#there's actually some real tech in here

[unfortunate17]

May Never Make it Out Challenge

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

thank you to @tooindecisivetopickaurl and @in-amor-veritas for the tags. I'll no-pressure tag @skibasyndrome @spennufall @malinowaj @phneltwrites and @hergrandplan

here's a very self indulgent science fiction au that i've been working on on & off for over year. i actually have more than 12k written it's just too weird to actually share LOL but...here's like 3k of it ♥️

---

SIMON: SESSION 3

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" Wilhelm asks, trying to keep his voice calm. Erik's words from last night are still fresh in his mind as he makes his way from the entrance to the middle of the room where the two chairs stand as usual.

Simon's seated on the floor this time, cross-legged. Wilhelm hesitates before taking his usual seat on the chair instead of joining Simon on the floor. The boundaries between them are still a little blurred. It’s difficult to understand what would startle Simon and what would make Wilhelm himself uncomfortable.

"It's not a song," Simon clarifies, a bit unnecessarily as there’s no piano in this room, "It's - a surprise. You have to close your eyes." Wilhelm watches as Simon gets to his feet, eyes subconsciously tracing a path from his slim shoulders to his slender waist. By the time he manages to rip his gaze away, a faint shade of pink is dusting across Simon's cheeks. Strange for someone without blood. "Wille is that okay?"

“What?”

Simon smiles like he’s heard a very funny joke. “Can you close your eyes?”

"Oh - yeah, sure," Wille nods. He curls his fingers into his sweats and shuts his eyes.

"I'm going to leave the room for a minute."

Wilhelm opens his eyes, a sound of protest rising in his throat, "You - has Erik said -"

"I'm just going back to the bedroom," Simon explains patiently. If Wilhelm's sudden reaction has piqued his curiosity, he doesn't let it show. "The passages are connected. I won't be anywhere I don't belong."

Simon's already halfway to the door before Wilhelm can get himself to respond to the wry words thrown his way. "It's not that you don't belong," he finds himself arguing. Simon freezes at the doorway, but he doesn't turn around to face him. "That’s not what I meant."

The response comes after a long moment of silence. "I'm not like you, Wille," Simon says softly, "Now please close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise."

Wille shuts his eyes. Mostly because he doesn’t know what to say.

The room is silent without Simon, the only sound is his own shallow breathing and the faint ticks from the CCTV cameras moving about the room. Simon is watched twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Wille’s not quite sure how he hasn't asked about them yet, how he manages to live - exist, whatever - like that. He knows that if he were in Simon’s place, he would’ve gone insane by now..

Simon is gone for less than a few minutes, but it feels like much, much longer. The room is uneasy without him, like something is not quite right.

When Wilhelm hears the door slide open again, he squeezes his eyes shut harder, bursts of multicolored dots appearing behind his eyelids. "Simon?"

There's a warm hand on the back of his neck. Wilhelm jumps, his eyes flying open involuntarily. He swallows at the sight before him. His tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Is it a stupid surprise?" Simon asks quietly, a hint of uncertainty coloring his voice.

Wille thinks he’s forgotten how to use his vocal chords. He shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on Simon's as he reaches out to gently take one of his translucent hands in his own.

A smile flickers across Simon's features then, eyes squinting in happiness, tongue pressed to the backs of his white teeth. He relaxes, shoulder’s loosening. "How do I look?" he asks, "Do you like it?"

Wilhelm leans back in his chair, scanning him from head to toe. Black boots with little zippers up the sides, dark jeans covering the length of his legs. His arms are covered by a soft looking navy sweater; the peek of a white tee shirt visible through the V-neck. "Yeah,” he nods roughly, “You look - nice." Every nerve in his body must be burning, Wille thinks hysterically, what with the fucking heat Simon's body seems to give off.

"I spent a long time picking it out," Simon admits, squeezing his fingers, "I wanted to - I wanted you to like it. Like me. Sometimes it looks like you do, but you're embarrassed by it. So I thought, if I was more like you, then - you might."

Wille pulls his hands away, noting the way Simon flexes his wired fingers as though he misses the feel of it. "What're you doing?"

"I -" Simon looks at him, wide-eyed. Innocent. "I want us to go on a date."

Wilhelm stands from his chair, steps a few feet to his right in order to take in Simon's delicate frame. He hesitates, then decides that the question probably isn't as loaded as he's making it out to be. "Okay," he says, as casually as he can muster. His pulse is jackhammering. "That sounds like fun. Where would we go?"

Simon's expression ripples, something catching his features far too quickly for Wilhelm to read. "A movie," he says, "An ideal place to observe culture, ideals of beauty, self, and fantasy. Then maybe a walk through a busy street. We'd get a concentrated but shifting view of human life."

Wilhelm stays silent.

"Do you think about me when we're not together?" Simon asks now. He takes a step forward. When Wille doesn't move back, he seems to take it as a sign to close the space between them entirely. He fists a robotic hand in Wilhelm's long-sleeve. His voice is smooth, sexual in a way Wilhelm has never heard. "Because I think about you, Wille. I like to think about you watching me on the cameras."

Wilhelm thinks this is what it means when people say their life is flashing before their eyes. His breathing is obviously unsteady and he wishes he'd worn jeans, or at least thicker pants. He's embarrassingly hard on camera and Simon's done nothing but talk to him. "Simon," he begs, "I’m not sure what you - "

"You give me indications that you're attracted to me," Simon whispers, fingers smoothing across his chest. He tugs at the waistband of Wille’s sweats, "Your micro-expressions are - "

"I'm not sure how micro they are," Wilhelm grits, teeth clenched. He tries to imagine Erik in the observation room, tries to conjure up the image of him watching his exchange with muffled laughter. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to calm the rush of blinding lust that pools in his stomach at the way Simon’s blinking up at him, eyes deep and dark and wide. He takes a shuddering breath and pulls Simon’s hand away from his pants.

Immediately, Simon's face falls. He takes a step back, "I'm sorry," he says, "You’re aroused, but also uncomfortable."

Now, Wilhelm's face feels like it’s on fire. His gaze darts up to the cameras, their steady, blinking almost incriminating. "It’s fine, Simon. Our time is - I'll see you tomorrow, okay?."

The acute disappointment on Simon's face makes him want to take back the words at once. He swallows, turning towards the door. But, Simon stops him once again, his fingers brushing the edges of Wille’s shoulder blades.

"Will you ever take me on a date?" Simon whispers. It sounds like the words are being torn from his body.

Wilhelm closes his eyes, trying to keep his breath steady. "I don't know," he admits, more honest than he’d have preferred to have been in this room. "Have you ever been outside this facility, Simon?"

"No," Simon murmurs. His hand smooths across Wilhelm’s back. "I've never been outside these two rooms."

Wilhelm nods. He turns slightly to remove Simon's arm from his back, the grip of his hand wide around Simon's clothed elbow. The touch is different somehow, more charged than anything they've shared before.

"Will you take me?" Simon asks again, "Wille?"

And Wilhelm needs to leave. Right fucking now.

________

Wilhelm’s breathing hard by the time he’s out of the room, the ghost of Simon’s fingers still dancing on his neck, his face an ever-present image in his mind. He leans against the table in the observation room, ignoring the way Erik’s watching him closely..

“What the fuck,” he manages at last, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears, “What in ever-loving fuck was that?”

Erik simply calmly adds another spoonful of sugar to his tea. He's leaning back lazily in his chair, screens still blown up with the view of the now empty room. Wilhelm decidedly doesn't look to see where Simon is now. “What was what, little brother?”

“What was he doing?” Wilhelm’s all but yelling now, “Why is he - he’s coming on to me. Why would you make him do that?”

Erik takes a sip of the steaming liquid, an amused expression spreading across his face, “You’re the only other person he’s ever met besides me and I’m basically his father. Doesn’t seem too far-fetched that he’s got a bit of a crush.”

“Fuck,” Wilhelm runs a hand through his hair, trying to get his racing heartbeat under control. “Why would you do that?” He asks finally, “Give him - a sexuality?”

Erik sets down his cup and leans forward on his elbows, “Why not? Sexuality is a fundamental aspect of human life. According to most psychologists, sex is considered a primary reinforcer.” He snorts, “Gives him something to look forward to with you around now.”

Wilhelm takes a seat gingerly on the edge of the table, knee bouncing almost involuntarily. “Why me though? Why make him attracted to his tester?” He tries to keep his question as neutral as possible, but it’s obvious from the way Erik’s face twists with perverse pleasure that he’s given too much away.

“You're asking me if you can fuck Simon, right?” Erik laughs, open-mouthed and shameless.

Wilhelm cringes, cheeks blazing, “No - fuck you, Erik. That’s not what I -”

“You can,” Erik throws him a smirk, “His body is wired with neurotransmitters. He has a complex network of signal paths that mimic nerves. Strip him of those clothes he's just put on for you and he's anatomically accurate, a concentration of sensors down there. If you engage him in the right way, it'll create a pleasure response, and he'll give as good as he takes. He'll even finish, even if the actual mechanics of him coming - ”

Something in Wilhelm runs cold at the words. He steels his back, tries to make himself look as tall as possible even if Erik could stand and dwarf him with mass alone. “That’s not what I fucking asked,” he says darkly.

“Maybe not," Erik mulls as he gets to his feet, "But it’s what you want to know.”

"No it isn't," Wilhelm argues hotly as he follows Erik out of the room. Instead of taking the staircase to the right back up the kitchen and living room, they make a left turn at the end of the corridor. There's a completely new hall here, one that Wilhelm's never seen before. Not for the first time, he wonders how big the facility really is, why one lonely man would need so much space.

They walk in silence for a minute, passing a range of anatomically accurate paintings, mostly of naked young men and women. Wilhelm doesn't ask about them, keeping his eyes trained on Erik’s back. "I want to know," he says instead, repeating his thought from earlier, "why you made him attracted to me - his tester. Why program him like that? Is this to cloud my judgment? A defense tactic or something?"

Erik snorts unkindly. They stand in front of a smooth metallic door, much like the other ones he's seen around in the hallways. Erik clicks the button on his remote door slides open with a smooth hiss. "You don't have access to this room. Just saying."

"Erik," Wilhelm grits, "Why is Simon flirting with me?"

"For fuck's sake, Wille," Erik's voice is tense, coiled, clearly irritated and condescending all at once. "I programmed him to be gay, just like you were programmed to be fluid or whatever the fuck you’re calling yourself this month."

Wilhelm frowns as he steps through the doorway, "Nobody programmed me to be anything."

They're in some sort of lab, smooth glass cases covering bits of blue gel, boxes - clear and cardboard - line an entire wall, most of them filled to the brim with papers to the point where the lids strain outwards. Along his left are sections of android bodies - limbs, torsos, hands - lined in glass cabinets. Towards the back of the room are more parts, specifically a collection of heads. Skull-forms, some with complex carbon-fiber and pneumatic muscle structures, ready to frown or smile. All are noticeably missing the synthetic meshed-flesh covering that Simon has. A row of synthetic faces hang separately up on armatures, much like hats on hat-stands, waiting to be worn.

In the middle of the room is what appears to be an operating table.

Erik moves towards it, picking up a skull as he goes. "Don't be ridiculous," he rolls eyes, clearly amused, "You decided to be queer? No, of course you didn't - you were programmed by a complex combination of nature and nurture. Just like Simon has been programmed." He motions for Wilhelm to follow him as he sets the skull down on the smooth metal of the table. "And frankly, this sounds like your insecurity talking. You're attracted to him; he's attracted to you. His flirting isn't an algorithm, because for the record, I didn't program him to like you."

Wilhelm allows the words to sink into his skin for only a moment before he stomps down on the giddy warmth that irrupts in his stomach. For fuck's sake, he's a scientist; he needs to stop thinking like a teenager with a crush. "Is this where you built him?"

Erik watches him for a long moment, clearly interested by the change of subject, or more accurately, Wilhelm's need to change the subject. "His version of the womb if you will. Want to know the biggest challenge when it came to making him?" Wilhelm moves to nod before he realizes that it's a rhetorical question, "Facial expressions. Humans read and express them on a basic level, we're born with it hardwired into us - they span every culture, every language. It ended up being the main downfall of some of the earlier prototypes - "

"Earlier prototypes?" Wille can't help but jut in. Realistically he knows that Erik's been working on this little hobby of his for over a decade, there had to have been other models, simpler ones, ones that didn't work as well. It's still a strange idea though, that there were others before Simon. That there might be others after him.

Erik raises a dark eyebrow at him. "You thought he was alone - the only one?"

"No," Wilhelm admits, "I just - I knew he wasn't the first. But I did think he'd be the last." His voice is tighter than he'd anticipated, a fierce curl of protectiveness that’s obvious even to himself.

"You feel bad for him, little brother?" Erik leans against the table, looks him dead in the eye.

Wilhelm shakes his head, tries not to let his voice betray him.

Then, Erik sighs. "Simon doesn't exist in isolation - not any more than you and I do, at least. He's part of an evolutionary continuum, version 12.8 to be exact. Every version gets a little bit better, a little bit closer to that all-consuming fear. The androids that'll make the human race obsolete."

Wilhelm cracks a weak smile despite himself. He rolls the thought around in his mind like a marble. "So - do you think he's it? You know - singularity?"

There are a few beats of silence, nothing touching the moment except for the sound of their breathing, even though Wilhelm feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He wants to know the answer almost as badly as he doesn't.

"I don't know," Erik says at last. He shoots Wilhelm a strange look, "Shouldn't you be telling me?"

"Fair enough," Wilhelm reasons, cocking his head. "Anyway, what about facial expressions?"

"Christ," Erik shakes his head, runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, huffing a laugh. "He really does make you emotional doesn't he." Wilhelm flushes despite himself, "I hacked everything," Erik says abruptly.

Wilhelm blinks, "You - "

"I took all the data pouring in from cameras, cell-phones, every single one, across the globe - and redirected it through social media. Gives you a limitless supply of human facial and vocal interaction. Simon's mind is made out of structured gel - do you know what that does, Wille?"

Wilhelm shakes his head, "I don't know what any of this does to be honest."

"Don't exactly blame you," Erik shrugs casually. He sets the skull on the table, before he pinches it with two fingers. Wilhelm watches in fascination as the gel keeps its form even after Erik lets go, hardening into its new shape. "This is state of the art stuff, hasn't been released to the public yet. Structured gel is a new building material my company found a few years ago. Earlier AI models always used circuitry, but we had to get away from that. Our minds don't necessarily work in sequences; it'd be inaccurate, simplistic. AI minds need to be able to restructure and rearrange at a molecular level, but still hold their structure when required. For example, Simon’s mind holds still for memories, but shifts for thinking."

Wilhelm reaches down to poke at the skull. It feels like Jell-O, but tougher somehow, more durable. "What about the software?"

Erik smirks, "You're a thinking man, Wilhelm. Why don't you give me your best guess?"

"Social media," Wilhelm guesses. Then, he huffs a breath of laughter. “I guess, since you need to filter his data, social media is perfect - it gives you the ability to work with dense graphs based on familiarity rather than raw data from search engines. Most companies use social media to map out profits, what items are popular, who's trending.” At Erik’s encouraging nod, he continues. “It's a map of people's thoughts. But not just not a map - it's - it's more like a - blueprint. Because it's not what they're thinking, but how they're thinking, isn't it? It makes it so that Simon can be fluid and patterned, but also impulsive and chaotic."

Erik gives him an appraising look, clearly impressed. "Well done, Wilhelm. I hope this'll help you in future sessions."

Wilhelm stills, hand faltering where he reached for the gel skull again. "What do you mean?"

"I'm showing you this so you'll remember," Erik's gaze is cool, collected, casual, but it makes Wilhelm feel like he's been dunked in ice water. "Simon is not a boy. By definition, he has no gender, no sexuality, no identity. He's synthetic gel and hydraulics."

Wille averts his gaze from Erik to the skull on the operating table.

“A machine.”

[licorishh]

"screw you my child is completely fine" your child got unfixably attached to these characters above all others within milliseconds of screen time

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Chapter 3

Translation notes:

So, uh. Elliot's name is rendered with two t's in the og game, but a single one in the GBA version. I had never paid attention to that at all until I had already edited all these pages, and I don't care enough to change it.

Cain's sword causes an explosion here. In the game, it is indeed capable of summoning flames.

This is a perfect illustration of how I feel about these names, but I do wonder what the actual intention was, since Cain is supposed to be already gone. The original image is even cut off weirdly in the middle of the text, and i don't think it's a problem with the scan, since every scanned page has a black border showing that the paper itself doesn't cut there. I wonder about the production of this thing, but i'll wait until i translate the author's comments before saying more.

The map in the previous chapter was very accurate to the beta map of the game. The smaller map here showing Rindo however looks off, the coast is different, and there seems to be a river directly to the north of Rindo, as opposed to the path to Shade Abbey. Perhaps fitting since Shade is skipped here.

Metaphaluna, huh? Needlessly to say, the country of the gods/Ancients is called only Metapha in the final game. Also, in this panel, it pops up as an alternate reading for 前世紀 (ancient times), not the name of a country specifically. I chose to romanize the last part as "luna" for three reasons. One is that the continent of Rune is actually rendered as Lune in at least two guides. I take romanizations from JP guides with a grain of salt since they sometimes look bad/unnatural, or are inconsistent (Pelle's name for example has been romanized as both Peil or Payle depending on the book). I checked though, and town names however are consistent in both the books I've seen romanizing things. The second reason is that the beta map used at this point has a fairly noticeable crescent moon shaped island right in the middle. In the final game, we can't know exactly where Metapha is, because you only teleport there. But I wonder if this island had something to do with it at some point. The third reason is simply I saw no better reason. Metaphalna and Metapharuna would be just as valid, but don't have any meaning to them. Update: I didn't know back when I translated this, but it turns out the names "Metaphaluna" and "pseudo-magic" are also mentioned in Doom Blade, a spinoff manga done by Yoshitaka Tamaki himself (character design and one writer of the original game). This implies that these terms were really created by the game's staff, even if they are not mentioned in the actual game.

The biggest equation next to Tao as she explains the magic types is very clearly a E=mc². Look close.

I've retranslated Elliot's scenes from the game thinking it would be relevant to these notes. Now I feel it really isn't, but you get more content so you should be happy.

My main point with that is that Elliot does not say anything about Cain in the game. In the GBA version, Balbazak does try revealing Max, Cain and Darksol's identities before dying, but that's not a thing in the og. So yeah I really translated a bunch of stuff for nothing this time! Except not because Darksol is awesome in that scene and everyone should get to see it.

Now let's talk about Otrant. I have mentioned before that Otrant's gender is never explicitly said, and they speak in a mostly gender neutral way (I feel like there's a few masculine patterns in some lines, but I'm not confident enough to say for certain). What I hadn't noticed is that they also use lipstick in the games, which is probably what sparked these observations to begin with, but i'm uh, occasionally not smart. In any case, if any of these aspects were done at this point in development the artist here sure ignored them, and drew a regular old man who gets called an old man. They hate to see an androgynous boss winning.

I don't recall Otrant's third eye being called "Eye of Truth" anywhere else, but the manual of the game does say it can see the past and the future.

Otrant's naming of the Shining Force is a bit more elaborate here, but the wording is very similar to the actual game.

Finally, let's play spot the cameo!

We've got Gong, Zylo, one of the birds, and probably Anri. Easy.

Here, besides the obvious three who were actually introduced in the story, we again have a bird, Anri between Ken and Hans, Gong to the right, and Mae and Gort behind Luke. If you read the pre-release page you know that Gort was meant to be Mae's servant at some point, so this might be why they're together, or it's just coincidence because they still join around the same time in the final game. More importantly, to Ken's left we have...

Some guys. Who are these. They could be made up by the artist (there will be another case of this), but I find it curious that the artist had to do that when there are so many character to pick from, and he clearly wanted to depict official characters here. For one, there's evidence that Earnest was already designed at that point in development. However, that link also shows that Vankar didn't have a portrait by that time at least, and Vankar would have already joined by this point in the story. So could the bald centaur here be a beta Vankar, or the artist's interpretation of Vankar via unfinished art? Maybe, but just a guess in the end. Mostly I'm just fascinated by how detailed this guy is compared to even Mae and Gort's cameos. The other guy isn't so i don't think about them nearly as much.

[chunkofchange]

i think im gonna have to put them down ..

[luna-azzurra]

Character Careers That Aren't Clichés

(because fictional economies deserve better too)

Look. I get it. I do. A hot CEO. A dreamy small-town baker. A moody artist who somehow lives in a massive Brooklyn loft despite only selling two paintings a year. Those characters have their place.

But if you want your story to feel fresh, real, alive — sometimes you’ve gotta ditch the Insta-ready jobs and actually think: What does this person do at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday? What would they complain about after a garbage day at work?

Here’s how to get careers that feel like they belong to an actual human, not a catalog model...

❥ The "Unexpected But Perfect" Career Pick something that makes your reader go, wait, what? and then oh my god, that's so them. Like:

A chaotic, disaster character who’s actually a surprisingly competent funeral director. (Yes, it’s messy. Yes, it’s weirdly perfect.)

The quiet, overlooked character who’s a locksmith. Always helping people get inside things. Always a little lonely themselves.

The job should reflect the character’s secret self.

❥ The “Soul-Crushing Job They’re Too Good For” Reality Check Not everybody is their Dream Job Self yet. Some characters are stuck. Flipping burgers, filing invoices, answering phones for screaming Karens named Marge. And you know what? There’s story gold there. Give me the character who’s quietly making art out of coffee foam because it’s the only creative outlet they’ve got. Give me the character who’s wasting in a job they hate, but who hums with what could be underneath.

Failure and frustration? Delicious character fuel.

❥ The "Job That Messes With Their Brain" Career Certain jobs change you. Make you hard in weird places and soft in weirder ones. Lean into that.

A paramedic who's numb to blood but cries at dog food commercials.

A social worker who can’t listen to their friends' minor drama without tuning out completely.

A vet tech who talks to animals better than people.

The job should bruise them in little invisible ways.

❥ The “Work Family or Work Frenemies” Setup Office dynamics are like nuclear reactors: volatile, ridiculous, and perfect for drama.

Give them the boss who’s a passive-aggressive nightmare in group emails but buys everyone surprise cupcakes on Fridays.

Give them the coworker they want to strangle and defend to death when someone outside the office talks crap.

Make their work life messy. (Because it IS messy.)

❥ Actual Career Ideas You Can Steal Because I Love You (yes, you have my blessing, take 'em, twist 'em, make them yours)

Travel nurse who secretly dreams of putting down roots

Archivist in a creepy, half-forgotten library wing

Theme park mascot who has existential crises inside the costume

Home inspector who lowkey loves snooping through strangers' houses

Court stenographer who writes fanfiction on the side during boring trials

Aquarium maintenance tech (yes, it’s a thing, yes, it’s hilarious and tragic)

Disaster clean-up specialist (like post-floods, fires, crime scenes , very spicy potential)

Final Truth Bomb: Your character’s job doesn't have to be their whole identity. (Shocking, I know, Hollywood.)

But it should still touch them somehow. It should rub off on the way they move through the world, the way they talk, the way they size up a stranger in five seconds flat. Because we are all shaped by how we spend our hours, whether we mean to be or not.

[plutosunshine]

What changes do you need to make in your life? Uranus in houses

Uranus in the 1st house

If you have Uranus in the 1st house, life is kinda asking you — maybe even pushing you — to embrace your individuality completely. Like, not just surface-level "I'm a little different" — but deep, radical self-acceptance. You're meant to stand out. You’re not here to fit into neat little boxes or live by someone else’s blueprint. And honestly, the more you try to "blend in," the more uncomfortable and restless you’ll probably feel.

Change for you often looks like breaking free from old versions of yourself — shedding layers of identity that don't match who you actually are inside. It's almost like you have to reinvent yourself several times through life, and each time you get closer to your truest, most electric version.

Also, people with Uranus in the 1st house sometimes shock others without meaning to — just by being themselves. If you've ever felt like people either instantly "get you" or are like, "Whoa, what are they about?" — that's totally part of your magic. You're meant to wake people up just by existing. So part of the change you might need is learning not to shrink yourself to make others more comfortable. Your energy shakes things up, and the world needs that.

Basically, life is asking you to be bold about who you are. Own your quirks, trust your instincts, and don't be afraid of people who don't "get it." Your real people will. ⚡

Uranus in the 2nd house

When Uranus is in your 2nd house, life kinda whispers (or sometimes yells), "Hey, your relationship to money, possessions, and self-worth isn't meant to be traditional." Stability in those areas? It's a moving target. You might experience sudden gains and losses, or your income might come from weird, unconventional, or unexpected places — like random side hustles, tech stuff, spiritual work, inventions, or just not the typical 9-5 route.

You're not supposed to cling too hard to stuff — money, belongings, even security in the "normal" sense — because Uranus wants you to find your true value somewhere deeper. It's like life challenges you to stay flexible, resourceful, and open to change. If you ever try to "lock down" your finances too tightly, life might throw curveballs just to remind you: "Hey, you can't control this like everyone else does."

What you’re really being nudged toward is a more authentic, liberated version of security — one that's based on your own inner worth, not just how much is in your bank account or what you own. That can feel wild sometimes, but it’s where your freedom and true abundance live.

Also, with Uranus here, you probably have some super unique talents or ways of creating value — like, skills that aren't "standard issue." Part of your life path is trusting that and not trying to be cookie-cutter about how you "should" earn or what you "should" have.

In short: you’re here to redefine what stability means — on your terms. And once you stop trying to do it the way everyone else expects, the real magic flows.

Uranus in the 3rd house

If you’ve got Uranus in the 3rd house, your mind doesn’t work like everyone else's — and that’s a huge gift. You're wired to think fast, differently, outside the box. Like, while everyone else is still putting the pieces of a puzzle together, you're already looking at the next puzzle two steps ahead. Your ideas can be brilliant, futuristic, and honestly, sometimes even too "out there" for people to immediately understand.

Life pushes you to communicate in your own unique way — whether that’s through writing, speaking, tech, memes, art, whatever fits your flavor. You’re probably not here to just parrot what’s already been said — you're here to spark new conversations. It’s very "I have something different to say, and if you don't get it, that's fine — you'll catch up."

Change-wise, Uranus in the 3rd house wants you to free your voice. Don’t water yourself down just to be understood easily. You're meant to bring new ideas into the world, even if it feels like you're shouting into the void sometimes. You’re also probably here to teach or influence people in unexpected ways — even just by chatting or posting online. You might drop a random comment that seriously changes someone's life without even trying.

Also, heads up: your day-to-day life can be kinda unpredictable. Last-minute trips, sudden changes in plans, weird encounters with siblings or neighbors — that's all very Uranus 3rd house energy. The universe likes to keep your environment stimulating, because your brain craves newness and movement.

So overall, life’s asking you to trust your strange, electric mind — and share it, even if it feels like no one gets it at first. You’re a mental pioneer. 🧠⚡

Uranus in the 4th house

When Uranus is in your 4th house, home and family roots are not exactly "normal" — and they’re not supposed to be. You might have grown up in a household that felt a little unstable, eccentric, chaotic, or just different from what most people around you experienced. Maybe there were sudden moves, surprising family dynamics, or a general sense that home didn’t always mean "predictable."

At a soul level, life is nudging you to redefine what home and emotional security mean for yourself. You’re probably not meant to live a super traditional, white-picket-fence kind of life — unless you totally reinvent what that looks like for you. You're wired to crave emotional freedom as much as emotional connection, which can be a weird balancing act. You want to belong, but not if it means losing yourself.

One big change Uranus asks from you is to detach from old family patterns that no longer support who you are becoming. You might be the one in your family who “breaks the chain” — doing life differently, healing old emotional wounds, choosing freedom over stuck loyalty.

Also, you may randomly move at unexpected times, live in unusual places, have a very unique home setup, or create a kind of “chosen family” of your own. Home for you isn't necessarily one physical place — it’s more about finding people and spaces where you can breathe, be weird, and feel truly safe being yourself.

If you ever feel like your foundation is shaking, it’s usually Uranus asking, "Is this still real for you? Or are you clinging to something out of fear?" And if it’s not authentic, life will eventually push you to shake it loose.

In short: your soul's mission is to create an emotional life based on truth, not tradition — and it's okay if it looks totally different from what you grew up with. In fact, it’s supposed to. 💫

Uranus in the 5th house

When Uranus is in your 5th house, life is saying loud and clear: "You’re not here to create like everyone else. You’re here to shock, inspire, and completely rewrite the rules of self-expression." Your creativity, your passions, even the way you love — it’s all electric, unpredictable, and absolutely unique to you.

You probably get flashes of inspiration out of nowhere — like one minute you're just living your life, the next you’re hit with a wild idea that’s lightyears ahead of its time. Follow those sparks. Your soul is happiest when you’re making or doing something that feels exciting, different, even a little rebellious.

When it comes to love and dating? Yeahhh... not exactly "by the book" either. 😂 You need excitement, freedom, and real connection — not just safe, boring routines. People who try to tie you down too fast or expect you to follow some romance script might make you want to run for the hills. Fast. Love for you needs to feel like an adventure, not an obligation.

Also, with Uranus in the 5th, you're meant to experiment with joy — find what lights you up and don’t be afraid if it changes over time. Hobbies, art, passion projects, even the way you relate to kids (if you have them or ever do) will all have a non-traditional flavor.

The big change Uranus asks of you is to trust your weird, wonderful self-expression, even if it doesn’t make sense to others. You’re not here to color inside the lines — you're here to invent whole new colors. 🎨⚡

And honestly, when you really let yourself play your way, life becomes magic.

Uranus in the 6th house

If Uranus is in your 6th house, life is basically saying: "You’re not meant to do work, health, or daily life the 'normal' way — and the sooner you own that, the freer and happier you’ll be."

You probably get restless with routines that feel too rigid or boring. Clocking into a 9-5 every day doing the same thing forever? Hard pass. Your soul craves freedom in your work life — meaning freelance gigs, weird career paths, sudden changes in job direction, or working somewhere that lets you be independent or innovative. Traditional setups might feel like they drain your life force unless they give you enough space to be you.

And your relationship to health is just as unique. Your body might respond weirdly to stress, routine, diet, or even conventional medicine. Sometimes it’s like your system is more sensitive to energy shifts — so listening to your own intuition, trying alternative healing methods, or mixing different styles might actually work better for you than following the "one size fits all" advice.

The big thing Uranus pushes you to change? Let go of trying to force yourself into boring, mechanical rhythms just because you think you “should.” Find your own rhythm. Make your day-to-day life feel alive, not suffocating. It’s about learning how to serve the world and honor your individuality at the same time — not sacrificing one for the other.

Also — random note — you might suddenly shift habits, diets, or routines overnight. Like, you wake up one day and think, "I'm never eating sugar again" or "I'm quitting this job today." And if you trust those intuitive jolts (and they come from real insight, not just rebellion), they can actually be super healthy for you.

In short: build a life that lets you work and live in a way that feels electric, free, and true — even if it looks totally different from what everyone else is doing. 🛠️⚡

Uranus in the 7th house

If you’ve got Uranus in the 7th house, life is basically setting you up for relationships that break the mold. The traditional "settle down, follow the script" thing? Yeah... not really your destiny. Deep down, you crave connection — but it has to come with a huge side of freedom, authenticity, and excitement.

You might attract super unusual, eccentric, brilliant, rebellious partners — people who are totally different from what your family or friends expect. Or your relationships might start in weird, sudden, out-of-nowhere ways. Sometimes it's instant sparks, sometimes it's chaos, but it’s never boring.

One big thing Uranus asks of you is to rethink what partnership means. You’re not here to merge into someone else or lose yourself in "we" — you're here to form relationships where both people still get to be totally themselves. If someone tries to control you or box you in, your soul is gonna scream, "Nope!" even if everything looks good on paper.

There can also be sudden changes in relationships — fast beginnings, sudden breakups, on-and-off vibes — because your partnerships are meant to reflect growth and evolution, not just stability for stability’s sake. Long-term, the kind of relationship that works for you is one that feels like a conscious choice every day, not an obligation you’re stuck in.

You’re meant to experience partnership as something that’s alive, surprising, and full of breathing room — not something that clips your wings. 🪽

In short: you’re here to build new models of love and partnership, ones that are real, free, and yours — even if they don’t look traditional to the outside world.

Uranus in the 8th house

If Uranus is in your 8th house, you are wired for deep transformation, but it’s not going to be slow, steady, or easy — it’s going to come in flashes, breakthroughs, and total holy sht* moments. Life doesn’t let you stay the same for long. You’re built to shed skins, reinvent yourself, and go through some seriously wild inner changes that shock even you sometimes.

The 8th house is about shared energy — intimacy, deep trust, merging resources, death and rebirth (emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes literally dealing with loss). Uranus here brings sudden shifts in all those deep areas. You might experience unexpected changes with money you share with others — inheritance, investments, debts, etc. But even bigger than money? Emotional intimacy. You probably don’t do closeness the "normal" way. You need freedom even in deep bonds — meaning you’ll crave deep connection but also fear losing your independence if it gets too entangled or heavy.

Part of your growth is learning how to let people in without feeling trapped. And honestly? You're meant to attract people who help awaken you — lovers, friends, mentors — not just keep you safe and cozy. Relationships with you can feel electric, transformative, and a little chaotic because you wake people up, and they wake you up right back.

Also, you probably have some crazy strong intuition about hidden things — emotional undercurrents, secrets, even metaphysical stuff like energy healing, astrology, or psychic phenomena. Uranus in the 8th house often gives flashes of insight into the unseen realms.

In short: you’re here to transform, to trust your inner flashes of insight, and to live through depth without losing your freedom. It’s intense, but you were built for this kind of magic. 🖤⚡

Uranus in the 9th house

If Uranus is in your 9th house, your soul is basically wired for exploration, expansion, and truth-seeking — but in the most wild, non-traditional way possible. You’re not here to just accept what you're taught; you’re here to question everything and find your own truth, even if it’s way outside the "normal" zone.

You might have an intense need for freedom through learning, travel, philosophy, or spirituality — but you’ll always approach those things in your own way. Like, traditional religious systems? Academic structures? "One-size-fits-all" beliefs? Nah, that’s not gonna cut it for you. You need room to roam, both mentally and literally. ✈️📚

Big changes with Uranus here usually look like sudden revelations that totally flip your worldview. One day you might believe in X, the next day you're like, "Nope, it’s Y," because a flash of insight hit you so hard you can’t unsee it. And travel? Yeah — you might have unexpected moves, spontaneous trips, or a restless need to experience different cultures and ways of thinking. Even if you stay in one place physically, your mind is always somewhere new, exploring.

In relationships and life in general, you need people around you who respect your mental freedom. Anyone trying to force you into their belief system or limit your thinking? Instantly a no-go for you.

The change Uranus is pushing you toward is breaking free from inherited beliefs and creating your own understanding of the universe — one that's alive, evolving, and completely yours. You’re here to be a trailblazer in thought, not a follower.

In short: You’re meant to wake people up to bigger, freer ways of seeing life — starting with yourself. 🧠🚀

Uranus in the 10th house

If you have Uranus in your 10th house, you are not here to have a "normal" career or public life — at all. Like, truly, you’re built to shock, inspire, and change the system by just being yourself out in the world.

You might have this deep, restless urge to do work that’s different, groundbreaking, or ahead of its time. Sitting at a desk doing the same thing every day under someone else's rules? Not it. You need freedom, innovation, and the space to carve your own path. A lot of people with this placement either blow up suddenly (like, overnight success out of nowhere) or have a career path that's full of random twists, turns, starts, and reboots. You're not supposed to have a straight-line journey. You’re meant to reinvent yourself publicly over and over.

And when it comes to your reputation? People might see you as rebellious, brilliant, eccentric — maybe even a little unpredictable. Some will admire it, some won’t know what to do with you — but either way, you’re unforgettable. Your energy shakes things up wherever you go, especially in the areas of leadership, fame, career, and achievement.

The big shift Uranus demands from you is: don’t force yourself into traditional definitions of "success." You're supposed to define success on your terms, even if nobody else gets it at first. When you stay true to your weird, genius path, that's when the universe really opens doors for you.

You’re basically a walking permission slip for others to realize they can be successful without selling their soul. 🔥

In short: You’re here to change the game — not play it. 🛸🌟

Uranus in the 11th house

If you have Uranus in the 11th house, you’re literally built to find your people — but it’s not gonna happen in a typical, cookie-cutter way. You're supposed to connect with wildly different, progressive, visionary communities — the weirdos, the geniuses, the rebels, the dreamers — the ones who don't just fit in but want to change the whole damn system.

You’re not meant to just be part of any group; you’re here to help invent new movements, ideas, and futures. You might feel restless or out of place in traditional circles because your soul knows you need a tribe that lets you fully be yourself — no masks, no small talk, no shrinking.

You might also notice that friendships and group connections in your life can be sudden, electric, and sometimes unstable. People can come into your life fast and leave just as fast — but every connection usually brings some kind of awakening or shift, even if it’s short-lived.

Career and dreams? You’re meant to dream big — not just for yourself, but for the collective. Like, you’re here to push humanity forward in your own way, whether that’s through tech, social movements, arts, spirituality, or whatever wild path your heart picks. And honestly, you're usually ahead of your time — you see futures that other people haven't even imagined yet.

The big shift Uranus asks of you is: don’t cling to old friendships, networks, or dreams just because they’re comfortable. Your soul craves growth and evolution. And sometimes that means walking away when a community no longer matches your vibration — even if it’s hard.

In short: you’re here to shake up the collective, connect with your soul tribe, and dream the future into being. 🌍🚀

Uranus in the 12th house

If Uranus is in your 12th house, you’ve got this deep, electric connection to the unseen — the collective unconscious, intuition, dreams, energy fields, things most people can’t even put into words. You’re wired to sense shifts before they happen. Sometimes you’ll just know stuff without knowing how you know. It's like you have a built-in cosmic antenna — picking up on vibes, future trends, hidden emotions, even collective spiritual shifts.

But here's the tricky part: because the 12th house is so hidden, a lot of this Uranian lightning might be happening under the surface, inside you — not always super obvious to you or others. You might feel restless without knowing why, or you might have sudden awakenings that feel totally random but actually aren’t.

Freedom, for you, is an inside job. It’s about freeing yourself from old karmic patterns, unconscious fears, and anything that cages your inner wildness. You’re here to break free from invisible prisons — things like self-sabotage, outdated spiritual beliefs, hidden anxieties.

Also? You’re super plugged into the collective energy. When society goes through chaos or awakening (and let’s be real, it does a lot these days), you might feel it in your body and soul before anything even happens externally. You’re like a cosmic early warning system. 🚨✨

The shift Uranus is asking from you is: trust your flashes of insight, even if they come from dreams, meditation, or deep inner nudges that don’t seem logical at first. And learn how to ground your energy so you don’t get overwhelmed by everything you’re sensing.

You’re meant to be a kind of hidden awakener — someone whose very presence, even quietly, stirs change in others on a deep, soul level. 🌀💫

In short: you’re here to awaken not just your own soul, but the collective dream — and it all starts with trusting your inner electric magic.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[prael]

A Bargain To Remember

Kinktember Day 13: Car sex

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 4,950 Kinktember Masterlist

"Finally, a face to the name."

You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.

The surprise is that she knows you.

Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.

"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.

"I would like to make a purchase."

"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"

She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."

You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."

She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.

"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."

There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.

Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."

You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."

Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."

You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"

"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."

"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.

"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."

She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.

"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.

You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.

"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."

She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.

"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.

She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.

She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"

"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."

Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."

You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.

The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.

"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.

You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"

"Do it." She's insistent.

A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.

There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.

Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.

"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.

"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"

"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."

Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.

"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"

Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"

You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."

"You're going to manually record?"

"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.

She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.

A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.

A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.

"When are we?"

"2024."

"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"

She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"

"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"

She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."

Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.

"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."

"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.

And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.

She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.

"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.

Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.

It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.

You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.

She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.

You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.

Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.

She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.

You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.

You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.

"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."

You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.

"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."

You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.

You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.

"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.

"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.

Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.

Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.

You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.

"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.

Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."

She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.

You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.

"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."

"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.

"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.

She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."

You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.

A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.

You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.

Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."

"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."

You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.

The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.

"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.

It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.

"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.

From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.

Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.

And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.

"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"

"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.

"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.

You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...

"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."

You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.

She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.

"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.

There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.

"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.

You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.

"Incredible," you breathe.

Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.

"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.

"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.

"I'll get started."

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[pastelaeqy]

very generic swap AU for ava. Lots of yap below the cut where I talk about important changes and my thoughts about the differences between victim and Mitsi here.

couple important differences between her and victim

The big one is that she doesn't actually pursue revenge until she realises the guy who tortured her malewife would give her access to the guy who killed her malewife; before this, she basically has a big personality change, becomes a bit bitter, cold, managing with an iron fist etc and changes Rocket Corp's focus from general tech to arms/defence using blueprints victim had made.

unlike victim, who loses like 90% of his workforce and tanks the share prices, Mitsi instead sells to the gov because they are now obviously wanting some protection against terrorists. Whereas victim is too caught up in his own trauma to think of any other future for the company, Mitsi capitalises off the fear The Disappearance caused and quickly becomes the wealthiest figure in the entire Outernet. I think she’d be an absolutely terrifying boss using her old personality as more of a Customer Service mask. This would definitely be obvious though and I think it would make her more terrifying if anything 

As to how victim dies in the disappearance, my best guess is once people start disappearing from the party, he realises it’s to do with Newgrounds very quickly and he rushes over there with the rocket he fixed probably not long after he landed. He gets there, finds her, and saves her in a final moment of self sacrifice. I think this is a good setup because it puts Mitsi (and Agent) in the exact position Agent is in canon whilst also allowing Mitsi to see who the culprit was. I think it’s a good (temporary…) ending for victim as well, since he dies on his own terms rather than that of his creator’s

It's not until The Showdown that she realises she has a proper shot at getting revenge AND getting victim back; I'm certain victim has at least told her a little about how he was made, and she realises that she could totally get that revenge she's been craving for years whilst also convincing victim's creator to "make him again". Another big difference between victim and Mitsi here is that whilst victim quite obviously stews in his rage and grief for an extensive period of time (and quite frankly never actually has any real proof TCO and Alan are working together and simply just assumes that until he gets that showdown clip), Mitsi doesn’t let it show until she knows it’s actionable i.e. she has solid proof that going after TCO would give her access to Alan. 

Something else to add on here is that where victim is more or less using Mitsi’s death as an excuse for revenge, Mitsi is using her love for victim as a motivator. Because Mitsi simply doesn’t have the sort of background victim does (the disappearance is like THE traumatic event of her life rather than one of several), victim takes the emotional centre of her eventual desire for revenge. In canon, it’s pretty clear victim is more obsessed with getting revenge on Alan than getting revenge on TCO (still absolutely brutal towards TCO though, don’t get me wrong); his hatred for Alan/TCO outshines his love for Mitsi.

Big flaw here is that she doesn't really grasp how bad Alan was to victim; she’s so deadset on getting him back that she won’t stop and think “how might this actually be a bad thing”. I wouldn’t imagine he would be normal after being revived again and I think this would work as a good climactic point of conflict for like act 3. Where in canon there’s a good chance Mitsi will be revived no immediate consequences (thanks orange), victim would be redrawn the same way he had been all those years ago (and hence would not actually look like the victim Mitsi knew in the first place). A nice touch of “revived but came back wrong” to get Mitsi to hop off the revenge train. Another big aspect here is that victim would be like “what have you done to our company” much in the same way id assume Mitsi would in canon.

Overall I think the events we see in canon (other than the ones I have described) would play out about the same. I think it would be clearer that Rocket Corp. has a way bigger presence in the Outernet rather than being some weird creepy company that people vaguely remember as having a change in management some time after the disappearance. Mitsi would be probably more precise (and markedly less brutal) in capturing and extracting information from TCO because Mitsi doesn’t have the inferiority complex victim does. I think he’d still take a couple hits though, but Mitsi has no need to exemplify her control over TCO like victim does; she just needs to weaken him enough to make him talk.

That’s all i’ve really thought about so far. She’s spinning around in my mind like she’s in a microwave.

[softestqueeen]

passenger princess

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!tech analyst!reader

summary: After what happened and Aaron being unable to drive, you have the honor of driving him home. Too bad the little motel has only one room left - with one bed.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut, unprotected p in v, no real foreplay, aftercare, kissing, making out, fluff, the beatles ig, love confession, kinda aprupt ending (sorry guys, i'm tired)

wordcount: 3603 words

a/n: this is inspired by this post from @pastelpinkflowerlife! i loved the idea and hope I could do it justice! i peppered in some of my favourite tropes and smut ofc. (i'm just a girl) for the plot they are also not in NYC but a bit farther away, so i could make it a bit more realistic. enjoy <3

“He’s yours,” Derek told you with a shit eating grin while your smile dropped.

“What?”

“You get to drive Mr Grouchy over there home. He’s not cleared to fly yet because he almost busted his ear drum, so someone has to drive him. And that’s where you come in, sunshine. The rest of the team is already on their way to the airport. Here’s your car key.” His smile never faltered once as he flung the key at you.

“Oh, and by the way, Garcia has all your tech stuff, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Derek, we both know that that’s not what I’m worried about, but whatever, I’m not getting out of this, am I?” the whining in your voice was impossible to ignore.

“Nope, drive safe, princess,” and with that Derek turned around, got into another car, which was almost identical to the one you would have to drive and drove away.

You didn’t get any time to sulk, Aaron already walking up to where you were standing, a slight frown on his face that turned apologetic once he looked into your eyes. He felt genuinely bad for you.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me now. I bet that’s not how you anticipated to spend your weekend.”

“Oh, no it’s all right Hotch. I’m not really a fan of flying anyways, I’ve always preferred to be in the lair at Quantico.”

So, it was not actually that all right, because you had teeny tiny problem.

You had a huge crush on your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

From the moment you first laid eyes on his tall frame, his piercing eyes and oh those hands, you knew you were a goner. Since then, you were incredibly attracted to him, and you knew you would inevitably catch feelings for him. Which weren’t very promising conditions for driving in a small car with him. Especially when said person was one of the best profilers ever.

But you really don’t have a choice and if you were being completely honest you were glad that in some way or another could take care of him. You knew with how stubborn he could be it wouldn’t be easy, but you hoped he could at least relax a little bit. 

A moment of silence passed between the both of you before you decided to take a step towards the car.

Aaron was already on his way to the driver’s side, but that would not happen, not under your watch.

“I’m driving today. We both know you shouldn’t right now, and it won’t hurt you to sit back and relax a little bit. For once, let someone take care of you, please” the smile you sent him, made him begrudgingly agree. He’s always had a soft spot for you and your smile, especially because it always made everything seem a little lighter. No matter if it were a case, a profile, or any other conversation, you could turn his whole mood with just a simple smile. Oh, and don’t get him started about how he feels every time you beam at him.

Aaron still didn’t step away from the car, rather opening the door and holding it open for you.

Thanking him with a shy thanks you get into the car. Hotch closing the door behind you, walked in front of the car to get in himself.

Once you were both buckled in, you couldn’t hold the comment back that was burning on the tip of your tongue. It was a bold comment, especially from you, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You’re like my passenger princess now for once,” and while that made you giggle, Aaron only shot you a slightly amused but still grumpy glare. You referred to the one time he called you that (also as a joke) when there was a local case about a year ago and he drove you back towards the head quarters. After you got hurt, he desperately needed to see you smile again and he definitely succeeded.

You started the car, put on the radio and now your little road trip could officially start.

Aaron could now properly look at you; the way your hair fell down your shoulders, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the blush on your cheeks, the way your lashes touched your cheeks every time you blinked. You were truly mesmerising.

The truth was – Aaron had feelings for you, the first time he saw you was like a slap in the face, your beauty taking his breath away. It was the first time he ever felt something akin to butterflies since he first met Haley back in high school and definitely the first time he considered romance again after her death. If he were being honest, he would have hired you even if you weren’t as good at your job, for completely selfish reasons. Fortunately, though, you were an outstanding agent and fit right in with Garcia, who would be your closest colleague. That day he couldn’t get you out of his head, and till this day he couldn’t.

But as long as he wasn’t 100% that you felt the same, he wouldn’t act on his feelings. As you were his employee it also wouldn’t sit right with him to possibly put you in an uncomfortable position or force you to do something you may didn’t want to do.

So, for now he would just keep on watching from afar, or as of now, rather from up close. He wasn’t too mad about you driving, that way you couldn’t pay him too much mind while he could fully concentrate on studying your face and committing it his mind.

A Beatles song coming on the radio, interrupted his train of thought. Before he could do it though, your hand reached out and increased the volume, the song now filling every inch of the car. And to Aarons absolute delight, he could hear your gentle voice singing along. Now he suddenly wished the music weren’t quite as loud, so he could hear you better, but he would take what he could get.

Once the Beatles have passed, the station played a lot of other stuff Aaron thought you wouldn’t really like or would be too young to know, but you knew the lyrics to all of the songs. Hotch assumed that you didn’t even realise that you were singing, which made the moment strangely more intimate. After about one and a half hours of driving, there was suddenly a loud metallic sounding noise, which made you both freeze.

You pulled over and got out of the car, Aaron immediately following suit. Once you’ve walked around the car, you saw exactly what caused the noise – you had a flat tire. Upon taking a closer look you could see that you must have driven over a nail, which was now stuck in said tire.

Aaron saw the issue as well. “Do we have a spare tire?”

“I have no idea, how about you check the trunk?”

“Good idea,” Aaron said, already on his way to the back of the car.

“Wait- Aaron, do you know how to change a tire?” you only now realised that you definitely did not know how to change one and you just prayed that he knew, because calling someone because of that would be a bit embarrassing. It would also prolong your stay at the side of the road, which also wouldn’t be ideal.

You probably didn’t realise what you said, but hearing his first name falling from your lips almost made Aaron blush like a schoolgirl. Usually, both of you kept a professional face, never using your frost names unless you were meeting after a case with the others.

Once Aaron had calmed down a bit, he came back with a spare tire and answered you, “Of course I know how to change one, don’t you?”

“Uhm- well, I never had to do it, and it also never happened to me before. I’m glad you know how to do it though,” the smile returned to your face, while Aaron got to work.

He encouraged you to watch and explained everything to you, even letting you fasten a few of the screws and rewarding you with a rare smile once the new tire was installed.

Finally, you went back to the car and resumed your journey. It all went well, but of course, it couldn’t stay like that for long.

From one moment to the other, it suddenly started raining like crazy, the roads slick from the rain. The journey would have taken a few hours that you planned to drive without any overnight breaks, but the rain made that almost impossible.

“Maybe we should stay the night somewhere and wait for the rain to stop,” Aarons gentle voice cut through your inner turmoil. It always scared you a bit that he could tell exactly what you were thinking without you saying a single word.

“That’s a good idea; I’ll stop at the next motel.”

Finally, the next exit neared, the storm only getting worse and worse by the minute. You were glad you finally got off the street, all of Reid’s statistics about car accidents in extreme weather conditions plaguing your mind.

You took the exit, the dingy motel not looking like the most comfortable, but it was the only shelter you could get at the moment.

After parking the car, the two of you grabbed your go-bags and hurried inside. From the inside the motel had the same shabby charme as on the outside. A bored looking teenager looked up as you approached the information desk. Hotch took over the talking, asking for two rooms.

“We only have one room available at the moment, we should have more tomorrow, though,” came from the boy, his voice unwaveringly monotone.

The two of you made short eye contact, your smile reassuring him that it was all right.

“It’s fine, we’ll take it.”

He handed over the key, Aaron leading the way to your room. After opening the door, he held it open for you, letting you take the first look at your little oasis. You froze in the middle of the doorway, the single queen-sized bed in the middle of the small room almost glaring at you. The flowery sheets that matched the dusty curtains just added to your horror.

“Are you alright?” came his voice through your brain fog, your legs immediately starting to move again.

“Oh, yea I’m fine, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Expect what?” he asked before stepping inside himself “Oh.”

You turned around, the mild shock evident in his voice.

“If you’d like I can sleep on the floor, if this arrangement makes you uncomfortable,” he immediately offered once you had fully turned around.

“There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the floor with a damaged ear and bruised body. We’re both grown ups, if you don’t mind, we can share the bed,” you’d do anything to get that poor man off the floor, even if the thought of sharing a bed made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He gives you a curt nod before offering you the bathroom first, claiming he still wanted to call Jack. You told him to send the little boy lots of kisses from you before taking your go bag and disappearing into the bathroom.

After taking a shower, brushing your teeth, and doing your short skin care routine, you step outside again. Aaron had taken off his jacket and tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked up once he heard the door open, his eyes wandering over your pyjama which only consisted of shorts and a baggy t-shirt, that barely covered you, your legs on fully display.

He realised he may have stared at you when you started moving again, taking a seat at the other side – your side – of the bed. Grabbing his own bag, Aaron disappeared wordlessly into the bathroom.

You prayed that you didn’t make him uncomfortable with your outfit, you didn’t think you had to share a room with anyone, especially not with him. Slipping under the covers, you take your book and start reading, quickly losing yourself in the pace of the book.

When Aaron had taken his shower and joined you in bed again, you tried your best to stay neutral. You put away your book, leaning over to your bed side table to turn off the light. He did the same, both of you covering yourselves with the blanket before wishing each other a good night.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, both exhausted from the intense case and long car ride. But you woke up not soon after, having slept for about two hours.

The first thing you noticed was a steady warmth against you and something heavy on your stomach. You opened around and turned your head, jut to see Aaron’s head in the crook of your neck, silently snoring while the creases absent from his usually frowny face. He was hugging your body and had apparently pulled you closer to him in his sleep. The contempt expression on his face kept you from waking him, though your eyes seemed to have disrupted his sleep.

Aaron opened his eyes, immediately feeling groggy. What was unusual though, was the warm body that he apparently had hugged to himself. The comfort of the position almost lulled him back to sleep when he felt eyes on him and remembered who he had pulled closer to him.

He raised his gaze, meeting your curious eyes, but not once did his grip on you falter.

“Didn’t take you for a cuddly guy, Hotchner,” your sleepy voice broke the silence, filling the space between you. Your faces were so close together, that Aaron could feel your breath fanning on his face, just how he was sure you felt him breathing against your neck just moments before.

After a quick laugh escape him, he pleaded with you. “Please, we are literally cuddling right now, please call me Aaron.” You calling him by his first name, would make the situation so much more intimate. It wouldn’t just be Hotch being a bit lonely and cuddling up to you while unconscious, it would mean so much more.

His comment made both of you laugh and after silence settled again neither of you could deny the tension now. Your eyes moved from his, to his lips before returning, a new hunger suddenly visible in your eyes.

Aaron got the cue and took the first step, leaning forward and connecting your lips. Your face was already so close to his that it didn’t take much to kiss you, only a small tilt of his face and a slight change of position on your part and you finally got what you dreamed of for years.

But it was so much better than you could ever imagine, his lips unbelievable soft and steady against yours, his lashes fluttering and hands wandering to your waist, holding you steadily against him. One of your hands finds it’s way to his chest, the other one gliding into the hairs on the back of his neck, holding him close to you.

Even though you started out slow, it didn’t take long to get a tad more heated. Hands started to wander, to explore and you could feel Aaron’s tongue running over your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

Instinctively you part your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your tongues didn’t fight for dominance, they moved together, finding a rhythm in each other. Unfortunately, you had to breathe, so you reluctantly pulled away, Aaron’s lips chasing after yours.

You opened your eyes, immediately finding his, pupils blown wide, his breathing heavy.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice still groggy with sleep, though not at all uncertain.

“You, Aaron.” His name from your lips made something in him snap. He connected your lips again, before flipping you, so he was completely on top of you, covering your frame with his body.

Aarons lips parted from yours, now making their way over your face to your neck and slightly under the hem of your shirt, the feeling of his lips against your hot skin driving you insane. Before he could go any further though, you stopped him by fisting his sleep shirt and pulling him up to you again.

Now, you could also feel his arousal, his prominent bulge pressing against your thigh, making you whimper.

The man above you gave you a slightly puzzled look.

“I need you now, I don’t think I can wait any longer, Aaron,” your voice was breathy, but you made clear what you wanted, because you knew Aaron would give it to you. The thought made your heart rate increase even more, if possible.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” the nickname made you swoon, though his lips on yours served a quick distraction.

 His hands started to wander again, halting at the waistband of your sleep shorts. Before he could even pull away you were already nodding your hand and burying your hands in his hair. Aaron let his hand slide under the waistband, finally making contact with your heat.

You let out a moan once he let his middle finger slide through your folds, the sensation almost too much. He withdrew his hand to pull the shorts down and you were quick to kick them off.

Now, Aaron pulled down the waistband of his own pants, freeing his impressive length. He wasn’t just long, but also just the right kind of girthy and veiny. You couldn’t help yourself, one hand reaching down and wrapping around him. Slowly, you started to apply pressure moving your hand up and down, letting the palm of your hand glide over his tip, not once breaking the kiss.

He let out a low groan into your mouth and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling your hand away. Taking his length in his own hand he finally moved himself towards your entrance. His tip made contact with you and Aaron didn’t waste any time and started to press inside of you.

Because of the lack of foreplay, he made sure to give you enough time to get used to the intrusion, you hand now gripping his biceps for leverage. Once fully inside of you he let out a sigh, the hand not holding him up wandered to your face cupping your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, making contact with his. Giving him a nod to signal him to start moving, he pulled out almost completely, before completely bottoming out again, the front of his pubic bone touching your clit in this position.

He pressed his chest against yours before finding a comfortable rhythm, slow but sure, adding so much more intimacy to the situation. The only noise that could be heard in the room where your joined moans and groans and the careful sound of skin hitting skin. It didn’t take long for you to get closed, his chest rubbing against your nipples, his pubic bone against our clit and his thick cock inside of you, an almost overwhelming experience.

By the way Aaron was panting and the way his cock twitched inside of you, you knew he was close.

“Please, come inside of me, Aaron. I’m so close," you whispered into his good ear on purpose. Your warm tight walls, your voice and that final little detail made him unravel, his cock spurting his cum into you, painting your walls white.

Aaron groaning into your ear and the sensation of his cum filling you, made the tight coil in you finally snap and you threw back your head with a moan of his name. He slowly came to a halt inside of you before peppering countless little kisses onto your face, helping you calm down.

Once the two of you had your breathing under control, Aaron placed a final kiss on your lips before pulling out of you, making you whine and him hiss at the loss of contact.

He unravelled from your arms and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. Joining you again he held a warm washcloth, which he used to clean you up with a gentle hand, running his free hand over your hip and soothing you. He threw it onto the bedside table before laying down with you again, opening his arm for you. Not hesitating for even a moment you scoot closer and lay your head onto his chest, your arm wrapping around his torso. His hand softly stroked your hair while the other one went to your hip, drawing small shapes onto your skin.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “Aaron, I have to tell you something,” his heart started beating faster, your ear still pressed to his chest, though he only answers with a hum and thoughtful eyes, “I wasn’t really honest with you in the past. I have feelings for you, Aaron, and I have for quite a while now. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with this, especially if you thought that this was only a one time thin-“ Aaron cut your rambling off with a kiss.

“Don’t worry, honey. I love you too.”

Content and also very relieved you place another quick peck on his lips before laying down on his chest again and closing your eyes.

It is to say that the rest of your road trip went without any further interruptions and the silence in the car was now anything but awkward.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open! (now also for the x files)

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa @mmmmokdok people interested in the initial post: @lmg-stilinski24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @htchnr @casualkryptonitekitten @their-love @itsfelicity-emma @fanficrseblogged

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Does Not Believe in Ghosts

Which is a problem because his boyfriend is a ghost. Or, at least, that’s what Danny keeps trying to explain to him.

Tim isn’t dismissive—he’s fascinated by Danny’s abilities and origin story. But ghosts as in “the dead-but-not-gone spirits of human beings”? That just doesn’t register for him. Tim has met aliens, time travelers, and gods alike, but actual ghosts feel like a line too far for his rational mind.

“It’s probably a dimensional thing,” Tim muses one night while calibrating a piece of ectoplasm-sensitive tech. “You’re a type of interdimensional entity made of ectoplasmic energy, and your world calls them ghosts because it’s a good linguistic match. Makes sense.”

Danny stares at him from his spot on the couch, one eyebrow twitching. “Tim, I’m literally dead.”

Tim pauses, turning his chair to face Danny. “Okay, but… not really, right? Because you’re still here. Like, functioning. Alive-ish. It's more likely that the portal exposure altered your molecular structure and tethered your consciousness to an ectoplasmic state. That doesn’t make you a ghost, Danny. It makes you… a transdimensional being, maybe?”

Danny sighs, sitting up and dragging his hands through his hair. “Tim, I died. My heart stopped. My body turned into ectoplasm. And now I’m stuck between being alive and… not.”

Tim’s expression softens as he sets the equipment down. “I’m not trying to invalidate what happened to you, Danny,” he says gently. “I just think you’re reshaping what it means to exist. ‘Ghost’ feels like the wrong word for someone as... tangible as you. You’re not some lingering spirit—you’re real. You’re you.”

Danny blinks at him, caught off guard. “Well... that’s kinda sweet, but it’s also wrong. I’m literally the definition of a ghost. I haunt places. I make ghost noises.”

“Sure, Danny,” Tim says, with a small, indulgent smile that sends Danny spiraling between affection and frustration. He reaches over to squeeze Danny’s knee. “You’re definitely a ghost.”

Danny groans, flopping back onto the couch. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” Tim corrects, leaning back in his chair.

“No, you’re dense.”

It’s not like Danny hasn’t tried to convince him. He’s gone intangible mid-conversation, flown through walls, and even pulled out his ghostly wail—though he only did that because Bruce was safely out of earshot. None of it works. Tim just treats it all like a fascinating science experiment instead of proof that Danny is, in fact, dead.

“Tim, what will it take for you to admit that ghosts are real?” Danny grumbles, covering his face with a pillow.

Tim hums, thoughtful. “I don’t know. Hard evidence? Like a case study? Maybe letting me run some tests?”

Danny lifts the pillow just enough to glare at him. “You are the case study!”

Tim gives him an easy smile. “Exactly. And the results are inconclusive.”

He’s still annoyed, but… well, maybe having a boyfriend who insists on understanding everything isn’t the worst thing in the world.

At least Tim cares enough to try. Even if he’s completely, utterly wrong.

[revelboo]

Pls give us an update on D-16 and Megatronus 🙏 The TFO’s brainrot is getting out of hand

Sure!

Give It Up Pt 5

Megatronus x Reader

• Not sure what to make of the fact that he’d bothered to learn your language or that he’d done it instantly, you have so many questions. So many things you want to know, even if the looming shadow of impending suffocation is hanging over you. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s not harmed you so far. You’re not sure what it is about him that makes your instincts so sure he’s safe and trustworthy. You’d given him your name and he’d introduced himself as Megatronus Prime, his low voice a silken rumble. “Please, little one. Prime is a title, Megatronus will suffice,” he says after you address him by his full name, those optics bright behind his mask. Amused with you.

• “Megatronus,” you reply, voice so soft and how long has it been since any but his siblings have called his name that without the honorific? Understands it’s a sign of respect, but sometimes it feels like a shackle. To be adored and respected by the masses to the point where he’s become unapproachable, where they’re afraid to even try to talk to him. Afraid of bothering him. And some of his fellow Primes would be scandalized that he’s asking you not to use his title, to be so familiar. But he’d never asked to be worshipped or put on a pedestal. “I’m not supposed to be here. Our tech malfunctioned and I got thrown through the gate.” Domed head tipping up to look at him, your real face is a hazy shadow behind the tinted material and he wishes he could see you. Are you talking about a space bridge of some sort, maybe?

• “I didn’t find the coordinates to your home world while scanning your device for your language,” he murmurs as he opens a drawer on the desk he’d set you on and pulls out a small, round object. Watching him fiddle with it before points of light bloom throughout the room, startling a gasp from you. A projector? Realizing you’re looking at galaxies, your lips part as he gestures. “Can you recognize your home galaxy?” It’s a map. And your hope just withers as you turn in a slow circle, staring at the galaxies lazily spinning in miniature. You should know this, but you have no idea.

• Watching your little shoulders slump, you reach up and the back of your hand bumps your helmet. And you seem almost surprised before you make a noise. “I don’t know which one is home,” you admit, voice so soft he almost misses it. Despairing that you’re lost. Maybe afraid you’re never going to be able to find home and his spark aches with your distress. Reaching out, he hesitantly brushes the tip of a servo against your arm and you look up at him. Reaching to lay your tiny hand on him, seeking comfort. Always been the guardian, the shield and sword for his people. And even though you’re alien, you need him.

• “We’ll figure this out.” You’re not his problem, can’t understand why he’s even trying. Doesn’t know you and doesn’t owe you anything. The cynical part of you whispering that the big alien could just be interested in conquering your world. Exploiting it and you. Except, you don’t think he’s like that and you’ve learned to trust your gut instincts. But he must be after something, right? People aren’t kind for no reason. They always want something. Looking up at those kind optics, you’re afraid to hope that he can actually help you. That you’re not going to die on an alien world far from home.

Previous

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 1

Masterpost - Ao3

Danny stares at the screen in front of him. The fact that he’s in a library is the only reason he’s not squealing at the clearly well-maintained website he’s currently exploring. As it turns out, this dimension does have NASA. That fact on its own isn’t too terribly surprising, considering all the other ways it’s similar to Danny’s home. What is surprising (and, in no small part, exciting!), is that in this dimension NASA seems to have much better funding. Danny had managed to resist looking up anything related to space for the first hour of his time in the library, but then Danny had chanced across an article about the ISS, and his resolve had crumbled. Not even fifteen minutes later, and Danny is here, exploring the very nice NASA website. Plumbing its depths, really, for all the information it can provide on what space is like in this world.There’s lots of new information; space research is definitely more advanced here than it was back home, and there’s occasional vague allusions to odd things like the livability of Mars, and other oddities, it’s almost like this dimension has come to the forgone conclusion that aliens must exist. Which is certainly an exciting thought, but it also seems odd to Danny. What divergent experiences lead to such a conclusion Danny wonders, as he absently hovers over the opportunities tab for the fifth time. He knows he really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but with a more funded NASA, maybe he could find a way to get a job there eventually. After all he has no real idea when, or even if, he’ll ever manage to go home, so maybe it’s okay to think about the future a little bit.

Maybe they’ve already come into contact with aliens, Danny thinks. Maybe I could get a job working with aliens! It’s that thought that gets him to actually click the tab, desperate to know if that’s even a possibility. The page that opens doesn’t really list specific jobs or anything. Mostly, it seems to just be advertising that NASA is always looking for smart people that are passionate about space (Danny’s definitely one of those things, at least). But there is an interesting little banner advertising a special summer camp for aspiring astronomers, ages 14-18. The idea of that is both surprising and exciting. Danny doesn’t think his home world’s NASA had anything like that. Sam had sent him through with some money, but he’s still unsure if it’ll even work here, and he’s also not sure he wants to risk getting in trouble if it’s just a really close match. Plus it’s definitely not enough to afford the inevitable cost of a whole entire space camp. Danny remembers going to summer camps a couple times as a kid and he knows they weren’t cheap. Still, Danny remembers that Sam had also given him a few pieces of really nice jewelry that he could pawn off for cash, and maybe that could let him afford it?.

It would be so much easier if Danny had a social security number. Or, like, literally anything proving that he really does exist. But, well, technically he doesn’t exist here. Obviously, physically he is here, but he certainly wasn’t born here. He’s basically an undocumented immigrant, just from a place that he literally can’t ever physically go back to. Even the computer he’s using right now highlights just how alien this place is to him, with its large, flat screen and graphics better than anything he’s ever seen in his life. It runs so smoothly, too, that he just knows Tucker would cry if he could see it. And this is what they have in a library. Danny can’t even begin to imagine what high end tech here might look like.

Everything here is strange and new, and Danny doesn’t even really know what he needs to catch up on. He wishes he could have stayed. He had wanted to stay. Of course he had. But after the second time the Guys in White managed to capture him, well, it wasn’t hard to see why they wanted him gone. So when Sam and Tucker and Jazz had cornered him, and explained that they’d found a way to send him away, to somewhere that the GIW couldn’t follow, he hadn’t argued. He hadn’t argued when they dragged him down to the lab, and he hadn’t argued when Jazz shoved a backpack into his hands, and he hadn’t argued when Sam had told him that she’d added cash and jewelry to what Jazz had gathered. He hadn’t argued as Tucker had messed with the portal, and he hadn’t argued when they pushed him towards it.

He can’t go home. Maybe just for a while, but maybe not ever again. He can’t see his friends, and he can’t go to sleep in his own bed, and he can’t come home from school and play Doomed with Sam and Tucker. But maybe all that wouldn’t be so terribly painful, if he could just have one little thing here that he couldn’t have done back home. Danny knows it’s a long shot, but he clicks on the banner, just to see.

The first thing he notices as he reads through the description, is that it offers a lot. Eight weeks, overnight in a specialized science camp facility, an opportunity to experience both a shuttle launch simulation and a zero gravity simulator? The opportunity to experience multiple different kinds of jobs? This isn’t some camp that wants to introduce kids to the idea of astronomy, this is designed for kids who already want to be astronomers. All in all, it’s everything Danny could have imagined and more. It’s not exactly cheap, though. Five thousand dollars isn’t exactly affordable when all you have is some cash that may or not work, and a few necklaces, fancy as they may be. After all, it’s not like Danny knows enough about jewelry to have even a hope of not being ripped off.

At the bottom of the description, there is mention of scholarships, though, and maybe if he angles it right, he can manage to make use of one of those? Danny glances through the list. He doubts he can prove himself worth the aptitude scholarship. His grades weren’t exactly good back home, even if he did have his transcripts. And he’s hardly going to get the financial hardship scholarship if he’s got no proof that he even exists here. One of the scholarships catches his eye, though, specifically because he has no idea what it’s for. 

Danny knows the word meta. It’s like self-referential shit or something. But it’s not exactly a scientific thing. That’s language arts stuff, the kind of thing Mr. Lancer goes on about, and there should be no reason for it to be a kind of scholarship. But maybe it’s an acronym or something? Danny mouses over, and clicks through to see what exactly it is, even if it probably won’t be relevant to him.

“Here at NASA we understand that people don’t always fit our standard expectations of normality!” The meta scholarship page reads. Danny tries not to let his hackles go up at the mention of normality. They can’t possibly be talking about people like him, after all. Nothing he’s seen so far has implied that ghosts have any sort of presence here. “In our efforts to expand our understanding of the infinite expanse of space, it only makes sense to do our best to work with those who do not conform to those expectations, especially when those exceptions often represent unique opportunities for possible field work. If you identify as a meta, and believe your talents make you uniquely suited to extreme environments, we welcome you to apply for our full-expense meta scholarship!*”

The introductory paragraph only leaves Danny more confused, and a bit wary. The references to normality and unique opportunities for field work have bile rising into Danny’s throat, and he shakily opens a new tab, and types the word meta into the search bar. If they’re experimenting on people here too-

The search returns an astonishing number of results. Among the first ones are a wikipedia article on metas, and so many news articles. Danny clicks on the wikipedia page first.

“Metas refers to an individual who possesses meta powers. Derived from the prefix “meta-”, meaning beyond or transcending, meta powers are innately defined by the natural capabilities of the general population. Thus, on Earth, the term meta, or metahuman, typically refers to anyone who has abilities beyond the standard human experience. A significant portion of metas can be attributed to the human metagene,  which typically triggers in moments of intense physical or mental stress, and can produce unique situational abilities. Other metas, may belong to other species who naturally have certain abilities, or to individuals who are granted powers by various deific forces or even objects.”

What.

It can’t possibly be that easy. This world can’t possibly be that perfect. Danny keeps reading. He realizes as he continues that this article is long, with literally dozens of subsections. On top of that, as he begins to read, there are references to numerous other events, and topics that he’s never heard of before. And by the time the librarian arrives to usher him out of the library for the night, he still isn’t finished with it, but he has learned quite a bit.

Apparently, it isn’t exactly as perfect as it sounded. Rather, this dimension has a long history of meta-related conflict. There’s been plenty of discrimination and mistreatment in the past; the kind of thing that Danny is more than familiar with. But on top of that, there’s literal, actual superheroes here. A lot of them. Superheroes that have fought against numerous world-ending threats and won. And those same superheroes have worked with the world governments, and ratified the protection of metas’ rights as being fundamental human rights. If Wikipedia is to be believed, Danny really is safe.

Still, Danny knows first-hand the way that governments can and will lie. And just because the internet claims that these so-called metas are treated fairly, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true. 

Propaganda, Danny thinks. Who’s to say it isn’t all just propaganda? I need to be more careful about transforming tonight.

But the library does need to close, so Danny heads out into the second night in his new hometown, mind racing as he thinks about the implications of everything he’s read. The space camp seems so far away now, in the aftermath of the following revelations. Danny needs to get further from civilization if he wants to transform tonight. He follows the main street out, away from town. Maybe in a field somewhere, he’ll be okay? This doesn’t exactly seem like a large town. Even if it’s not true, Danny thinks as he walks. At least I’m not alone here. And I didn’t see anything about Anti-Ecto Acts.

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Omni!Mark Edition!～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Omni!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, god Mark is trying so hard and it’s got me in a chokehold

Word Count: 2,268

Synopsis: Mark is an unquestioned powerhouse whose following in the steps of his father perfectly – which apparently includes playing the good guy role for a little while here on Earth. After saving the day in a place he had never visited before – Savannah, Georgia – he sees you for the first time, and he finds himself immediately captured by you. And bless his heart; he’s trying real hard.

a/n: waaaait omni-mark is actually too cute with her this turned out so good 😭

you can start reading the main series ❀ꗥ～ Here! ～ꗥ❀

The explosion rattled every window in downtown Savannah.

You were halfway through handing out church fliers for the bake sale when the sky opened up like the Good Lord Himself had decided to throw hands. Something mechanical shrieked overhead—a hunk of alien tech spiraling out of orbit—and folks scattered like hens. But you? You were too busy trying to help old Miss Calloway get her walker down the courthouse steps to run.

That’s when he showed up.

A blur of red and white streaked past, and the air cracked like thunder. The machine exploded mid-air, scattering debris, but not a single piece touched you. When the smoke cleared, he was hovering there—arms crossed, chest rising slow.

He looked like the kind of man Mama warned you about: handsome as the devil, with a jaw like sin and eyes sharp enough to cut. A blood red and pure white suit, that strange symbol on his chest, and not a hair out of place.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice deep and all business.

You blinked. Smiled. “Well, ain’t you just the tallest glass of sweet tea I’ve ever laid eyes on.” You dusted off your sundress, calm as anything. “I do believe you just saved my hide, sugar.”

He stared at you.

Actually stared. Like you’d grown wings.

“…You’re welcome,” he finally said, stiff as a board.

—

You figured that’d be it. Just another cape breezin’ through town, gone like a summer storm. Lord knew Savannah didn’t have the kind of villain activity to keep someone like him around.

But then, a week later: a bank robbery on Broughton.

You were across the street looking at fabric for a new church dress when the robbers burst in, masks askew and nerves twitchin’. Not thirty seconds passed before the front of the bank exploded outward in a thunderous crash, and guess who came walking through the smoke like Judgement Day in boots?

Omni-Mark.

Two would-be robbers unconscious. A van flipped. The building cracked clear down the façade.

He stood there for a second, breathing like he’d just fought a war. Then those eyes found you again.

“…Are you okay?” Same question. Same voice. Like he didn’t remember asking it the first time.

You dusted off your bag and smiled slow. “I was, until someone sent half the brickwork into my fruit basket.”

He blinked.

Didn’t apologize.

Just nodded once and flew off, leaving the street cracked and the bank’s ATM embedded in a mailbox.

The week after that?

Arson at a seafood joint. Only it wasn’t technically arson—it was an overenthusiastic crawfish boil gone wrong.

And who just so happened to swoop in and rescue two elderly patrons and a plate of hushpuppies?

You guessed it.

By the fourth “coincidence,” you’d had just about enough.

You were at the farmer’s market, haggling over okra and mindin’ your own, when some no-name villain calling himself “Professor Static” tried to rob the honey vendor. The man had jumper cables and a Bluetooth speaker duct-taped to his chest.

And still—here came red-and-white terror incarnate, landing hard enough to knock over a bushel of peaches and sending poor Professor Static into early retirement with one punch.

You didn't even flinch this time. You just turned and said:

“Well if it ain’t my own personal tornado again. You know, I’m startin’ to think the Lord sent you to test my nerves, not save ‘em.”

Mark, still brushing bits of villain off his knuckles, replied earnestly: “There was a threat in the area.”

You tilted your head. “Mmm. And this particular ‘threat’ required a man who can break the sound barrier and throw tanks?”

He blinked like a confused dog. Then just said: “Yes.”

You smiled sweetly. “Well bless your heart. Guess Savannah’s just become real high-priority all of a sudden.”

After that, it escalated.

You’d see him perched on the roof of the Piggly Wiggly while you grocery shopped. He once “coincidentally” flew past your book club meeting—held in the back of a tea shop.

Even the church roof getting repaired wasn’t spared — you caught him “inspecting the structural integrity” one morning. At six a.m.

“Coincidence,” he told you, solemnly.

“Mmhmm,” you replied, sipping your coffee on the porch. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

It all came to a head at the Sunday picnic behind the church.

You’d just handed Pastor Whitmore a plate of deviled eggs when a little boy started crying about his balloon floating up into a pecan tree. Before anyone could grab a step ladder, a sonic boom knocked over three lawn chairs and Omni-Mark landed in a crouch like a soldier behind enemy lines.

He plucked the balloon from the tree with surgical precision, handed it to the wide-eyed boy, then turned—like he couldn’t help it—and locked eyes with you.

You didn’t break your stride. Just walked up to him, parasol bouncing against your shoulder, and smiled.

“Well hey there, stranger,” you said like you hadn’t seen him five times that week. “You just happen to be floatin’ by again today, huh?”

“I was nearby.”

“Oh really?” You tapped your lip with one gloved finger. “Because far as I can tell, Savannah’s been quieter than a cat nap in August—until you started showin’ up.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

You leaned in just a touch, that parasol bouncing lightly on your shoulder, and let your voice drip warm like honey on a biscuit.

“Now sugar, I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but if I didn’t know any better…” You paused, let him look at you, take you in like he always did — like he didn’t understand how something so soft could hold his attention so hard. “…I’d say you’re sweet on me.”

That got him.

He stiffened. Visibly. Brows drawn down like you’d just spoken ancient Sumerian.

“I’m what?” he asked.

You blinked. “Sweet on me.”

“…Is that a—threat?”

You nearly choked.

“Well no, darlin’,” you laughed. “It means… you’ve taken a shine to me. Got a fondness. Somethin’ warm and fluttery in your chest every time you see me walk by in a sundress.”

He stared at you like you’d spoken in riddles. “I don’t know if I have that.”

You arched a brow. “You been followin’ me all over town like a lost bloodhound with a crush and you don’t even know?”

“I know I see you,” he said, slowly. “And it… interrupts everything else. I think about you when I’m not near you. I look for you in crowds. I don’t understand it.”

Your heart did a little hiccup. Not that you’d show it.

Then he shifted—just slightly—and gestured behind him like he’d almost forgotten.

“I saw this,” he said, dead serious, “and I thought of you.”

You followed his hand.

And there it was.

A tree. Not just any tree—a full-grown, live oak, trunk thick as your grandmother’s front porch columns, roots still clumped with Georgia clay.

“I brought it,” he added plainly. “For you.”

You turned fully now, dress swishing, lips parted.

“…You brought me a tree.”

“It’s strong,” he said, like he was listing military assets. “Deep roots. It survives storms. And it’s beautiful.”

You stared.

He looked almost… hopeful. Like he wasn’t sure he’d done it right, but he really wanted to.

You pressed your hand to your chest and sighed. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Did I choose wrong?” he asked, suddenly uncertain. “Is this not a… courtship gesture?”

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from laughing—though not unkindly. No, it wasn’t mockery—it was fondness. Pure and surprised and maybe just a little fluttery.

“No,” you said at last, stepping up to him. “It ain’t wrong. It’s just…”

You rested your hand gently on the center of his chest, right over that insignia, and smiled.

“…You’re real strong, real fast, and real bad at this.”

He looked down at your hand. At your smile. And for the first time, his posture eased.

“…I’ll learn,” he said.

“Lord help me,” you muttered, half to yourself, “you’re cute—but you sure ain’t right.”

Behind you, someone whispered, “Is that your boyfriend, baby? He brought you a tree.”

You sighed. “No, ma’am. Not yet.” Then looked back at the man who could snap planets in half but was standing there like a schoolboy with a daisy, and added:

“But he’s tryin’ real hard.”

—

You should’ve known the tree was just the beginning.

The very next week, you came back from choir practice, humming “Precious Lord” under your breath with a casserole dish in one arm and a tote bag of hymnals in the other—only to stop dead on the sidewalk.

Because your house?

Was gone.

Completely, utterly gone. Just a smooth patch of red Georgia clay and some very confused squirrels.

You didn’t even drop your casserole. Just squinted at the empty lot and muttered, “Oh, hell.”

You hadn’t even had time to call the police when a blur of red and white landed softly on your lawn—just popped into existence like some kind of good-intentioned superheroic ghost.

Mark stood there with his arms folded, looking like he’d done something monumental and was waiting for you to notice.

“Hi,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I moved your house.”

You blinked. “…You moved my house?”

He nodded. “Yes. I reinforced the supports and rotated it thirty-six degrees for optimal morning exposure. The noise levels in your previous neighborhood were above what I deemed safe. I’ve included natural barriers. Defensive elevation. There’s even a freshwater stream now.”

“…You moved my whole damn house.”

He tilted his head. “Are you… not pleased?”

You finally set the casserole down on a tree stump, took a deep breath, and strode over to him in three deliberate clicks of your Sunday heels.

“Mark, darlin’… I know you mean well,” you began, voice soft and syrupy, “but courtin’ a woman does not involve real estate displacement.”

“I didn’t damage it,” he said quickly. “I preserved everything exactly. Even the wind chimes.”

You pressed two fingers to your temple like you were tryin’ to keep your soul from leavin’ your body.

Mark took a cautious step closer. “Would you… like to see it?”

You stared at him for a long moment, arms crossed tight, casserole cooling on the stump beside you.

“…You moved my house and you want to take me on a field trip to the scene of the crime?”

“I think you’ll like it,” he said, hopeful.

And before you could say yes, no, or bless your heart, he picked you up—gentle, cradling you like you were something breakable—and whooshed into the sky.

The wind tugged at your curls, your heels danglin’ mid-air, and you had half a mind to scold him for flying off with a lady like you were luggage.

But then you saw it.

Set right on the crest of a hill overlooking a winding stream, surrounded by swaying oaks and golden brush, was your house.

Your entire house. Not a board out of place. Porch swing still swayin’. Petunias somehow re-potted on the steps.

It looked like a catalog ad for “Backwoods Dreamin’” — and you had to admit, it was gorgeous. If deeply unhinged.

He landed smoothly and set you down on your front walk like he’d done something sweet instead of city-code-illegal.

“I aligned it so the kitchen gets the sunrise,” he explained. “And you mentioned wanting to see more stars at night, so I calculated the light pollution radius and picked the optimal spot.”

You turned slowly to look at him, expression flat.

“Mark… honey, I said I missed seein’ stars — I didn’t mean for you to relocate me to a planetarium in the woods.”

“…Oh.”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“Alright,” you said, hiking your dress slightly as you climbed the front steps of your own house now resting on foreign soil. “That’s it. We’re havin’ a talk.”

He followed behind like a student reporting to the principal.

You walked into your kitchen, poured sweet tea into two mason jars (still miraculously in your cupboards), and sat him down at the kitchen table like he was about to be scolded by every southern matriarch in history.

You set the jar in front of him before fishing in your purse and pulling out your emergency notepad (every proper southern lady carries one), flipping to a fresh page. Then, in very clear, looping script, you wrote:

How Not to Woo a Woman Like She’s a Hostile Planet(Southern Courting Etiquette for the Superpowered)

No lifting houses. Ever.

Flowers are romantic. Entire ecosystems are overkill.

Don’t solve mild inconveniences with extreme force.

Ask before giftin’ anything that could legally require zoning permits.

No surprise livestock. This includes alien livestock. Especially if they glow.

He peered over your shoulder like this was a test he didn’t study for.

“What’s ‘livestock’?” he asked seriously.

You slowly turned to him. “Did you bring me an animal?”

“…Not anymore.”

You didn’t ask.

You simply handed him the notebook, patted his chest gently, and said, “Study this, darlin’. Hard.”

He took it in both hands like you’d just handed him the Declaration of Independence.

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll memorize it. I can learn.”

And Lord help you.

You liked him.

“You’re sweet,” you said, standing and walking over to rest a hand gently on his shoulder. “And dumb as a box of river rocks, but sweet.”

He blinked. “Is that… good?”

You smiled. “Sugar, it’s a start.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The cod-Marxism of personalized pricing

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The social function of the economics profession is to explain, over and over again, that your boss is actually right and that you don't really want the things you want, and you're secretly happy to be abused by the system. If that wasn't true, why would your "choose" commercial surveillance, abusive workplaces and other depredations?

In other words, economics is the "look what you made me do" stick that capitalism uses to beat us with. We wouldn't spy on you, rip you off or steal your wages if you didn't choose to use the internet, shop with monopolists, or work for a shitty giant company. The technical name for this ideology is "public choice theory":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Of all the terrible things that economists say we all secretly love, one of the worst is "price discrimination." This is the idea that different customers get charged different amounts based on the merchant's estimation of their ability to pay. Economists insist that this is "efficient" and makes us all better off. After all, the marginal cost of filling the last empty seat on the plane is negligible, so why not sell that seat for peanuts to a flier who doesn't mind the uncertainty of knowing whether they'll get a seat at all? That way, the airline gets extra profits, and they split those profits with their customers by lowering prices for everyone. What's not to like?

Plenty, as it turns out. With only four giant airlines who've carved up the country so they rarely compete on most routes, why would an airline use their extra profits to lower prices, rather than, say, increasing their dividends and executive bonuses?

For decades, the airline industry was the standard-bearer for price discrimination. It was basically impossible to know how much a plane ticket would cost before booking it. But even so, airlines were stuck with comparatively crude heuristics to adjust their prices, like raising the price of a ticket that didn't include a Saturday stay, on the assumption that this was a business flyer whose employer was footing the bill:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

With digitization and mass commercial surveillance, we've gone from pricing based on context (e.g. are you buying your ticket well in advance, or at the last minute?) to pricing based on spying. Digital back-ends allow vendors to ingest massive troves of commercial surveillance data from the unregulated data-broker industry to calculate how desperate you are, and how much money you have. Then, digital front-ends – like websites and apps – allow vendors to adjust prices in realtime based on that data, repricing goods for every buyer.

As digital front-ends move into the real world (say, with digital e-ink shelf-tags in grocery stores), vendors can use surveillance data to reprice goods for ever-larger groups of customers and types of merchandise. Grocers with e-ink shelf tags reprice their goods thousands of times, every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

Here's where an economist will tell you that actually, your boss is right. Many groceries are perishable, after all, and e-ink shelf tags allow grocers to reprice their goods every minute or two, so yesterday's lettuce can be discounted every fifteen minutes through the day. Some customers will happily accept a lettuce that's a little gross and liztruss if it means a discount. Those customers get a discount, the lettuce isn't thrown out at the end of the day, and everyone wins, right?

Well, sure, if. If the grocer isn't part of a heavily consolidated industry where competition is a distant memory and where grocers routinely collude to fix prices. If the grocer doesn't have to worry about competitors, why would they use e-ink tags to lower prices, rather than to gouge on prices when demand surges, or based on time of day (e.g. making frozen pizzas 10% more expensive from 6-8PM)?

And unfortunately, groceries are one of the most consolidated sectors in the modern world. What's more, grocers keep getting busted for colluding to fix prices and rip off shoppers:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/loblaw-bread-price-settlement-1.7274820

Surveillance pricing is especially pernicious when it comes to apps, which allow vendors to reprice goods based not just on commercially available data, but also on data collected by your pocket distraction rectangle, which you carry everywhere, do everything with, and make privy to all your secrets. Worse, since apps are a closed platform, app makers can invoke IP law to criminalize anyone who reverse-engineers them to figure out how they're ripping you off. Removing the encryption from an app is a potential felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine (an app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to install a privacy blocker on it):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/15/private-law/#thirty-percent-vig

Large vendors love to sell you shit via their apps. With an app, a merchant can undetectably change its prices every few seconds, based on its estimation of your desperation. Uber pioneered this when they tweaked the app to raise the price of a taxi journey for customers whose batteries were almost dead. Today, everyone's getting in on the act. McDonald's has invested in a company called Plexure that pitches merchants on the use case of raising the cost of your normal breakfast burrito by a dollar on the day you get paid:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Surveillance pricing isn't just a matter of ripping off customers, it's also a way to rip off workers. Gig work platforms use surveillance pricing to titrate their wage offers based on data they buy from data brokers and scoop up with their apps. Veena Dubal calls this "algorithmic wage discrimination":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Take nurses: increasingly, American hospitals are firing their waged nurses and replacing them with gig nurses who are booked in via an app. There's plenty of ways that these apps abuse nurses, but the most ghastly is in how they price nurses' wages. These apps buy nurses' financial data from data-brokers so they can offer lower wages to nurses with lots of credit card debt, on the grounds that crushing debt makes nurses desperate enough to accept a lower wage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/18/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point

This week, the excellent Lately podcast has an episode on price discrimination, in which cohost Vass Bednar valiantly tries to give economists their due by presenting the strongest possible case for charging different prices to different customers:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-end-of-the-fixed-price/

Bednar really tries, but – as she later agrees – this just isn't a very good argument. In fact, the only way charging different prices to different customers – or offering different wages to different workers – makes sense is if you're living in a socialist utopia.

After all, a core tenet of Marxism is "from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." In a just society, people who need more get more, and people who have less, pay less:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/From_each_according_to_his_ability,_to_each_according_to_his_needs

Price discrimination, then, is a Bizarro-world flavor of cod-Marxism. Rather than having a democratically accountable state that sets wages and prices based on need and ability, price discrimination gives this authority to large firms with pricing power, no regulatory constraints, and unlimited access to surveillance data. You couldn't ask for a neater example of the maxim that "What matters isn't what technology does. What matters is who it does it for; and who it does it to."

Neoclassical economists say that all of this can be taken care of by the self-correcting nature of markets. Just give consumers and workers "perfect information" about all the offers being made for their labor or their business, and things will sort themselves out. In the idealized models of perfectly spherical cows of uniform density moving about on a frictionless surface, this does work out very well:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

But while large companies can buy the most intimate information imaginable about your life and finances, IP law lets them capture the state and use it to shut down any attempts you make to discover how they operate. When an app called Para offered Doordash workers the ability to preview the total wage offered for a job before they accepted it, Doordash threatened them with eye-watering legal penalties, then threw dozens of full-time engineers at them, changing the app several times per day to shut out Para:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

And when an Austrian hacker called Mario Zechner built a tool to scrape online grocery store prices – discovering clear evidence of price-fixing conspiracies in the process – he was attacked by the grocery cartel for violating their "IP rights":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

This is Wilhoit's Law in action:

Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_M._Wilhoit#Wilhoit's_law

Of course, there wouldn't be any surveillance pricing without surveillance. When it comes to consumer privacy, America is a no-man's land. The last time Congress passed a new consumer privacy law was in 1988, when they enacted the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from revealing which VHS cassettes you take home. Congress has not addressed a single consumer privacy threat since Die Hard was still playing in theaters.

Corporate bullies adore a regulatory vacuum. The sleazy data-broker industry that has festered and thrived in the absence of a modern federal consumer privacy law is absolutely shameless. For example, every time an app shows you an ad, your location is revealed to dozens of data-brokers who pretend to be bidding for the right to show you an ad. They store these location data-points and combine them with other data about you, which they sell to anyone with a credit card, including stalkers, corporate spies, foreign governments, and anyone hoping to reprice their offerings on the basis of your desperation:

https://www.404media.co/candy-crush-tinder-myfitnesspal-see-the-thousands-of-apps-hijacked-to-spy-on-your-location/

Under Biden, the outgoing FTC did incredible work to fill this gap, using its authority under Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act (which outlaws "unfair and deceptive" practices) to plug some of the worst gaps in consumer privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

And Biden's CFPB promulgated a rule that basically bans data brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

But now the burden of enforcing these rules falls to Trump's FTC, whose new chairman has vowed to end the former FTC's "war on business." What America desperately needs is a new privacy law, one that has a private right of action (so that individuals and activist groups can sue without waiting for a public enforcer to take up their causes) and no "pre-emption" (so that states can pass even stronger privacy laws):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/federal-preemption-state-privacy-law-hurts-everyone

How will we get that law? Through a coalition. After all, surveillance pricing is just one of the many horrors that Americans have to put up with thanks to America's privacy law gap. The "privacy first" theory goes like this: if you're worried about social media's impact on teens, or women, or old people, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about deepfake porn, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about algorithmic discrimination in hiring, lending, or housing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about surveillance pricing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. Privacy law won't entirely solve all these problems, but none of them would be nearly as bad if Congress would just get off its ass and catch up with the privacy threats of the 21st century. What's more, the coalition of everyone who's worried about all the harms that arise from commercial surveillance is so large and powerful that we can get Congress to act:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Economists, meanwhile, will line up to say that this is all unnecessary. After all, you "sold" your privacy when you clicked "I agree" or walked under a sign warning you that facial recognition was in use in this store. The market has figured out what you value privacy at, and it turns out, that value is nothing. Any kind of privacy law is just a paternalistic incursion on your "freedom to contract" and decide to sell your personal information. It is "market distorting."

In other words, your boss is right.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/11/socialism-for-the-wealthy/#rugged-individualism-for-the-poor

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