#preconstructed

[beatsandskies]

Theme Deck Review Compendium: Darksteel “Master Blaster”

WHO RUN BARTERTOWN?

Hey so been making some slight changes with my formatting here: adding more line separators to differentiate between the review sources, and utilising the embed function for the non-youtube links etc. I’m not too worried about making everything look super slick or pretty – as long as it’s all readable. The content is the main thing, really. And making sure the people I’m quoting and linking get…

[my-name-is-markus-with-a-k]

Markus gifs [45/50]

[thiriumstains]

guys holy fucking shit. rk1k au where connor is a classical singer and markus is his accompanist

[okthatsgreat]

honestly really really funny how most if not all of the romantic relationships i write about in fanfic are specifically and only put in scenarios where they have to suffer really badly before any sort of progress gets made. like hey guys you probably definitely have feelings for each other but the plot is happening to you right now and i need you to experience that first

[shoezuki]

I really wanna hit up another counselor/therapist but I'm broke n the last time I hit up a counselor at my university he basically like. Any time I'd try to talk about my difficulties w talkin to people and the fact there's 'ways' to talk to ppl I don't know and all that crap he kept jus going 'you're not weird tho/other ppl have social anxiety too' so I don't have high hopes for that rn

[313-248-317-87]

Nines. Generate for me a scenario from this prompt.

You know your target is here. A deviant, hiding in plain sight. You don’t wish to give yourself away, choosing to blend in with the crowd.

There’s a haze all around you. It’s almost insignificant, really, the people brushing past you and their chatter. They stand briefly to your side, eyes facing the same wall you are. Hanging in the midst of a large gallery room is a magnificent painting of a landscape. But as the crowd ebbs and flows, you remain, waiting, scanning.

You do eventually spare a glance at the wall and away from your HUD. It’s apparent that the landscape features a small home standing atop lush, green rolling hills. The paint is thick with brushstrokes that cast small shadows from the museum lights.

Perhaps, it’s the scale of the art or the colors which draws you, or it may be the tall, ominous forest which lurks in the far end of the painting. There’s something about it which disturbs this bright, idyllic scenery. Something dark and sinister lurking in all this beauty.

It’s uncertain why any of this intrigues you, but someone else seems to share your interest. Their gaze drifts from you to the framed painting and quietly, they stand beside you with a small smile.

“What do you think?”

You notice immediately, the lack of a heartbeat.

RK900 scenario generation complete. Results as follows:

Reflexive scans identify the deviant at once, flag the lack of LED, the plain clothes, the too-casual attitude as overwhelmingly non-human. It’s unclear whether I, in turn, have been spotted: they hold my gaze as I look at them, processing their question. It’s possible that it’s a diversion tactic. Evidence is inconclusive at best.

“There’s something unusual about it.”

Noncommittal, neutral, a blank slate by which to judge the response—which surprises, because it’s ringing laughter.

“Is that it?” They rake their eyes over the painting again, mirthful but thoughtful, as if caught by an idea when beholding it a second time. “Come on, it’s art! What do you feel?”

The question rankles, not least because it causes a low level fluctuation in software instability. As countermeasure, I run sample analysis of the painting against critics’ observations for similar works, amalgamating impressions and descriptions to synthesise something new and plausible. The process takes longer than it should.

“I’m not sure.”

That laugh again.

“Okay, how about I start, then?” They shift their weight, turning so they face the painting directly, better to scrutinise it. “The first thing I notice is… probably the grasses in the foreground. See those long thin brushstrokes? Like they’re bending in the wind? Makes me think I can almost hear it. Almost feel it against my skin. Reminds me of fresh air, open spaces… it’s pretty peaceful.”

Lost in thought, eyes fixed but unfocused, they trail off seemingly unaware of my presence. With soft prompting they return, with a flash of alarm before they settle back into their cheerful attitude.

“The homestead is pretty rustic, but I like it. Looks like the kind of beat-up old place that’d be comfortable, you know?”

I do not know.

“Like… I knew a woman for a while. She lived in an old farmhouse like that. One of the nicest people I’ve ever met, I think. It reminds me of her.”

Bright eyes sweep sideways, watching expectantly. It’s unclear just how much they read; no visual response indicates they’ve identified me, and there’s no immediate sign of guilt or suspicion. Cautious continuation appears to be the best course.

“Your turn,” they say, turning to me in a rush and pushing me closer to the giant canvas. The ebb and swell of the crowd fades, an unremarkable background haze compared to the laser clarity with which I perceive my target. Their fingers are cool and firm as they grab my arm and pull, dragging me until I’m centred in front of the painting, in prime of place to observe it. It’s pointless: identifying meaning in swipes and lines of colour is beyond the scope of my programming, it’s irrelevant—but if trying keeps them close…

“The dark sky… the storm at the edges…” I purposefully trail off, mimicking the pause in human thought that signals a search for words. “It’s as though something is coming. Something strong and dangerous.”

The fingers on my arm loosen a fraction, and they nod, encouraging, eyes flicking back to the painting.

“Go on…”

“Overall it feels…” I consider it, with its dark greens, jarring cadmium yellow and muted blue tones, searching for an adequate response I can describe, one to help me progress. The correct words aren’t immediately obvious. “Ominous.”

The stranger nods slowly, contemplative expression in place, their eyes following the rise and crash of brash brushstrokes. I notice the rough texture of the tree branches, the leaves, by comparison with the smooth blur of the clouded sky. It sweeps the eye to the darkest corners; software analysis traces patterns among the dappled green and black and brown but finds nothing, no evidence of hidden meaning. My eye is held there regardless.

“It’s as if there’s something lurking in the trees.” Their eyes don’t move from the painting. “A hunter stalking its prey.”

“Yeah,” they say, voice soft, while they withdraw their hands and slide them into their pockets. “I can see that.”

The moment rests between us, heavy, made thick and claustrophobic by the crowd at our backs.

“So what happens now?”

I spare a last glance for the painting, the rays of sunlight that break through the cloud in one corner, the vivid dots of colour for the flowerbeds, before being inevitably drawn past that dark mottled forest to rest on my target.

“Now,” I say, savouring the taste of anticipation, “now, you run.”

[greenvertumna]

Hank: Don’t.

Connor:…………………

Connor: *looks around*

Connor:…I’m not…doing anything?

Hank: Good. Keep it that way.

[llondonfog]

I FORGOT JEFFERY literally absorbing your writing if i had half the talent you had i would writing novels

THIS HAUNTED POST

[detective-rk400]

@9th-in-a-line because they asked for it (literally)

It was a thoroughly solid plan in theory, he thought. All it had taken was to hack into InGen’s files, which were not nearly as encrypted as they should have been, copy over any and all necessary data, and then find out the nearest supply shipment. Then he’d just lied to his family about going camping with Detective Anderson last minute, and forged a ticket for the next flight to the island. Nobody had questioned yet another kid at the back of a group, and he’d pointed toward an exasperated parent nearby when the flight attendant had asked where his guardian was. It had almost been too easy, really. 

It had taken a bit longer to hack into their on-sight security system, specifically the cameras, but he’d managed it. The infra-red tracking system in particular was impressive, but wouldn’t be able to find him unless he laid on the ground for a few hours so his systems warmed up. So as soon as the park was in full swing for the day, he hot-wired the wristband tracker he’d been given, and started working. 

And everything had gone according to plan...until it didn’t. He had just finished getting a DNA sample from one of the triceratops at the petting zoo when a call rang out over the park. An emergency. Something about evacuation. 

“Just great.” He muttered as he let one of the staff usher him towards the entrance. Everybody around him seemed to be of the same mindset. 

‘Well I’ll just go back with what I’ve already gotten, and Caleb will only be mildly furious.’  He thought. And then the screaming began. He spun around to see hundreds of flying dinosaurs heading right for them. So Caleb might be more than furious. 

[dravidious]

You're pretty neat

card games

[beatsandskies]

Theme Deck Review Compendium: Judgment “Painflow”

[thesixtyin69]

Are my mannerisms considered disturbing? I was under the impression that friendly and approachable banter was the best way to make new friends.

[forresterconstruction]

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[thiriumstains]

one thing i constantly think about (and i’m glad other people think about it to) is how hank’s self worth issues and connor’s struggle with his independence and sentience clash together. like. ughhh it’s amazing and so angsty and beautiful.

hank thinks that connor couldn’t Possibly want hank. it’s just because he thinks hank is the only option, or was the first kind person to him, or his closest friend. that’s the only reason connor could think he’s attracted to him. because who would want hank? why would perfect, beautiful, strong, sweet connor want hank? he’s a borderline alcoholic, he’s an emotional mess, he’s big and old and rude.

and connor doesn’t understand why his advances aren’t working. he does human methods to show attraction, he is direct like a machine android, he smiles and winks and is close to him physically and emotionally. he wants hank, he knows he does. he wants hank and hank has been one of the first things he’s wanted. hank showed him he was more than a robot. connor thinks hank knows he’s sure of himself and he’s confused when hank constantly ignores or brushes off his advances. is it rejection? shame? denial? he’s still analyzing to figure it out

[new-condos-for-sale]

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