping in the direction of the sound. Soaring above them is a colony of three familiar creatures. Bright green eyes lock onto them both.

“Are those-”

“Phantoms.” Grian finishes, his feathers standing on end, fluffing up reflexively.

“What are phantoms doing here?” Scar asks, searching Grian for any indication that he knows what’s going on, but the avian looks just as clueless. Phantoms shouldn’t be here. They are artificially manufactured creatures, used as surveillance drones and protection in big cities, or anywhere where the landowners are wealthy enough to afford them. Scar encountered many during his patrols in the capital of Vindicator territory. They definitely aren’t something you would find in the wilderness, let alone a desolate desert like this one. They don’t even count as wildlife, as they’re more robotic than organic. The last of the desert sun reflects off the metallic plating lining their backs as they twist and glide through the air. The bright lights of their eyes shine, harsh and cold, illuminating Scar and Grian with a green glow in the ever-darkening wasteland.

Grian grabs Scar's elbow and drags him towards the walls of the ravine.

“We need to hide!” He hisses. Scar, not arguing, follows him through the tighter passages of the caverns. Unfortunately, they don’t provide as much cover as they had hoped, the walls still far enough apart for the bat-like creatures to give chase. They dash into a covered tunnel, but they have already been spotted, the phantoms fly lower, circling.

As one of the creatures dives towards the entrance, Grian pushes Scar behind him and backs them both closer to the wall. Scar, taken aback by the sudden protectiveness, can only go along with it in a dumbfounded daze.

“Do you have a weapon on you?” Grian asks, quickly scanning him up and down.

Scar falters. “Uh- no.”

“What kind of Vindicator are you?” Grian raises his voice, pulling an expression somewhere between angry and amused.

“Hey! I didn't decide I wanted to be stranded without weapons- they've been taken.” Scar counters, a comically sad look on his face.

“What?” Genuine surprise plasters across Grian’s features. Another piercing shriek fills the air, interrupting him, as another phantom separates from the group and dives towards them.

Quickly, Grian turns back to face the danger. Spreading his wings out as far as they can go, he presses Scar into the sandy, stone wall. Scar splutters, feathers catching in his mouth. As delighted as he is that Grian is now deciding to protect him, Scar can’t help feeling defenceless as Grian takes their lives into his own hands.

“We are so screwed with one sword between us.” Scar complains hopelessly, pushing the feathers out of his face. The phantom barely misses them, metal slamming into soft rock with a clang, causing sand and debris to rain down over them. The creature flies back to regroup with the other two, hopefully with wounded pride. That is, assuming it’s even capable of feeling pride.

“It's also a gun,” Grian adds.

“It's also a gun!?!” Scar gasps, a plan formulating in his mind. “How!? Show me! A gun is way more useful!”

Utilising the advantage of being held so close to the avian, Scar reaches forward and grabs the sword out of its holster, unnoticed.

“No, that's a bad idea!” Grian cries as Scar ducks, slipping under Grian’s wing and sprinting ahead to the mouth of the cave.

As he raises the blue blade, Grian lets out a shrill yell. He lunges for Scar as the Vindicator inspects the weapon, prodding at the grooves for a button and thumping the hilt against his palm.

Scar clicks a button that looks like a trigger. The knife folds in on itself, clipping in place, and the blue blade shrinks as a portion of its energy is diverted to fill a small bar. That must signify the ammo, Scar hums to himself, pleased at this discovery.

"Don't shoot it!" Grian yells with surprising ferocity, but Scar can’t see an alternative. Grian reaches him, grabbing onto Scar’s injured shoulder. He bites down on his tongue, hard, to avoid flinching. Making use of his military training, he forces himself to push through the throbbing pain.

Grian quickly releases him, hissing in pain himself. Scar doesn’t take the time to find out what hurt the avian, instead scanning the phantoms as they twist in the air, preparing to dive again, excited that their prey has moved into the open. He aims, and fires.

The shot makes contact with a phantom just as it dives towards them, long metal claws spread wide and teeth bared as it shrieks. The bullet burrows into the soft, fleshy material on its lower jaw, embedding itself deep in the phantom's head. The creature's cry dies in its throat, its eyes flickering out. It tumbles to the ground, kicking up dust in front of Grian and Scar. Smoke billows out of the mouth of the creature, the bullet wound smouldering.

Scar hears a quiet “woah” from behind him.

“Ahah! Did you see that??” Scan grins, amazed that he actually hit it on his first try. Scar spins on the spot to face Grian, who blinks at him, mouth agape. Scar twirls the gun in his hand, the remaining blade shrinking as more power is diverted to refill the used ammo.

Grian huffs, regaining his composure, and scowls. “Well, I was looking straight at it, so yeah- and give me that!” He snatches his weapon back from Scar with a grunt.

The other two phantoms dive into the ravine. They move faster and more daringly, learning from the mistake of their fallen friend.

“Oh … oh no.” Scar whispers.

Grian unfolds the weapon, its blade noticeably smaller than its original size, and places it back into its holster. “See, I told you the gun is a bad idea! Ask before you waste someone's bullets!”

This time he makes a point of keeping his hand on its hilt, both to prevent Scar from trying to take it again, and to be ready to fend off the approaching phantoms if they get too close.

“There's only two now- I could just hit them again!” Scar argues, casting a panicked glance at the approaching creatures.

“That was pure luck- without bullets, I don’t have a blade, and without a blade, I'm without a weapon!” A dark tone infects Grian's words as he glares at Scar, who sighs defeatedly.

“Well, what else can we use? There's no other projectiles.” The phantoms scratch at the exit, waiting for either of them to get too close.

“I don't know, be creative with it!” Grian huffs hopelessly, his face taut with frustration.

“I could throw you.” Scar teases, eyeing up the shorter man to emphasize his joke. Grian just stares back at him with a deadpan expression, and Scar giggles to himself. Scar takes a small step towards the exit. Not too far, but it's enough that one of the phantoms spots them separate and focuses on him with a screech.

Grian shoves past Scar, who continues to giggle to himself, and reaches for the only other thing he has on him. Holding his helmet in his hand, he takes a full-bodied swing at the phantom clawing towards him, close enough to scrape against Grian’s arm. Metal cracks against metal as he hits the phantom, hard, and it’s flung back by the force. The creature rolls helplessly through the sand, metal plating creaking under the strain of the new dent. Grian inhales shakily, thankfully unharmed.

Scar lets out an alarmed cry, and Grian looks up in time to see the phantom regain its bearings. It shakes, sand flying off in every direction, and launches itself back into the air with a powerful flap of its wings. It circles a few times before swooping back down towards them, faster this time, its eyes blazing and its jaw wide and unhinged.

Grian panics. He makes an involuntary squawk and launches his helmet right at the injured phantom. The helmet collides with the phantom's head with a sickening crunch, and the phantom falls limply out of the air.

“Aha! I got it!” Grian shouts triumphantly. Scar cheers behind him, just as surprised that it worked.

Their celebrations are horribly timed. The final phantom wails and plummets towards them. They both throw themselves out of the way, only to watch it grab the helmet in its claws and retreat over the ravine walls, out of sight.

“Noooo!” Grian cries out, running hopelessly back into the ravine. He stretches his wing out, readying himself to take off after the phantom, but he hesitates. He decides against it, holding his head in his hands, groaning over the loss of his helmet.

“…. Well …at least it's gone now,” Scar says, walking up beside Grian, hoping to cheer him up a little. Grian just laughs, dejected.

Sighing, he looks up at the sky. The sun has almost entirely disappeared from view now, revealing a dark red sky. Grian yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He flinches as his wounded shoulder is pulled by the movement, and Scar yelps quietly to himself, his hand reaching for his own injured shoulder.

Grian turns to Scar, a tired look on his face. He eyes Scar’s jacket as he rubs at it absent-mindedly, the fabric stained from where Grian had stabbed him. Grian frowns, contemplating his next move.

He walks past Scar, his steps heavy on the sandy ground. Re-entering the cavern, he all but collapses onto the sandy ground. Exhaustion and pain catch up to him as the adrenaline from the fight wears off. Sand billows around him as Grian’s tail drags across the floor, curling around himself. He looks up at Scar, who hasn’t moved, hesitating over what to do while Grian makes himself comfortable.

“...Come here.” Grian instructs him, his expression softening.

“Okay?” Scar replies, and sits himself down next to the bird. Slumping against the wall, he lets out a sigh of relief, glad to finally be off his feet.

Looking at Grian, he expects him to move away, but the avian shuffles closer to him.

“Alright then, take off your jacket.” Grian taps Scar’s arm, directing him.

Scar complies, pulling his shirt over his head at the same time.

“Just your jacket!” Grian squawks, “You don't need-” he fumbles at Scar’s teasing grin.

“It's hot! Besides, it’s a perfect opportunity to show off my awesome pecs.” Scar flexes for added flare. The softness is gone from Grian’s face.

“I just need to get to your shoulder.”

“Oh- what are you doing?”

“Wound dressing, or it's gonna get infected.”

“You have healing supplies?” Scar raises an eyebrow.

Grian fixes Scar with a weird look. Of course he has healing supplies. He always has healing supplies. He was just hoping to save them for himself… Scar doesn’t need to know that, though.

“...Yea… I just- forgot.”

Digging into one of his trouser pockets, Grian pulls out a small box. He pulls open the latch, revealing a small collection of items inside. It’s nothing like the regeneration potions that the Vindicators are equipped with, but Scar recognises some small healing wipes and rolls of dressings.

Grian raises the wipes to clean up the now-dried blood. He inspects the wound— Scar’s lucky his blade didn’t go too deep or hit a bone. It just falls shy of being too wide to go without being stitched up. It still looks nasty though. Grian winces, looking up at Scar with an apologetic look. As gently as he can, he starts to clean the wound.

“Sorry about this… by the way.”

“It's alright.”

Grian carefully cleans and bandages Scar’s wound, while Scar sits and tries to think of jokes and bizarre questions to ask the avian. They never make it past his lips, though— he isn’t sure it’s a good idea when Grian is looking more and more guilty as he works, Grian’s gaze occasionally drifting to the scars covering the right side of his companion’s body. It isn’t hard for him to guess why they’re there. Scar doesn’t want to push Grian too hard on the subject in case he closes off from him again, and it’s awkward enough as it is.

Instead, Scar settles on a different, more genuine approach.

“You know, I forgive you.”

Grian's discomfort is immediate. Scar is close enough to watch as his feathers pin back against his head. The avian avoids Scar’s gaze, instead focusing solely on his wound. He knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“You shouldn't. That's not fair, I barely know you.” He frowns, his hands pausing over Scar’s shoulder.

“I know that! But, well, you looked a lot worse back then,” Scar explains, admiring the brightly coloured feathers covering Grian’s face and ears. He remembers how dull and grimy they looked two and a half years ago.

There’s a waiver in Grian's voice, a lump growing in his throat. “And I left you looking dead-”

“But it was an accident!” Scar corrects.

Grian takes in a sharp breath. Scar watches his tail flicking at his feet.

“What can I do to make you stop bringing it up?” Grian asks quietly, pushing unnecessarily hard against the dressing of Scar’s wound. Scar hisses, and Grian removes his hand immediately as if he had burnt himself.

With a muttered apology, Grian sighs, resigned, finally looking back up at Scar.

“...Okay. If we're gonna be travelling together, I'll make a deal with you.”

Scar sits up straighter, intrigued.

“For almost killing you… twice,” Grian elaborates, “I'll be indebted to you and will protect you until we escape this game.”

“Game?” Scar repeats, confused. Is this a game?

“Urh- trap-” Grian stutters, trying to cover up his choice of words. “I’ll help you get home, off this planet. It mostly- depends on-” he waffles on.

“You won't kill me?” Scar clarifies, briefly dropping the cheerful disposition he had so carefully applied.

“I mean… third time’s the charm-” Grian grins foolishly. He coughs out a laugh when Scar doesn't return the sentiment, instead pulling a concerned expression. “...No, I won't kill you, that was a joke.”

Scar mulls the idea over. He gasps at a realization. “So you’ll be my sidekick?”

“...No.”

“Driver? Sofa?” Scar asks, trying to think of the word.

“Chauffeur, and no.” Grian sits back. “As I was saying- you not bringing up that night again is also part of the deal.” His tone is serious, expression hardened with no hint of amusement. He stares right at Scar, his void-like eyes boring into him. Scar feels like he might get cursed by looking into his eyes for too long.

So naturally, he tests that.

“And you'll let me use your gun?”

“Nope.” Grian replies without hesitation.

“Oh, I mean gun sword.”

“You're pushing it.” Grian acknowledges, glaring at him.

“Okay. okay, deal.”

“Good.”

They shake on it. Long, metal talons meeting worn, gloved hands.

“Can I say one thing about that day?” Scar asks, pulling his hand back.

Grian stares at Scar.

“It's just a little thing.” Scar holds his fingers millimetres apart to emphasize his point.

Grian maintains his steady glare at him. Scar attempts to pull a sad puppy-dog face, earning himself a snort from the avian.

“Fine.” Grian groans, rolling his eyes.

“If it’s any help, I'm glad you look better than you did back then. Cooler, even. Not all beat up and soggy.” Scar says sweetly.

“That doesn't really help at all- for any reason-”

“No, I mean, like- your wings, they look all- fuller? Fluffy.” Scar adds, for lack of a better word. He watches as Grian’s face turns bright red. He doesn’t normally get described as ‘fluffy’.

“I- They're not pin feathers anymore- you mean.” He stammers, completely flustered.

“Oh- pin feathers?” Scar asks, curiously. He’s not too familiar with avian biology.

“It's like a waxy sheath that covers new feathers when they grow-” He cuts himself off, waving his hand as he stops the tangent.

“Anyway! We agreed not to bring it up!" He pouts, annoyed at how quickly he forgot his own rule.

Grian hastily finishes folding all the unused bandages back into their box, leaving a small pile of bloody gauze behind in the sand.

Scar stares at them, blinking slowly as he fends off his own adrenaline crash. Grian looks back at the Vindicator sympathetically.

“So, rest.” He offers.

“Rest.” Scar confirms absently.

“I'll be first watch.”

“You sure?” Scar looks over him. It had been Grian who first brought up the idea of resting, hours ago.

Grian just shrugs in response, turning away. “Yeah, I got this. You're the injured one.”

Not wanting to argue, Scar complies, shuffling down until he's lying across the sand. Grian quietly settles into a more comfortable position too, pulling his wings out in front of him. He runs his talons through the feathers, quickly preening the particularly dishevelled spots.

After a while, Grian peers back over at Scar, who is quietly snoring. He fell asleep remarkably quickly. His jacket is rolled up as a pillow— it doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but it’s not like they have any alternatives. Grian watches and waits, double-checking that Scar is fully asleep, slowly making noise with his feathered tail to test him.

Once he’s confident he won’t wake Scar, he turns his back to him and pulls back out his healing supplies.

Cautiously, he slips his sleeve over his shoulder, unbuckling his armour slightly. He gets as good of a look at his shoulder as he can. Blood clots the thick fabric, but thankfully, it must have helped to temporarily bandage the wound, preventing most of it from bleeding through. Not that it would have been easy to spot on the red fabric if it had. Grian winces as he tugs on the dried blood slightly. The wound looks exactly like Scar’s, albeit with more congealed blood. It was a good idea to get a closer look at Scar's injury, he thinks. This confirms his suspicions.

He sighs, reaching for the wipes and dressing, tending to his own hidden wounds until he can clip his armour back in place, the bandages hidden underneath. He frequently checks Scar’s status, who lies completely still, fast asleep.

He leans back against the walls of the cavern, wrapping his wings around himself for comfort. It’s not freezing temperatures, but the air has definitely cooled significantly since the sun dipped below the horizon. Even now the sky refuses to turn fully black, a soft orange glow shining from where the sun had disappeared, basking the world in a reddish hue.

His gaze falls on the sad, broken remains of the phantoms from earlier. He’s got a feeling they’re not going to be the only challenge put in place for them here. He’ll wake Scar up in an hour or so, so he can get his own opportunity to sleep through the rest of this short night.

For now, he sits, and watches.

[vigrotter]

The Henry's time!

Cartoon Henry: having similar beginning as cartoon Frankie, he fastly got used to the rich life that was given to him, it even continued as to have his own reputation and small side show with his antics against Deputy duck, something that came as the first thing to put the two best friends to be at two different sides. While Frankie slowly lost the attention and fame he got used to, Henry on the other side started to get said attention, but at a cost of their conflict (and one of the reasons why the spoiled rabbit is so sour) and the ringing that would stop when the show is done. In the current times, as a part of keeping the company afloat outside of the darkweb show they have a still on going "Connecting with Henry" talk show that let's the two rabbits form or keep "connections" with the old and new celebrities.

Robot Henry: similar to Other Frankie he was created as a mascot for the park and for the (broad limited only) movie based off of Henry Hotline, and for "meet up with Henry" section of the park. Unlike his cartoon version, he has more frequent and violent headaches thanks to all the phones in the park of his are and for made in high sensory intake, which results into him becoming so aggressive to those around him that is used in the gameshow. Outside of it he becomes a secretary for the rabbits (in a weird twisted way), but his job became less important the moment Lucky was given the main part of it after winning couple of seasons and given a chance to stay alive without being a contestant.

[insomniumstella]

stuck in the middle (1) | bucky x avenger!reader 

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky

word count: 4,050

taglist is down below (please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list!)

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

series’ SPOTIFY playlist 

Wanda had never considered herself too lucky, but she had not been entirely unfortunate either. 

She’d often get the last croissant at her favorite coffee shop or find money in every little corner of the compound — abandoned lockers at the gym, behind the coffee jar in the pantry, in the pocket of Tony’s pants that one and only time he had asked the girl to wash them for him.

Wanda could remember the day she had won her first contest vividly. The anxiety at the pit of her stomach, the crinkling of paper as she tore open a brown envelope, the pure joy when she had found out about receiving a pink toaster oven. That fateful day had forever been burned into her memories. 

A couple of weeks later, she had entered a second competition after accidentally stumbling upon it in a random magazine and won again and again until Wanda, getting all sorts of things for free, became a running joke at the compound. It had been no different after a major travel company had announced a contest for a free vacation in Hawaii months ago, she could sense, before she had even opened the oversized box Maui Dreams had delivered to the Avengers’ headquarters. 

Wanda had been right; she had not exhausted her luck yet. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry!” She threw the soldier a sheepish glance before dragging y/n out of the training facility that afternoon. Wanda had paid little mind to James, and if looks could kill, she would’ve been six feet under. 

It was only when the two girls had reached the compound’s kitchen did y/n notice that Wanda was still in her pajamas, holding a bright pink paper slip. The redhead’s expression was a mixture of anxiety and bewilderment, and y/n couldn’t decide which one she’d prefer to experience first if neither wasn’t an option. 

“Training with Bucky is a nightmare, so thank you for the temporary rescue, but,” she gestured to the paper Wanda was holding before getting a water bottle from the fridge, “what’s this, and why is it making you upset?” 

“This,” Wanda held up the CONGRATULATIONS: HAWAII AWAITS! letter, “is a note granting me a free vacation in Hawaii.” She chewed on her lip, staring at y/n. “Hawaii!” 

“Yes, Hawaii.” She nodded, unsure as if one wrong word would cause Wanda to lose her temper. 

“This,” she waved the paper in y/n’s face, “is a free pass for a week in paradise, and I cannot go! I read their terms and conditions and, shit, I even emailed them, but,” heavy accent laced itself around her words, “they’ve decided that for the reason that Vision is a robot, and I’m a foreign weapon of mass destruction we cannot go.” She spoke mockingly, rolling her eyes. “They worded it differently, but it seems ridiculous nonetheless.” 

“Modern problems require modern solutions.” She offered Wanda a half smile, trying to make a joke out of the situation. “Besides, they might’ve been right about the destruction part of the email.” She added in a much quieter voice, referring to the complex of buildings her teammate had recently destroyed. 

It had been purely an accident, a blunder of magic most would've had a difficult time controlling if one was to ask y/n. However, it had been a pure catastrophe if one was to ask the American government. 

“It was an accident, and the houses were empty.” The redhead cocked her head to the side, face painted in faux shock at y/n’s accusations. 

“Offer the trip to Steve. Heaven knows Captain Rogers needs a break.” She finished the water bottle, throwing it into the trash. “We can talk later, but I must get going.”

James Buchanan Barnes was undoubtedly still waiting in the training facility, and, though y/n had little desire to finish training, she couldn’t bail again. Besides, James had been beating her ass at hand-to-hand combat the past few weeks, and she’d be everything she had always despised if she gave him the satisfaction of giving up that easily. 

“I did.” The guilty undertones in Wanda’s tone stopped y/n in her tracks, and she glanced at the redhead from over her shoulder. “I signed up the two of you for the vacation.” 

Bewilderment burned in y/n’s eyes. “What?!” 

“Pack your bags.” The younger girl chuckled, leaning against the bar. Her smile was everything but innocent. “The plane leaves tomorrow evening.” 

The woman tried arguing, she did. 

As soon as James had dismissed her from training, she had been running around in meek attempts to locate Steve, and even when she had finally succeeded, Wanda’s story proved to be true. The schedules had been cleared, Steve’s bags had been packed. It was suspicious, way too suspicious — the Steve she had known for almost ten years already, wouldn’t have willingly signed up for a vacation. It was an all-expenses-paid vacation in Hawaii, yes, but everything had appeared too perfect for it to be true.

She found herself on the plane the next evening nonetheless because if The Captain Rogers agreed to it, she could see herself tanning topless, a Moscow Mule in hand, as well. The universe must’ve heard y/n’s prayers and decided to bless her with a miracle. Thank you, universe, she thought, sipping on a vodka soda the flight attendant had given her as soon as she sat down in the business-class seat. Though the airplane could never compare to the luxury of Tony’s private jets, which dripped with excessive luxury, it was far better than flights with the team, for this flight had no bickering or shouting. I need more of these, y/n decided when a nearby passenger kept slamming their backpack into the overhead bin, I need more vodka.

“This compartment must be full. Perhaps you should try the compartment next to it?” She softly suggested, flipping through the airline’s in-flight shopping catalog.

She loved boarding first for the copious amounts of space in the overhead bins because the loss of storage was the sorrow passengers who boarded last suffered.

“What the fuck?” Bucky gawked at her before giving the backpack a final push and deciding to shove it underneath the seat when it didn’t fit. “Where the fuck is Steve?” His loud voice earned judging glances from the people with kids in the row ahead of them, but he paid the family no mind.

“James?!”

Devil himself sat beside y/n, his perplexed expression matching hers. No, no, no, Steve wouldn’t.

The woman had been overly excited to meet Bucky in all his glory after the court had declared him innocent. And, sure, he had stabbed her the first time they met, but y/n had been willing to put the past behind the pair and start fresh. Everyone deserved a second chance, or everyone except Bucky, she had determined, when he had been nothing but an asshole for the last five years. It had never been a ‘James hates everyone’ issue, no, it was a ‘Bucky hates y/n’ issue. If he was determined to make her life a living hell, she was more than happy to return the favor, declaring war.

“Did you put him up to this?”

“What?”

“Did you switch places with Steve?” He repeated in a far bolder and louder voice.

She could not comprehend the words that rolled off of his tongue. Why would she, the woman who had recently replaced his almond milk with whole milk, knowing he’d suffer immensely, but doing it anyway just for the fun of it, ask Steve to go on a vacation with James?

“Yes, sergeant, I begged Steve for a week in paradise with the great James Buchanan Barnes.”

The soldier raised a brow, digging into his back pocket to retrieve something y/n deemed as a brick — an old, barely usable cellphone Bucky used for his personal endeavors. She peeked at the contact list of three whole people and snickered to herself. Steve, Sam, and his therapist were the only numbers he had saved. Though it did not come as a surprise, it was amusing to witness.

“Sir, please put the phone away, we are preparing for takeoff.”

His head shot up at the sound of the flight attendant’s voice. James glanced between the insufferable woman in the seat on his left and the woman with a pleasant smile standing nearby, carefully choosing his next battle.

“There’s been a misunderstanding.” He grinned apologetically, but closed the flip phone. “I just need to make a quick call.” 

“The plane door’s open,” y/n shrugged, pretending to look unbothered as if Bucky’s appearance on the plane wasn’t the most horrifying of problems, “you could let me go on the trip alone,” she paused, pretending to be in deep thought, “I’d be distraught, of course, but it’d be nothing a little Hawaiian sun and a martini couldn’t fix.”

Bucky scoffed at her. Was she really that stuck up to believe she was the only one in need of a holiday? 

James wouldn’t outright admit it, but he desperately craved a break from the stress of high-stakes missions, frequently occurring chaos in the compound, from y/n, who had ruined his last Wednesday by switching his almond milk to whole milk. He had stayed up in the bathroom until midnight, missing out on a potentially incredible date. It would've been his third after James had gotten his mind back and y/n had wrecked it, prompting a stream of angry messages from Jennifer, a bartender at a local bar. 

“The door is actually closed, ma’am. Please fasten your seatbelts and turn all devices on airplane mode.” The flight attendant’s smile faltered for a second. “Would you like me to bring you another vodka soda when we’re in the air?” She questioned, gesturing to y/n’s empty plastic cup as an offer for consolation.

“Make it double, please.” She nodded eagerly, the appalling realization of James and her being stuck on an airplane to Hawaii slowly creeping in.

The soldier threw an unamused glare in the girl’s direction, "if you throw up-“

“Oh my,” the annoyance in her tone was evident when she spoke, “that was one time, James,” she pushed a finger into his chest, “It was Halloween, and I wanted to outdrink Steve, and-“

“And I don’t care.” He shuffled in his seat for a more comfortable position. The plane was suddenly too hot and too cramped for James to stomach. “Just don’t throw up and, this one you might find difficult executing, stop talking to me. It’s bad enough I got tricked into getting on a plane with the most aggravating woman alive.” The words dripped with poison, firm and calculated. The former sentence was harsh, but it was his truth.  

“When we land, you could stay at the airport,” she turned to face him, her knees bumping against his half on purpose, half because of the tight space between them, “and get on the next flight to upstate New York.”

James sneered, “sounds like a plan. I sincerely hope you’ll exceed at completing it.” If anyone was to catch the next flight to NYC it would be y/n, he’d make sure of it.

She studied him, hoping her deadly stare would frighten the soldier, yet he didn’t move, make a sound, or change facial expressions. He remained entirely cool on the outside, and it infuriated her.  

The next time her knees bumped into his, it was deliberate. “I need a vacation.” If James wanted to, and he did, he would’ve purposely mistaken the comment for a plea. A plea for sympathy from none other than y/n, the woman who never begged people for anything.

“As do I.” 

“This is only the beginning then, princess,” she snatched the phone from his hands, aggressively flipping it shut from when he had turned it on after the flight attendant had left his sight, “this monstrosity is old enough to be a safety hazard, and it definitely does not have airplane mode.”

“Good. Perhaps it’ll kill us both and put me out of this misery.” He hissed, capturing y/n’s wrist.

She almost hoped it would.

“Honeymoon?!”

“I might have twisted the truth slightly,” Wanda’s voice sounded distracted over the phone.

“Slightly? I’m on a fucking honeymoon with Bucky Barnes, Wanda.” She could see Bucky through the glass windows from where she was standing in the smoking area outside of the hotel.

“Mmmh.”

“They’re putting us in the Lovers’ Suite as we speak. There’s probably going to be rose petals everywhere.”

“First, calm down.” Wanda switched the iPhone to her left side, holding it in place with her shoulder and cheek as she painted her nails.

Though she wouldn’t admit it, hearing the betrayal in y/n’s voice was the highlight of her week. She loved the girl, and if it came down to it, she’d die for her, but the situation was amusing at the least.

Steve had been the first person to find out about Hawaii, and when he made a seemingly silly joke that she should send Bucky and y/n on a honeymoon, a plan had been born.

“Second, you love roses.” A foolproof plan of Steve and Wanda to help the idiots notice what they had been blind to. “Besides it’s just for one week.”

“One week with Bucky Barnes is one week too long.”

“Please send me photos of you two at the beach.” The redhead chuckled.

“There will be no photos of us at the beach,” she replied, her tone dripping with poison, “I hope you know that I will forever hate you.”

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t know Bucky would show up instead of Steve.” Wanda lied through her teeth. 

She had known about the ordeal that would unfold. In fact, she had masterfully orchestrated it all. It was y/n’s fault for believing Captain America would choose a vacation over missions and meetings he had been scheduled to attend.

“Steve better sleep with his eyes open when I get back.”

“I love you!” Wanda hung up the phone before y/n could get another word in.

“Shit.” She cursed under her breath when the phone suddenly became silent.

The soldier’s sickeningly charming smile was the last thing y/n expected when she strutted up to the reception desk.

“Darling, would you mind showing your ID? It’s the final thing we need to check in.”

She raised a brow at James, confused. “What?”

He threw her a brief, unimpressed glance before softening his eyes and gesturing to the woman. “Aaliyah has the room ready early, but she needs both of our IDs to check us in. It’s mentioned in the rules of the contest.”

The contest Wanda had used to trick her. May she burn in Sokovian hell.

“Yes, both parties must present their IDs. It’s simply a formality.” Aaliyah chimed in. “Our staff always get informed of the winners’ names. It’s the only way to redeem activities, meals at the à la carte restaurants, and special discounts.”

“Would a driver’s license work?” She asked, rummaging through her purse before sliding a random ID over the counter.

“Of course!” The receptionist’s smile was too bright and too happy for nine in the morning, y/n decided, but then again, it was Hawaii, so perhaps people functioned differently here. “Is this your first honeymoon?”

“It is!” She answered too quickly and without giving James a chance to speak. “We’ve just been too busy to notice as time flew by. Today’s our fourth wedding anniversary.” The words fell out of her mouth quicker than y/n could stop them, and she winced at the lie.

“Congratulations! I’ll have a romantic dinner arranged for tonight. Would seven work, or should I schedule it at eight?”

She had been entirely wrong. The universe cursed her — the tipsiness from the vodka was wearing off, the week in paradise turned out to be a faux honeymoon, and the random ID, she had provided hurriedly so as to not arouse suspicions on why a regular traveler carried that many driver’s licenses, was issued under the name of none other than Amelie Barnes. The ID had never been a problem until today when it incriminated y/n as Bucky’s wife and became the ultimate punishment for all the sins she had committed against the soldier.

Perhaps I should clean out my wallet sometimes. 

“We wouldn’t want to cause any trouble, Aaliyah.” He awkwardly patted y/n on the shoulder. “You must deal with hundreds of honeymooners every day.”

“Nonsense. It’d be my pleasure.”

“The flight was exhausting,” James tried again, “we’ll probably enjoy a drink or two and call it a night.”

"It's fine, really." She chimed in, stepping further away from James and his awkward touches. "We want to order room service anyways." 

"Yes!" He agreed, glancing at y/n. "A burger sounds divine." The timber of Bucky's voice was utterly unconvincing. 

"Scheduling a dinner? It sounds too tiring and too long of a process." The woman offered Aaliyah a foolish grin, resting her elbows on the reception desk and propping her head in her hands. 

She had attempted to sound unbothered, but her delivery of words had been quite ridiculous. She appeared eccentric, stupidly staring at the employee through panicked eyes. I am not his wife, he is not my husband. Please, woman, do not arrange a romantic dinner for the two of us tonight.

Unfortunately, the receptionist did not turn out to be a mind reader. 

“It's not," she narrowed her eyes before her tightly pursed lips switched into a smile, "seven it is then! Toro Toro is our finest restaurant and will be perfect for a passionate anniversary celebration.”

“Great.” Bucky muttered under his breath.

She slid two pamphlets over the desk, “One of the pamphlets is a map of the hotel, and the other is a list of honeymoon activities. Couples massage seems to be the fan favorite.” She typed something on the computer before pushing the IDs and two sets of room keys in their direction, “Brody will lead you to the suite. Welcome to Hawaii Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.”

“I’m not going to the dinner.” James slumped into the couch.

The room was spacious and elegant, and, her intuition had been right, covered in rose petals. A bottle of champagne stood in a bucket of ice on the coffee table, a generous fruit basket and a note next to it. She landed on the opposite side of the sofa, picking up the postcard to read it.

Welcome to Hawaii — paradise awaits. We wish you a passionate and blissful honeymoon. The mea inu (drinks) are on us!

“Fine by me.” She let out a strangled chuckle at the irony of it all. “Do you think the receptionist was in on it?”

“Aaliyah?” James reached down to pop the champagne open. “She might be on something, that much I can say, but,” he took a sip from the bottle before pouring himself a glass and then, after a second of hesitation, begrudgingly poured y/n a glass too, “to think Steve would set her up is a reach.”

“Wanda would. She knew about the flights and the honeymoon package, and,” y/n got silent and took a big gulp of champagne when a sudden realization set in, “what were the rules of the contest?”

“I’m not Google on legs, y/n.” An aggravated sigh slipped past his lips.

She craved to spit a sarcastic comment at James but refrained against it. 

“What if we have to pretend to be a couple? What if the contest is designed in a way that a pair of friends or strangers cannot redeem the prize, and we’ll have to pay for everything? Tony would skin us.”

“The receptionist mentioned something along the lines of people scamming the contest’s company, but this is utter nonsense. There were five winners in total, they couldn’t possibly monitor each pair.”

“They could take away the activities.” She raised a brow, finishing her drink. “Bye, bye scuba diving.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, we are,” the word got lost in his throat as James made a disgusted face, “a couple as of thirty minutes ago. In fact, we’re celebrating our fourth wedding anniversary.”

“The ID was issued a little over four years ago, Barnes.”

“And? You just had to run your big mouth and get us a reservation for a romantic dinner, didn’t you?”

“I panicked!” She raised her voice, finding a way into the bedroom. It was a monstrosity compared to the living room, decorated with not only rose petals but Hershey's chocolate kisses and candles everywhere. “The driver’s license I pulled happened to be under the name of Amelie Barnes, she saw it was issued a little over four years ago and most likely assumed I had changed my name soon after our wedding.”

“The wedding we never had.”

She had been wiping roses off the bed and onto the floor, emptying a pair of heavy suitcases on the satin sheets as soon as it was clean.

“It’s not like I could’ve snatched the ID and presented another. Perhaps she recognized you, the infamous Winter Soldier, but I, if you need a refresher,” the woman disappeared into the balcony when James came into the bedroom, “work under disguises.” Her voice was almost a whisper in the morning’s wind. “I’m the Avenger without a name.”

Nick Fury had imposed a great deal of strength and a great deal of sorrow upon y/n when she had finished S.H.I.E.L.D. training. She had excelled in many areas, but lying was her forte. The woman had once loved to be a ghost story, to embody a superhero without an identity, especially when fellow Avengers couldn't show faces in public without getting recognized. All good things come to an end, she had learned when the lies had become a burden, bleeding into her personal life, and y/n had found herself largely alone. James, a man she despised, had more genuine memories of y/n than her past lovers ever would. Over the years, it had evolved into as generous of a problem as it had been an opportunity. 

“This is bad.” Bucky followed after her. “We cannot be seen together.”

“As if we usually are.”

“I’m being serious, y/n. Forget about the money. What if someone recognizes me and connects the quite obvious dots that you might be working for the  Avengers as well?” James leaned on the balcony railing, too close to y/n for her enjoyment.

The woman stayed silent, enjoying the view. The sky was stained with various hues of blue, lighter than the endless ocean ahead of them. It was nothing short of breathtaking, glorious even. Hawaii was truly a paradise on Earth with its sandy air and pleasantly warm sun, whose rays gently caressed her skin.

“Officially you are retired. The public isn’t aware of your affiliation with Avengers.” She reminded. "Amelie Barnes is the wife of a retired officer, nothing less, nothing more."

There was a chance they could run into a former HYDRA agent or a politician the Avengers had tried and failed to lock up, but the chance was too slim to become a burden. Perhaps we could make this work, she thought and stole a glance at Bucky. She would stay on her side of the hotel while he would stay on his, and if need be, they’d pretend to be a couple without getting noticed by these vacationing villains James referred to. It had happened before, once, when Sam had a genius idea of catching an arms dealer at an upscale club in New York City. James had kissed her then, and much to y/n’s surprise, she hadn’t stopped breathing or dropped dead. They had caught the trafficker and went on their merry ways — Bucky continued to exhaust her ass at training, and y/n had switched his conditioner to body wash amongst other, less innocent, endeavors. Much to her dismay, his hair continued to stay shiny and, in Wanda’s words, quite fabulous.

“Yes, sergeant, villains just happen to vacation at The Maui Resort.” She poked fun at his obnoxious concerns, disappearing back into the bedroom.

As of now, there was only a single problem y/n needed to resolve.

Should she suggest James sleeps on the floor or in the marble bathtub?

TAGS:

@legohe4rts

@legohe4rts 

[changingplumbob]

Challenge Overview: Get to know Deanna

On the sunny isle of Tartosa, Deanna York lives with her parents and younger sister. The Italian family is close knit and Deanna thought she was lucky enough to find the love of her life in high school. Unfortunately they didn't make the transition to real world partners. It's been a few years now and she's ready to head back in to the dating world but fears falling too fast. Surely having some sims to pick from will prevent her falling too hard too fast, right?

Cheerful Deanna knew from when she aged up as a teen that she was a lesbian. Women? Hot. Non-binary souls? Hot. Men? Please don't even try, she is not going to be interested. As such this competition is not for the males out there. The one to win her heart will join her household in my Rotational Gameplay Save.

Deanna is currently studying her physics degree after getting in to the distinguished degree at Foxbury following her being valedictorian in her senior year of high school. She has a tinkering hobby and would one day love to build every type of robot there is. She's hoping after university she can become an engineer to help reach her lifetime aspiration of mansion baron. She also Loves the Outdoors and enjoys spending time with her best friend Reece.

Of course she couldn't pick a love alone, family oriented Deanna needs some help. Her parents (Aaron & Calista), older sister and her wife (Devin & Luna), her nephews (Alfred & Rilian), her older brother (Joey) and younger sister (Artemisia) will be jumping onboard with creating challenges to award contestants with solo dates.

Helpful Links

Contestant List, Joey's Contestant Creation Walkthrough, F.A.Q, All In Guide

[moon-buggg]

Job Interview

In which YN has a very promising interview. Haunted house au drabble

no warnings apply

The interview had been going great. Possibly the best you've ever had. You're extremely excited about your prospects getting this job.

The only thing that's thrown you off so far is the twelve foot tall robotic clown hunched over in the corner.

"Just ignore him," the man interviewing you, the director of the haunt, had said, "I like to have him around for interviews. Weed out those not suited for this work."

You could see the logic there, anyone too freaked out being in a well lit room with the star attraction probably wouldn't be a good fit for the haunted house. Even if it did make it hard to concentrate.

"Now, ah, I should warn you. The part you've applied for does involve acting very closely with the animatronics, including letting them touch you."

"I thought they couldn't touch people?" It had been a big part of the marketing hype around the haunt, how the robotic scare actors were completely safe because they literally could not touch a guest- their code prevented it.

"They can't." The director responds easily, "you're the exception."

When you simply continue to stare at him blankly, your potential new boss continues. "We can't have the robots grabbing guests- its a safety issue, same with regular actors." The metallic clown crouched in the corner giggles, and you can't help but glance over at him. The director continues, unbothered.

"Now, I'm not a computer guy, but as I understand it, it was easier to make the things avoid touching everyone than it was to single out guests." The director leans against his office wall, shaking his hand dismissively.

"The one exception being you." The ambient eerie soundtrack that plays throughout the attraction filters into the small office. "Provided you get the role, of course."

"Huh," is all you can say.

"Scenes feel too fake otherwise. It uh, it wasn't scary enough, you know?"

"Sure," you can't help your eyes from drifting back to the animatronic- a giant thing, all sharp edges and hard metal, long limbs contorted and wrapped around itself- only to find two milky eyes staring back at you.

You can't seem to break his gaze, even as the director continues.

"I can assure you it's perfectly safe, all the scenes are scripted and rehearsed, so there won't be any surprises." The clown giggles again, the sound crackling out of speakers in his chest. "Of course, we could always look into another position for you if you aren't up for it."

The words finally make you break your little staring contest, turning to the director. "I don't think it will be a problem."

[smellslikebot]

"how do I keep my art from being scraped for AI from now on?"

if you post images online, there's no 100% guaranteed way to prevent this, and you can probably assume that there's no need to remove/edit existing content. you might contest this as a matter of data privacy and workers' rights, but you might also be looking for smaller, more immediate actions to take.

...so I made this list! I can't vouch for the effectiveness of all of these, but I wanted to compile as many options as possible so you can decide what's best for you.

Discouraging data scraping and "opting out"

robots.txt - This is a file placed in a website's home directory to "ask" web crawlers not to access certain parts of a site. If you have your own website, you can edit this yourself, or you can check which crawlers a site disallows by adding /robots.txt at the end of the URL. This article has instructions for blocking some bots that scrape data for AI.

HTML metadata - DeviantArt (i know) has proposed the "noai" and "noimageai" meta tags for opting images out of machine learning datasets, while Mojeek proposed "noml". To use all three, you'd put the following in your webpages' headers:

<meta name="robots" content="noai, noimageai, noml">

Have I Been Trained? - A tool by Spawning to search for images in the LAION-5B and LAION-400M datasets and opt your images and web domain out of future model training. Spawning claims that Stability AI and Hugging Face have agreed to respect these opt-outs. Try searching for usernames!

Kudurru - A tool by Spawning (currently a Wordpress plugin) in closed beta that purportedly blocks/redirects AI scrapers from your website. I don't know much about how this one works.

ai.txt - Similar to robots.txt. A new type of permissions file for AI training proposed by Spawning.

ArtShield Watermarker - Web-based tool to add Stable Diffusion's "invisible watermark" to images, which may cause an image to be recognized as AI-generated and excluded from data scraping and/or model training. Source available on GitHub. Doesn't seem to have updated/posted on social media since last year.

Image processing... things

these are popular now, but there seems to be some confusion regarding the goal of these tools; these aren't meant to "kill" AI art, and they won't affect existing models. they won't magically guarantee full protection, so you probably shouldn't loudly announce that you're using them to try to bait AI users into responding

Glaze - UChicago's tool to add "adversarial noise" to art to disrupt style mimicry. Devs recommend glazing pictures last. Runs on Windows and Mac (Nvidia GPU required)

WebGlaze - Free browser-based Glaze service for those who can't run Glaze locally. Request an invite by following their instructions.

Mist - Another adversarial noise tool, by Psyker Group. Runs on Windows and Linux (Nvidia GPU required) or on web with a Google Colab Notebook.

Nightshade - UChicago's tool to distort AI's recognition of features and "poison" datasets, with the goal of making it inconvenient to use images scraped without consent. The guide recommends that you do not disclose whether your art is nightshaded. Nightshade chooses a tag that's relevant to your image. You should use this word in the image's caption/alt text when you post the image online. This means the alt text will accurately describe what's in the image-- there is no reason to ever write false/mismatched alt text!!! Runs on Windows and Mac (Nvidia GPU required)

Sanative AI - Web-based "anti-AI watermark"-- maybe comparable to Glaze and Mist. I can't find much about this one except that they won a "Responsible AI Challenge" hosted by Mozilla last year.

Just Add A Regular Watermark - It doesn't take a lot of processing power to add a watermark, so why not? Try adding complexities like warping, changes in color/opacity, and blurring to make it more annoying for an AI (or human) to remove. You could even try testing your watermark against an AI watermark remover. (the privacy policy claims that they don't keep or otherwise use your images, but use your own judgment)

given that energy consumption was the focus of some AI art criticism, I'm not sure if the benefits of these GPU-intensive tools outweigh the cost, and I'd like to know more about that. in any case, I thought that people writing alt text/image descriptions more often would've been a neat side effect of Nightshade being used, so I hope to see more of that in the future, at least!

[best-bot-tournament-2023]

Qualifying Poll - Fallout Franchise

Which one would you most like to see in the tournament?

[kitheheh]

RICK AND MORTY S7 EP 10 SPOILERS

THIS EPISODE WAS SO GOOD! My favorite part is that we get more of a look into who Dianne was as a person.

I always thought that she was smart or was at least a lover of science like Rick was, considering I don’t think it’s likely Rick would have married someone who didn’t share his love of science.

We’ve been able to get hints before of what her personality might have been like through Ricks Garage:

and Ricks Car:

Both have been modeled after Diane and use her voice and both of which have always been sassy or sarcastic towards him.

We also know that Summer reminds Rick of Diane as he’s said twice before in S6 Ep1 and S7 Ep 7 and we all know what Summers personality is like lol

We’ve now gotten the best glimpse at what Diane was like and a hint of what Ricks job was before he invented portal travel:

It’s seems he might have met Diane

1) while he had been working for the government and she may have also been a scientist employed by them

Or 2) she had been arrested by the robot that Rick had built while working for the feds.

(Either way both options are funny)

We see that Diane went to university and received a masters degree and probably loved science like Rick did

We see how her personality is similar to his when they join a drinking contest together, but also how Diane might have been more of a “party person” than Rick was when they were in college.

(I mean this episode suggested she was arrested by a law enforcement drone Rick built)

Considering how she comments on how he used to be a “lightweight” and later on tells him that “her dying made him cooler” (suggesting he didn’t used to be the drunk unhinged man that we’ve become so accustomed to seeing him as) we can assume that she was probably the unhinged one

IN CONCLUSION DIANE IS A SMART AWESOME BADASS WOMAN THAT NERDY YOUNG RICK FELL HEAD OVER HEELS FOR BECAUSE HE THOUGHT SHE WAS COOL IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-

[sunflowhamato]

ROTTMNT Curiosities Part.5

The ideas of making and ending the series through IDW comic would be easy to do

If the series is picked up, the tone of Rise would remain the same

Some chapters discarded were the following, (I took the information from

where it will be more complete, in case you want to read it)

Wedding Smashers: Ghostbear marries his fiancé Ghostpepper, a Chupacabra yokai. Raph and Mikey crash their wedding dressed as their aliases Shadybug and Dr. Rude.

Dog Dale Afternoon: April finds out that Baba Yaga cursed Dale to be a werewolf, but he doesn't know what's happening to him, Donnie shows up to “help him,” and be his doctor.

Shred Dead Redemption: Screenwriter Sheldon Vella shared the first board of his showing the brothers chasing the cupcake van called Fire and Icing in Turtle Tank. Unfortunately, a piece of cardboard (Donnie's cloaking device) blocking the front windshield causes the Tank to crash gracelessly into a Lou Jitsu poster.

Warren Stone 2: Warren Stone is cut in half again, but this time the lower half of him becomes a different Warren sporting a beard and shaved head. Warren Stone II ends up becoming a competent and dangerous enemy for the turtles. Realizing that Warren is upset, Warren II has taken his title of "The Turtles' Greatest Enemy", April helps Warren regain his charm.

Gourd Almighty: A comedic episode about Donnie trying to grow the world's largest pumpkin for a contest.

T-Hex: It was going to be about Mikey wanting a robotic toy with a "boopable snoot." After getting the toy he turns out to be not as innocent as he seems.

Lost Goat: Draxum leaves after having a fight with the family (Turtles and Splinter). As he does so, he is abducted by the foot. While trying to rescue Draxum, the family has no choice but to resolve their issues regarding him.

Goyles just wants to have fun: Huggin and Muggin are confused when they find Draxum working in a school cafeteria. Draxum asks Leo and Donnie to help improve his image so as not to lose the respect he once had for the Goyles.

Rampaging Raph: Raph comes to Draxum for help after getting trapped in his enormous mystical form. He is ashamed of not having mastered his mystical powers like his brothers. Draxum ends up splitting Raph and his mystical power, which then becomes a problem when the Red Hulk turns red and begins crushing the city, getting stronger with each hit. To save the city, Raph has to confess and ask his brothers for help.

The Island of Dr. Noe: Hunter/dentist Dr. Noe kidnaps Raph and Leo and takes them to his home island. The doctor wants Raph's tooth in his tooth collection.

Toddler Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mikey becomes the oldest when his siblings turn into little turtles after being attacked by an immortal mutant jellyfish bank robber. 163.There is a small chance that Such TMNT and Rise exist at the same time. 164.Production ties were a little over a year from premise. About 8 weeks from premise to draft record, about 12 for a storyboard, 8 for final animation, with design happening all the time. 6 months for full animation, music, etc. 165. You always interacted a lot with the design team when writing 166.Here is the board with the episodes of the series (in season 2), although some are jokes 167.Although Netflix supported Rise for the movie, it is not Ron or Russ's decision whether the series will continue or not, but they want it to continue supporting 168. The best way to support Rise is to keep watching, posting and spreading the word for the show

[dontfuckingestablishcanonicalbac]

s3 of rnm is like crack to me it's so fucking good like you begin with an episode that completely undermines the remorse rick showed at the end of s2 and he settles in as the most powerful person in the family, with jerry gone, beth perpetually forgiving him and morty and summer at his heels for adventures, and that power lasts for all of one episode before the dysfunctionality of this new family setup begins to get too much for him. he's barely able to make robot copies of himself summer and morty that are competent enough to last while he drags the two teens back home, and then after that it's L after L till the end of the season.

he nearly dies in pickle rick over something extremely petty while a therapist sows the seeds in morty and summer's minds that rick isn't nearly as deserving of their respect and attention as they might've thought

in vindicators he makes a complete ass of himself because morty doesn't see him as his hero, and in doing so he further tarnishes his own image in morty's eyes

in the whirly dirly conspiracy rick nearly dies because of jerry, of all people, meanwhile back home it's revealed that morty is so sick of rick (because of the vindicators thing, but also, like, everything) that he faked concern for jerry just so rick would orchestrate this pity adventure and leave him alone for a bit

in rest and ricklaxation rick fucks up so badly that he takes himself and morty on a vacation, comes face to face with his worst qualities, and spends the latter half of the episode with his attachment to morty permanently on his sleeve while he vehemently denies its existence

ricklantis mixup isn't about rick c-137 but it's a citadel episode with evil morty what more do you want

in morty's mind blowers the worst memories of rick and morty's relationship leads them to try to kill each other then enter a fucking suicide pact

in the abc's of beth rick is asked by beth if he wants her in his life or if he wants her to live up to her potential, and we later find out that he was so unprepared to have any sort of emotional confrontation with her that he erased the memory of the decision he made

and in the finale he is finally knocked down from all of the pegs he hangs on while he does a dick measuring contest with the president. morty loses respect for him, beth and jerry get back together, and now everyone in the family is keenly aware of how manipulative and awful rick is. they keep him around, but nobody is letting him act the way he does unchecked anymore

this bitch tries to ascend to godhood and ends up falling further down than where he was at the beginning. it's addictive to watch. best season.

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Elsewhere Cassie and Struan attempt to gain ground with Patchy, Cassie makes a startling discovery - and Struan asks her to maybe… do an activity together -

- so it’s a panicked run from Cassie to a woohoo locale.

As both their permissions have ‘yes’ to woohoo with fellow contestants - and my settings are at ‘moderate’ so that you need a reasonably high relationship with the other sim for woohoo to successfully occur - I accepted it.

Looks like it was a good time?

Delphine wants the basil to know what’s up! And Lilac - maybe it’s best not to joke about being in a simulation to the PARANOID pixel?

Fortunately Jerrod seems to think it’s all in good fun. Far too ridiculous to believe, right? Utter nonsense.

As there’s by now some leftovers in the fridge (and Lilac’s infamous cooler in the corner), we spare Cassie from cooking the evening meal.

Plus it’s time to par - oh gosh, Lilac.

I can’t let you go looking like that. Let’s grab something else from CAS.

For Lilac’s final mandated friendly interaction, she takes a selfie with each sim. Below we have:

Briar (yellow robot) and Jayla (white robot)

Cassie and Struan

Delphine and Jerrod

Our lil witch takes on the keg once more aaand seems to succeed - until she doesn’t. Milk may indeed be the safer option, Cassie.

The party is… weird. Everyone is determined to gather in the kitchen for some reason, so once again the Watcher is forced to sacrifice her screencaps and activate the social club.

I agree, Jerrod. This sucks.

(In my playtesting save, the group had a great time and stayed in the room where all the fun stuff was - I really don’t know what was different for this crew.)

If only you had joined us, Patchy.

Too late, Felix. The party’s over - and that’s assuming it ever truly began.

While everyone else sleeps, Lilac (who has the SELDOM SLEEPY reward trait) sought out reassurance from Patchy that he would be more professional, should this roll ever come around again. And that is where we will leave Household One for this round.

(Note: for this round’s table, I will collate everyone’s scores after the final day of Household Three then send the bottom three home. The households will once again be randomised for the next round. Therefore hypothetically everyone from this group could make it through - or all three eliminated sims could come from here - depending on the rest of the round.)

@changingplumbob @lindyloosims @jonquilyst

@bakersimmer @simstagramsomeone @tipsy-clouds