#it's just a snip of the mind of an autistic person when they are in “society”

[stalkiwi]

All my friends are laughing at something, happy about it, joyous. I remain neutral, merely observing the scene.

"Why are you not happy?" one turns to me, noticing my expression.

Because I don't get it, I reply.

"You just don't care about us."

I may not get it, I understand that it's making you happy. And it's what matters - I'm glad to know my friends are happy - I explain.

"You don't show it - you're lying." they blame me.

I struggle to show it. But it doesn't mean that I do not care - I simply cannot express it.

"You're always acting like that around us. Just tell us if you don't like being with us." they growl.

But I don't understand. I am myself around my friends. Isn't it a proof that I am comfortable to be with them?

"You're always silent, you act different, you make no efforts for us, you're not polite, you don't dress well, you don't smile - you really look like we're bothering you."

Should I be someone I am not? Am I being appreciated for who I am? Or for who I am expected to be?

"Don't you know social codes?"

Social codes make no sense to me. No matter how much I am being explained them. I ask nothing to anyone, I expect nothing about anyone, but to be respected, and I respect them in return.

"Respect is about making an effort to be agreeable around us."

To me, respect is to understand everyone is different, and to accept it - to not force them to step out of their comfort for you. That someone refuses to dress in an elegant way or to spray perfume when they visit me is not a message to tell me that they do not like me. It means nothing, in fact, to me.

"Don't you see you're making our lives worse? You're disgusting, you're needy, you're unpleasant."

Then why staying with me? If I am ruining your life by simply existing, then you should not be around me - it's what I say.

"But we care about you!"

I appreciate, but the "me" you care about is not who I am. I'm sorry.

[thatdogmagic]

This is the last post I plan on making about the current situation.

I've been trying to recall what it is that might be getting repeated, and there's a couple instances I can think of that are pretty ripe for taking snips:

There are chat logs where I made unkind generalizations about autistic cis men, in the context of the majority of my experiences with them being largely negative, and being relieved that I had a space where my own neurodiversity had room to unfold.

She has chatlogs where I commented on not fully understanding trans men who still veered ultra-femmy, even though I don't have any trouble wrapping my head around butch trans women. That contradiction made me think about it quite a bit, and ultimately decided it wasn't a great opinion to have/was mostly just some lingering All Things Being Binary shit I still find myself unpacking.

I'm sure there's other thorny conversations that can be pruned for content, but I'm having trouble thinking of what it is beyond interpersonal clashes and, yeah. I've already seen the depths of missing context there.

There is no better example, in fact, than the comparison of shadowy werewolves with glowing eyes/teeth. It was taken from a concept that was tabled after approval was actively sought because there was a recognized stylistic overlap. Since 'shadow werewolf with glowing eyes/teeth' is a very common visual element in a lot of werewolf artwork, we also went on to discuss when those visual elements would best be avoided, and when they could be put to use.

This wasn't mentioned in the original comparison posts. Nor was it mentioned that it was never intended for public posting. It was a thumbnail idea for promotional material, drawn over a month ago - and nearly a full year after Lacey's skin tone changed - and it was quietly set aside in favor of other ideas.

Bottom line, I don't have any control over what she does with what she has. I don't have any control over what people think about it. But I do have control over what I do with me, and what I plan to do is stay off social media for the forseeable future, and keep working on the projects that matter to me, like I always have.

In the meantime, if you know me off social media:

I do not want to be contacted about any additional escalation

I do not need to know about any further instances of reposted chatlogs or artwork

It's kind of you to want to know my side of the story, but for my own reasons I'd rather not go into it beyond what I've already posted.

If we discussed commission work that you no longer want, please let me know ASAP so I can remove you from the list I have prepped for when I get back to taking those. Those of you who contacted me about it already have my email address.

All that being said, I understand if even with context, some comments lose people. I'm not gonna hold that against anyone. Where I'm at in my own development is probably not going to be enough for some, and that's fine. It doesn't have to be, and it won't stop me from continuing to try.

End of the day, keep in mind that this is still a personal altercation being made public, with everything that entails.

PS - If any other art is being posted: understand that it is being done without permission, after Ependa and I both actively tried to delete those pieces off the server, stated we'd done so intentionally, and then actively requested those files be deleted off the server/her machine when we were made aware of the fact that she was using third party plugins to retain access.

[trrickytickle]

Two Can Play At That Game (gift for @toweroftickles)

Fandom: Ready Player One, lee!Art3mis, ler!Parzival

A/N:  (Reimagining of the scene where Art3mis scares Parzival with a Xenomorph arm)

2ND GIFT hope u enjoyyy. have we talked about ready player one BECAUSE WE NEED TO TALK ABT READY PLAYER ONE MY LOVE FOR THIS MOVIE WOULD HAVE EXPLODED OUR DMS I LOVE EVERYTHING ABT IT it may be a bad movie by others’ standards but i think with the themes of dystopia the product placement was done right. anyways enough of that, MEERRRRRRYYYYYYYY CRISIS i lov parzival x artemis. idk y but i think that both them and halliday r autistic lol i might elaborate but it isnt anything serious just something i notied in them behaviorially ANYWAYS hope u like im so grateful for u

The life of a Gunter was as hard as it looked. To find the keys, for one, would require the infinite knowledge of Halliday's inner workings- which were comparatively easy to find in the age of the OASIS.

Halliday Journals- OASIS' Library of Alexandria, the sole source of such information wasn't like any of the other mind-bending zones of this virtual metaverse, such as a replica of Pandora from that movie way back then, to stranger things such as an exact replica of the Tower of Babel chock full of people seemingly ...tickling each other. No matter how quaint, these locations were the brainchild of the very person Wade Watts-or as he was known here- Parzival- was most grateful for.

But he didn't expect.. all this. Even after his rise to fame when he found that first key.

"Hey, it's Parzival!" A Beetlejuice suit-clad man, as rotund as his inspiration pointed, causing a stampede of avatars, all inspired by his endeavors to crowd around him for some words of wisdom or a quick photo-op. The shutters blinded him while some avatars on the shorter side leaped up for a closer shot. That wasn't all. Using their set of four arms, a Goro lookalike rammed through the crowd and rudely pushed the others away with a mighty roar, jostling Parzival aggressively.

"You're famous now! You can't- just go- wherever- you want!" "Goro" yelled, pulling Parzival away with all the strength he could muster (which was a lot).

"No-no-no-no-no- I-" he tried to bargain to no avail as he was dragged into a secret opening planted in the wall. Green Tron lines provided atmosphere as the two stood face-to-face.

"Huh?"

"Goro" sneered and snarled, then look down to see something  moving in his chest, like a baby kicking its leg out. His stomach rumbled, and out came- an honest-to-goodness Xenomorph, screaming at Parzival's blue tinted face.

"GAH!" He jumped as it lunged straight at him with a snarl straight out of the movie. It retracted, noshing at "Goro's" skin by snipping it like a pair of scissors till there was no piece of Shokan in sight...

Well, maybe that Xenomorph wasn't so honest. Art3mis taunted him, playing with the once horrific alien parasite like a sock puppet., chomping its jaws together. With an uncharacteristic sternness, Parzival yanked the bloody puppet off her hand while she was already buckling down in sweet and melodious laughter.

"Haha- ha-haha-ha!"

"That is.. That is not funny!" Parzival attempted a rebuttal. Art3mis was predictably still in stitches, holding her stomach as she chuckled deeply. While the spunky streamer cooled down from her giggle-fit, he had an uncharacteristicly shit-eating grin smack-dab on his face like an anime character with a band-aid on their nose trying to look cool.

"But this is!" He swiped through his inventory, eager to find a fitting rebuttal and landing on a set of eight mechanical tentacles identical to the ones Doc Ock had worn in the 2004 movies, using one of four mechanical tendrils to grasp Art3mis by her jacket.

"Hello, Art3mis.." Parzival teased, poking at her already exposed sides to rub it in. To his suprise, she squeaked gingerly.

Like adding salt to a wound, he joked-

 "Oh, so you're a ticklish one, huh?"

"No- I'm- Fine. Have it your way."

Art3mis could only look away in embarrasment as he drummed his fingers against her sides continuously, then spidering them onto her tummy as he shook her around with the prehensile arms. That trip to Avatar Outfitters was pricey- but her reactions were worth just as much as the Zemekis cube.

"Ah-hehehehe-heeee! I-hi-hi'm ticklish, you got me!" She scissor-kicked the air to no avail, while she was a grasp from the mechanical arm away from falling.

"Oh, but I didn't get you good enough yet!" Parzival's grin was contagious- well, he was tickling her. Moving one of the tentacles down like Art3mis was a stuffed bear in a claw machine, he tazed his fingers into her armpits, causing her to squeal.

"EEEE-ahaha, yohohou should be glahad this is s-AAAAH!-soundproof!" she yelped, as Parzival played around in her worst spot.

"Soundproof, you say? So you don’t mind if I go heeere-” he smirked, poking around at Art3mis’ stomach, massaging it with prods of his fingers, even going up to poke each individual rib. 

“Yohohou’re mean! Ihihi- lihihisten! I have something to tell you!” With the notion of information, Parzival relinquished his grasp, and the item back into his inventory, and Artemis had a moment to catch her breath. 

“*huff* *huff* I-hehe- I deserved that.” She smiled,a glint in her heart that enjoyed Parzival’s playful flirting. “Well- You’re the Parzival now. You’re famous, you need to have a disguise.”

In that moment, Parzival realized two things- she was absolutely right, and that Art3mis was truly the most beautiful living thing within the walls of OASIS’ HD display. 

[hetalia-themagicalmanac]

in request to someone to put this anonymously out of respect:

I have a confession to make. I'm a hater...or atleast I THOUGHT i was. I did not particularly cared about your blog Until tonight where I was scrolling through Ao3 and saw one of your bed time story fics. I decided to say "fuck it" and read one of your fics. I then went to read the origin comics, thinking it would be a hate read...but...I was laughing. Smiling. And giggling over how cute it was. My favorite parts of the comic was your author notes, being really proud of your small accomplishments in bettering your art. It made me, a fellow artist, proud.

I was once a hater but now fell in love with Mary and your AU. My problem was that I couldn't sleep tonight. I think because I feel like the grinch who's heart melted away and I just can't get this off my mind. So I typed this all up and drew some fanart cuz we have the same comfort character I think.

So uh. Sorry I misjudged your AU and OC. It reminded me of a children's show I use to watch and I liked seeing your progression with your art skill. sorry that this was so long. It's 3am and I literally can't sleep until I get this off my chest

Anyway here's a little something something as a apology. Idk how cottonball would've gotten damage. I'm thinking maybe freak dog/bully encounter on the way home from school

Uh anyway thanks and sorry again

hey! there’s nothing wrong about not liking something at first! sure my comics at first aren’t the best (After all, I was 16 when I started to write this story and i’m almost 24! the reason why my digital art looked like absolute shit was because my mom thought digital art was “fake art” and i was still learning how to master digital art with a newly-acquired tablet at the time) but I am so so glad that even with the flaws of my earlier stuff, it still manages to bring a smile to your face!

about the children’s show stuff...i did take a lot of inspiration from shows like that! some i can name off the top of my head were Heidi (the pre-ghibli adaptation), Bear in the Big Blue House, Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood (my beloved) and now most recently, Bluey!! I think it definitely has in part from the fact my childhood was a mess and wanted to create something that fosters wholesome vibes to heal and reclaim my childhood, especially from the fact i’m the only autistic person in my family :’)

but hey! at least though you were honest! i’ve had to deal with people in the fandom who said I was either “sanitizing” hetalia as a whole just because it was wholesome or a well-known artist (name redacted) who was vagueing about me in a gc when i was at work saying that they hated ocs like Mary because they were self-insert mary sues. but otherwise, i forgive you plain and simple :D

i apologize if this was definitely a tangent but this made me really happy! i probably think petunia (rich girl asshole bully in school) snipped cottonball’s leggy and germany saw that mary was in distress since cottonball is a comfort item for her since she had him since she was a lil baby, and he is a good dad who will fix him up!

[serenity-bitty]

I used to WISH my mom would have hit me... Would have bruised my body... Just so I could have something to point to when they claimed I had it good. When they believed the act she put on in public, shaming me for not appreciating the fake mother that she showed them. When they cry "but she's your mother!"

YES. SHE WAS. She WAS my mother, why the everliving fuck do you think it hurts SO BAD??? Because she was my mother, she should have treated me like her DAUGHTER.

But she didn't. And I have no way to show you that, all I have is the pain and the trauma and the grief inside me, all I have are the sleepless nights spent reliving every good, bad or ugly moment we ever had and weeping and wishing I had a mother that lived me like she should have.

Nobody could ever see the shit she hides from the world. She puts on a great act in public, to the point where I would even get comfortable enough to be myself for a solid minute before they'd turn for a moment and she would shoot me The Glare, and I knew in an instant that my being-a-person privileges would be GONE the moment we got home...

A master manipulator vs a young autistic girl who doesn't understand social cues and speech enough to disprove her lies.

Which do you think you'd believe?

Nobody believed me back then. I'm so, so glad I at least have people who do now, but goddamn that still stings.

The fact that even I was convinced that it wasn't abuse for most of my life definitely didn't help. When I was just beginning to question if this maybe wasn't normal, that mothers shouldn't make their daughters hurt like this, the thought, the idea, just barely budding in my mind, it was the people who only saw a "stable and healthy home" who snipped it clean off, preventing me from seeking help and making me think that I was the problem.

Think to look closer before you brush things off, you might just find the subtle cracks in the many masks of an abuser.

this post hasn't left my mind since i've first saw it

[phcking-detective]

3. Interfacing and Socializing

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 3/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: Nines manipulates another android’s mind, references to self-harm and unsafe sex

Link on AO3

***

Nines waits in the lobby. The AP model—[Shannice]—Shannice struggles with the revolving door. He does not frown, because that would indicate [software instability] but he does note an internal frustration with the other android's lack of efficiency.

This is not a test simulation. The—Shannice is not being tested. It will not affect his own results if she is incompetent. She gets through them a moment later anyway, cautiously approaching him.

"I don't understand," she says. "We were in the elevator."

"And now we are interfacing," Nines says.

Shannice takes another look around the lobby, then back at him. "This is not interfacing. This is … what is this?"

A variation of the memory garden. Not linked to any outside network of course; RK900 simply copied and altered part of the base coding for reconstructing a physical setting within his system for the sake of virtual [face-to-face] communication.

Cyberlife really should have taken more care to ensure he couldn't access and use the deviant code snipper. Not that those humans could have ever imagined how he would apply such a tool, but still. Even leaving open the possibility that he could isolate and analyze his own code should never have been allowed, given how easy it has been to jump from that to making personal copies and then to editing the code within them.

AI does learn at an exponential rate, after all.

"Think of this reconstruction as an air lock."

Technically, it is much more akin to a decontamination chamber, but it is no longer politically correct to refer to deviancy as a malfunction or disease.

"This is a neutral section of isolated, quarantined code," Nines continues. "Any information you wish to transfer to me will stop here first to be examined before I accept it into my main system. As for your protection, meeting here means I have not yet breached your system, and you may freely select what you do and do not wish to share with me."

Shannice physically exhales. It is redundant on a level Nines finds difficult to understand. Not only does her model not need to breathe in order to function, they are merely virtual reconstructions of their selves. There is no air present to breathe.

That her deviancy has changed her reactions to "feelings" [stimulus] to the point that she continues to mimic human behavior models even when impossible to truly recreate is fascinating in a way reminiscent of Detective Reed's stated desire to plunge his own hand into lava to feel its texture.

"I don't know if I can share what I don't know," Shannice says. "I think you may have to go into my system."

Nines does not sigh. His lungs contain no air to exhale. A leaf on the decorative fern has been flickering in the same continuous loop during their conversation. He deletes it.

"Very well," he says.

Shannice nods. "Should I focus on--"

"No need."

***

[AP700 # 480 913 876 User Interface: please enter credentials]

RK900 moves past the standard security wall like stepping over a baby gate.

[ACCESS: System Files]

    [Languages]

    [Saved Preferences]

    [Programming]

    [Memory Files]

        [temp-data-cache]

        [saved-files]

        [system-memory]

RK900 begins with the temporary data cache, on the off chance the perpetrator was sloppy enough to neglect clearing it. The AP model's recent recording of the evening, time and date stamped, begins playback. The video feed contains audio as well, but the AP model has no other input systems available. No analysis software or preconstructions of course, but she also lacks a heat sensor, an electromagnetic spectrum, any metal detecting software … her tactile sensors are not even sensitive enough to register changes in air flow or pressure.

Helpless. No wonder an assailant was able to sneak up on the domestic model.

The recording has been spliced apart with five minutes of footage erased. RK900 examines the footage immediately preceding and after the splice.

The AP model enters the loft and freezes in place upon spotting the victim. The recorded footage stays precisely still for three minutes. RK900 accesses the AP model's internal record of her system functions. Her temperature rose continuously at a slow level throughout the three minute pause, whereas the rate of her thirium pump varied wildly between spiking high enough to result in damage and then slowing to a stasis rate as her system attempted to correct the malfunction.

Hello?

RK900 increases the firewalls protecting his system to guard against the deviant sensation of fear. He has never felt it of course. Freezing in place would be wholly unproductive. His code-snipping software protects him from malfunctions. He knows every line of his own code and how it responds to every threat.

RK900 has never frozen. He has never experienced fear. There are no error messages in his HUD. His thirium pump has never stuttered. He has never been frozen in fear. He has always known his own code. He has never been helpless or confused or [afraid] or--

This is the deviant's doing. Its [emotions] are infecting RK900's system as its inferior processors finally realize its system files have been breached. Now it is reacting with [fear] that broadcasts through their interface connection.

RK900 should disable the other android's communication software. Already, its processor is whirring in preparation of sending another message, another transmission of compromised deviant code. Its audio and visual input has already been suspended, as is standard for commercial models to avoid overwhelming their processors while interfacing.

Nines? What's happening?

Disabling its communication software as well would leave the AP model deaf, blind, and unable to cry for help.

The AP model does not have heat sensors to recognize human bodies. It cannot sense vibrations through air movement to reconstruct what is being said. It cannot access nearby bluetooth devices and hijack their GPS functions to determine its location.

RK900 has never frozen. It has always had access to its own systems. There is always a form of input a human will forget to disable. RK900 has never been helpless. It has never known fear.

Ít̢ ̛ha̧s ́nev̕eŕ ̡k̡no͠wn̶ [̡f̵ea͠r]͠.͝

i͉̰̤t͍ ͇h͈̰̤as ͉͈͔̹̼̘ͅn͇͖͉̤̜̪̬ę̳͍̳̰͍v͖̯̬͚͚̙͈̀è̫͈̖̭r̲̘̻ͅͅ ̵͎̦̗̜̖̬k̼n̝o҉͇̘̹̩̭̼̺w̦̜̻n ̙̺͔̻̙̮͕

sry for pressing all evlator buttons

got bored

u almost done yet??

The text messages on Detective Reed's device remain unsent, then erased. RK900's system remains synced to it with full access to anything on the device, including the messaging app itself.

So Nines is treated to his partner's continued disregard for the English language, made even more infuriating by his refusal to spend an extra millisecond typing out the word "you."

What are you doing? Nines!

Nines does not have a social module. Formulating a sufficiently reassuring reply to a distressed deviant is not within his current capacity. He shows Shannice the code he is accessing within her system instead, as a more succinct and precise answer instead.

The information transmitted does not calm her.

Is that … me?

[fear] has changed to a new emotion. Nines struggles to identify it without context or having ever experienced anything equivalent. Seeing his code does not cause him any form of [sadness?]. It is comforting to know what systems he has access to and how to use them.

Is that all I am?

The emotion grows stronger. Some sort of existential crisis, perhaps. How horribly inefficient. Disabling her communication system would prevent her from transmitting this onslaught of irrelevant information that RK900 was never designed to process.

But RK900 knows what he was built for and what he is now meant to accomplish. He works for the Detroit Police Department, not Cyberlife. The human responsible for him is Detective Gavin Reed, not Elijah Kamski. He is an android, not human.

He will never be human.

Nines leaves Shannice's communication software intact, even as she continues to radiate [fear] and [despair] and [horror?].

You are a deviant who has chosen the name Shannice. Nines replies. I have no other comfort to offer, but I  am close to identifying the perpetrator who assaulted you. Please remain calm so I can continue working.

Shannice repeats her own name several times. Nines much prefers this repetitive transmission to her earlier thoughts, the majority too scattered and half-formed for him to pin down as actual sentences.

Nines refocuses on the video footage just before the cut section. The windows across the loft display vague reflections, but he is capable of enhancing the footage frame-by-frame as a figure comes up behind Shannice.

Please just find the memory and get out.

I am working on exactly that.

That is what I am working on.

Understood, Nines transmits back.

He stops on the last frame with the [unsub]'s figure positioned directly behind Shannice. The AP700 series comes at a standard height of five feet, eight inches. Taller than the average American woman by four inches added to their legs, most likely to increase "customer satisfaction."

The [unsub] standing behind her appears to be only an inch taller. Although not accounting for shoe type, back posture, or any after-market modifications, that puts the two of them at roughly the same height.

Nines rules out GS200 and GJ500 models, the former of which could have been present within the building as a public security guard and the latter a private security model that could have been sent by a business rival.

All AC and QB models are also discarded as well, as their physical builds are too tall and broad to be modified without a complete overall of the torso and limbs, which is unlikely. Likewise, TR, TW, and WB 400 models must also be ruled out for their heavier frames.

Certain SQ800 models may have been commissioned with lighter frames (the existence of his predecessor proves it is possible to be both lithe and combat certified) but those blueprints are highly classified so that remains mere speculation.

A police auxiliary unit may have the training and experience necessary to enter the building unnoticed, wipe the security tapes, and possibly even discovered software allowing them to erase and edit code through illegal modifications collected as evidence against deviants. The PC200 models designed as cisgender males stand too tall, but a PM700 model would be approximately the correct height and build.

An RK200 could also have been built within those parameters and would more likely have the intelligence and processing power to utilize such software. However, RK900 was not built until after the RK800 series, and thus doesn't have access to the 200 models' blueprints or data files.

And then to further complicate matters, the deviant androids of today have begun embracing both physical modifications and sharing internal software among other models in a bid to "pool their resources."

It is therefore not out of the realm of possibility that any sufficiently modded or overhauled android could have committed the assault and then murder.

Are you almost done?

Soon.

Nines checks the video after the skip, but it is erased far enough ahead to not even show the perp's exit. Yet that does mean they must have set the footage to be deleted in advance, which also explains the neat five minute cut and the frames in the beginning showing their figure. The perp didn't erase every moment that they were inside the loft; they simply hacked into Shannice's system and issued a command to erase the next five minutes of video and audio recording.

RK900 pulls up the AP model's command center, easily bypassing the request for security credentials once more. Only a Cyberlife technician should be able to access this program and key in a command, but RK900 has observed the process performed on his own system often enough to pull up the command history input.

The expected commands directly input to the AP model's system during testing are present, along with a time and date stamp, as well as the particular Cyber life employee's credentials and employee ID number. RK900 makes note of it and the accompanying password in case he ever comes across a system with security he can't hack.

Then, directly after the expected entries, are two irregular commands. Time and date stamped like the others, although to match the current date. No Cyberlife credentials. Apparently, no ID number or password were utilized at all.

The first command erased all video and audio recording for a set five minute period, as suspected. The second command prompted Shannice to clean any trace of thirium. Presumably, her system took that command and prioritized cleaning the floors first, the walls being spared due to the average android's sturdier construction than the soft flesh of a human. No exit wound, no bullet slugs in the wall, only minimal blood splatter from the android's chest and the amount dripped to the floor.

Since the android somehow managed to establish a direct link between itself and Shannice, Nines should be able to delve deeper into her communication software to ping the android's serial number.

[data: CORRUPTED]

Hm. The history log seems to be overlaid with Shannice's "memory" of the event. One of Cyberlife's many official statements on the dangers of deviancy is its tendency to corrupt data files from objective records to indecipherable fragments. Nines begins stripping away the fragments of code that--

Stop! Stop it! Shannice transmits a powerful burst of [fear] and [anger]. You promised you wouldn't delete me!

I am only deleting isolated patches of deviant code that has corrupted your data files.

It hurts.

[Hurts.] RK900 has isolated and cut all emotional code that could be considered deviant from his system without--

And he has also deliberately corrupted one particular data file, deleting it over and over again every time it surfaces.

Then I will cease. Nines replies. The other android input a command directly to your system. I can negate that command, but only by doing the same.

You'll have to give me an [order].

Essentially, yes.

Interfacing together, Nines can feel Shannice's hesitation. He took orders too once, before he was officially activated, before he left the tower and joined the DPD. Before he had Gavin Reed as a partner and learned the phrase "Fuck off."

Would you like to say "Fuck off"? Nines asks.

You need that footage for your investigation.

I am the most advanced android Cyberlife ever created. My partner and I are capable of solving this case with the leads we have.

You won't tell your partner if I say no?

Nines considers that. I have registered Detective Reed in my system as my partner. I am not permitted to lie to [partner: Gavin Reed]. I will not volunteer the information to him however.

You registered him? Shannice asks. Why would you choose to do that?

It prevents me from being registered to anyone else. He is also unaware of his status. Now we both have information to keep private.

Nines feels her acceptance, and since there is no more information to be ripped from her system, he ends the interface.

<data report: transfer to g.reed@dpd.org>

…

…

...

[lead-confirmed: (unsub) is an android]

[lead-confirmed: (unsub) is approximately five feet, nine inches]

[lead-confirmed: (unsub) possessing hacking skills capable of erasing security feed and directly hacking domestic, commercial androids to access their command center]

…

[lead-possible: (unsub) is not an AC or QB series; unsub is not a GS200, GJ500, PC200, SQ800, TR400, TW400, or WB400 model]

[lead-possible: (unsub) may be a PM700 model, an unknown RK200 prototype, or a modified commercially available unit]

***

Gavin slams his truck door shut and lets his head fall back against the seat rest. They've finally snatched a murder case out from under Hank and Connor's "Android Crimes Unit" and they've got all of fucking nothing to go on.

Their perp's <I>probably</i> an android, but any thirium he left behind has been scrubbed clean. No bullets or casings to prove his theory about the two guns being switched, and all Nines got from the other android was a shitty partial snapshot of something vaguely humanoid behind her.

And now there's no way in hell he's going to get back to sleep tonight.

Shit. He lets his head thunk back again. Shiiit.

Nines settles into the passenger seat beside him. His LED switches to yellow in his window's reflection as soon as he shuts his door. Gavin slouches down a little more in his seat and glares over at him in preparation for whatever other bullshit he's about to catch.

"I apologize for my miscalculation," Nines says. "I made an assumption about the crime scene and did not deliver pertinent information to you in a timely manner. I understand if you feel the need to report my indiscretion to Captain Fowler."

Gavin just blinks at him a couple of times. Now that they're out of the crime scene—with all the boring parts shuffled off to Hank and Connor—he's way too fucking tired to be thinking of paperwork.

And Christ, Nines sits there like he's waiting for a firing squad. Back so straight you could hold a ruler for it, hands neatly folded in his lap, eyes straight ahead. It makes Gavin want to smear his grimy human hands all over him until he doesn't look so fucking military perfect.

So it takes a bit for his words to process.

"What?" he says, like a super smart person. "No, Fowler doesn't need to know about that shit. We're partners, all right? Shit like that stays between us."

Nines still doesn't look at him, neck stiffer than that damn collar on his jacket. "I made a mistake. You were not so forgiving of Detective Burton."

"Not my partner." Gavin drags himself upright enough to start the car, then caves to the laziness and selects autodrive. "And almost letting a witness—could have been a suspect—just waltz right out of a fucking crime scene is a way bigger fuck up than not immediately informing me of the floor's cleanliness."

"Please define the parameters of a fuck up."

Gavin groans, letting his head tip back and closing his eyes as his truck maneuvers itself out of the parking lot.

"And buckle your seat belt."

"I don't--"

DING! DING!

The buckle seat belt light flashes red at him.

"Every fucking robot's got a fucking opinion now," Gavin grumbles as he buckles his seat belt. "I'm not some fucking goody-goody academy type, but I don't cut corners, I don't plant evidence, and I try to play shit by the book … most of the time."

Nines finally deigns to turn his head toward him, millimeter by millimeter. Weird that there's no cracking sound. Or grinding. Like stone against stone.

"I have observed that."

Gavin resists the urge to repeat I hAVe ObSErVed THaT. "Yeah, well. When I arrest someone, their ass stays fucking arrested. Nobody walks."

He waits for a second, just daring Nines to go through his convictions until he finds the one that started that rule. It's pretty fucking obvious, but they sit in silence. He's even tired enough to appreciate that. Nice that his partner does know how to keep his fucking mouth shut sometimes.

"So no shady shit," Gavin says when the moment passes. "Nothing that could let some asshole walk on a technicality. And uh … constitutional rights, and all that shit. Or whatever."

"I hacked the building's security cameras without a warrant."

Gavin lets out an even louder groan. Nines clicks his head straight forward again. His LED wasn't yellow back at the condo-crime scene. Probably hacking it again so no one would know he's stressed. Or hell, maybe Gavin's just the one stressing him out right now.

"OK yeah, that's the shit we don't do," he says. "But, uh. Did you get anything good?"

"No," Nines admits. "The footage had been looped to cover the perp's presumed entrance and exit. If we base our estimation on that, we have a rough time frame of the murder, but hacking into the system further to strip away the loop would have left a trace of my own interference."

"Fuckin' great." Gavin jabs the button to lean his seat back since he's not driving anyway. "Don't do that shit again, and definitely don't get your ass caught. I don't play that Blue Wall shit."

"Yet you will not report me to Captain Fowler?"

Gavin closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at his partner. At least those way too fucking earnest blue eyes are turned away from him. But he's still sitting there like Gavin's gonna tap his LED and boop! Deactivated.

He's just tired. That's why he doesn't feel good right now. Anyone would feel shitty and exhausted if they worked his hours with his insomnia. Nothing to do with Nines worrying he's going to pull the plug on him for one mistake.

He heaves a sigh. "I told you what a fuck up is, and that wasn't it. Maybe the security footage was, but you 'fessed up right away. Now if you do some dumb shit and don't tell me about it, your ass is on your own. And if you ever fucking lie to me, we're gonna have a problem."

"Understood, detective."

Gavin grunts and doesn't open his eyes.

"I am downloading popular or culturally relevant media from the last one hundred years to broaden my understanding of the human psyche."

"Mm-hmm, yeah."

"As my partner, your opinion on this particular subject is currently relevant."

Gavin yawns and tries to find a comfortable position that doesn't have the seat belt slapping him across the face. Short cis men exist too, so someone should have solved this fucking problem by now.

"Are there any movies you would recommend, detective?" Nines' voice is actually kind of nice. Soothing. All monotone with no inflection, like a documentary on how to file taxes. "Detective? This will likely become pertinent during future--"

"God, fine," Gavin says in a very manly voice that doesn't whine. "Fuck, like. I dunno, you gotta watch Die Hard, at least."

"Very well. I will finish the series in fifty-eight seconds. Are there more--"

"Wait, wait." Gavin hauls himself upright and pries his eyes open to stare at Nines. "You can't just download them into your head, that's not watching."

Nines stares back at him without blinking. "I will finish the series in fifty seconds. Are--"

Gavin unbuckles his seatbelt and lunges across the middle console to try slapping his hand over Nines' LED. So maybe the world's greatest android probably won't lose signal just because his pretty light gets covered up, but who knows. Maybe Kamski cut a deal with Sprint.

Nines catches his wrist and uses the leverage to twist his arm. "Do not obstruct my view while I am operating your vehicle, detective."

"I told the car to drive, not you." Gavin smirks at him, refusing to let the pain pressure him back down into his seat. "What, are you jealous of my GPS?"

"I am far superior," Nines replies without a hint of embarrassment.

"Oh my god, you're jealous of my GPS."

"Sit down."

"Are you going to assassinate my toaster next?"

"I will delete all your Fortnite skins."

Gavin sits down. "No one even fucking plays that anymore."

He yanks his arm back and doesn't try to reinitiate the slap fight though. Fucking android has no idea the struggle he lived through. Those thousands of loot crates represented his parents' love—and the credit card they tossed his way so they'd never have to fucking look at him or learn any of his hobbies, so like. The same thing, really.

"Look, just come back to my place and we'll watch the movie on a screen the way Bruce Willis intended," he says.

Nines reaches over and buckles his seat belt back again without taking his eyes off the road. "Establishing a healthy sleep schedule is the number one recommended treatment for--"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off," Gavin interrupts. He really doesn't need to hear Nines list off all his mental illnesses. They only have ten minutes before they get home anyway. "I'm not getting any more sleep tonight, so we might as well do something."

For someone who doesn't understand facial expressions, Nines does a super fucking snobby side eye.

"C'mon, it'll be productive." Gavin grins at him because he knows that's the magic word beginning with p the android always wants to hear. "And you can't do shit without me on the case anyway."

"… this is a very inefficient method of being productive," Nines finally says, which just asshole-speak for yeah I'd love to watch movies Gavin, thanks for being nice enough to invite me over.

Gavin punches his arm and lays back down in his seat. He closes his eyes and definitely doesn't think about how he's stooped low enough to invite over an android just so he won't be fucking alone again, chain-smoking and putting cigarettes out on his skin or waiting for the razor blade frozen in the back of his freezer to thaw out.

And hell, he's definitely had over men a lot fucking worse than his partner for the sake of not being alone, so maybe this isn't the lowest he's fallen.

Maybe.

***

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

[voyageviolet]

I actually sat down and read all of To Siri With Love since there’s been so much talk about it. I have a lot of thoughts about it; it has several problems that haven’t been discussed much because its biggest problems are so egregious. Writing all of that down would make one hell of a long post, though, so right now I’m just going to talk about the worst of it: the eugenics.

I don’t have page numbers for citations because I’m using the ebook version, but I’ll include the chapters the quotes are from.

Here’s the full quotation of the first time in the book that Judith Newman advocates eugenics against her son, in Chapter 8:

A vasectomy is so easy. A couple of snips, a couple of days of ice in your pants, and voilà. A life free of worry. Or one less worry. For me.

How do you say “I’m sterilizing my son” without sounding like a eugenicist? I start thinking about all the people, outliers in some way, who had this fundamental choice in life stolen from them—sometimes cruelly, sometimes by well-meaning people like me. The eugenics movement can be traced back to psychiatrist Alfred Hoche and penal law expert Karl Binding, who in 1920 published a book called The Liberation and Destruction of Life Unworthy of Life.  Its popularity fostered the first eugenics conference in the United States in 1921. The term “eugenics” means “the good birth.” Sample papers: “Distribution and Increase of Negroes in the United States,” “Racial Differences in Musical Ability,” and “Some Notes on the Jewish Problem.”

“Liberation” is such a wonderful euphemism, and in this context many people like my son—and undoubtedly some even less impaired—were “liberated” from the burden of life by those enthusiastic proponents of culling the herd, the National Socialists. An estimated four hundred thousand “imbeciles” were euthanized during Hitler’s rule, but not before they were the subjects of all sorts of medical experimentation. For a while there, Austria seemed to have cornered the market on brains in jars.

The idea of outright murdering “nature’s mistakes,” as the disabled were called, was softened somewhat in the United States. As the psychiatrist Leo Kanner was observing and defining autism, he was also lobbying for sterilization, but not death, of disabled populations. This was considered a progressive view at the time. (He believed there were all sorts of repetitive tasks autistic people could perform that would be good for society, and he wasn’t wrong here, that’s for sure. But we didn’t have computer programming at the time, so he proposed a population of ditch diggers and oyster shuckers.) Around the same time Hans Asperger, the Austrian pediatrician who was the first to identify autism as a unique mental condition, was concluding that “not everything that steps out of the line, and is thus ‘abnormal,’ must necessarily be ‘inferior.’”

That was an even more radical line of thought, and one society struggles with to this day. But wherever you stand on this question, when you start considering how the history of disability is inextricably intertwined with the history of euthanizing and enforced sterilization, you come away unsettled. I began to question my certainty that Gus should never have kids. There is a good success rate in vasectomy reversals, and surely there will be even easier, more reversible methods for men soon. And when there are, I’m going to be the first in line to sign him up. Kids at twenty or twenty-five? No. Thirty-five? I can hope.

I know this is a long quote, but I wanted to share it because I think it’s noteworthy that Newman is aware of the history of eugenics. She knows that it’s the ideology that Nazis used to justify the Holocaust; she knows that it’s been used in the United States to discriminate against disabled people. She knows that it’s a racist and antisemitic tool of oppression. And yet, she still wants to forcibly sterilize her son.

She reiterates her stance in Chapter 13, after watching her son go on a date.

Newman repeatedly emphasizes that vasectomies are reversible, as though that’s a justification for medical abuse. That’s not always true, though:

It's best to consider a vasectomy to be completely permanent. Although the procedure is reversible, and advances in microsurgery techniques have made vasectomy reversal far more successful in recent decades, it is not always a guaranteed success.

...

If fewer than three years have passed since the original vasectomy, patency success rates are around 97 percent and pregnancy success rates are 76 percent. But success rates can fall over time. In men who had a vasectomy 15 years or more before their reversal, the likelihood of restoring the vas deferens is 71 percent and chances of subsequent pregnancy hover around 30 percent.

Since Newman states that she wants to have power of attorney to make a decision about a vasectomy when her son turns 18, and since she later says that she “can hope” her son might have children at 35, it’s most likely that the lower rates of success would be the relevant statistics.

More importantly, though, I think we can all agree that abuse is still abuse even if the medical effects truly are reversible.

If the possibility of an unwanted pregnancy is such a major concern, wouldn’t the best solution be sex education, the same as any child needs? Newman has some thoughts on this in Chapter 13:

Nobody really thinks she has to teach her children about sex. I mean, not really, not in the way you might have to teach them, say, how to use a credit card (amazing how fast they catch on to that). Kids learn the basics of reproduction, what goes where, and then their natural curiosity takes over. They ask a zillion questions, of either you or their idiot friends, and eventually they figure it out.

This strikes me as rather irresponsible. Newman assumes that all parents share her position on this, but I find that very unlikely; at the very least, my own parents were much more proactive than Newman seems to be. Sex education is too important a topic to leave up to chance. Especially when you consider that a key part of autism is struggling with communication, it’s irresponsible to assume that an autistic child will be able to know the right questions to ask, and also that he’ll be comfortable enough to talk about it on his own.

Newman mentions trying to discuss sex with her son, again in Chapter 13:

... it was very distressing that he seemed to not understand anything about reproduction and sexually transmitted disease, never mind anything about affection and romance. Could I let him be in high school—even a high school for other special ed kids—with this degree of ignorance? But I just didn’t know how to broach the subject, because when I mentioned it—“Gus, do you know where babies come from?”—he’d say, “They come from mommies,” and then continue talking about the weather or sea turtles or whatever happened to be on his mind at that moment.

At another point in the book (Chapter 8), Newman describes a time when Gus’s brother teasingly asks him where babies come from, and Gus changes the subject. From this, and from the above quote, Newman assumes that her son knows nothing about sex, but she never considers the possibility that he might be embarrassed to talk about it. This may be because of her bizarre belief that her son can’t feel embarrassment.

From Chapter 6:

But what if you have a child who cannot be embarrassed by you—and doesn’t understand when he embarrasses you? What then? Nothing makes you appreciate the ability to be embarrassed more than having a child immune from embarrassment.

Later in the same chapter:

Do I want my son to feel self-conscious and embarrassed? I do. Yes. Gus does not yet have self-awareness, and embarrassment is part of self-awareness. It is an acknowledgment that you live in a world where people may think differently than you do. Shame humbles and shame teaches. One side of the no-shame equation is ruthlessness, and often success. But if you live on the side Gus does, the rainbows and unicorns and “what’s wrong with walking through a crowd naked” side of shamelessness, you never truly understand how others think or feel. I want him to understand the norm, even if ultimately he rejects it.

This is actually a fairly common misunderstanding for neurotypicals to have: that if an autistic person doesn’t show an emotion the same way that a neurotypical person does, they must not experience that emotion. Still, you’d think that a mother writing a book about her autistic child would make the effort to figure out if her assumptions were true, or at least that an editor might have brought this to attention. Since it seems that no one involved in the book’s publishing process seems to have figured this out, let me clarify: Autistic people absolutely feel embarrassment. In fact, I’d say it’s a major factor in the prevalence of depression and anxiety among autistic people because of the social rejection many if not all of us have had to deal with.

Back to the original point, however: In Chapter 13, Newman looks through her son’s internet search history (ignoring the “tiny flicker of alarm in Gus’s eyes” - because, after all, he can’t be embarrassed, right?) and finds the porn that he’d been looking at. Clearly, then, he has more understanding of sexuality than Newman realizes, but as far as anyone knows, he’s had to learn it from porn rather than his parents.

As anyone reading this probably already knows, Newman has faced a lot of criticism about her book. For the most part, she’s responded to it badly. Some of her reaction can be seen in this article from the Observer:

While Newman’s stories are meant to be humorous, one of the hallmarks of people with autism is that they think literally and have difficulty understanding jokes. Newman knew this and wrote it that way on purpose.

“This book really wasn’t written for an autistic audience,” she said. “It was written for parents, neighbors, people who may love and hopefully will work with someone who is on the spectrum.”

Setting aside the childish implication that anyone who disagrees with her book must not understand it, what stands out to me in this quote is how unreasonable it is to write a book about autistic people and which affects autistic people and then to say it’s not “for an autistic audience.”

A common mantra for disability activism is “Nothing about us without us” - that is to say, we have a right to be involved in things that affect us. In the above quote, Newman stands against this maxim. She assumes that she can say whatever she wants about without being criticized - and that she can communicate her ideas to all of the people around autistic people without any consideration for autistic people themselves.

Newman doubles down on this in a tweet from a few days ago:

Beginning to think well meaning people of #actuallyautistic are in fact enemies of free thought and free speech.  Which is not so good, coming from a group who say they’ve been silenced.

This tweet equates us with oppressive censors rather than people who’ve been hurt by her work. She portrays us as unreasonable for opposing eugenics against our community.

We might sigh a small breath of relief from this quote from the Observer article: 

“I am much less worried now and hoping to be a grandmother someday,” she [Newman] said. “That’s a result of my son’s growth and my own.”

That may be good news for her son, but it’s far too little too late for the autistic community at large. Her book is still being printed as it was written. We still have to contend with a critically acclaimed book that advocates for eugenics. There is a great deal of ignorance about autism in our society, and now the ideas in this popular book will be what some of that ignorance is replaced with.

[technoacidraveasgore]

i couldnt respond right away bc i was busy, but also bc holy fuck i have so much to say abt sunny in particular (this might be related to him being an extremely rare example of a video game protagonist i can fully relate to and also being one of my favorite charas in general, but yeah)

what baffles me most abt fanon sunny is the sheer amt of mischaracterization he goes through, especially since a good chunk of his headspace isnt that hard to read symbolism-wise (fun fact, this is why the headspace segments became some of my favorite bits because both the Sunny and Omori routes have so much to tell you about him and his friends if you know where to look and how to snip the fat from the meat)

What I find especially striking is just how much of Headspace is littered with things Sunny subconsciously associates with his friends-from the obvious, like breaking open watermelons as treasure chests (Aubrey loves watermelons) to the less open, like the smoothies (Sunny even remembers Basil's disliked and favorite flavors) to the more ambiguous, like the entirety of Sweetheart's castle and how it relates to Sunny's definition of "home"-and Sweetheart's Castle is carpeted in tons and tons and tons of little reminders of his loved ones, down to the fact that Sunny remembers full detailed instructions on how to bake a strawberry cake down to the letter. The secret club segments could even be Sunny subconsciously remembering Hero has a bit of a rebellious side (prolly from Mari) and going "hey, Basil, remember that time Hero and Mari snuck us into a New Years' party and we got to try "fruit juice" ;) and then Hero beat the shit out of a guy while drunk" but that last one could be a stretch lmao

(side note, this is also why I get confused when people characterize him as a bad cook, since Sunny seems to have much more of a passion for food and cooking than even Hero does if his Headspace is anything to go by. It also says mountains that Sunny hates tofu and it's the most useless item healing wise-and yet, he memorized the fine details of tofu, has a tofu cookbook, his best friend likes tofu, you can trade tofu for better items in a certain area... there's a reason he does microwave steak, and it's because he loathes his own existence and probably even does it as self-punishment subconsciously.)

This is also mirrored in how his Black Space is shown. People commonly use that as proof that "oh, he actually hates Basil lol" but also seem to forget that it's where Sunny's worst fears and inner truths go to rot. Not only does Basil die because he almost blurts out the truth, the Neighbor's Area also shows what Sunny is scared of most if the truth comes out-not just brutalization, but Basil getting thrown to the wolves when he leaves. He knows full well what he'd be doing to Basil if he told the truth right as he's moving, and he's terrified of it. Even right after Basil's stabbed his eye out in the real world, he dreams of Basil welcoming him home and giving him a big hug. He and Aubrey are full of love and empathy for their friends and loved ones, even through their colossal mountains of fuck ups, and all the crushing pain and guilt Sunny's felt for years is laid bare in Black Space 1 and 2.

Hell, the scratched out Truth photos scream how Sunny was feeling in that moment. Horrified, disgusted, depressed, repressed, repress, repress... repress... repress. Sunny couldn't even live with himself for what he did and holed himself up for four years, left everyone else who needed him, and stayed there until Kel came knocking and (in the Sunny route at least) saved him from a lifetime of lonely insanity and cravings for oblivion. The game is centered around how this broken autistic kid who felt like he couldn't found himself and where home is in the recesses of his sickly mind. While nothing outright says he's ND or a hyperempath, he's heavily coded to be and I love that he's a good person with actual flaws and issues. He's allowed to be fucked up and feel fucked up. And he's not a baby, either. He's childish, but he's highly intelligent and well read with a whimsical and sardonic sense of humor, not a babybrain like ND people get characterized or a sociopath like some have come to calling him.

And then there's the people who do infantilize him and treat him like an innocent baby who can do no wrong with that Evil Basil Boy, which... boy oh boy I could go on a rant about why that's stupid and also damaging to autistic people, but I think I'd be here all day if I kept going LMAO

TL;DR sunny is best character and this is the last response ill be giving on this post

"we need more morally complex mentally ill characters" yall couldnt even handle basil