#i just keep thinking of physics and voltages and all that

[ecto-american]

I work in electrical substations, and I'm fourth generation doing this kind of work. So I wanna give more information.

There is an unbelievable amount of safety systems in place, and honestly, it's akin to how an electrical substation works. But to be honest, the safety around the portal in my opinion really depends on how much electrical knowledge FentonWorks has.

This is primarily a ramble honestly with no real point besides providing some more information and insight related to electrical safety so I'll readmore.

Overall, we don't really know what kind of electrical engineering background the Fentons have have. It's never clearly stated. Electricity is insanely dangerous. It's incredibly easy to fuck up. All of our safety protocols are written in ashes, not blood, because electricity can so easily literally burn you into ashes. Especially at high voltage.

The kind of project the Fentons work on would require an indepth knowledge, so I'd assume that they have electrical background to some degree beyond the basics.

This is the blueprints we see for the portal in the theme song.

Obviously, this is just for the actual construction of the ghost portal itself. This isn't related to the electrical parts at all. Those prints are set up completely different. My point here is NOT that they don't know how to set up an electrical print; the point is that this is just not an electrical print for context.

For a 66kv/111kv electrical substation

For a household water heater

Basically, if you're working with electricity, this is the kind of blueprints you're looking at. This is the kind of diagram that tells you how to properly wire the devices. And this has been the standard since at least the 50s. I work in substations built as early as the 40s, and the prints are the exact same format. We can also assume cartoon logic as most people know what blueprints look like. I doubt the average viewer would know what these are.

I'm stating this too because it's another way of saying that like. We honestly genuinely cannot tell for sure how the Fenton Portal is wired since we don't see the diagrams, and we're not able to be there physically in person to determine how and why. It's impossible to truly tell what the actual purpose of that button is. It definitely looks like a safety stop button, and I think the OP provides a super good case for it. Based on the image the OP provided, I'm assuming OP took this from a gas or water utility company, which is similar to electrical but electrical is a bit different.

But from an electrical substation perspective, there's no real safety on/off switch. If you're needing to remove power, you're not often turning a switch off. You're adding a grounding wire or you're pulling fuses. Safety switches aren't really a thing (or at least, I've never seen one in a substation before), but this is also a private household and NOT an electrical substation, so I'd assume that the Fentons WOULD have one. And if so, I definitely think that they'd have one similarly to what OP noted.

An important but unrelated thing I also wanna note to is like. You guys do realize that people are human who make mistakes? A lot of people talk about the Fenton Portal under the assumption that Jack and Maddie were completely ignoring safety standards.

Wiring a huge project like a Fenton Portal would be a long, tedious, difficult process. It takes my job months to do install a new piece of equipment at the substation, because it's a slow process. You have to be careful. Every step has to be checked after completion. Troubleshooting has to happen. Certain parts have to be fully depowered in order to work on it safely, and sometimes you have to find a way to keep power going so you can work on it so it's a process to figure out how to jump power for safe working.

There's literally thousands of wires, hundreds of terminals, tens of panels. A single bad wire can stump a crew, and it could be that the guy wired it to the wrong spot, that the connection is bad. If the wire itself it bad, depending on the wire, it's a whole working day process to pull it out and run a new one because of how complex, tight, dangerous, etc, it is. We get (mildly) shocked all the time because it's just the nature of the job.

We specifically see that the FentonWorks Portal wasn't working, and they took a break when Danny decided to investigate. Any number of thing could be wrong. I don't think that the Fentons specifically forgot about the emergency off button, but that they didn't know what the issue was. There could be hundreds of things that went wrong, and they hadn't gotten to the point of troubleshooting this yet. Literally a singular wire could be bad because it's a bad wire, bad connection from the wire to the lug, bad connection from the lug to the terminal, bad terminal connection, bad terminal, etc.

Also additionally, just for some lowkey fun: We all see shots of the inside of the portal looking like this (all from Memory Blank)

Do you know what this kind of looks like to me? Kind of reminds me a lot of how the outside of electrical substation control panels look and operate.

Depending on what level of knowledge they have and experience, I could see some of the lines not just being cool technology showcases, but a common electrical substation practice: we use markers or tape to basically copy the electrical print line diagram on the outside of the panels to help visually identify what's going on and where/how things are connected.

Even the kind of cable that's being run looks exactly like the kind of cable used in most substations.

It was a safety switch

So I'm actually obsessed with the idea that the "on" button Danny hit going into the portal wasn't actually an on button like one you get in a computer.

In basically any legally compliant workspace where I am (and I think in the western world broadly) you get these big red EMERGENCY STOP buttons that tend to be every few feet and on every machine so if something goes wrong people don't have to run far to make what ever's going wrong stop going wrong

Now to me that thing looks pretty much exactly like this thing

With a different layout, but the big red button is the subject of interest

Jack and Maddie seem to have cartoon consistency in their lab safety protocols, which checks out honestly given that's what they are, but It makes sense to me that they didn't so much put the ON button on the inside of the portal as that they flipped the power off to finish the final checks on the portal and then

Forgot About The Emergency Stop

(Incase people dont know, emergency stop buttons stop all the machinery it's attatched to. This can be anything from Only One Machine to literally an entire floor or building depending on the levels of "oh shit everything needs to stop RIGHT NOW." They're usually 'released' at a seperate point which can be anything from the keys in the panel above to a seperate button/keypad. Or, like the ones we had in our high school, the original red button that was pushed but you had to twist it to get it to pop back up. Kind of like a weird child lock)

So I'm proposing that the Fenton Parents, instead of being idiots in their planning and putting the on switch somewhere insane when they were drawing the schematics, actually built in a safety feature they forgot they tripped

Essentially, the Fenton parents were EXTRA safe in their lab and it half killed Danny

[fruitier-mushroom]

every time someone refers to evbo's friend as "emf", I keep thinking that it stands for "electromotive force" instead of "evbo's master friend"

[creepling]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ dating digger harkness headcanons

this is a very specific reader because i love the idea of this grimy hobo having a cute, smart girly partner that is the candy floss to his raccoon energy OKAYYY. also tcm shenanigans will be back shortly, i just had to give some love to a dc rogue like the old times<33

tags: feminine reader (wears dress, skirt, heels, mild makeup and has breasts and v) but gn pronouns. sugar daddy digger if you squint. reader is a jailbird. cuddling. pet name: birdie. smut under the cut - minors dni. polaroid nudes. (m) masturbation. thoughts of: oral (m receiving) and cowgirl.

If you were to ask Digger the first thing he noticed about you, his caveman mind would be objectifying. But your ass did look very flattering in your skirt and the smile you shot his way was the cherry on top. He likes them sweet and innocent, you like them rugged and dangerous. It was a match made in hell heaven.

After a few dates spent in dingy pubs and lover’s lanes, he was enamoured by you. He’s never had someone look at him the way you do. Eyes full of light, glistening at the sight of him. You always welcomed him with open arms, practically throwing yourself at him. He liked how easy you were to pick up, and the way you wrapped your limbs around him. How your soft skin blushes red against his scruffy neck. No matter the setting, you sat so close to him that you were more or less on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, or has a hand on your thigh, letting nearby acquaintances know you belong together. Digger thinks to himself, “I got so fucking lucky.”

His love languages are primarily gift-giving and physical touch. More times than you can count, Digger has fallen asleep on top of you. Either on the couch, while watching a movie or he found a way to snake between your legs while sleeping, he has a habit of using you like a pillow. You developed a kinship in moments like this where you play with his hair, massaging your fingers into the nape of his neck or twirling the strands that curtain his temples. You muse at his sleep-full hums, watching this rogue unwind under your touch, satisfied like a dog receiving pets. The gift-giving is when his rogue side is on high voltage. He wants to give you the world, shower you with jewels, let you wear the best of gear. “You want diamonds? Yeah, I’ll get you diamonds,” He’ll muse, mixing his pleasures with yours. When he robs a bank, the majority of his stolen dollars has been spent on you since you met him. Did your car get towed? He bought you a new one, along with the insurance. Need a new dress for the weekend? He’s got you sorted, along with heels and a bag to match. “Can’t have my bird in peasant clothes!” He protests, “Not with that cracken’ bod.” Queue the wink.

He loves showing you off, chuffed that he proved his doubters wrong that he could settle down and have a gorgeous significant other. “What they see in you, I don’t know . . .” They say, whether that be Deadshot, King Shark, heck even Amanda is amazed by it. He keeps candid polaroids of you in his pocket on the job, looking at them when he misses you. He squeezes the unicorn plushie you gifted him when he is stressed, anything to feel your presence when you’re half the world away. A shit-eating grin on his face when people tease him about his love for you, using it to embarrass him. “Awh, it’s puppy love,” Harley cooes, and Digger nods, all chuffed with himself.

Digger gave you the nickname “Birdie” because well . . . You’re a jailbird. He is in prison for heinous crimes, after all! Oh, is he touched-starved when you’re standing there, pretty face to the phone, separated by glass and talking in your voice that melts him like butter. His eyes are eating you up, desperate to have his hands on you. He’ll do all the suicide missions going to shred off the jail time, to get closer to the day his lips are kissing yours. Blackmailing Amanda to get you the best of the best, pay off college debt, holidays abroad, and spoil you when he cannot. “Oh, Birdie, when I get out of here I’m not letting you out of my sight, you’re stuck with me.” He groans, drunk on love. All you do is smile, sliding a pack of Polaroids under the screen when the guards aren’t looking. “Have these to tide you over in the meantime,” you tease. Digger rushes back to his cell, flipping through the photos. First were of you in dresses that were his favourites, the type of ones that are flowy and floral, framing you so delicately. They get more desirable as he flips them over, and his eyes lull in lust.

Digger loves the dirty photos you send him, it drives him fucking insane. It’s good to keep you fresh in his mind, but it borders on teasing just having you to look at. He didn’t have the brightest imagination, but this was good practice. Imagine how soft your thighs are under his callous hands, what your lips taste like with the lipgloss you have on. Your delicate hands trace his bulge, your touch replacing his heavy-handed grasp. Bucking into your hands as he sucks your breasts, teasing your nipples, muttering how perfect you are. His sweet little birdie, all belonging to him. Your eagerness proves your devotion. You take his infamous size so well, your spit coating his cock as your tongue swirls around his pulsing tip. As he wanks himself off, muffling his groans, he has the faintest memory of your cunt. How wet you always were for him, how eager you bounced on his cock. His eyes closed as he pumped his cock faster, edging to the echoes of past moans you chanted in his ear.

[periprose]

Ps5 Peter Parker x reader inspired by this?

It's one of my favorite MerDer moments on Grey's anatomy 🙈😭

Peter explains something about physics or an idea for a gagdet...

🤣 this image really cracked me up lol thanks for the ask!! I've set the fic to take place in the first game, Peter and Reader are Otto's assistants at Octavius Industries. Please ignore the science mumbo jumbo in this fic.

/

Otto's lab was really cold this time of year. He barely had the funds to make rent in Manhattan, let alone provide optimal heating and other luxuries.

Still, you shiver, searching through your locker for your comfy, oversized jumper. You're just pulling it on when Peter pops up from behind you.

"Hey."

"Jesus!" You flinch and then rub your eyes. "Hey, Peter. How do you get behind me so fast? That's the third time this month I didn't even see you come in."

"Uh... I just have good reflexes, I think." Peter's mouth twists a little, as he tries not to laugh at your jumper. "Are you sure that's up to lab standards? Where's your lab coat?"

"Ah, Otto doesn't mind. He knows I'm cold." You explain, and Peter sighs.

"Well, he never gives me special treatment."

"Probably because you're not as cute as I am." You joke, but Peter nods and you feel a callous level of attraction towards him for being so nonchalant in terms of flirting.

You never really know where you stand with the guy. He's a naturally witty person and you refuse to read into anything any deeper, just for self preservation.

"Hey, I can't disagree with that." Peter laughs that quiet, soft laugh that makes you smile on your own. "Here, I got you a cup of coffee. That should help warm you up."

You look down and see, sure enough, Peter's holding a coffee cup tray, loaded with three cups, surely your usual orders- for you, extra black espresso to stay awake, for Peter, usually some kind of healthy tea hybrid, and for Otto, a large, creamy Italian coffee blend that's particularly expensive (Peter always jokes that Otto wastes funding on things like this).

"Oh, I'll pay you back." You reach back into your locker for your wallet, but Peter stops you with a raise of his hand.

"It's free of charge. No worries." He hands you the cup gently, and your hand skirts across his. You think for a moment.

"Nothing is ever really 'free of charge', Peter." You give him a side glance. In the last couple of months you've known this guy, you've figured out when he has an ulterior motive.

"... Alright, alright. You got me." Peter starts pulling you along by the hand, towards one of Otto's offices filled with white-boards and desks and equipment. You take a sip of your coffee and notice that it's still quite hot- Peter must've been really fast to make it so.

Not that you're complaining, and now that you're warmer you do feel more inclined to listen to him.

"Okay. You know how Otto's neural interface for the experimental arms have been glitching out?" Peter's got a firm look on his face, as you sit and listen.

"Yeah. It's a poor prototype, I think he asked us to leave it alone? He said he'd deal with it." You shrug. "I've moved on to his requests for a tighter, stronger arm. You know I deal with hardware."

"Yes, but even so, the neural interface problem still persists. Otto's lying." Peter looks at the whiteboard, and sees that half of it is covered all over with erratically drawn diagrams and equations. It's fine, he knows he can write what he needs in that space.

"Okay, look." Peter begins drawing a diagram of the neural interface's circuitry. "See how the voltage is really high?"

"Yeah- but isn't that what Doc wanted?" You grimace. "Last time I brought up the voltage issue, he told me to mind my business and continue with soldering. He wants so much power for some reason."

"Right, that's what I'm talking about. Notice how Otto keeps having those outbursts?" Peter sighs, a deeply upsetting look overtaking him. "He's getting a bit aggressive as of late, and I think it's because he can't figure this out."

"You're telling me. Just yesterday he chewed me out for clocking in a bit late." You sniff. "Okay, I was fifteen minutes late, but still."

"I've been there, you don't even have to justify it." Peter laughs, and begins drawing squiggly lines. You can't help but notice how his strangely muscular arms are tense and visible through his lab coat as he scrawls, and you take a sip of your coffee, savoring the view. Looking isn't illegal, you try to rationalize, but you quickly banish these thoughts as Peter looks back with a sly glance, to make sure you're paying attention.

"This is the electricity flow... and it should be heading this way, but the neural interface is made incorrectly and the flow of energy is heading back this way... towards the-"

"The battery of the arms, not the interface." You suddenly realize, and take a scrap piece of paper off the desk, scribbling down notes. "Hmm... maybe the wiring used for the arms is absorbing too much energy? Or the batteries are too big?"

"Maybe, but neural interfaces are tricky business." Peter winces as Otto yells at something in the background of the lab. "I told Otto not to get too involved with it- it's far too easy to accidentally mess with your brain, and then suddenly you've got anger issues or worse-"

"Dementia." You finish his sentence with an equally grim expression. "Okay. I hear you, but how are we supposed to fix it, exactly? I can only think of using different, smaller wires, or a less cost heavy battery- but then it won't move at the speed Otto wants it to."

"Yeah." Peter's shoulders slump a little, and you feel bad. He's always just one dude trying to take on the entire world's problems.

"Peter, it's not your problem, really. You can only do so much- the man has made up his mind, he's going to have to take the brunt of the problem." You try to console him, but Peter has that determined Parker Pride you've seen far too often, and you know he's not going to let it go.

"Wait, wait. Okay..." Peter starts frantically drawing on the board, and seeing that he's running out of space, without missing a beat, begins to draw on the wall.

"Peter! You're drawing on the wall!" You admonish him, and to your shock and utter horror, but not to your surprise, he keeps going. "Now you've completely lost it- it'll take two seconds to erase the board-"

But Peter isn't listening, in that overly stubborn, inventor way that you know you've done before. He's too lost in his own thoughts, and you know that spark will disappear if he takes a moment to stop drawing.

"I'll clean it. It's fine. We got to get a move on." Peter points to the new diagram on the wall. "Look at this."

Peter's drawn a rudimentary depiction of the robotic arm prototypes you've built for Otto, but the battery pack has been split up into several, smaller batteries that extend over the course of the arms. Something about the way the arms move in Peter's drawings look a lot more... smooth, silky, like a cephalopod.

An octopus.

But you are amazed at Peter's capabilities, either way. "Using multiple different batteries, so the energy isn't drawn away from the neural interface in a great capacity?" You blink, a bit amused at Peter's eager expression. "It would work, I think, but only if Otto is willing for a slight decrease in power."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. We don't need to sacrifice power at all." Peter draws a set of gears, interlocking through the squiddy looking arm, and you clap your hands, clambering up out of your seat, finally enthused by his idea.

"Peter Parker, you genius!" You shake his arm excitedly, and he turns a bit pinker as he watches you, grinning. "Otto wanted the arm to be almost entirely synthetic material- but if it has rotating gears, the less it will jerk around. It'll be faster, smoother-"

"Thus requiring less power anyways, and less power will be redirected into his neural interface. And, hypothetically, no more angry Otto." Peter grins, and you smile up at him. "I mean, it'll still take some tinkering to figure out, but incremental improvements are still improvements, right?"

"Definitely. Plus we can always try to convince him about solar power again." You joke as Peter snickers.

Peter opens his mouth, about to say something to you, but he stares for a moment too long and hesitates, especially because in the nerdy excitement, he had gotten so close to you, and he was a liar if he said he had never checked out his cute co-worker. Any second now, you should be teasing as you usually do- but your eyes are wide and Peter gets the sense you've been swept up in this too.

He's never been so... close. He can make out individual eyelashes, tiny scars, imperceptible to normal people, but not to him.

And his phone buzzes with some kind of alert. He looks it over with bright, concerned eyes, while you take a moment to step back, much to Peter's mild irritation.

"Ah... must be MJ?" You ask, trying so very hard not to sound like a jealous girlfriend, just a curious colleague. You have nothing against MJ- you just feel that she and Peter are so meant for each other, and this is exactly why you've been trying to protect yourself.

Who are you kidding? You and Peter are both so busy- you'd never have time to be his doting, adoring girlfriend. You just have to remember him as a friend.

Already you feel the walls coming into place, your expression turning neutral, your heart becoming steely, when Peter looks at you again, surprised.

He can tell you're holding yourself back- and he doesn't like that. He wants you to come back to him, to be close with him again, and it drives him nuts that it has to be your choice, but he respects that.

"Not MJ. We broke up a while ago." Peter swallows, hoping he's saying the right things. "Uh... I don't think we're going to get back together. She's dating someone else now."

"Oh." You squeeze Peter's shoulder as comfortingly as you can. "Peter, I'm sorry. I would've been less of an ass if I'd known."

"No, don't be." Peter fixes a firm, kindhearted glance at you, taking your hands, the warmth of his own making you feel especially treasured. "You're great."

There's a teeny bit of hope working it's way into you, into your silly, girly heart despite all the steel around it, and Peter has a soft smile reserved just for you- you know that smile, you've seen it before when he comforts you when an experiment goes poorly, or when you've had a Eureka moment.

He rubs your hands. "Jeez, you're cold! I know women are usually freezing in the workplace- different body temperatures on average and all that- but I'm going to have to talk to Otto about making it warmer in here."

"Lest I die of hypothermia, right." You snort, and Peter snickers, but he still stays close, as if he's using this as an excuse. "Well, at least I have your hands."

Peter's phone buzzes again, another alert, which he apologetically takes a moment to read after letting go of you. Something about Fisk's thugs making their way through Grand Central Station- he shouldn't leave right now, but he can see your curiosity is piqued.

"Just a news alert. Nothing big." Peter lies, and you don't quite buy it, but you don't want to pry at this moment after he's complimented you and been so nice to warm up your hands.

Otto bursts through the entrance of the room, sighing.

"Will you two lovebirds stop canoodling with each other and test out the circuitry? You know, like I'm paying you to do so with very limited funds?" He barks, and then inhales. "Sorry. Just... try to stay on task. And I know you're young and all... but stop drawing on the walls!"

He leaves, grumbling about youth being too romantic and wishing they would understand sensibility.

You're about to refute whatever Otto said, so Peter doesn't feel uncomfortable, when he speaks first.

"I take it he isn't a romantic." Peter jokes as he grabs some paper towels, and you laugh, feeling that Peter's flirting was more genuine than you thought.

[moonlight-tmd]

Sorry for spamming you but au where minibots are treated like hell hounds from helluva boss servants at best and pets at worst. Many of them see the military as their only chance at a stable life though more often then not they end up treated more like police dogs than actual elite guard soldiers. Wasp is a "purebred" raised by a wealthy family where as bee is a street mutt.

That's very interesting...

See, I've seen many takes on minis being treated as "lower beings" on Cybertron. I would guess in this AU they are not taken as seriously as normal full-sized bots/cons, therefore the laws for them are kinda harsh- some of them end up as pets for some high-placed individuals, others become slaves. Scout frame minibots are often used in military as track houds or even kept as guard hounds in places with low security (just pack that smol boi with high voltage stingers and let them roam the outside).

Bee was a scout frame, so it was high chance he'd get into the military. Although he was less than welcome when Sentinel laid optics on him- Bee knew the look, one that many gave him on the streets; he was contemplating whether or not to keep Bee as his personal pet. Bee made sure to make him not think about it a second time in his training.

Many cadets and students treated him poorly- whether it was taking his belongings like he didn't own them or not letting him refuel properly at the cafeteria. He was one of few minibots there but there was one mini that stood out significantly.

Wasp. He wasn't taller than Bee but he certainly made up what his frame didn't give him with violence. He was feisty and even forced few of the students to be his "servants". He wasn't shy with bragging about his "family" and how powerful and wealthy they are- they practically bought him the training and Wasp barely did anything other than boss others around to do the job for him- a spoiled mech like Bee ever seen one.

Bee wasn't so lucky, as he grew up in carequarters before running away due to neglection thanks to his frame type. He wandered the cities and picked up some side jobs here and there- more often than not he worked with thieves or other minor criminals for some credits.

Still, even tho he managed to do fine on physical tests and courses, the other classes that required knowledge had turned out to be tougher than expected. He also found it unfair how Sentinel graded him lower than the rest even though he got all the courses right- Bee took it as "revenge" for not letting him touch him when he arrived.

From all the bots that mistreated minis, one stood out- the giant green mech who was known as Bulkhead and took the rumour of being the only one nice to everyone in the camp, including minis. Bee was lucky enough to meet him and even become friends with him, from then on Bee has some sort of protection around Bulkhead. Then Bulk introduced Bee to Longarm, Bee could almost feel like a normal mech around them, it was the first time someone has ever considered what he said important.

Of course, Wasp's spoiled rotten spark shined brightly with his character- he not only considered himself more important than the normal mechs but he also looked down on fellow minis just like one. Bee turned out to be one of the more attractive/cute ones therefore he got a lot of stares... Wasp wasn't happy that this "dirty street hound" took his attention and purposely targeted him in his bullying.

No one liked him and officers didn't even bat an optic at the stuff he pulled on other students, all courtesy of his family's money. Longarm had enough of this and already existing rumours had been edited to point at Wasp. As soon as it got out and placed evidence of it was found, not even his family with connections could help him- in fact Bee heard he got disowned as soon as he landed in stockades. Ouch... but Wasp deserved it.

He couldn't savor this little victory for long before Sentinel decided to invite himself into his assigned room to try and "claim" Bee for himself as a pet... the other officers didn't even let him speak and he was charged with attacking an overseer for "no reason" and kicked out. Luckily Bulkhead was kind enough to help him hide around camp until he graduated and got them both into a repair crew.

It wasn't what Bee had expected but at least he wasn't on the streets anymore. When he first saw the other bots he would be working with, he knew he'd have to prepare himself to be treated like lesser being again and knowing the captain was a former Prime he steeled himself for the worst... but to his surprise Optimus never made any move to claim him as a pet nor personal servant. Even if he was a "tracking hound" in the team, neither of the mechs treated him as such. In fact, Optimus specifically told him he didn't see Bee as a lower mech one time when he ended up injured and Ratchet took a long while to reach the both of them. So that was nice to know.

Then they met Prowl, another minibot (cuz i headcanon him as such, c'mon he's a motorbike) who's paintjob spoke for himself- another one from a wealthy family. Bee expected him to be as spoiled as Wasp, and he kinda met his expectation when he started complaing about his ship being destroyed and the crew taking so long to get back to Cybertron. Prowl was as pretty as he was deadly, it proved to be so when they ended up on a planet with not so friendly life forms roaming about. Bee hated to admit he was quite impressed with this.

I'm not quite sure what to write past that so i'll cut to the events on earth-

Decepticons, although more violent and law-neglecting, were open about differences and mechs and femmes of all shapes and sizes were treated according to how useful they were. Many minibots in their ranks took care of files or stationary tasks while warframes and bigger folks took the front in fights. If anyone took Bee seriously in fighting, it was the 'cons. Bee was lucky to have a guard hound job before so he learned few tricks to use on bigger bots.

Although it went to slag once Elite Guard found them. Sentinel once again laid eyes on him and Bee tried his best to stay away from him... Most of his time he stuck with Jazz out of all Elite Guard, who supposedly came from the same house as Prowl. He was a nice fella and also didn't view minibots as lesser than him. The Jettwins were on the thin line between fun and annoying- they loved to spend time with Bee and pull pranks with him but they also seemed to view him as more of a play pet than a mech.

Even tho Bee made it clear he wants nothing to do with Sentinel, the mech was persistent and often went out of his way to harass him. He even went as far as offering to pay Optimus to let him have the mini. Optimus, of course was disgusted at Sentinel's lack of morals and scolded him. One thing Bumblebee was grateful for once he heard the rumours of what happened. He couldn't imagine the dread of being someone else's possesion and being forced to do all sorts of things against his will or consent... the mere thought made him shudder.

He was lucky to be on Earth now.

[apriltempleos]

october 1st 2024: drafts!

preacher: i'm attaching slightly improved versions of our original drafts, but i'll also include mine and scott's garbage sketches under the cut because i think they're a little bit funny

(image id available through tumblr's accessibility options)

this is a slightly revised version of my original concept for "APRIL".

the main functionality i wanted for "APRIL" was for her to be able to read out words from the templeOS god word app, and ideally without needing keyboard input – hence the microphone. ideally all of her parts are going to fit inside a hollowed out mannequin or doll, which will probably just be the torso, so that she's more portable. for the same reason, i want her to run off a power bank – i want to be able to take her places!

if we manage, we're going to give her an animated LED face which moves to indicate when she's speaking. the way i first pitched it, i wanted it to also change a bit depending on how she "felt" – for example, frowning if the environment was hotter than ideal for the raspberry pi to operate on. but that's a bit beyond our current scope right now. i don't think we even ordered a thermostat.

scott drew the following wiring diagrams based off my original sketch. here revised digitally for readability's sake.

(image id available through the tumblr accessibility options although i fear it's not very good in this case. feedback appreciated).

scott: I decided to go with the raspberry pi zero 2w because it's what I've got experience coding on, it's relatively cheap for the "brains" of the operation (heh) and can perform both tasks from the godword prophecy generation, speaker operation and led matrix operation simultaneously. Plus its small enough to keep the circuit lightweight and fit inside the initial mannequin design.

This drawing fits no kind of engineering standard by the way lol. It was an initial sketch closer to a wiring diagram to see how it'd physically setup and wrap my head around transforming it from mains power to being theoretically portable and running on powerbanks. Unfortunately the LED matrix is really fucking power hungry so needs its own power supply of really specific voltage and current draws hence all the converters.

Also because Im using the smaller and cheaper pi, as oppossed to a stronger system like the pi4, it doesn't have any audio out jack so I plan to use the micro usb for audio out which means yet again I need another adapter for a soundcard and usb to micro usb adapters and all that jazz. Usually sound out can be done through the GPIO pins but the LED matrix takes so many pins that I cant really take anything form them so I had to look for other ways of doing it. Plus this way I get to add a soundcard so if we wanna add microphone support or anything later on we can :)

(Also this is all a little obtuse because I'm trying to do it as much as plug and play and screw terminal style as possible rather than actually solder connections for ease of access and initial setup, but this also works for modular design and component swapping later too so its cool.)

preacher: another reason we're going with plug&play is becauuseeeeee i don't own a soldering iron 😭 it's ok. it's ok.

our silly initial drafts under the cut for your viewing pleasure.

preacher: these were made around 2 weeks ago, so about september 15th ish.

as you can see the first "APRIL" drawing was beautifully drawn with my fat fingers in the facebook messenger photo editor. i think it holds up. lol.

[writers-wrongs]

Could you write yandere headcanons for Arkham Riddler x male reader? If you don't do Arkham then BTAS?

sure thing! so far ive only played arkham knight (didnt realize it was the last installment til i was halfway through the plot) so thatll be where im drawing from

yandere!arkham!riddler x male!reader

-now, eddie is 100% bi (fight me), so hes not surprised when hes into a guy

-he is, however, surprised that hes actually romantically interested in someone enough to keep an eye on him as he navigates gotham

-this man... is interesting? and intelligent? that cant be possible, everyone but edward is a dribbling moron!

-but here you are, solving a few of the riddles hes placed around the city. he cant let you take the trophies, theyre for batman, but now hes certainly paying attention

-a few months after he first notices you, youre just go about your day when you notice a neon green question mark down an alley. another one of those trophies! might as well solve the puzzle, even if you dont get to keep it

-you solve the puzzle and go to try and grab the trophy, not expecting anything but a slight shock, but youre instead knocked to the ground from the voltage

-you wake up in default gothamite mode: tied to a chair in the middle of an empty room. of course, it had to happen eventually. soon, the riddler himself comes in to speak with you

-"good, youre awake. if i had to beat myself in chess again, id go completely insane"

-and he... sits down. sets up a chessboard on the table in front of you, and unties your hands. you play, mostly out of fear, and while you dont win, you get pretty close

-he looks shocked and excited, with a dash of smugness

-"i knew you were the one. second smartest man in gotham- right after me, of course"

-he explains to you that hes not going to kill you, just keep you ("i cant let that mind of yours make direct contact with the idiocy of gotham! your IQ will lower just by being around them!") and that he'll keep that mind of yours sharp

-how does he do this? puzzles. lots and lots of puzzles. hes a bit of a sadist, so the puzzles are mandatory if you want things like food. regardless of how you do, he'll keep you alive, but if you want anything more than the necessities, you better get good with puzzles

-he spends lots of time with you. he says its because youre the only interesting person in gotham, but its mostly because hes an incredibly lonely man. its hard being at the top, so he'll cling to anyone who can even get close to what he sees as his level

-he LOVES learning more about you. not that he didnt research you for months, but he could only gather so much information before kidnapping you. every conversation is like an interrogation

-in terms of affection, hes... interesting. if you earn your dinner, hes programming robots to serve as waiters and dusting off his green suit. i wouldnt call him a romantic, per se, but he certainly thinks of himself as such

-dont expect much in terms of physical affection, he takes a while to get to that point. hes the riddler, after all! hes above the need to cuddle! unless... if you need comfort, he supposes he can indulge you

-if you ever try to escape, he'll be furious. how dare you try and leave! how dare you assume hes dumb enough to not have planned for this! until you apologize, youre getting the bare necessities and no attention

-when you inevitably start to reciprocate, hes smug about it, but secretly ecstatic. he knows hes not the most charming guy around, but he managed to win over the second smartest guy in gotham. and isnt that all he really needs for companionship?

[cosmokrill]

I know it's been exactly two days since I said that I would be taking a break, but I realized I never really got to elaborate on a few things regarding Noah (The Narrator) and Ford (Timekeeper)'s appearance in relation to their story, since relaxing for a bit has let me work on proper character stories a bit more.

Um... spoiler for (sort of?) partial nudity, they're full body sketches but rest assured, nothing explicit is showing, everything sensitive is covered up, and it's in no suggestive way! It's important because it does go in-line with their story.

And if I see any of you being weird about Ford again I will personally and publicly call you out on my blog

Stanley's being left out here, at least this time, because there's really nothing special about his appearance despite his goofy little dot eyes.

So, what are we looking at?

Noah has a partial-body scar across the left side of his torso and his left upper arm! Back when he was completely human (yes, he really was once fully human!) He attempted to fully dedicate himself to his writing and storytelling as a part-time author, in a world technologically advanced enough to have closed trial runs and proofs of concept when it came to an experimental machine that, in all aspects, was a bit like a sensory chamber mixed with full-body VR inside a computer and the Internet; the only thing separating it from modern tech was that it was a lot bigger and more clunky than the VR headsets we have in this day and age.

Being a man with a soul-sucking 9 to 5 who just barely got by on money to have a nice apartment and some comforts, but who didn't have enough spending money or the apartment space for the giant pods, Noah took to... well, building one himself. He had the blueprints and some experience in building things, how hard could it be?

Well... he certainly did build one. It was EXTREMELY unsafe, but he built one. Hooking himself up, he flipped the power switch without a test run and it had a bit of a shocking result, haha. To put it simply, he did manage to slip into the digital world, but his computer stationed at his left side experienced an electricity surge and completely fried his physical body beyond saving, represented by the scars on his digital self and a slight voltage in his body, enough to dimly light a bulb in his hand. It only takes a bit of appearance tweaking in the files to hide the scars, although they do revert if he's very emotional.

It's interesting to think of how he would've fared if Noah never uploaded his consciousness, but that's a story for another time. The only thing I'd say is that... he'd probably look like this!

Now that we have Noah out of the way, it's Ford time! One thing I never noted with their appearance, due to it being mostly covered up by clothes, is that they have fairly visible stretch marks. What, you really didn't think they were always 8'11", did you? In their "Pre-Parable" look, back when it was an office simulator running basic AI, Ford was much shorter, both in height and hair length.

Due to "unknown" circumstances, though, Noah panicked and tried to delete Ford's code, but the AI caused the files to corrupt in the background, still existing, causing rapid growth to start and their demeanor to become... well, the way it currently is. With the changes happening in such a short time, it's expected that they would have many growth marks to show for it. Their current form, as crazy as it is, is only very early in the corruption, so their body is going to get REALLY fucked up millennia from the story's present if they don't figure a way to keep a hold on it. And to add insult to injury, they blame The Narrator for it all.

What's fun is that, something I never realized until now, the discoloration on Ford's left half perfectly copies Noah's scars! That's fun!

...And if you're asking why I noted Ford having slight shoulder freckles... I just think they're cute, okay?

[seven-meds]

A few interesting Letters to the Editor published in various adult magazines between the 50s and the 90s. Transcripts and sources below:

1: Future Sex (Issue 6, March 1994)

I love your magazine. The articles are well-written, and it's refreshing to see adjectives other than the words "throbbing" and "turgid" being used. Bless you and your thesaurus as well.

I particularly enjoyed Kim Teevan's essay, "Self-Service" (Issue 4), but some of the terminology was used improperly. One woman commented on the power of her 12volt vibrator being powerful enough to bore her with men. Well, that may or may not be true, but it's not voltage that determines the output power of vibrators. (I am an electrician by trade so I'm quite familiar with how vibrators work.)

The "vibes" or "pulses" that come from a vibrator are dependent on its rate of electrical cycles, expressed in hertz. A really good vibrator will have a "rate of fire" of about 60-180 pulses per minute. That translates to about

1-3 hertz. Other good rates lie in the 3003,000 pulses per second range. If this sounds a little fast, don't worry about it. Three hundred to 3,000 hertz is the average frequency of the human speaking voice. It's a nifty little vibration but it doesn't carry as far as the electrically generated vibrations due to limitations in the body's ability to maintain a sustained tone.

If I can make a personal recommendation to heavy vibrator users, you can get about a 40% increase in output power on your vibrators by bypassing the resistors that send power into the vibrator itself. Just solder a little wire around them and you'll soon be able to come so hard you'll shatter windows all up and down your block.

Charles Harris San Francisco , CA

--

2: Night and Day (November 1952)

Dear Sir:

It's wonderful to pick up your magazine a letter from a fellow uniped such as Beth O. I, too, think it is about time we were being heard from. 1 am 27 years old, blonde and not bad looking at all. I lost my left leg at mid thigh in an automobile wreck. Also I have never been able to wear an artificial limb. I use one special crutch, and my boy friend says I get about as well as a girl with two legs. I wear a 6B shoe and would like to swap with any girl that wears that size. Maybe Beth O. wears that size.

I have been walking on crutches for over ten years, I play tennis, dance and bowl. Can anyone top that? I don't believe there is a one-legged girl in the world that can get about better on crutchés than me. I challenge all comers. It is quite a nuisance being one-minus, but as Beth said, it has its compensations. I haven’t bought any hose in years as my friends give me all their odd stockings. I am waiting with bated breath for your picture spread of us one-legged girls — might even send in one of mine if I can find a good one.

E.C. CONCORD, N. C.

--

3: Eqqus Eroticus (Spring 1997)

Dear Sir,

I’m a middle aged white male living in the Cleveland, Ohio area. I took an early retirement from the Federal Government over a year ago. But I stay in good physical condition by doing my exercises such as walking, bike riding and playing golf. So I can keep up with if not ahead of just about everyone my age and usually guys who are years younger.

I want to be a cart pony and I could be a cart pony, if only I knew of someone who could train me.

I have almost always been in control. I usually am in charge of what¬ ever I am involved in. At work, I was always the boss. Usually when I joined any club and social activities at some point I became the leader. That may sound great, but it is not easy being the one who has to make the decisions, to be the person people wait to hear from, to always be the responsible one.

Through it all or maybe because of it all, I have always had a suppressed interest in bondage. To “be” in bondage, that is. To be tied strapped, shackled or whatever into complete submission. But there was no one who could or would control me, and I still yearn for bondage. I want to know at the deepest level what it is like to be controlled, forced to respond to any whim of the person who controls me.

In my spare time I found a newsgroup that had all kinds of photos of people in bondage. What attracted my interest most was the pony girls, especially the cart ponies. They were totally controlled, physically and mentally. They weren’t just in bondage; they weren’t held in one position. They were forced to behave and obey just as their masters or trainers instructed them. They were in body harnesses, stiff high collars, with a bit in their mouths, and harnesses holding their heads just right. You might see them in a corral, practicing their gait. They might be shown in a stall, chained to a wall by their neck or ankle or pulling a cart with the whip ready to give them extra incentive to obey. They were always total slaves with no will or choice.

I want to be the one who is being trained as cart pony boy. Held by my reins in a stable or my bit secured above me, holding me straight as my trainer works on my gait. To know that the littlest mistake would be rewarded with a crack or two of the whip. A whip crack I have yet to feel. Taught patience by being left chained naked in my stall, to wait for whatever would come next. I even long to be the one locked to the cart, my head held high by collar and head harness, reins telling me where to go, proudly pulling my trainer. To know that when the trip was done I‘d be back secured in my stall, left alone to await my trainer’s next pleasure.

I’m not interested in appearing in public, or being in competition. I just want to experience what it is to live the training of a cart pony. Maybe out there somewhere is a trainer who would give me what I am looking for. I want this experience so much and I would be forever grateful. I’d prefer female, but since sex isn’t the object, a male would be acceptable. If there is anyone who would train me, they can reach me at my e-mail address shown below. Please help me fulfill my desires.

PonySlaveX@aol. com

--

4: Eroticon (Fall 1980)

Dear friends of Eroticon,

I read porno magazines secretly, because my husband would not like having such “dirty” things in the house. Couldn’t you show more close ups of the male models muscular buttocks? I also would like to see cocks being soft and nice before the erection. I would really love that!

Finally! A lady with desire. We shall try to get some of the models to overcome their vanity and show “him” in a relaxed state. I definitely agree with you — not only womens asses are tempting.

--

5: Divinity 7 (1994)

I am enclosing a cutting from the DAILY TELEGRAPH of the 8th September. This indicated the flogging of a bishop.

There are no details and I would be very interested to know more about it, there is no doubt that it was a severe thrashing, but the culprit did not need to have hospital treatment afterwards, and he was fit to sit and walk next day, therefore no real injury.

I think that many of us would like to have details, such as how was he dressed for the flogging, did he have pants and shirt on? Was he standing or laying down?

It would also be interesting to know the conditions for flogging in other countries like Pakistan, Arabia and Turkey, with descriptions of the faults for which one can be flogged.

A photo or two would be interesting or better still a video of an actual flogging in public or in private.

This being an item siutable [sic] for the DAILY TELEGRAPH, and the true record of a news event I would think that a video or photos would be quite OK and legal imports, am I right?

As you are In touch and a publisher, I would like to hear from you on this subject, you may already have information or know of videos available.

Douglas Finlayson Essex

--

6: Transformation (Issue 6, 1994)

Dear TRANSFORMATION,

| recently picked up your Magazine #2...it’s great! | like what I’ve read in your magazine, especially a story titled “Dominant Lady Turns Boyfriend into Crystal” on page 10. | have this fantasy...about a dominant lady dentist who has a thing about a trampy TV, and fetish PVC or latex clothing.

Sometimes | am the patient, all dressed in shiny PVC. Other times I’m the nurse, in a white PVC uniform, long blond hair and a shiny nurse’s cap. The dental equipment is an old belt-driven drill and a sit-up chair.

If possible, I'd like to get in touch with Karyn R. and Crystal. But anyone...please write me!

K. Johnson

--

7: High Heels (Vol. 2 No. 7, 1965)

Dear High Heels.

I would like to see more pictures of handicapped girls in high-heels... I am enclosing some of mine, showing my 6" heel—some also show my peg. I have other pictures showing me in 7" heels...

Thank You,

U.N.A.

[pseudowho]

Hello, Haitch! I was hoping we could discuss the extent of emotion or attachment towards fictional media? If the topic intrigues you as it has significant personal relevance to me 🤔

I just feel so intensely, so much, towards fictional media. Like it’s a tidal wave of emotion. For example, reading “Annihilation” has gotten my pulse skyrocketing and adrenaline rushing. It’s followed with the urge to have an in-depth book discussion with like a literature professor or something. Or when I’m reading your fics, I’m kicking my feet in the air and I have to pause to take deep breaths because, oh my goodness,oh my goodness, the room just got 10 degrees F hotter. Or when I read the lyrics to “Where our blue is” before bed, I legitimately woke up at 4:00 AM for no reason other than the feeling of emptiness. What did I do solve it? Listen and read the lyrics to “Akari” 💀💀 (Two skulls because I died twice that day.)

It’s strange because I do not have these strong reactions in my everyday life outside of reading and TV. I don’t find myself having the same level of intensity. If I were to describe the comparison of emotional reaction between life outside of media and my attachment to media, it’s almost like a parallel circuit. I will even draw a diagram below:

Voltage represents the intensity of emotions. Path A involves multiple resistors which represent the every day events outside of media. Here, each resistor has less voltage (less emotional reaction). Path B has only one resistor which represents fictional media I consume as a whole. There’s only one resistor which means it has LOTS of voltage, meaning that I experience more emotional intensity towards media than the events of day-to-day life. *Sigh.* What a terrible analogy. I do not know why basics physics came to mind.

I think a lot of my friends who I’ve confided in misunderstand me. This does not mean that I value the lives of fictional characters over my own life. (That’s not healthy.) I place equal importance in both aspects, and hence, that’s why I drew a parallel circuit! The same total amount of voltage travels through each path.

I value media because it’s an opportunity for me to immerse myself in something new, to be able to learn something I’ve never thought about before. It’s an opportunity to be able to empathize with certain characters, to change your perspective, to be able to apply what you have learned from media into real life. So while media and life outside of media seem like separate entities, they are— for me, personally— very connected. The lessons I intake from media combined with real-world experiences make up who I am. Two different paths, but it is still part of the same circuit. (I feel so cheesy for saying that 😂)

Before I’ve always limited myself to being just an observer, never actually participating in discussions. I’d keep my thoughts and feelings about whatever I read or watched to myself in a little notebook. (I have managed to use all the pages of that notebook!) Maybe visit forums or watch YouTube analysis videos and see what others have to say, but I never participated. Only recently have I felt this surge of intensity (borderline overwhelming). And because of this, I have the strong urge to express these ideas and feelings to people who get it and are happy to talk about it.

I mentioned this before, how you’re the reason I downloaded Tumblr and started participating in a community. And I sincerely mean it. It’s because of the fluffy and/or smoldering emotions that bombarded me because of your fics. It was too good, how could I not acknowledge how much positive emotions you 🫵 made me feel. Not only because of how indulgent and engaging (😏) your fics are, but because of how you imbue the essence of Nanami Kento himself into it (and you deny being a goat 🐐). And this prompted me to think more critically about why I admire Nanami Kento, which led to very blissful discussions of Nanami and more character analysis!

This is why I feel an enormous amount of gratitude towards the community. Especially you, @mrhaitch, and @rahuratna. For being open to talk to, for having genuine interest in these in-depth conversations, and for taking the time and effort out of their day to be so thoughtful. It’s very, very meaningful to me.

*This ask has undergone two rounds of revision. I hope it’s comprehensible-ish? 🥹

It's absolutely comprehensible, and a delight to read. Thank you. I adore it.

So, I am speaking as someone who's neuromild, but firstly I suspect you're neurospicy. This isn't an issue, but I have seen and heard this reported much more amongst the neurospicy, especially those with a tendency to hyperfixate on media forms, who perhaps find it slightly more difficult to read and relate to others in 'real life' situations. I only raise this as a contextual element to my upcoming Thoughts™️. I, as a neuromild, also experience it though (just to reassure you).

Characters in books, and the storylines attached to them, are 100% designed to be relatable or repulsive, and to provoke a certain reaction in you. It is structural, deliberate, mapped, with signposts showing you the way. There are even side paths mapped out; you can take detours down trails to explore the reactions of others to this character and scenario, the wider societal impact of events, the past or the future related to these characters or events. Characters and situations are very often explored extremely thoroughly, with just the right terrain to lead you by the hand through how you should feel.

Daily life and daily interactions and daily demands are rarely so well mapped, extensive or well signposted. The ground is tarmacked, genuine emotion suppressed behind facades of social expectation. People won't tell you or show you how they feel, or think, and there is no omniscient narrator behind them to fill in the blanks. Side routes have no-entry signs; you must be Level 10 or over to access this information! You don't want to walk this path, but it's the only route available, and as such, you must; and your disappointment at being on this path makes you look at the ground instead of the sky.

We yearn for connection. We yearn for the power to resolve our own problems and to be the masters of our own story, and at every turn we are corseted by societal restraint, daily tedium, and barely 10-20% of the volume of information and stimulation that media forms will give us. And when our brains cannot work out the difference between adoring real life characters and scenarios, and adoring fictional characters and scenarios, it goes for the bigger meal; why have 10-20% when you could have 100%?

Even worse! Your feet ache and your heart aches, and new paths appear, leading you to fandom and other people who are enjoying this journey as much as you. You can't resist, a glutton for more; why have 100% when you can have 120%? And people aren't writing fanfiction about real life. If they do, it's fiction, and while it's juicy it's still not as satisfying as fantasy, which offers so much more.

This holds hands with your voltage theory, I think.

Again, I say this as a neuromild instead of a neurospicy, but I am guilty of this too. I do often feel greater intensity of emotion for fictional scenarios because they are designed to be that way. When you have a vivid imagination, and are intelligent, as clearly you are, that stimulation sends fireworks through you. You are absolutely alight, every nerve stimulated, and the emotion just fizzlepopping through you.

I don't believe you're 'abnormal', but it is always good to self-reflect. Are fictional scenarios and media forms reducing your ability to enjoy/feel things for real people and daily life, or do you enjoy/feel things for real people and daily life as much as you always did? Think carefully now. The relative hugeness of the things you feel for fictional scenarios may, at first, convince you that it's the former, and convince you that you're slowly becoming numb to life. If you work out that it's the latter, and you are not becoming numb to life, then this sounds like a healthy, if extreme, response to media forms. If you're gradually becoming more numb, we need to address the root issues, mental health worries or life/social dissatisfaction or need to escape something pathologically unaddressed, often being the answer.

I often feel different. I often feel like I connect to emotion harder and more viscerally than the people around me. I am a social chameleon, and exceptionally good at being whatever a social situation wants me to be. @mrhaitch understands what lies underneath, and gets to experience me as I am at base. I often spend so much time being another version of myself, that I forget who I am, and have to come back to myself.

I tend to suppress or limit my involvement, because I like taking the overview, allowing my feelings and opinions to develop as new information comes to light. I am self-possessed over my own opinions and their ability to grow and change, and as such, don't feel pressurised to feel a certain way. I don't feel the need to engage in fandom rhetoric, and actually, I strongly dislike engaging with it; this is as close as I'll get. Being a 'creator' suits me well. I almost never discuss my thoughts and feelings about series' etc aloud, in comments or real life. I'd discuss it, if prompted, but I certainly don't seek it out.

There is also the core part of me that needs/wants to maintain a certain image in real life, and as such, most people don't know that I'm even into anime. The barest couple of people, I can count on one hand, know that I even write. I'm fine with this; I am perfectly happy to conceal parts of myself, that belong to me alone, with my long-suffering husband as a privileged/punished bystander.

I think extreme emotional connection to media forms can show good empathy. I would overall be more concerned about someone who does not show deep emotional responses to media forms that are designed to make them feel this way. I believe that progressive societal numbing to emotion is routinely seen in daily life, and begins in childhood; how many of us recall being told that our emotional reactions are abnormal, irregular, over the top or embarrassing? We learn to suppress, early on. This leaks out, and we suppress more and more as we grow, becoming number and number to the struggles of those around us. Progressive degradation of empathy is real, and we can and should resist.

r.e. my writing, and me, though I viscerally hate to discuss my personality like this: I can acknowledge two traits I have; I am eloquent with a broad vocabulary, and I am very good at making other people feel how I want them to feel. This counts for real life and writing. This is good, and bad, and I try very hard not to be the Evil™️ version of myself. I write with an aim, and I like critical hits. I'm a perfectionist and I always have been. I'm sorry to hurt you in this way. I usually use this socially (not consciously, it's just how I am) or at work, where I advocate for women and make sure they feel loved and safe. I'm quite good at it. Channelling this into creating stories for other people to enjoy has been an ability I didn't know I had until very recently.

I agree that @rahuratna is a very rare talent. Arguably, I find her to be an exceptionally uncommon author. She would do very, very well to write a novel, if she ever felt it. Her writing skill is phenomenal. I only wish I had more time to read all of her work; I sadly find myself having to choose how to spend the very limited social time I have, and I often choose writing, as it relaxes me more than reading. But please know, rahuratna, I'm coming for you. Also know, @bunny584 is one of the rare ones, I'm my humble opinion.

Perhaps that's why you like my writing? Just thoughts.

Thanks for the amazing Inbox. I don't often get the time to do massive responses but I absolutely try my hardest.

Good talk!

Love, always,

-- Haitch xxx

[yukidragon]

Remember that pic that voltageous Posted of Jack all angey. Do you think Alice would ever be in similar situation like that? Btw I love your character Alice and all the headcanons and stories that make!

Aww! Thank you so much! I'm really happy that you enjoy my writing, ideas, and Alice. 💖

I presume you're talking about this lovely picture, right? Jack's pose is very appealing, but his expression in particular is striking. Between that, the composition of the scene, and the lyrics, a story is being told that has sparked so many thoughts.

I actually made a short thread on twitter discussing Alice and this picture's scenario. I think this is the perfect opportunity to expand on that idea with a bit of a ramble, and maybe do a bit of writing.

Quick reminder that this fandom is for Adults Only. Mature topics will be discussed like sex, cheating, and such.

In that spirit, let's really look at the picture and talk about it, shall we? I think the main thing that really caught my, and a lot of other people's attention is the look Jack is giving the person standing in shadow in the doorway, presumably MC. We've never seen Jack actually show such an angry expression to his sunshine outside of fan art.

I mean look at that face. Jack is glaring daggers, at his sunshine no less! That is the look of a lover betrayed by their cheating partner if I ever saw it. Sauce does great work with their art and expressions. Full credit goes to them as always for their awesome work.

Speaking of which, consider joining the SnaccPop Studios patreon for more cool art that they haven't shared on twitter. Just remember not to share anything that's privately posted there.

Something I actually only noticed when really looking at Jack's face in close up, he has a slight distortion going on similar to what was applied to his sprites earlier in development. You can really see it in the slight blurring of his red marks.

As was mentioned on the official tumblr, Jack can touch and interact with things the more attached he is to his sunshine. In the demo, Jack picking up MC and making food is treated as a new development, showing how close they've become. MC can't touch him anymore when they distance themselves from him in the "no" route. When they could choose to "not make things weird" and keep Jack at arm's length emotionally, he started to feel cold and distant from them even though he was holding them close.

It was mentioned that Jack was given an intentional 3D/VHS distortion in earlier builds, which I think was to further emphasize that he wasn't quite real. MC is the one making him more real with their love and attachment. I suspect that the blur would've lessened and disappeared altogether as he became more real.

So now we see Jack with a hint of that distortion, glaring angrily up at the person casting a shadow over him in a darkened room. I think we can all guess this is supposed to be MC, and the lyrics give us a very strong hint as to what's going on here and why he's so upset.

It would seem that this picture is implying that MC was out all night at another love interest's place, likely having sex with them. They're choosing someone else to love, and Jack is probably barely keeping himself together as their attachment towards him wanes.

Jack has every reason to be pissed off in this scenario. Not only does this put him at risk, but this would make MC a cheater in the "yes" route. It's debatable if they would be one in the "no" route, since they did have sex, but it would no doubt still sting even if MC just regarded him as a friend with benefits.

It can leave Jack feeling hurt and betrayed. Remember how he questioned what more he could be doing in the "no" route? This is even worse. He tries to give MC everything - his love, patience, understanding, acceptance... even physical pleasure if that's what they want. Even still, they chose someone else to have sex with, showing even that wasn't enough to keep them.

So, yeah, this seems to be Jack having trouble remaining in MC's life while also feeling hurt and betrayed by them... and no doubt possessive and dangerous.

The lyrics might ask where MC was last night, but given Jack's supernatural abilities, I suspect that he knows exactly where they were, who they were with, and what they were doing... or rather who they were doing instead of him.

I suspect that Jack can go greater distances than a normal person can by walking while using his supernatural abilities. He might be able to track down MC or others he's targeted even at a distance. After all, he was haunting Nick for a while with those nightmares. If MC didn't come home one night, I'd expect Jack would go out looking for them.

MC probably got swept up with another love interest while Jack was at home waiting for them. They were late, so Jack went looking for them... and found his worst nightmare. He could've confronted them there and then, tried to stop them from what they were doing, but, as we've seen in the demo, when other people are taking MC's attention away from Jack, he has a difficult time bringing it back to him until they're alone or unless he exerts a little more pressure like the yes/no choice.

Given the situation, MC might have been way too distracted by their lover to even notice Jack... and I'm sure that it was emotionally devastating to Jack.

So Jack goes back to the apartment. He waits for MC, tries to figure out what to do, but he's hurt, betrayed, panicked... What more can he give them? What more can he do for them? What more do they want from him? What can that other man give them that he can't? He has to do damage control, make them feel the need to make it up to him and want to be closer to him, but he's also hurt.

Jack can't even confront the rival at that moment while they're with MC. His sunshine might see. Even if his jealousy and betrayal might make him not care, he can't risk them wanting him to go away.

So Jack waits for MC to come back, to confront them. No doubt he'll play his few remaining cards of guilt for leaving him behind and forgetting him for a night, while struggling to keep himself together, both emotionally and metaphysically.

Finally, when MC comes home the next day, it's to the scene in the picture.

Now... with all that said, considering how I've repeatedly stated that Jack and Alice are my OTP and I want to give them a happy ending in Sunshine in Hell... I think you can guess that this cheating scenario isn't going to happen between Alice and Jack, hahaha.

I did a post before about what a fight between Alice and Jack might look like, and how far it might go. It's very unlikely that it's going to go as far as what Jack's face is telling us here with all that anger he's showing, especially for such an implied awful reason.

For one thing, Alice wouldn't cheat. She wouldn't do it even before Ian cheated on her and showed her just how much it hurts to be cheated on. She also wouldn't be having sex outside of a relationship. Alice is on the aro/ace spectrum. On top of that, she has issues when it comes to sex. Between SA trauma and her first and only consenting sexual partner being, shall we say, less than attentive to her needs... she isn't interested in sleeping with people after the breakup with Ian. She needs to take it slow in order to trust a partner enough with that level of physical and emotional intimacy.

For Alice, sex with another person is something she can only do with a partner that she loves with the intention to make them happy and feel good. Sure she enjoys masturbation, but when other people have been involved, the sex has been, well... not great. The primary satisfaction she got from sex with Ian was his pleasure. Sadly, he never managed to make her orgasm, and it was actually uncomfortable and painful for her at times. She really did herself a disservice not advocating for her wants and comfort, but she didn't want to make Ian feel bad for a poor performance when it was too easy to hurt his feelings. Really, their troubled, one-sided sex life and lack of open and honest communication are a couple big reasons why her relationship with Ian deteriorated like it did.

I've mentioned before in some past posts, but the sexual intimacy Alice shares with Jack is going to start off slowly, and only after they're together in a romantic relationship. Because he takes her needs and comfort into account, she's pleasantly surprised to discover that sex with her partner actually can be pleasant, especially with a partner who makes sure she has multiple orgasms, and her libido increases as a result.

However, this newfound interest in having sex only applies to Jack, since Alice falls into the demisexual part of the ace spectrum. She loves him, and he's her partner. He makes her feel safe and good enough to actually want and enjoy sex.

If someone else hit Alice up for a one night stand, that would be a big pile of "NOPE!" from her. Even a friend propositioning her would make her feel wildly uncomfortable. She's just not comfortable with casual sex or sex without romantic attachment. Without that deep emotional connection of love, trust, and intimacy, sex is something intimidating and unwanted for her.

While I did consider a what if scenario where Alice and Shaun get together, that was a slow burn that took a long time for Alice to trust Shaun that intimately, and she never even knew of Jack's existence. How he would be as a lover and how that would affect her relationship with sex would be speculation best left for another post.

Jack isn't about to give Shaun or anyone else a chance to win Alice's heart when he's around, and with how much he fulfils her needs emotionally, she doesn't feel the need to consider getting into a relationship with anyone else.

Would Alice potentially get together with Nick if circumstances were right? No idea. I'd have to see more of how he interacts with others, especially his partner. I do know that him asking her out at work made her wildly uncomfortable and was definitely working against him. It's hard to say if it could work out between the two in an AU, even without Jack around.

Would Alice ever sleep with Ian again, even if just "for old time's sake" or "to say goodbye" and end things between them for good? Oh hell no. The only enjoyment she got out of sex with Ian was making him feel good because she loved him and trusted him with that level of intimacy. Needless to say, the trust is gone. Even after she tried forgiving him for cheating, she couldn't handle sex with him anymore. Ian is never getting into Alice's pants ever again.

That's all to say that even though Alice might improve her relationship with Ian, stay good friends with Shaun, and possibly befriend Nick if things go favorably... she's not going to think about sleeping with any of them, and certainly not with someone she doesn't know at all. Even then, she wouldn't even consider cheating on her partner.

So this situation of Jack waiting for Alice to come home, furious and upset that he caught her cheating, just isn't going to happen.

It would take a lot to make Jack angry with his sunshine, and I can't think of anything Alice would do to provoke that sort of glare from him.

Now, with all that said, would there be a scenario where Alice didn't come home one night and made Jack worry about where she was... maybe even worry about what she might be doing and who she was doing it with? I think so. Some places don't have landline phones, and Alice can't afford a second cell phone for Jack, so if she winds up unable to go home, she can't call him to let him know. It certainly provides some potential for drama... especially when Alice has a chronic illness that sometimes flares up beyond what her medication can handle.

So, as I said in the twitter thread, it sounds like a scenario just begging to be written out in a flashfic, so how about we do that now, shall we? Funny enough, as I was writing it, I wound up with something of a sequel to a previous flashfic I wrote a little while ago. I hope you enjoy this piece of hurt/comfort fluff between Jack and Alice!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

...

Alice was late. She should have been home over half an hour ago. The dinner Jack made with love in anticipation of her return had already gone cold.

Jack tried not to let the ticking of the clock get to him. He tried not to overthink what it could mean. He tried to ignore the twisting inside his gut that kept him looking at the clock despite himself. It hadn’t been that long since Alice was supposed to be home. It wasn’t strange to be a little bit late like this. After all, that gosh darn manager of hers was always springing overtime on her after she was supposed to clock out, or she had to stay longer to clean up some mess Carol left behind for her to take care of.

But Alice wasn’t at work. She wasn’t a mere ten minute walk away. She left in her car after lunch, saying that she had errands to do without ever telling him exactly what those errands were.

Like a fool, Jack let her go anyway. He let her kiss distract him from asking questions. Her, “I love you,” left him feeling too happy and flustered to think too much about why she wanted to go alone. She promised to be home in time for dinner, but that promise had been broken half an hour ago.

Jack wished that he could call Alice and check on her, find out what was keeping her and when she was coming home to him. He had her cell phone number memorized, but he didn’t have one of his own that he could use to call her, and the apartment had no landline phone.

Where was Alice? What were the errands that kept her away from him? Why was she late? Jack could kick himself for not getting a straight answer before she left, or for not trying harder to go with her. She could be anywhere by now, be with anyone.

Including that darn Ian.

The nightmare from the night before flashed through his mind. Jack could still vividly remember the helplessness he felt trapped behind the screen as Alice kissed Ian and professed her love for the fake pretending to be him. The memory made his insides twist into knots.

Jack gave himself a hard mental shake. “What am I thinking?” he muttered under his breath, chiding himself for the very thought. It was almost as if he was suspecting Alice of cheating on him. That was absurd. How could he, Sunny Day Jack, think something like that of his sunshine? Sunny Day Jack didn’t get jealous or possessive of anyone, and he certainly wouldn’t suspect his beloved sunshine, the sweetest and kindest person in the world, who loved him just as much as he loved her, on the basis of her simply being out late.

He wasn’t a fake pretending to be Sunny Day Jack like Ian intended to do with that farce of a reboot that lied about being the first and only SunnyTime Crew Show.

Ever since Jack heard about the show and Ian’s part in it, he had been on edge, and the nightmare he experienced didn’t help. The only bright spot in everything was Alice. He still vividly remembered the way she comforted him that night, promising to always be there for him as she held him close and sang the sweetest song to soothe away all his woes and worries.

So why wasn’t she here now?

“I better check to see if she’s okay,” Jack mumbled to himself. He promised to be there when Alice got home, but she also promised to be home forty-five minutes ago, so it was only fair.

…

A rest stop was far from an ideal place for a woman traveling alone to lie down in her car, but at least it beat pulling over at the side of the road in the middle of the desert. Unfortunately, Alice didn’t have a lot of options at the moment. At least the tinted windows blocked prying eyes as effectively as they did the scorching Texas sun.

Pain tore her attention away from potential threats outside the car and turned her attention inward. Alice bit back a whimper, instead hissing ragged breaths through gritted teeth as she did her best to ride through the intensifying sensation of jagged blades cutting and twisting through her insides. The pain rolled in like the tide until it flooded her senses and made her eyes sting with tears, leaving her helpless but to wait for it to recede again to something a little more bearable.

Eventually the pain lessened, at least enough that her breathing came a little more easily. Still, Alice took care to move as little as possible from the reclined front seat while she carefully lifted up the cell phone that she held in a death grip. Through watery eyes she saw that ten minutes had passed since she took her medicine.

Only ten minutes. Fuck. It was going to be at least twenty more before Alice started noticing any real difference. She wished that she had better, faster acting painkillers for these attacks, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

Shit. It had been weeks since Alice last had an attack like this. Why did one have to happen while she was out on her own like this? Why couldn’t it happen at home? At least there she wouldn’t be alone and so vulnerable. At least Jack would be there to take care of her.

Alice was supposed to be home almost an hour ago. If it wasn’t bad enough that things had dragged on way longer than she anticipated, her chronic illness decided to flare up at the worst possible timing - right when she was driving down the middle of the highway. It was all she could do to force herself to keep driving until she was someplace at least relatively safer to park.

“Fuck,” Alice hissed as she carefully lowered the phone, wincing how even speaking made her insides twinge in pain. Jack was probably worried by now, and she couldn’t even call him. She was too used to having him always around; she never considered something like this happening. She could kick herself for taking for granted that it had been so long since her last attack.

Helplessly, Alice couldn’t do anything but wait for the medicine to take the edge off the pain. As another intense wave rolled over her, it was all she could do not to give in to the instinctive urge to double over as pain tore through her insides without mercy. She knew well from experience that any pressure on her abdomen would only make this hell even worse. She clawed instead at the seat’s cushion and her thigh in a desperate attempt to distract herself from the pain as she tried to keep her breathing even.

I wish Jack was here.

“Alice?”

Alice flinched at the sound of her name. For a moment, she thought that she only imagined it, but that unmistakable voice came again from just outside the car.

“Alice?” Jack repeated a little louder this time, his worry only increasing. He could feel Alice’s pain leaking through their connection even before he saw the agony twisted in her expression through the car’s tinted window. “Are you okay? Can you unlock the door?”

Relief washed over Alice almost as intense as the pain as she realized that Jack really was there. She tried to keep her movements minimal as she dropped her phone on the center console beside her car keys before pushing the unlock button.

No sooner than Jack heard the click than he threw the door open and leaned inside, practically covering her like a blanket, though he was careful not to put any of his weight on her. “Don’t worry, sunshine, I’m here.”

“Jack…,” Alice forced out through ragged breaths, her voice cracking with pain. “I-I’m s-sor-”

Jack shushed her gently. “It’s okay.” He touched her cheek delicately, afraid of making things worse. “You don’t have to talk if it’s too hard for you right now. I’m not going anywhere, sunshine. Don’t worry… I’ll take care of you.”

Alice held her fist up and bobbed it up and down, which Jack recognized her as signing, “Yes.”

Jack managed a small but encouraging smile at that. “Is it your illness acting up again?” When Alice nodded her hand again, his heart went out to her. He knew about her chronic illness, particularly that it couldn’t be cured. Her medicine managed it most of the time, but sometimes it wasn’t enough to stop an attack from leaving her debilitated. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Alice grimaced and brought two fingers up before bringing them down on her thumb in a definitive, “No.”

“I see… that’s good at least,” Jack said, the words coming out in nearly a sigh of relief. “Do you need me to bring you any medicine?” Another negative indication. “I see… You took some already, is that right?” A nod of her fist. “Good, good… Then we’ll just wait here until you’re feeling better.” When her fist moved again in the affirmative, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere.”

Alice returned the gesture, but her gentle squeeze quickly turned into a crushing grip as the pain intensified again. She forced herself to release him, but Jack refused to let her go and placed his other hand to secure her grip on him.

“It’s okay,” Jack said soothingly. “You can keep squeezing me if you need to. If it helps you deal with the pain, you can squeeze as hard as you like.” He offered her a lopsided smile that would have been more playful if his eyes weren’t so filled with concern for her. “Don’t worry, I can take it.”

Reluctantly, Alice tightened her grip on his hand again until her knuckles turned white as she rode through the latest wave of pain. When she could breathe a little more easily, her hold on him slackened, and her mind began to focus on the situation.

How did Jack find her? How did he get here? She was in the middle of nowhere, miles from home. Was this part of his supernatural abilities too?

Upon remembering where they were, Alice felt a shiver run through her, and her eyes darted to the darkened parking lot. She could see Jack with her, someone big and imposing, but anyone who happened to come by would only see a vulnerable short woman lying down in her car, illuminated by her car light. It was practically an invitation to rob her, steal her car, or worse. Could Jack stop someone if they decided to take advantage of the situation?

Jack caught the frightened thought right away. “Hold on, let me get inside.”

Just like that, the car was soon locked and dark once more, with Jack seated in the now reclined passenger seat so that he could be as close to Alice as possible. He took her hand in his and with the other hand he stroked her forehead, brushing sweat and strands of her hair away from her watery eyes.

“There now,” Jack said, his voice soft and soothing. “You’re safe here with me, Alice. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen to you. We’ll wait here until the medicine starts working. When you feel ready to go, I’ll drive us home.”

Alice furrowed her brow before deliberately raising her eyebrows as she pointed at Jack.

Jack chuckled as he caught the simple signed question. “Yes me, silly. You’re in no shape to drive, and you need to rest. We’ll switch seats as soon as you’re feeling a little better.”

Alice frowned a little, as what she wanted to say required too much movement for her to accurately convey her meaning without the risk of causing the pain to intensify.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to, as Jack picked up on her fears immediately. “Don’t worry, it’s too dark for anyone to see who’s driving the car.” He paused to chuckle. “Or ‘not’ driving.” He bent down to kiss her forehead and smooth the furrows from her brow. “You don’t need to worry about anything like that. All you need to focus on right now is feeling better.”

Alice sighed at the gentle kisses he pressed upon her flushed skin, though her breathing was still ragged and harsh. She nodded with her fist again as she focused on Jack, his gentle presence soothing her far more than the medicine.

Jack leaned back just enough to see his sunshine’s face. He wanted to hold her close, but he knew about her condition, particularly how pressure on her abdomen, especially in the wrong spot, could make it so much worse. It made him careful how he touched her, softly stroking her brow and letting her squeeze his hand until the pain subsided.

When silence settled in between them, Alice grunted. She wiggled her fingers in front of her mouth before pointing at Jack and raising her eyebrows.

Jack nodded in understanding as he smiled gently at her. “Of course, sunshine. I can talk as much as you want. Don’t worry about needing to respond either. Just focus only on me and my voice. Don’t pay attention to anything else.”

Alice squeezed his hand again, but gently and intentionally this time. His voice, soft and smooth, flowed over her like water on a burn. It didn’t magically make her pain disappear, but hearing him talking to her and feeling his gentle touches grounded her, reminding her that she wasn’t alone and vulnerable. She had Jack with her now.

“That’s right, Alice,” he said. “I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you, sunshine.” Gently, he dabbed away at the wetness that still lingered in her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. I promise, I’ll always take care of you… forever.”

As the pain started to ebb again, Alice managed a weak smile. She held up a hand in a particular gesture that made Jack’s heartbeat quicken when he realized what she was signing.

“I love you too, Alice,” Jack said before pressing a soft kiss on her lips, which she weakly returned. “I love you so much, Alice… my sunshine.”

The pain radiating from Alice was horrible, and it took all of his acting skills to make sure that she didn’t realize that Jack felt it too. He could feel it even more clearly with how close they were like this, but he refused to leave his sunshine to suffer alone. The worst part was that he was sure that the pain he felt at that moment was only a fraction of what she was experiencing.

“You’re so strong,” Jack said, his voice hushed with admiration. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed her forehead again and was rewarded with a soft, but pleased sigh from her in return. “That’s it, just focus on me. You don’t have to face this alone anymore. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Alice squeezed his hand again in gentle affirmation as she closed her eyes to focus on his soothing voice and gentle warmth.

Despite the situation, relief washed over Jack, and he could feel some of the same emotion coming from Alice as well. A small pang of guilt crept in underneath it, but he hid such feelings from her. She didn’t need to worry about the irrational fear he had before, that silly split-second when a part of him feared the worst, no matter how impossible that was. It felt laughable now to think that this precious ray of sunshine in front of him could’ve been doing anything as awful as cheating on him, not when he could practically taste her love and gratitude for him as clearly as the pain that - mercifully - was starting to wane.

Jack knew that it was silly to let some stupid nightmare influence him like this, no matter how awful it was. Alice didn’t deserve to be suspected of such a thing, not even for an instant, and especially not during a time when she was suffering so much. She needed him. For as much as he hated that she was suffering, he couldn’t help but feel relieved by that simple truth.

A flash of inspiration struck Jack, chasing away his gloomy thoughts. “Oh! I know. How about I sing a song for you? Would you like that, sunshine?”

Alice opened her eyes again and answered with a soft smile and another bob of her fist.

“Now how did it go…?” Jack turned his eyes up towards the roof of the car as he thought back to the song Alice sang for him. He didn’t remember the first part, but he could improvise, making up new lyrics for the same sweet melody that she shared for him. It was their song now, in his mind, and he made sure to let his sunshine know with his version of the lyrics that he would be here for her no matter what storms and pain may come to help her shine bright with happiness.

Alice couldn’t help but smile crookedly as Jack changed the song, but somehow she liked his version better. She made a mental note to tell him later when she felt well enough to speak again. For now though, she let his gentle voice cast its soothing spell over her, filling her with love and slowly chasing away the pain.

Jack continued to sing until he was certain that Alice had fallen asleep. He pressed another sweet kiss to her forehead and used his influence to make sure that she wouldn’t wake up until she was safely back home in bed with him.

“Sweet dreams, sunshine.”

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 1 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY: A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 1: “Frequency”

WORD COUNT: 5,118

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Mentions of suicide, mental illness, rape, and self harm. Foul language. Mentions of sex, or sexual innuendos. 

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments or concerns. 

This is introductory, we do not meet Soldier Boy just yet. Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors.

Masterlist

I was pumped full of V at Vought Laboratories when I was born. My mother took a thousand dollar bribe for some dope in exchange for her newborn daughter. They placed me in a NICU unit, hooked my veins up, and hoped for the best. 

The scientists were worried at first. I showed no physical symptoms of compound V. There were no laser eyes, no fire aura, no electricity flowing from my fingertips. They kept their tabs on me. Ran test after test. Colic. They said I had colic. I cried over everything. There was no consolation. They thought I was a lost cause. Ready to pretend like this test subject never existed. A late term abortion ex-utero. Thank God a few of the doctors started catching on. 

It was door slams. Creaking floors. Burners boiling. Cleaning supplies. Microwave lunches. Music from a few floors down. The overhead lights. Open windows. High blood pressure. A baby crying. Tuna fish sandwiches. Bleh. Spoiled milk. Fireworks. Gunshots from the Police Academy in upstate New York. Ship horns. Cigarette smoke. Low blood sugar. An earthquake in Siberia. Nuclear detonation testing in the Pacific ocean. Car horns. Rush hour. 

See, they didn’t notice my abnormalities because they weren’t seen by the naked eye. They weren’t paralyzing mind tricks. Compound V took every ounce of my five senses and shot them up with gasoline, tequila, adrenaline, cocaine. A high voltage defibrillator to my nervous system. As if my sinuses were stapled open. As if my eardrums were plucked out by tweezers. I heard everything, even with my ears plugged. I saw everything, even with my eyes closed. I tasted everything, even with my mouth shut. I was everything, everywhere, all at once, and for an infant, that can be overwhelming. 

As I grew older, I was still kept in the lab until they were fully aware of my capabilities. Until they had studied every strand of DNA in my body. 

I didn’t have super strength, I didn’t have superpowers. They made sure of that. One time they strapped me to a chair, sticking ekgs on my chest. I passed out before they could even run a test. I could never stand velcro. 

Frequency is what I was called. My supe name, at least. They called me Freaq for short. Which I guess if you think about it, isn’t really a lie.

My hearing was my most valuable asset. What’s this radio frequency? They’d ask. Can you make out the voice in this? Is this a bomb or just a backpack? Listen in on this meeting. I need collateral. We have to know everything that’s said. Is this person lying? Is that person lying? Keep in mind, these were the tasks I was given at around six or seven. It was easier for them then too because I was so small. I would slide into the air vents and stay as quiet as I could, absorbing as much information as possible. I’d spew it back to them like a pawn.

Teen years the work really started. They’d be strong in their threats to others. People would get hurt. People would have their lives ruined. I’d spy on them for weeks, getting all the information I could. Listening in on their most intimate conversations. Their most profound, and personal moments. I’d spew it all back to Vought. And they’d use what I’d told them as collateral.

Thanks to my hearing, thanks to my sight, I was able to snipe better than any experienced veteran. I never even needed to use the scope. For the most part I would snap my fingers, or click my tongue, and sense the vibration of the objects around me. I’d shoot whatever I needed to right between the eyes. Everytime.  To this day I still can't get the sound of hot, metal rounds, piercing through brain matter out of my head.  Me stealing the life of a defenseless victim who unluckily got caught up in the mess. Even when I plugged my ears, screaming, nothing kept me safe from the deafening silence from their no longer beating heart. I was never caught. 

I had been cursed. By God? By Vought? Who knows. Mothers mourning the loss of their stillborn child. Smelling the cancer in people who walked by me on the street, on the way to pick up their young child from school. Gang violence. Break ups. A father beating his son to a pulp for not taking out the trash that day. Suicide. A young woman, screaming, begging for him to stop. This takes a toll on a young kid. No one should be forced to listen to the struggles of others, we have enough to deal with on our own. Hell, I’m sure if I focused hard enough, I could've heard the sound of my mother crying out to me, sullen and alone, from her perch on a rundown curbside. 

I had lost it, as expected. Cutting, acting out, pathetic suicide attempts. It got bad enough to where they had to isolate me off somewhere in Appalachia. Somewhere I could enjoy the peace and quiet. The nurturing lull of nature. Waterfalls, and animals, and the rustle of trees in the Eastern winds. Native music, and arts and crafts underneath a big, red harvest moon. I could see every crater out that far in the mountains. There was no light pollution. That was always the best part. If I looked hard enough, sometimes I could see Saturn's rings without a telescope. Of course they’d still call my handlers whenever they needed me, they weren’t that concerned for my wellbeing. But hey, at least I no longer had to deal with the sounds of the city on my off days. 

I had learned to resent Vought, which is understandable, and honestly a given. I mean what did they expect? I was cursed, to say the least. Every day was torture, and unpredictabe, even when I was all the way out in West Virginia. Some nights I’d hear a distant shotgun fire, and torpedo into the heart of a beautiful buck, with a sleepy, quiet family waiting for him a few hundred yards away in a clearing.

I wanted nothing more than to watch these people crash and burn. To listen to each and every one of them take their last breath. The only deaths I could, or would ever enjoy. The sweetest sound I’d ever heard. I could get off to it. And I would surely avenge that. That was a promise. 

After I turned eighteen I did end up getting a place back in the city. Which is where I am now. I cope with the overstimulation in my desperation for revenge. A desperation so wild and intense I would do anything. I would do absolutely anything to get what I want. 

The Homelander would tour the labs after his graduation every once and a while as I was growing up. He’d be intimidating. Stiff, and brooding. No one would ever amount to the power he held. None of us would ever become the specimen that he was. I’d look up at him with innocent, wide eyes. His body always sounded different than everyone else's. His organs moved with a horsepower. It was like his body took diesel. No one's insides ever sounded like his. I could feel the vibration of his cells dividing from half a mile away. He was so enchanting to a little gifted girl like me.

“What’s this one?”

“Heightened senses, Sir.”

“All five?”

“Yes. We find her hearing very promising.”

He had hummed in response. Staring back at me with an emptiness I’d get to know very well. He had only gotten worse since then. 

After I had moved back to New York, Vought would still use me on occasion, but for the most part they just saw me as damaged goods. I was invited to parties, and events multiple times, and got paraded around like a fucking circus freak. Advisors would bestow me upon rich donors. “Ooh, let me stand across the room! I want you to guess what I’m saying.” I’d shake my head. There was no “guessing”. It was a stupid game if you ask me. They could have stood twenty miles away and it still wouldn't be much of a challenge. 

I had felt him before I heard him.

“Repetitive, huh?”

I didn't even have to look at the donor across the room to know he was saying "orange". He had the audacity to whisper too. Your money paid for this, I thought. Don’t you have a little faith in me being more than a party trick?

“Yes, actually.” I said, turning around to see the symbol of patriotism.

“I didn’t know you had moved back to the city.”

I looked at him with the same eyes I did all those years ago, and he still stared back at me just as broken.

“Yeah, I’ve been here for a few months now.”

He placed a hand on my lower back. My skin tingling from the brush of his augmented fingertips. He walked me over to one of the large windows that overlooked the skyline. I had worn a tight dress, which he had taken notice of. 

“You’re not so little anymore.”

I had laughed at that. 

“If I’m honest I can’t remember the last time I felt like it.” 

He looked at me with a gleam of recognition. Realizing we weren’t so different. Sure, he could break my spine if he clapped too hard, but we were both stripped of the innocence we so desperately needed. John and I were never friends, we were just two children starved of loving parental affection. 

And now, a few years later, I sit perched on his lap. My legs falling off either side of his sturdy frame. His hands don't touch me. But he is smiling softly. His eyes glazed over and heavy. His nose rubs mine as I whisper to him. My hips moving up and down on the heat of his crotch. 

“Do you like what I’m wearing?” 

He tilts his head down, his thumbs sliding across the trim of my black lace underwear. He hums, a goofy smile spreading across his face. 

“I do,” I brush my lips against his, his teeth catching on the skin of my cupid's bow. “Although, I can’t help but think there is an ulterior motive here.”

My eyes shoot open, glaring at him. He's still smiling at me. 

“I needed you…” I’m an awful liar. 

He takes a deep breath in through his nostrils. Placing two big hands under my ass while he fixes his posture on the chair. He cradles the back of my head, lacing rough fingers into my hair. Pulling me back until I’m looking him in the eyes.

“What do you want?” He asks plainly. I sigh, rolling my eyes, trying to pry myself out of his grip. “You know this doesn’t work on me.”

He pulls me tighter, my hair follicles hanging on to my scalp by sheer luck. I whimper, the feeling knocking the breath out of me for a second. 

“You come up here to see me, of all people, wearing this pretty little get up.”

He uses his other hand to pull my lower half closer into his, wrapping his arm around my waist. My ribs could turn to dust under this vice grip.

“You know what I’m here to ask for.”

“We’ve been over this so many times now.” He tsks at me. “Tell me what’s in it for me, and I’ll consider it.”

I glare at him. This routine is like clockwork by this point. I come to him with a plan for revenge and he shoots me down everytime. I know he agrees with me, I know he wants it just as bad as I do, but this is his leverage. He can be so fucking evil. 

“Does the idea of getting back at these people not give you a hard on?”

He laughs at me, releasing his vice grip. I pull myself off of him, walking over to my jeans discarded on the floor. 

“Now why would I, of all people, want to get back at Vought?”

I pull my tight jeans up, one leg at a time. He walks over to me, looking down as I button my pants.

“You would be fine without them. Fuckin’ buddhist monks have your photo up at shrines in the himalayas for Christs sake.”

I walk past him, grabbing my shirt from off the ground. He slaps my ass as I pass by.

“I’ll think about it.” He suggests. I roll my eyes- he won’t. 

I pull my hair out of the neckline of my shirt. He stands in front of me, his gloved fingers pulling out my necklace. He adjusts it so the clasp is back where it needs to be. I look up at him through my lashes.

“Just the scientists that worked with Vogelbaum.” I whisper.

He brings his hand up to my chin, pinching it with his thumb. He places an out of character, gentle, chaste kiss to my lips. 

“...And Stan Edgar, and all the other top Vought executives…” He teases.

“No!” I pout.

“Yes,” He taunts. “And last time I checked you are perfectly capable of taking these people out all by yourself, one at a time, without ever getting caught.”

He's trying to pull it out of me. He knows why I need his help. He’s so smug. He wants to hear me say it. 

“Why do you really want my help?” He torments. 

I sigh, moving to grab my purse from off the chair in the corner of his living room. He stops me, gripping my wrist tight into his hand. I glare at him. Anything but this, I think. I would never beg him for anything…but I do.

“The gala…in the Summer,” I mumble, defeated. “Everyone will be there, even the scientists.”

“Ah, yes, the gala. Being applauded for their efforts in the creation of Temp V.” He smiles. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

I shake my head, making my way back over to his front door. He doesn’t stop me this time, too satisfied in his successful grilling. 

“One of us has lasers for eyes, John, and it’s not me.”

“Why would I want to ruin my own party?”

Before I leave I turn to him, pointing my finger. My eyes welling up with tears. Why does he do this? Hes been fucked over by Vought more than I have.

“All of them are going to be there at the same time. In the same building. We could end this, we could fucking destroy these monsters, once and for all.”

He glowers at me.

“Compound V made me a hero.” He argues.

“Compound V made you despicable,” I counter. “You’d finally be a real man without them.”

I open the door, him tripping at my heels.

“Vought made me a God.”

“Made you a sad fuckin’ excuse for one. Come find me when you grow a pair of balls.”

I slam the door in his face. 

I met Billy Butcher at a speakeasy a little over a year ago. He was downing a bottle of whiskey at the bar. It was only 2PM. 

“William, I’m assuming,” I reached my hand out for a shake. “A little early for the bottle don't you think?”

He looked down at my gesture, ignored it, then slammed his booze back on the counter. 

“Freak, I'm assuming?” He had added an obnoxious emphasis to the ‘K’.

I nodded, pursing my lips. Extending my awkward, unshook hand back into my pocket. 

He reeked, and I mean, reeked. His insides had smelt like a nuclear bomb had gone off. His liver was already in the later stages of decomposition, to say the least. His eyes were sunken in, and dark around the edges. Irritated too. Like he'd been rubbing them raw. 

I took note of his entire presence, leaning over to the left a tad to take in all sides of his bloated, depressed body. I looked closer. His right ear was oozing what looked like old blood. It was black, like tar. It didn’t smell like blood though. It was pungent and harsh, almost similar to ammonia- radiation, maybe? The nuclear bomb inside him, I considered. 

“You have black rot coming out of your ear,” I stated plainly. He had reached his hand over to wipe it. “It’s disgusting, whatever it is. I’ve never smelt anything like that before. You should really think about getting that checked out.”

He ignored me, picking up a napkin, and wiping his tar-coated hand on it. 

“Let's get down to business, ey?” 

“Alright.” I added. Breathing through my mouth wouldn’t have helped either, I thought. 

“Me and the boys are going to Herogasm.”

“Congratulations. I’d recommend cleaning those ears out before you go.” I said, unimpressed. 

He rolled his eyes, then looked around the room. No one was in there besides a bartender, and an old man asleep at a rounded booth. He leaned in closer to me. 

That's when I caught it- a familiar scent. I couldn’t put my finger on it. A certain chemical compound I remember smelling often during my recent visits to the tower. 

“Look, to make a long story short, I got ten grand with your name on it, and a party infested with obnoxious supes. I need you to sit at high ground, and keep watch.”

“Why don’t you get one of your boys to do it?” I grill.

“None of ‘em have aim like you, sweetheart.” He said it with such a shit-eating grin.

I rolled my eyes, “I’m flattered, truly.”

He took a deep breath, getting even closer, I could feel his hot breath on my ear.

“We’re going to be...taking him out.”

I looked at him, hard. I squinted my eyes. Listening in on his slow, heavy heartbeat. His unrelenting, static blood pressure. He wasn’t lying, I thought. He knew better than to anyway. 

“Good luck with that,” I chuckled, beginning to stand up to leave. Had he lost his mind? I thought. I didn’t have the time for this. Plus, thinking hard on it, I didn’t even know if I had wanted John to die. I had people to get revenge on, y’know?

“We have a weapon,” He added, yanking my arm back down, nearly pulling it out of its socket. “The same one that killed Soldier Boy.”

The blood had rushed out of my face then. He really was serious. I looked around, trying to focus on anything, but my thoughts were racing, and my eyes had gone cloudy. 

“Want to know something even crazier?” He probed. “The weapon is Soldier Boy. The cunt was still alive. Had to fight a handful of Ivans to get the bastard out.”

“That's impossible,” I laughed, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Soldier Boy died in Nicaragua.” 

“Ten thousand big ones for a few hours of your time, sweetheart.” He smiled.

I swallowed hard, grabbing his bottle from off the counter and taking a big swig. 

“You have to make me a promise,” I held my finger in his face. “If homelander dies, you and your boys have to help me finish something.”

He put his hand out for a shake. 

“Anything you need.” He grinned.

“Anything I need if he dies.” I nodded along, grabbing his hand, my mind off worrying, my eyes glazed over with fear. 

“Anything you need when the cunt dies.” 

And that’s when I had smelled it, the Temp V. My eyes widened at him. Now that explained why his organs were rotting. The bastard had been shooting up liquid radiation into his veins in a lame attempt to put up an equal fight. His grip tightened around mine, threatening to shatter my wrist. 

“I’ll give you the address, you’ll need your own car. Don’t be seen by anyone.” He declared, beginning to stand up from his stool.

“I wasn't born yesterday,” I mocked. “And by the way, if you do any more of that Temp V, you can go ahead and sign your death certificate.”

As we all know, that plan never worked. Homelander survived, and Soldier Boy is off somewhere frozen solid, I’m assuming. I never ended up getting the chance to see either of them that day, my shitty car ended up breaking down on the side of the road only twenty miles out of the city. Maybe it was for the best, I thought. A lot of people died that day. 

And so here I am, a year later, still willing to help him, but now for a different reason. If John wasn’t going to help me with my plan, Butcher and the boys surely will. 

Butcher had told me to meet him at a sketchy apartment building in the Bronx, so here I was. Looking around, there isn't much to see. Piles of trash and hoards of rancid homeless people litter the streets. Gross, I think. Why can’t the city grant these invalids a communal shower or something? Doesn’t the mayor know some people can practically smell atoms? 

Before I buzz in for him, I catch the wind and listen for their lingering voices upstairs. They are on the roof, and I think by the heartbeats I can count four- no- five. There are five of them, and one of them is definitely a woman. Her heart is delicate, small. But pumped full of V? I think. It thumps with an exertion only jacked supes would understand. Sounds like a panic attack waiting to happen, if you ask me. 

“Any of you ever use one of these before?” A voice asks. 

“Eh, maybe a rifle but not a scope.” Someone replies, an accent thick...present.

“Frenchie, hasn’t she had combat training?”

“Combat training, yes, but not a fucking sniper.”

“Butcher, would you come over here please? Hughie, would you grab him?”

A giant group of idiots, I think. Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea after all. I pull my hands into a finger gun and shoot it into my open mouth. This is going to be a long night.

I walk over to the entrance, looking down at my phone. Butcher is taking too long to answer me. I slap the side of the code box, listening to the stops on the inside. A thicker metal, and rusted too. But I can still make it out. 1111? Really? No wonder everyone gets robbed on this side of town. 

Typing in the code, I begin to saunter my way upstairs. I'm slouched over and panting by the time I reach the top floor. Man, it’s times like these where I wish I could’ve been V-blessed with some fucking stamina. Fuck you Vought. I slip my way out onto the rooftop. Everyone's heads fly around to see me as I walk towards the group. 

“Could you guys be any fucking louder?” I ask, walking right up to Butcher. He smiles down at me.

“Glad to see you’re in a good mood this evening.”

I roll my eyes, “Too bad I could smell your insides rotting from half a mile away.” I pat him on the shoulder as I walk by, heading towards the man at the edge of the roof with a rifle. 

“Butcher, what the fuck?” The scrawny one asks.

“He doesn’t bring too many girls around, huh?” I say. 

“Who the fuck is this?” The French one questions. 

Butcher smiles as I go up to the man holding the gun. I shoo him away, squatting down, and placing my finger on the trigger. I squint my eyes and look down the scope. 

“Which one is it?” I ask.

Butcher comes over, squatting next to me, as well as the guy who was holding the gun before. 

“Blue tie,” Says butcher. “Bad haircut.”

“Balding or buzzed?” 

“Neither. Short mullet.” He adds.

I nod, and suddenly stand up, moving to another spot on the rooftop.

“What the fuck are you doing? I just spent two hours setting that spot up!”

“The glass is bulletproof,” I state. “Can’t you see the reflection?”

I start laughing then, “I mean, can’t you hear the way it sounds as the wind gusts off of it? There might as well be a sign.”

He looks at me quizzically, they all do. It usually takes a second for most people to recall my pathetic existence. 

“This window here must've just been replaced, because it’s temporary. Not bulletproof, and frankly, not strong wind proof either. This thing is just asking to be shattered.”

I crouch down again, squinting my eyes, and looking down the scope. I hold my hand up, snapping quietly. In fractions of a second, I can feel, hear, and see sound waves bouncing off of every nearby surface. They rush through the open air towards the glass window, bouncing off, only then to reverberate around the inside. It wraps around the target's stature like a sheet in the wind. Bullseye. I pull the trigger, hitting him directly between the eyes. We all watch as all hell breaks loose within whatever party I just ruined. 

I stand up, handing the rifle over to Butcher. I wipe my hands off on my pants.

“We have five minutes before a swat team barrels up here. Do you mind if we talk in private?”

Butcher nods, he and I both begin to walk downstairs. Everyone grabs their stuff, and from the scrawny boy I hear a snap, like he's finally put his finger on it. 

“Frequency!” Ego boost, I think. “God, that makes so much sense.” 

That recognition hasn’t happened in a while. I'm embarrassed to say I’m beginning to blush.

The french one nods to him, “A freak of fucking nature. That is a hell of a gift.”

A hell of a curse, he means. If only they knew the half of it. The boys chuckle as Butcher and I disappear into a dark alley. There are sirens in the distance.

“I need a favor.” I say, stopping and turning to him. The only thing illuminating us is a musty street light. It's hazy and orange. He looks down at me with damp skin. His body is trying it’s hardest to detoxify itself. There is no use. 

“What's that, love?” He chuckles, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He brings one up to his lips, inhaling and lighting. He gestures the pack to me. I shake my head. I always end up tasting the pesticides. 

“Look, I’ve asked everyone. You and your boys are the only thing I have left.”

“Well, spit it out then.” He coughs.

I take a deep breath, looking down at my shoe and kicking a little rock with the toe of it. 

“I want revenge on Vought.”

“Get in line sweetheart.” I roll my eyes at him, why does everyone always say that?

“But listen, I have the perfect idea,” I explain. “Over the summer they will be throwing a huge event in celebration over the success of Temp-V. I’m sure almost, if not all of the major Vought scientists will be there. Oh, and executives too. And all of the supes we all hate as well.”

He watches me as I talk, just smoking his cigarette. He’s hard to read these days. His expression is always pained. Not surprising though, I can literally hear his body decomposing. 

“I just- this is my best chance to get back at these people for cursing me. For making my life, and everyone else's life a living hell. Think about it, you can avenge your wife!"

“Why don’t you ask the big man in the sky?” He scoffs.

“I did, he said no.”

“Well, there is your answer from me.”

“I’m sorry?” I glare at him, appalled. “Last time I checked all you wanted to do was avenge your wife! Say 'fuck you' to Vought, and to Homelander. Why do you suddenly have cold feet?”

He reaches around me, placing an arm on my shoulder. He begins to walk me down the alleyway. 

“If the cunt says no, then it’s a no. We show up there ready to blow a crater into the ground, he’ll be the first to know. You know better than I do that he ain’t gonna like it. Also, we got ties to the FBI and the CIA. The last thing they need is for their agents that are integrated within Vought to be a part of Supe 9/11.”

“You’re telling me the CIA isn't looking for an excuse to destroy these bastards?”

“They are,” He smiles. “Just in a way that won’t have a trail leading back to ‘em.”

We’re at the opening of the alley now. Police cars fly by as they respond to the murder I just committed a few blocks away. I should be in the clear, I’m hearing a lot of “Arab Supe-Terrorist” static over the vibrations of police radio. 

“Get Soldier Boy back, thatll make it even easier for everyone. They can just blame it on him.”

“That’ll come back on ‘em too, Love. They have him hidden with a frostbitten dick at a military compound. If the cunt got out on their terms they’d never hear the end of it.” 

Huzzah, I think. Now that is a good idea. I go to shake his hand. If he's gonna reject me too, I guess there is only one thing left to do.

“Where'd they end up keeping him anyway? My bets on upstate.” I question.

He squeezes my hand tight, smiling at me mischievously. 

“I know better than to tell ‘ya that, sweetheart.”

I laugh, not genuinely, more out of frustration by this point.

“Right,” I say, beginning to walk off in the direction of my subway. “Let me know if you are ever need any of my services. You know where to reach me.” 

He walks off the opposite way, his radioactive stench leaving a trail behind him. The plot thickens. Soldier Boy is upstate alright. And if no one is willing to help me, then I’ll just have to do it myself.

Masterlist | Episode 2

[arc-archernar]

Theory about the MILGRAM prison

(working on this when I'm supposed to be studying for my psychology exam lol)

(i count this as studying for my a-levels, sue me)

Trigger Warning: WWII Germany mention, war crimes mention

One of the questions I keep coming back to is why the prison and the project is called Milgram. The experiment that Stanley Milgram was famous for, his obedience experiment, had more to do with the study of the banality of evil (that was partly his motivation to perform the experiment in the first place) and human obedience for an authority figure than criminal behaviour. What he studied was the willingness of people to obey instructions, even when doing inhumane acts such as administering increasingly lethal shocks to someone who failed a question in a word quiz. This was actually in attempt to investigate whether N@zi Germans in concentration camps/prisons/whatever and such were pure evil or just following orders because they're 'more obedient than other races of people'. He and his colleagues wanted to explain the inhumane acts done during the holocaust, basically, inspired by the criminal trial of Adolf Eichmann (i think thats the name?) about 3 months before the experiment was conducted. Of course, with a bias for Americans.

He and his colleagues predicted that less than 3% of participants would actually administer up to 450 volts to the learner (who was a confederate, i.e. fake. the initial information that participants received was that they were there to help with a psychology experiment on memory:

they would then stage a chance drawing of who would be the 'teacher' (the participant) and the 'learner' (the confederate). the participant was always the teacher. they were then separated so the participant can hear the learner, but can't see them. they were given instructions to administer shocks to the learner if they got the wrong answer, which was made to be frequent-ish. it starts of at 15, then 30, then alll the way up to 450 volts. The shocks were fake, but it would sound like, to the participant, that the learner in the other room was actually experiencing electrical shocks. Re-creation of the study later on used a standardised recording of the learner responding to the fake shocks, then silence, as if to indicate that the learner has passed out.)

Actual results? Every single participant in the baseline procedure administered up to 300 volts. 65% of participants continued up to 450 volts.

The results may be affected by the scientist in the room, which, when faced with apprehension or unwillingness by the participant to continue, will say the following things:

Theoretically, participants should feel free to stop and withdraw from the experiment at any time. Reality? the prompts above literally pressured into continuing to increase the voltage, regardless of if they said they wanted to withdraw. Imagine:

"I- I don't feel comfortable doing this. This is wrong." "Please continue." "But- this is wrong! He's hurt, will he be okay?" "The experiment requires that you continue."

(disclaimer: dialogue is fake, i made it up from watching documentaries and recordings(?) of future attempts to reconduct the study. (i.e. based on what the teacher made me watch in class lol))

And so on and so forth. A lot of participants' attempts to withdraw were met with a sound 'no'. I'd say that going through the experiment itself is traumatic all by itself.

So what does this mean for the Milgram Project?

Honestly, I can only guess that, in a way, it shows how willing most of us are to go along with this extremely inhumane premise. Imagine that the prisoners are real people - well this kind of experiment would get absolutely blasted by any ethics board, and the prisoners would be subject to the Japanese criminal justice system and all that. But imagine somehow passed ethics boards and such. And, instead of the judge being internet people who can discuss and judge freely, it is people who are physically there to be the judge, jury and executioner. The information and experience will be repeated for every participant, every fan of the project. The chances of those of us who will call this kind of prison out drastically decreases, for various reasons. Some of Milgram's participants said that their willingness to go along with the study was because they thought the whole thing was 'play-acting'.

And this scenario is exactly what Es is subjected to. They only know to follow the rules of Milgram, because like the participants in Milgram's obedience study, they can't withdraw. They can't get out. They can only complete the objective they were given, because that's the only way this experiment would end. Jackalope is the scientist in the room in this analogy: they keep Es obedient, keep Es from questioning.

And, like the 'learner' in the original experiment, the prisoners are there to distract us and Es from the true aim of the experiment: to what end will we be jackalope's little obedient doll?

then again, I can be completely wrong. I got distracted from studying. (this counts as studying right????)

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 15: Strong

Strength came in many forms, not just physicality. Strength of character, of heart was just as important. Being a hero, Jackie had strength in spades. But it was times like this that tested it, as he stared unflinchingly up into toxic green from where he was holding up the wall of a building to let the inhabitants get outside.

He should’ve known Anti would show up, he always did when there was trouble or things had been too calm. The hero had to grit his teeth in a low growl as the glitch’s face twisted with that demented Cheshire grin of his and he giggled.

“Having a bit o’ trouble hero?~”

Jackie huffed out a breath and he bit his tongue, as much as he wanted to snap at Anti he had more important things to worry about right now. He felt the integrity of the wall crumbling more under his hold, more weight added onto his arms. He exhaled as he heard the bricks hit the ground, the startled shrieks of the crowd from the impacts. The sound of the rescue workers rushing as fast and safe as they could inside to get the civilians out.

He tensed, hair rose on the back of his neck as he heard crackling electricity close to his ear. He shuddered and felt his heart pick up in adrenaline fueled nerves as claws curled around one shoulder.

“Ignorin me now are we? Tsk, tsk, tsk~ Ye know t’at’s a bad idea Jackieboy….I t’ought ye had learned by now. Might have to teach ya anot’er lesson.”

Jackie felt bile crawl up his throat and resisted the urge to gag at the thought of another ‘lesson’. The last one had left him coughing up blood and his ribcage ached in phantom pain. He didn’t move, he didn’t acknowledge Anti. He couldn’t afford to have his focus split-pain lanced down one arm as those deadly claws sunk into his shoulder.

He grit his teeth as muscles spasmed and tightened, he held back the instinct to twist his arm to dislodge them. He dug his fingers into brick and mortar instead in an attempt to stay singular focused. The glitch hummed, the sound brought a smirk to the hero’s mind as the only kind of warning he got.

Then everything lit up in white hot agony.

Jackie clenched his jaw as tight as he could not to scream, his body wanted to convulse but he didn’t let it. He held himself in position as the wall creaked and groaned, bricks tumbled down around him onto the street. His heart skipped beats and stuttered in his chest as his ears rang with the sound of harsh static mixed with panicked screams, the racing footsteps in the building. He felt like his teeth would crack under the pressure as the voltage amped up in response.

Anti didn’t want his attention on anything else but the pain, but him as he struggled to keep his hands still. He couldn’t falter, he couldn’t let go, he had to be strong. His vision swam and began to blur, thoughts fuzzed and tormented. The hero didn’t know how long he could take this, the pain just kept coming and it increased with every second that passed- the force of nature hissed smugly against his skin like it read his mind.

“I can stop Jackie, make all t’e pain go away~ All ye gotta do is one little thing~”

Anything, he’d do anything if it meant the pain stopped. There was a pleased hum that brought to mind a cat with prey before a twisted croon against his ear.

“Say my name Jackieboy~ Say my name and it stops~”

Jackie barely remembered his own name, he couldn’t think- the pain was so bad. His muscles locked in place from his stubbornness not to move, not to scream. His senses all transmitted suffering, torment, the crackling and hissing of the lightning the only sound he heard above his own heartbeat. The hero couldn’t focus…everything started to dim. His eyes fluttered and he caught a flash of feral, wicked neon green…he felt a hand on his cheek, claws softly traced his face and teased the edges of his mask. It felt like his mouth moved on its own and his voice forced itself out barely above a breath. Only heard between the two of them.

“Anti.…”

The pain stopped instantly, he started to sway midair as his body began to go limp. The wall crumbled and collapsed against his body and he hit the street hard, unable to hold himself up. As Jackie slid into the darkness of unconsciousness there was a chuckle among the shouting of civilians and workers who scrambled to his side to tend to him.

“Sleep well hero, see you soon~”

[kamyru]

Voltage Inc characters as strange things I do (Headcanons)

Jin Namba: Doesn't understand the lyrics of the song until searching for the lyrics. This man can be fluent in as many languages as he wants. However, this is true even for his native language. He can't get the entire meaning of the song until seeing all the lyrics at once.

Hideki Ishigami: Laughs in his sleep. No, Ishigami doesn't sleep talk. It would be okay if he did. However, from time to time, he laughs, not giggles, but hearty laughs. And when MC asks him what's so funny in the morning, he has no idea. Sometimes, he wakes up due to his laugh but still doesn't remember why.

Hyogo Kaga: Doesn't own Winter clothes. He probably does, but he hasn't worn any of them in ages. There's a more chance he will put on two warm t-shirts instead of a jacket. The strangest thing is that his hands are always hot.

Shusuke Soma: Goes for a walk in the middle of the night. He finds it comforting to be alone at night, thinking about his things and getting something random from the convenience store. Sometimes he gets MC with him, and they share deep conversations while walking through the city.

Takaomi Tsugaru: Sleeps under the bed during hot Summers. And if MC asks him why he doesn't use a futon, he will say that the bedframe gives shadow and makes it chillier than a futon. The question that everyone has when seeing him like this is: HOW THE HECK HE FITS IN THERE?

Seiji Goto: Asks MC to hug him while he tries to put the duvet cover on. Do you know when you have your hands on the corners of the cover before putting it on the duvet? That's when he asks MC to hug him because it adds extra softness.

Ayumu Shinonome: Buys chips, Kinder eggs, etc., if they have dinosaurs as prizes. Then, he gets an entire reserve of these. However, he is interested more in the dinos than in the food. Moreover, he can find ways to know what dino he will get without opening the package.

Toru Kurosawa: He watches YouTube videos about food when hungry. Everyone thinks it's pointless, but that's his way of fulfilling his cravings. While doing this, he will say at least twice: "I want to eat cake. I want some barbeque," or whatever he is watching.

Yukihisa Maki: Knows the plot of books/manga/movies without reading or watching them, even if he plans to do it later. He doesn't care about spoilers. He likes the process of reading more than its result.

Shunichiro Tachibana: He can do a strange amount of things due to extracurricular activities in his childhood and teenage years. He probably, plays at least three instruments, can draw, horse-ride, dances ballet, solves math and physics problems for fun, etc.

Jun Araki: Has the most monotonous voice ever. MC or Rei at least once asked him to read smut. Both of them have the recording saved because it sounds like he is reading the Bible. He won't even chuckle at the strange things that happen there.

Toshiaki Kijima: Zones out while making coffee or tea. He's that annoying person who keeps mixing the sugar/coffee in the cup for entire minutes till everyone asks him to stop, just because he zones out while making it. Also, he looks at his already prepared coffee/tea as if it has spawned out of nowhere before starting to drink it.

Toma Kiriya: Listens to sad songs every time. Ask what's his comfort song, and he will probably say something about death/suicide/addiction. When he's happy, he also listens to them. His playlist is enormous. However, less than 15% are joyful.

Nasume Asaoka: Watches the same shows/movies/videos over and over again. It's not as if he doesn't enjoy new things, he does. However, he finds more comfort in watching a funny video from YouTube over and over instead of finding anything new. And there are probably movies that he watches yearly, not getting tired of them.

Ikki Tatsumi: Has to have the coverlet perfectly put on the bed. If he feels or sees any wrinkles, he will get up and ask everyone who stays on the bed to get up and will redo the whole thing.

Ukyo Senkawa: "It's five minutes away," Ukyo says and starts walking at 7 km/h. He can make 30 000 steps a day as if it's nothing. Also, he forgets that not all people can do the same or keep up with him. There are only two ways of catching up with him: run fast after him, or call him to ask him to stop.

Daimon Togo: Can't let himself feel sick if someone feels sicker. He may be on the verge of fainting. Yet, if he sees MC or his family in distress, he will do everything possible to be the "healthiest" one. Even if the world gets blank in front of his eyes, he will be the one to catch MC while fainting.

Kunihiro Kasai: If he is sleepy but has a lot of things to finish, he puts a video or music on and naps like this, sometimes with his laptop on his lap, because he doesn't sleep deep like this and can wake up any moment.

Kuranosuke Kiba: He repairs the things in the house just for fun. Like, what's the worst thing that this can end up with? An even more destroyed thing? So, after years of doing this, Kuranosuke is a master of using a screwdriver.

Eiji Takao: Answers to questions with delay. MC or the twins can come to him and ask: "Did you see the remote control?" And he will be dead silent while writing something on his laptop. Ten minutes later, he will say: "The remote is on the window sill."

Shu Hasunuma: Has the dumbest dreams ever. Everyone close to him knows that all the memes about strange dreams are about him. He was a frying pan, had a pet penis, saved his colleagues from getting eaten by zombies, watched entire inexistent movies, and invented new words and historical events in his dreams (that's a short list of dreams I have had during my life).

Toshiki Kasumi: He knows an incredible amount of strange facts. Hosho will talk about wedding bands, and Kasumi will be like: "Do you know how holly water is made?" He is why the EICU knows what "defenestration" means, that there's a possibility higher than 0 to walk through an intact wall etc.

Munechika Takado: Ignores the messages he doesn't think are worth answering. It's not as if all the messages he ignores aren't worth answering. Sometimes, Takado doesn't have enough time or doesn't know how to continue the conversation. However, if people ask annoying questions, like his sister constantly asking when he comes back home, he will ignore them.

Taro Akuchi: Can't sleep if someone else is awake. He probably can sleep everywhere, but not when the people he cares about (MC and Suzumu) are awake. That's the same when he wakes up. Taro isn't comfortable knowing that he is resting while others aren't.

Suzumu Mado: Talks everyone's ears off about how much he craves something, then doesn't buy it because it's too expensive. The person he is shopping with begs him to indulge his cravings, but he is too stingy for this.

[scentedchildnacho]

She wanted to know if I had called 211 about homelessness so I said i have seen all those aspects of reform and conscription to the union cause....

And I was more chosen for The Self so I have an incumbant now and I have a cause and reason to contact the bureau of Indian affairs....

Im sorry for The Self and this resistance but you have to learn to accept all of religion not just those parts that keep you housed and providential

In reality resources are maybe scarce and what a drive it is to see everyone kept blocked is not healthy in reality this population is bad for you though....

And for safety it's shut you up into your houses and make you live crowded all the time go inside go inside the climate isn't this or isn't that that's very bad for you though

So anyway it appears to me that how people have come to live has to become sanitary and normal this heretical infestation of limit testing and see how it all reacts or how tough one can be isn't Godly

Speaking in tongues visions this is all still pre 70s and

Winona la duke and the white sands display of federal weapons....if they can line deer up and take one weapon and cut all their heads off.....that's homeless a few feds on a lot of intravenous drugs like vaccines call themselves general get phobic of their population and order of necessity drug dealers at it....its really only a few chicks and our tendencies to hyper physical activity can be addictively manipulated and now you have a bottom of the drug pyramid kind of scattered everywhere like it was also hit by electric fences...

Because they only need a few bitches and their select homosexual club just does what it wants without really reporting it's infinity to a voteing population

Sometimes they only need a few asylum survivors and they walk around with landscaping slashing and the homeless won't really move or do much anymore....so there was no obligation to triage and I have had to see these landscaping terrorist attacks more and more frequently

I've never actually seen a homeless person listened to with respect and compassion as a John Hopkins storm relief triage team might advise just listen and repeat back what the homeless person say but don't boss or judge or

A lot is still submerging an ego formation and then it's find gainful employment to buy the building

That's calling the homeless daddy or w.a.r. women art revolution.....they learn on daddy felon how it finally gives allowance and housing and now a few bitch starts wanting a lot of mentals to just pick everything up for it so

Anyway if they can create an all consuming female that wants people to abjectly worship it's bovine ness then I have a feminine truly negative

And she does truly get near to the apes in her love of natural strength over fascism...or Michaela massimi.....so if they won't stop hurting her ability to be virginal

Black people in government would steal a lot so eventually my efforts will be replaced by a tall strong black woman and when the gross klansmen that swarm around thinking they've created a destruction greater then themselves....

Its like a deep south and they wanted these negative platoons so ...

Texans have pietas of Mary holding Jesus after the cross...so Mary Mary believe in Mary though finally seeking vengeance on how gross

Anyway....she told me the library could help me read on it....so I told her those are guard studies.....they go tell someone that they want to feel like a guard and play a graphic character so that's all those people do is build jails....in fact be kind of angry at the children's parents for ever bringing the children to that property when they knew it was post modern or re creating a 70s history for ease of dissertation approval....

The energy standards on that property are kind of scary...it appears banal and there is high voltage and worst warden......and needs to put everything the plants everything.....into solar cages and batter everyone into buy it cruelty......their the guards and thats all they do is stalk research groups to go mad