#system crasher

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Faith No More - Epic

[christianfriedelfan]

Ladies and Gentlemen, Albrecht Schuch ♡

[andiamofratello]

good news people - i finally brought my Albrecht campaign to Twitter so follows are appreciated!

[mymindgoes-suicidal]

es ist so ein verwirrendes gefühl, wenn all die menschen, mit denen du am abgrund standest, plötzlich wieder festen boden unter den füßen haben und ihr leben leben, als wären sie nie am abgrund gewesen. während man selbst immer noch gefangen in diesem schwarzen, unermesslich tiefen loch steckt und weit und breit keinen weg findet, der daraus führt. das gefühl von stolz und freude, weil die anderen es daraus geschafft haben, aber gleichzeitig diese unendliche trauer, verzweiflung und hoffnungslosigkeit, weil man selbst nicht heraus kommt.

[dxrlingsofmine]

I just got done watching System Crasher, Albrecht Schuch looks a bit like my dad which is very conflicting.

[romaniasweetromania]

Neiubirea nu poate fi roz!

Vai, ce palma am primit toti.

[shreddrcheez]

[otrtbs]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ an otrtbs submission for the @sillylovesongsfest ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

prompt: pierre by ryn weaver

jarty croucher | t | 4.1k | slightly sexual themes and recreational drug use

Barty rolls over and groans at the sun-soaked tent he finds himself in. It’s sweltering hot and the thin cotton top sheet of the makeshift bed clings to his sticky skin. The tent is too bright and it smells sour with stale tobacco and weed.

It would be enough to make Barty vomit if there was anything left in his stomach.

There’s sand everywhere.

“It’s so fucking humid in here,” he groans, as his brain pounds against his skull. “I can’t breathe.”

A voice in the bed next to him makes him jump.

“It rained last night, remember?”

Barty turns to see a head of nearly white curly hair fanning out over the blue tarp next to him. A girl, no, the girl from last night laying on her stomach, still half-asleep.

“Fucking torrential.”

Barty didn’t remember. Not really.

The night before was coming back to him in bits and pieces. Alcohol-soaked frames of cognizance.

He remembers fighting with James again. Screaming so loud that his voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy. This time was the last time. Never come back here again. He remembers hearing about some giant rager in the desert. Something about celebrating the blood moon. There were caravans of people and bonfires and music by the time Barty showed up.

He remembers not knowing anyone there. Heard from a friend of a friend. He was a drifter. A party crasher. None of that mattered once he was there though. A group of people pulled him in like they’ve known him his entire life, and soon enough he had a cup of something that burned his throat in his hand and a girl dragging him closer to the fire.

He remembers the brutal sun casting heat waves so violent that everything seemed to shimmer and dance slightly around him. Pockets of sun-induced water appeared just beyond the sand dunes and disappeared by the time Barty walked over to them.

He drank until the sun went down, he took everything offered to him. He sweats out all of the vodka in his system just to down more in a steady stream. He barely recalls the red moon rising high above him, ruddy and ominous.

When the desert got cold, that’s when the real party started.

Some man’s hand around his throat, some girl’s tongue in his mouth. Everything pulsating and dully muted around him. Bodies pressing up against his, hands through his hair, a settling chill to cool the sticky heat.

The girl pulls away. Stark white hair like an angel in the desert. Billowy white clothes like a ghost.

And Barty wants to be haunted.

Sand slipping through his hands. She weaves in and out of the crowd once she decides she’s done with him, but he follows as closely as he can.

Eventually, she stops and turns around again, the shadows from the fire flicker on her face.

“I have something to help with dullness,” she shouts over the noise, the people, the music, the blood rushing in his head.

“What?” He hadn’t realized he’d said that part out loud.

She sticks out her tongue so Barty can see a little white tab with a smiley face on it. It has three eyes, and one of them winks at him.

He puts his mouth on hers in grateful acceptance and the tab finds its way under his tongue.

“Who are you?” Barty asks, voice reverent as he eyes the tattoo on her shoulder. Little horns inked into her skin. “An angel?”

She laughs as she pulls him closer. Her nails are sharp like claws and for a second Barty thinks she might rip him apart. Feels like he’s been caught. Her teeth sharp and glinting at the sight of his throat.

“Maybe I’m the devil.”

That’s where his memory ends. For the most part.

He holds a hand up to his sore lip and winces. Runs his tongue over it and tastes the dried blood.

“Fuck,” he groans.

The girl sits up and as soon as Barty sees her pale green eyes blinking back at him he smiles.

“Pandora.”

“Hm. So you do remember.”

“Vaguely,” Barty croaks through chapped lips. “I can’t believe I slept in a tent in the desert on the floor.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you do this all the time. No offense.”

“None taken,” Barty sighs, as he examines his stinging palm to see a raw and, now dried, bloody cut spanning the lifeline on his skin. “What the fuck?”

“It was the sacrifice to the moon,” Pandora supplies breezily as Barty moves to stand up.

“Right, whatever that fucking means,” Barty brushes her off.

Maybe he should be more concerned about the whole ordeal, but he wasn’t. It was actually…fun. A good release of energy.

He would’ve hated it.

He would’ve insisted that Barty stay the night at his place instead. Entertain him with something less risky. Something more self-serving.

Barty shakes his head to clear his thoughts. At least last night he hadn’t thought of him at all. Now, the harsh light of the morning was screwing things up again.

Pandora helps him search the sand and surrounding tents for his keys and his wallet, and some various other items before she points him in the right direction and Barty makes the trek back up the road to his car.

She tells him there’s another party next month. He tells her he’ll think about it.

The drive back is quiet. Barty doesn’t turn on the radio, it’ll only aggravate his already pounding head.

Instead, he thinks.

What would he think if Barty told him what he did?

Told him he held out his bleeding palm to the fire and listened as the blood sizzled on the rocks and wood beneath it. Told him he danced in the desert in the pouring rain and slept in a sandy tent as the alcohol coursed through his system. Told him he stayed out all night, not bothering to call home. Not bothering to tell a single other person where he was.

He’d be appalled. He’d probably sigh in disappointment, or better yet, he’d yell when Barty finally bothered to answer his call the next week.

It’s not Barty’s fault that James liked him because he was rough around the edges. Too sharp to hold onto without bleeding. Too impulsive to see a long-term future with. Too mean to have breakfast with the next morning.

It’s why it was fun. Something with an expiration date. Manufactured good times in a bottle– consequence-free-fucking.

But then it got confusing.

Barty wishes he would call. But he’s thankful he doesn’t.

A few weeks later, Barty finds himself at the front row of some dive bar-turned-concert-venue sipping a warm and flat beer. The place is crowded and loud, and the air is warm with the stench of alcohol and weed. He’s pretty sure someone in the back is giving out makeshift tattoos for five dollars. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna take the guy up on the offer after the show.

Some girl, in a poor attempt to dance, knocks into him and sends his beer sloshing over the side of his cup and onto the floor.

He doesn’t really mind though. Because it’s that occurrence that causes the bass player to look at him. Really look at him as he sways along to the music, and nods his head to the beat.

Barty gives a small smirk and raises his plastic cup in response and the bass player smirks back at him. A challenge. A dare. One that Barty knows well.

Barty watches him all night. Dark, muscled arms strumming along, plucking the strings. He’s so close Barty can see his short paint chipped fingernails and calloused hands. His hair bleached almost white, falls in twists that he shakes every once in a while as they fall in front of his eyes. His lips mouth the words to the song the frontman is singing. His body moves to the beat of the drummer, and his eyes shine like he’s doing it all for Barty. And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s because Barty has always been Barty, but as the night progresses he starts to actually believe it is all for him.

When the set is over, Barty follows the bassist out back into the cooling night.

“You played really well up there,” he called after the man, causing him to turn around.

“Oh yeah?” The man smirked.

“Yeah. I’m Barty.”

“Evan.”

“Watched you all night.”

And that’s all it took really before Evan had him pressed up against some cold stone brick wall in a back alleyway.

Barty spends the better part of two months with Evan. They travel to different venues in the surrounding towns. They sleep all day and stay out all night as Evan plays his shows. Evan teaches him how to steal from unsuspecting store clerks. Barty shows him how to pick any lock. He lets Evan trace the scar on his palm over and over again. They’re high for most of it. Barty pierces Evan’s septum. Evan pierces his eyebrow. He travels with the band and plays the part of groupie dutifully.

It was much longer than his one-night desert excursion with Pandora, but soon enough the inevitable happened. He gets bored. Evan’s time was up and those soft, disappointed brown eyes flooded his mind once more.

Evan’s hands were calloused but not as rough. He was telling a joke but didn’t laugh the same. He didn’t bite to draw blood. He didn’t press to bruise.

Fuck.

Barty left with little trace. Just a text message telling Evan to text him the next time he was in town playing a show. Evan liked it but otherwise didn’t say a word.

And that was that.

Maybe this was just his way. Maybe he would be perpetually stuck chasing some unknown James shaped hole for the rest of his life. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He could fill it up with other things. He could live with that.

He tries to tell himself he can live with that when it happens. His phone buzzes. Again and again and again and again and Barty stares at the caller ID displaying a number he’s more than familiar with. He answers it with a shameful eagerness but doesn’t speak.

“Hello?”

“Did you mean to call me?” Barty croaks out in the deadened air.

A stuttering pause. “Yeah. Yeah, hi. How are you?”

Barty lets out a sharp laugh. Too sharp. “How am I? I’m fine, James. How are you?”

“Good,” James tried to say brightly, but Barty could hear the flatness in his voice. “How, um. How have you been?”

“Okay, what the fuck, Bambi. You’re freaking me out. It’s almost four in the morning.”

James laughs at the nickname that was always made to be an insult. Until it wasn’t.

“No, I know. I just…” James trails off and Barty finds himself wishing he would just finish his fucking sentence.

Come on, James. It’s me. You don’t have to be nice to me, remember? That’s the deal. That’s the rule. You can be mean to me. I can take it.

Something in his chest pulls, but Barty opts to ignore it as he takes on his talking-to-James tone: Sarcastic and needle-sharp.

“Miss me that much, Potter?” Barty hears James let in a sharp breath on the other end of the line and pushes on. “What? Are you going to tell me that it’s three in the morning and this is the time I normally come slinking around your place? Miss having someone like me to knock you about a bit? Get a little too rough with you? Fuck you, smoke with you after, and leave before the lights come on?”

“Barty.” He tries not to flinch at the fact that James is using his first name. “That’s not why…I’m calling because–”

But Barty cuts him off before James can say something ridiculous. Something like ‘I’m calling because I care about you,' or 'I’m seeing someone else,' or 'I’m worried for you. This guy’s really great, not at all like you,' or 'I miss you.’

“Well, I can’t come around anymore. I just finished touring around with some bass player and his band all across the state. They just signed to a label they’re about to be huge. And Evan, the bass player, he’s like the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, so.” Barty was aware that he was trying too hard. He could hear it in his own voice, but he was praying it was convincing enough for James. He pulled his lip ring in between his teeth and waited for James to say something.

“Oh, there’s an Evan.”

There was an Evan, kind of.

“Yeah, and he’s great, and I’m great. Never better, actually. So I think you were right to end it when you did. Whatever it was. It’s better this way.” Barty lies.

Barty lies and James goes quiet. It’s unbearable.

“James?”

Do you want to come over?

Why did it take you months to call?

Did you mean what you said when you told me you could never bring me around your friends?

Do you ever miss fighting with me like I miss fighting with you?

Remember when you almost let me pierce your eyebrow? Evan pierced mine a while ago and I thought about you the entire time he was doing it.

His hands aren’t yours wrapped around my throat. He never squeezes hard enough.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

Speak now or forever hold your peace, James Potter.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry, yeah.”

“Okay. Later, bambi.”

Barty clicks the phone before James can respond.

What the fuck was James thinking?

What was he thinking?

Barty would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small pulse of adrenaline at the sound of James’ voice. A small sense of satisfaction that James had broken the silence between them and called first.

He was going to ignore the fact that James had used the gentle voice with him. The voice reserved for a crying child, a terminal patient, or a scared wild animal in the woods. He was going to ignore the fact that James had obviously called him for a reason and Barty had dominated the conversation to keep him from it. And he was definitely going to ignore the curiosity chewing away at his mind about what James would’ve said if only Barty would’ve let him.

No. Instead, he was going to keep on telling James, and himself lies.

He was fine.

He was happy.

He was better than he’s ever been.

Barty walks himself out to his balcony and lights a cigarette as the cool air kisses his face. He recounts his lies over and over again and counts down to the day they might come true.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“What did you say your name was again?” Barty looks at the sandy blonde boy questioningly. He’s got a smattering of freckles and soft eyes that are shining due to the alcohol.

The bar is too loud for a Thursday and Barty wants to leave, but the man just bought him another round and it would be rude to turn it away.

“Peter.”

Barty nods, tilting his new beer towards him. “Well, cheers Peter.”

Peter offers him a smile as he tilts his glass in Barty’s direction and takes a drink, smiling coyly.

They talk for a minute. This is how Barty finds out that Peter is English and has no job and no house. He came into some money and is using it to travel to as many places as he can before the money dries up. He finds places to stay by matching with people on Tinder or Grindr and he’s out by morning exploring the city.

So in other words, he’s trouble. Which is exactly what Barty’s looking for.

Peter has honey-colored eyes and a honey-colored voice to match. Sweet on the surface with something dangerous and reckless buzzing just below the surface.

They stay until the bar closes and they stay until the parking lot clears out, and then when it’s good and dark and empty Barty slaps his motorcycle helmet on over Peter’s head and tosses him the keys.

He stands on the pavement with his arms crossed and watches as Peter starts the engine.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Barty asks skeptically as Peter hesitates.

“Y-yeah.” He calls over the hum of the engine. “ I had a motorbike– have a motorbike back home but it’s in the shop getting repaired.”

Barty nods. “Well, just take her around the parking lot a few times then. Let’s see it.”

In his defense, Peter was the one who had asked to ride it. When Barty brought up his motorcycle, he watched as Peter’s honey-colored eyes went wide as saucers as he asked to see it. To give it a ride. Maybe Barty should’ve been worried that this stranger would just drive off with his bike in the dead of night with no witnesses and leave him stranded, but he was too drunk to care. It would all be just another story to laugh about in the daylight. Moonlight desert rituals and bass players and motorcycle thieves. All because of James fucking Potter.

Barty watches and snickers as Peter clearly has no idea what to do.

James knew how to ride motorcycles. He would take Barty’s sometimes to the only 24-hour corner store to pick up a watered-down black coffee and a new pack of Parliament’s when they ran out. Sometimes an orange or two if they were hungry.

Peter manages to make it around the parking lot twice before a loud pop rings through the air and causes Barty to jump. By the time he can register what’s happening, Peter is already beside him, pale-faced, and apologizing profusely.

He popped a fucking tire.

The blowout was not a gunshot. Thank god.

He lives another day.

Barty gives Peter a once over and determines that he went smashing into the concrete based on the scrapes to his face and his hands, and the tear in his pants at the knees.

For a moment, Peter looks at Barty like he might kick the shit out of him, and maybe Barty should, but the whole thing seems so comical at the moment that he can’t help but burst into delirious laughter.

Of course, someone named Peter that he met in a bar at midnight would ride his motorcycle once and make the tire pop. That was just his luck.

Without thinking about it, he sends a text to James.

‘Motorcycle tire just popped. Fucking shit.’

His phone buzzes almost instantly in his hand.

‘I told you last time the tire needed air. It was only a matter of time. You should’ve let me fill it up.’

Barty watches James type a message for what seems like an eternity. Then a new message.

‘Are you okay?’

Then it’s Barty’s turn to type forever.

‘Never better, bambi.’

He makes Peter call them a cab and tow company to get the bike. It’s the least he could do. Since he thinks it’s his fault the tire blew out, and Barty convinces him that it is.

Barty says they’ll figure it out in the morning and lets Peter stay at his place until the end of the week. Just long enough for him to see that the motorcycle was getting fixed. Long enough to take him around the city and show him all the best places.

They keep in touch for a month at tops and then Peter fades into another memory. Another story to tell. Another person he was with because he wouldn’t be with James.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

On the fourth of July, he meets Regulus at some party in someone’s backyard.

They’re about to start shooting off the fireworks when Barty sees him. Short crop of curly black hair and a downturned frown.

“Not having fun?” Barty smirked in an attempt to make conversation.

“What?”

“Not having fun?”

“Not really.” The boy’s frown deepened. “Not at all.”

“Oh, what the fuck. You’re French?”

“Very astute observation.” The stranger says as he attempts to walk away.

“Sorry. It’s just, why the fuck would you be here if you could be in France? I’m Barty by the way.”

“Regulus,” the stranger sniffs. “And why the fuck would your parents name you Barty if they could pick from any other name in the world?”

Barty grins at Regulus’ accent and his snark. “Got it. No more questions then.”

“No more stupid questions,” Regulus amends.

They stick together the whole evening as Barty attempts to make the Fourth of July fun for the both of them.

He spends a few weeks with Regulus after that. Regulus speaks broken English, something stilted, but sure, and it rings nice in Barty’s ears long after he’s stopped talking. There’s nothing serious between them. They just spend the summer days sun drunk and carefree. Regulus attempts to teach him French. Barty attempts to make this time different. Neither of them are successful.

“I lied,” Regulus says in a passing moment as Barty gets ready to say his final goodbye. “I’m not twenty-three, I’m twenty. Also, my English is perfect. I was just fucking with you.”

Barty just blinks a few times. “Why do you think I would care about that? Regulus, what the fuck.”

Regulus shrugs. “Just thought you should know. You’re not the only one pretending to be something you’re not just for the fun of it.”

And Barty knows it’s fucked up, but he could kiss Regulus all over again.

He adds a pathological liar to his running list of adventures.

When he returns to his apartment, it’s quiet and empty. He tries to tell himself that he’s okay with that, that he likes it best this way, that he’s never been better.

James calls once again.

It’s become a routine of theirs.

James calls and Barty answers. He fills James’ head with all of his exploits, all of his stories, all of the Pandora’s and Evan’s and Peter’s and Regulus’ he’s been with since James. All of the fun he’s had since the last time they spoke.

But he couldn’t ever let any of them in, because James was already there, taking up too much space. Always there, lying in wait.

Barty keeps on telling his lies and James lets him, but they’re still not coming true. Barty’s counting down the days and still feeling more down than ever. He wishes that James would just call his bluff, hear the falseness in his voice, and yell at him for being irresponsible. But he never does.

It’s not until after Emmeline, Fabian, and Narcissa that James gives him another call.

Barty’s in the middle of recounting his latest adventure when James does it. Interrupts him with a knowing scoff.

“Listen, Crouch,” he says just like he used to. He’s fed up. Barty finally managed to press his buttons once more. “Can we stop doing this song and dance now? Drop the act?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Barty sniffs, still trying to get one up on him.

“Oh sure,” James continues, voice flat. “When you’re ready to stop lying to yourself and to me…I was calling to tell you to come around.”

The words land like cement in his stomach.

“To come around?”

Barty’s heart picks up its pace.

It was a bad idea.

It was a horrible idea.

It would put them right back to where they were before.

Fighting and yelling and waiting for the moon to come out to talk to each other. To see each other.

It would end horribly.

They would burn each other up. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. But God, Barty missed how it felt to be on fire.

“Yeah,” James breathes into the phone receiver. “You know the code to get in.”

Barty takes a deep breath.

What did it say about him that it had been all this time, and he still thought about James and his apartment and his soft sheets that were always laundered every day? James’ hands gripping his jaw. James’ laugh when Barty couldn’t find his jeans that had all been but ripped off of him. James’ sharp sneer and clenched jaw when Barty managed to get under his skin.

It doesn’t take too much convincing. Just lighting bolts of flashing memories. Tooth rot that ached too good to let go.

“Alright. Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck it, Bambi.”

There would be plenty of time for lying to himself later.

And one day his lies would come true.

Just not today. And definitely not tonight.

“I’ll come around.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

inspired by the song pierre by ryn weaver

[agent-calivide]

It is Bitching About Things That Do Not Matter O'Clock, but like. I know poking fun at John Juniper is a delight. I love calling him a bitch and insulting his acting and stealing his masks, but- he's not- he's not completely incompetent, y'all know that, right?

Firstly, Zor would never hire someone they didn't think could do the job, but also a lot of Juniper's fuck-up's are directly tied to either the EOD getting lucky or Zor literally setting him up for failure.

Like, we know he's good at keeping a mask on even in a moment of panic, when the Masque of Red Death blew up the first thing the did was shout "This is not part of the show, everybody run!" to evacuate the theater, something to convince the public he was a Good Man and kept suspicions around him low.

On Jet Set, the only reason Phoenix doesn't die is the EOD getting lucky and happening to have the autonomous jet's instruction manual in their records. Like, he had signal jammers, he left on the DNA Identification security system, and he sabotaged the missile defense system just in case they had to turn to plan B. These are not things left on a jet made as a custom trap for Phoenix, the pieces to save themselves wouldn't be there if it was. This is a normal jet that Juniper uses that he ensured got sabotaged so the Phoenix would be a sitting duck. Even if he didn't personally put out orders to have the jet get sabotaged, he did have the foresight to put a few boons on the jet that could kill Phoenix. Explosive cigars, poisoned food things like that. "Please, enjoy! I picked up a box of those just for you!" So he knows what to supply the agent with to try and cut this little problem short, and even if those don't work there's still the missile and the Zoraxis base they were headed to anyways. Phoenix getting out of that mess was combination of nosiness and pure dumb luck on the EOD's part.

We don't see much of him in Eaves Drop, but we do see that Zor and Fabricator are already planning on disposing of him by using the Mimic Mask and that he is generally doing a damn good job at tricking the heads of state into various traps for the most part, we just saw it with the Prime Minister in Stage Fright and we're going to see it in Party Crashers with the Primere later.

Party Crashers is where I think most of this "Oh, he's just a whiny baby" comes from, and it absolutely is John at his worst, but it get treated like his baseline??? Like, he loses his cool, he screams, he panics, he absolutely freaks out, but he also is throwing a party to kidnap the last head of state, is being chastised by the Fabricator, his friend of multiple decades is backstabbing him actively (as Gibbs should, but it's just another stressor for Juniper), several bombs have dropped or his party got a smoke grenade thrown in it, alarms and sprinklers have both gone off, and nOW SOMEONE'S TOUCHING MY FUCKING COLLECTOR'S ITEMS?! I too would be losing my shit. Add in he is seeming surrounded by people being incompetent (throwing grenades without closing hatches, missing their shots, some reason the tank of lethal gas is empty, the woman who was supposed to be helping is just laughing at you and your entire team of security is dead save for a small handful and it's all because of ONE person???) and I can't blame him for not being chill, suave, or particularly clever in that moment. And to be frank, I think every IEYTD "Final Boss" has a moment of foolishness. Solaris throws you radiation boxes that you use to take down the Death Engine and literally says "Calculating force... aaand CATCH!" and I could make a whole other post on Prism's speech on the mountain side but they're not defined by those "worst" moments. Mostly because they don't last nearly as long as Juniper's, but that doesn't mean it should be his defining moment either.

Then, in Safe and Sound, not only does he successfully trick the agent into thinking he's the Handler in the first place, but he has them drugged, kidnaps them, and then admits that if he had it this way he would have just shot the agent. No fanfare, no crazy traps, if John coulda, he would have shot the agent in the head while they were unconscious and called it a day. But Zor is the one who wants the trap, the footage, the fanfare. Juniper is pissed that the jet didn't work as is, and now he can't even just take care of the agent the easy way and ensure that they're out of the way. He says he expects the agent to find a way out, he know what they're capable of, and he's sure they're gonna find a way out because he's the one that's been dealing with them for the last week! Zor is the one who thinks this trap is gonna work and demanded Juniper put Phoenix in it. Yeah he gives a theatrical monologue, but if he had say in the matter he wouldn't get the chance to in the first place!

Then in Rising Phoenix, HE MAKES GOOD ON THAT THREAT. Try to pick up anything that you dropped on the ground outside of the elevator, tell me how that goes for you. He's got scary good aim, he sees the Phoenix and immediately goes "well, shit, one sec folks, I gotta kill this agent" and then just pulls a gun and starts firing. And rather than focusing on the agent, he does have the foresight to shoot a MOVING, FLOATING TARGET so you can't do anything to him! He is very capable with a gun and likely the only reason Phoenix survives Party Crashers is Juniper doesn't have a firearm. And then, in a moment of panic as he hangs from a catwalk (that absolutely should not have had its powerbox so obviously out in the open if Zor wasn't planning on the agent either killing him or putting him in a position for Zor to pull the trigger) he tries to plead with the agent. He doesn't know the mask is a death trap at this point, and the only choice he has is to hope the person in the room with him can help pull him back up from the pit. He puffs up his chest, acts like he has all of the cards, but that's because that's the only chance he's got of making it out of this thing alive. He doesn't know the mask is what's gonna kill him in the end, he just knows that the Fabricator, the crazy lady who makes death traps for fun, has something in the room with him and that Zor intends on using it to finish John off.

And once John's toast literally Zor just shakes their head and mockingly calls him a disappointment before turning to Phoenix and saying it's in their hands now. But the entire time that Phoenix is working on this briefcase, Zor is teasing them, toying with them, and is audibly disappointed if you fail to disarm the briefcase in time. Phoenix was supposed to get the briefcase, John was supposed to die, and he really was implied to be doomed from the very beginning.

He's not a whining, screaming, incompetent bumbling idiot. He is very capable, he is literally just set up to fail so Zor can see Phoenix perform.

Edit: just for clarification, I do think he’s rather petulant, bitchy, he can be whiny, he’s an absolute douche, and what he did in that cellar is nothing short of a tantrum, my point is just that he isn’t a completely incompetent man baby. He knows what he’s doing and in at least one situation had more sense than Zor (Safe and Sound).

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Faith No More - We Care A Lot

[amekonocternia]

Said fuck it and decided to merge two of my favs (cookie run and castle crashers)

The stories pretty much the same for cr just put the cc magic and knights system in

[andiamofratello]

[squirrelpatties]

Okay, ignoring the incest, the question of Trolls World Taxonomy is pretty interesting (and not something I'm exactly qualified to get into lmao). You've got Trolls, Bergens, Vaycaytioners, Mount Rageons, and the variety of critters. And the Party Crashers as a potential result of Bergen/Troll relations based on what's known about them.

Clearly, we can't judge the species of this world by the taxonomies we know; Trolls have hair and maybe fur like mammals, and likely have a "warm-blooded" metabolism based on how much energy they're able to expend singing and dancing all the time (which then begs the question of how much they must eat relative to their body weight to maintain that energy, but it's possible there's some degree of music-based magic involved somewhere. Or the foods they normally eat are incredibly calorie-dense, like Bugsnax), but they also display non-mammalian traits as well—the most obvious one being eggs, and the most important one (in the movies at least, discounting Delta Dawn) being the lack of mammaries.

Of course, it's not impossible for non-mammalian species to have fur; Trolls could be some form of arthropod, like the fluffy moths of our world. But I think the true answer is, as stated earlier, far stranger, and outside the normal bounds of the taxonomic systems we apply to Earth animals. Take, for example, the Trolls-as-drugs metaphor present in the first and third movies. Yes, the Trolls being eaten and Floyd being drained serve as a metaphor for material consumption and talent being taken advantage of respectively, but from a literal standpoint? Trolls have a recorded emotional effect when consumed and their "talent" can be drained as an essence that works as a performance booster. In-universe, Trolls are drugs.

And then things are complicated further when we remember that Trolls have an inherent connection to music. It's written in their very bones and something they cannot be rid of, and different subspecies emerged based upon differing genres of music. Yes, there were the strings, but the ending of the second movie involved no making of new strings—and, in the history Peppy described (though we must take that account with several pinches of salt due to the inherent biases in his explanation; though it was a cute detail for the scrap-Pop Troll to be the one holding the harp when Peppy said "Trolls grew intolerant of each other's music" in the same way that the Pop Trolls having that original harp was a cute detail alluding to the truth purported by the Funk Trolls and Barb), the strings were described to have been made by the ancestors when they were inspired by the Original Sound. So it's very likely that the strings, for all the power they held, were merely instruments themselves, and that the power of music was inherent to Trolls from the beginning regardless of the strings' existence. But that's entirely speculation, as canon has no real indication towards the truth.

Still, the way that music is so inherent to Trolls can be considered an integral trait of the species; and yes, I am counting all Trolls as the same species. While we haven't seen any intergenre couples in canon, with the way that music develops, evolves, and exists in a variety of ways makes it near impossible to imagine that the different genres would be unable to mix. As for how deeply music is written into a Troll's very being, while it's true that many musical numbers seen in the movies and show are likely rehearsed, there are still plenty more large coordinated groups singing and dancing in tandem with no clear rehearsal or even discussion beforehand. While calling it a sort of "hiveminding" ability feels a bit too far, it's easy to surmise that, due to their inherent nature as creatures of Music first and foremost, it is incredibly easy for Trolls to join in on song and dance they've never heard before and naturally slot into place.

Perhaps it is disingenuous to compare Trolls to Earth animals at all; perhaps the more apt comparison would be to fungi, which are neither flesh nor cellulose and follow their own set of rules. But even then, fungi don't lay eggs, so we are once again brought back to the conclusion that Trolls cannot be defined by the mundane taxonomies of our world. While less is known about the other species (Bergen, Vaycaytioner, Mount Rageon, Critters), it can be assumed the same applies to them. Thus, an entirely new taxonomy would have to be created to apply to these creatures, which is what makes thinking about it so fun! One would have to come up with theories and worldbuilding on the histories and prehistories of the Trolls' world, using what information canon gives us and extrapolating off of that, all while using real world cladistics, taxonomy, and ecology as a basis with which to shape the barest bones of the Trolls' world taxonomy!

*nods dumbly* Yeah yeah 😃 <- (spaced out mid-way through that)

[ultimateoptimus]

Autobot Junior Divers Kicker and Sari Upgraded

>[ERROR]: Deviation "Autobot Junior Divers Kicker and Sari" V1.0 (2021/06/18): [//////OBSOLETE//////] >[ERROR]: Deviation Upgrade Required And Requested >Auto-Upgrade: Initated >Upgrading Deviation To: "Autobot Junior Divers Kicker and Sari Upgraded"... 100% >Upgrade: Succesfully Installed _

Just in time for the Transformers 40th Anniversary, Transformers Energon 20th and Summer 2024, Autobot Junior Divers Kicker from Transformers Energon (2004) and Sari Sumdac from Transformers Animated (2008) are back, femmes and gentlemechs, bolts and gears, protoforms and techies of all aeons - and the Energon scuba spaceboy and the Animated scuba robotgirl are all upgraded and ready to Transform and Dive Out, be it in a Summer SCUBA class adventure diving under the waters of Ocean City in Kicker's native reality or Detroit, Robot City in Sari's reality, training themselves in out-of-air emergency simulations, underwater combat, rocket flying underwater Supersonic Jetfighter Rocketkid style and ultimately having splash 'n crash aquawesome fun underwater with each other and their Autobot wingmen protecting and escorting them with Kicker's Energon Saber Mini-Con Team, Sari's technorganic upgraded body and both's Autobot battle brethren led by Optimus Prime of both their native realities in case of Decepticon underwater party crashers!

The Autobot Junior Divers' personalized, customized boys' and girls' school swimwear and swim caps, stylish and colorful ABC kits of 360 degree single lens dive masks, clear purge snorkels and pairs of dive fins and just as stylish and colorful TransformerTech'd up backpack dive jacket, hi-capacity air tank and mouthpiece regulator SCUBA rigs all based on their respective battlesuits from their respective toyline and cartoon series are fully upgraded and ready for more Deep Heavy Metal Underwater Robots In Disguise Action than ever before as detailed below:

Autobot Junior Diver Kicker now has his own personal Evolutionary Accelerator (EV-AC) loaded with his custom Autobot EV-AC Helix for when it's time to Xevolve into his Autobot Powerlinx Kicker exobody, Grindor of his Mini-Con Street Action Team as his Transformer dive buddy and TransformerTech All-In-One Scuba Backpack System with TekSnorkelator has a Powerlinx port for Grindor to dock into and turn it into a TransformerTech All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System for Kicker to jet through the underwater worlds in hyperspeed - his way.

Autobot Junior Diver Sari's TransformerTech All-In-One Scuba Backpack System with Double Hose TekRegulator is now a Sumdac Systems TransformerTech Hydropack All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System created for Sari by Isaac Sumdac reverse-engineered from Bumblebee's Hydrodrive Underwater Submarine Module as her new personal All-In-One Transformable Scuba Underwater Jetpack System that has an Underwater Waterwing Scooter/Underwater Kickboard alt mode for Sari to rocket through the underwater worlds in true Kid Robot Girl style with a functional replica of her Allspark Key as a memento.

Long story short: 2021's requested aquawesome little Junior Diver!Kicker X Junior Diver!Sari art for Anbu-AAE-Demon333 just got the 2024 upgrade just in time for those forementioned anniversaries.

Autobot Junior Divers V2.0 Patch Notes: >Autobot Junior Diver Kicker V2.0 - Kicker's personal Evolutionary Accelerator (EV-AC) with custom Autobot EV-AC Helix loaded given to Kicker - Energon Mini-Con Street Action Team Grindor added and linked to Kicker as dive buddy - Powerlinx port added to Kicker's All-In-One TransformerTech SCUBA Backpack System - Grindor can now dock in the SCUBA Backpack System's Powerlinx port to access All-In-One SCUBA Underwater Jetpack System upgrade

>Autobot Junior Diver Sari V2.0 - Functional Allspark Key Replica given to Sari - Upgraded Sari's All-In-One SCUBA Backpack System to Sumdac Systems TransformerTech Hydropack All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System - Hydropack can transform from Underwater Waterwing Scooter/Underwater Kickboard to All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System and back

@aae-demon-zone333 @theworldofesteveze

@creepie-treattricker

[rottenraccoons]

played through chapter one yesterday and while it wasn't a feature i needed, stumbling across the aftercare system was a very welcome surprise and i wanted to say thank you for its inclusion. that's the first time i've seen something like that included in a game, visual novel or otherwise. i'm also very excited to learn more about the market and the predicament vesper is in!

Thank you so much!

We've mentioned this before, but we owe Cute Demon Crashers and Don't Romance Me (both NSFW for very different reasons!) credit for how we implemented our safeword button. We're definitely not the first to come up with it, but we're glad our take on it was effective for you! We really love exploring a dark setting and story, but we also want people to be able to take a break when they need it.

[imbecominggayer]

Part 1 Writing Advice: Sexual Trauma As Justice And As A Lesson

Tw: This post is specifically dedicated to SA(sexual assault). This is a highly sensitive topic that I will do my best to present accurately and thoroughly.

This is a somber occasion where I will do my utmost to treat this serious and highly personalized experience with the best grace I can muster. I apologize but this is a serious topic that deserves to be talked about in a "everyday way" and not in a stuffy "fake sad" way because sexual trauma happens everyday.

For important hotlines relating to this issue, check out: https://rainn.org/resources

This is a very sensitive topic which personally relates to my family so I obviously need to be the most detailed I can be.

Again, to reiterate, this post will cover highly serious topics involving sexual violence, the threat of sexual violence, and prison rape in both media and in the real world. Don't pressure yourself to read this. Your mental health is more important then some person's thoughts.

So, let's get started!

Why Did You Need This?

Before we continue, I need to ask for your reasoning when including representation of victims/survivors of sexual abuse/trauma.

If it's something that can be "not included" and won't change your plot at all then I highly implore you to not include it.

You won't believe how many "rom-coms" or romance-based media decides to include an assault scene for the sake of a dramatic rescue. It's not fun. It's not romantic. And it's not necessary!

The reason that sexual trauma is treated with more "delicate sensibilities" is not because physical trauma and emotional trauma are not serious or deserving of respect. It's because sexual trauma is often not treated with the respect that physical abuse and mental abuse is.

If you are planning to use sexual trauma/harrassment/rape/prison rape/anything involving assault into:

A comedic punchline which will never be brought up

A highly inspirational hypersexualized revenge flick about a hot badass woman being badass

Another "don't drop the fucking soap" joke

An insult for a character's masculinity/desirability

A transphobic/racist/homophobic example of danger

A meaningless drivel with vague messages about "forgiveness for others"

I will throw you out of my minecraft server! And account! But, if you are sure that you need sexual trauma to be in your stories, let's continue.

2. Sexual Trauma Is Not Justice

What do all of these movies/shows have in common?

Iron Man 2(2010)

The Powerpuff Girls(2000)

Wedding Crashers(2005)

Cop Out(2010)

Without A Trace(2006)

Buffy The Vampire Slayer(1998)

Deadpool 2 (2018)

They all utilize rape as a form of karmic punishment from Tony Stark's "don't drop the soap" line which is meant to allude to prison rape to Deadpool 2's usage of an electrical cable on Juggernaut to sexually assault them.

Of course, most of these movies/shows "only" use punchlines about anal rape although in the case of Wedding Crashers there is a huge reliance on rape so be aware!

A common uniting theme behind these instances of sexual violence is the fact that the audience is meant to react to these scenes with a satisfied snicker about how the bad guy is suffering.

Let me reiterate, these "jokes" and "funny sexual assault" scenes are said by "funny", "sympathetic" women and men who are threatening sexual violence against "unsympathetic" bad people.

There are multiple problems with this so let's start!

Rape is never okay.

When these scenes have "loveable" characters either threatening/utilizing/physically raping "undesirables" you have just recreated a system where rape is acceptable when it's done to bad people. Sometimes these bad people are too sexually positive, too chauvinistic, or just too bad.

And it's this belief of "punishing sinners" which allows the systematic use of prison rape as a way of controlling prisoners to flourish.

There is no such thing as "justifiable rape"

This Isn't Justice

This is revenge. Rape and the threat of it can nevver be used as a form of justice. The goal of justice is ultimately redemption.

Sexual violence, as a form of revenge, could never be used to positively benefit society.

Prison Rape Is Not Inevitable

Prison Rape can be prevented. It's the powers that control the prison system that consciously allow prison rape to happen.

This is because prison rape is a widely sanctioned way to punish "undesirable" prisoners such as transgender and mentally disabled prisoners.

Again, it's that mention of "undesirable" which demonstrates how promoting the positive usage of sexual violence in Media effects the real world

There are solutions to the prison rape epidemic such as mass deincarceration through actual justice-orientated redemption,

Conclusion: I desperately wanted to talk about how sexual violence and the threat of sexual violence is highly influencial in mass media and how this representation impacts the world that you and I inhabit.

Every single repetition of "sexual assault as a justice-orientated lesson" tortures the hundreds of thoudsands of people in justice system who are brutalized by rape and who never recover.