#Human Light System Online Course

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Premature Internet Activists

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TOMORROW (Feb 14) in BOSTON for FREE at BOSKONE , and SATURDAY (Feb 15) for a virtual event with YANIS VAROUFAKIS. More tour dates here.

"Premature antifacist" was a sarcastic term used by leftists caught up in the Red Scare to describe themselves, as they came under ideological suspicion for having traveled to Spain to fight against Franco's fascists before the US entered WWII and declared war against the business-friendly, anticommunist fascist Axis powers of Italy, Spain, and, of course, Germany:

https://www.google.com/books/edition/In_Denial/fBSbKS1FlegC?hl=en&gbpv=1&bsq=%22premature+anti-fascist%22&pg=PA277&printsec=frontcover

The joke was that opposing fascism made you an enemy of America – unless you did so after the rest of America had woken up to the existential threat of a global fascist takeover. What's more, if you were a "premature antifascist," you got no credit for fighting fascism early on. Quite the contrary: fighting fascism before the rest of the US caught up with you didn't make you prescient – it made you a pariah.

I've been thinking a lot about premature antifascism these days, as literal fascists use the internet to coordinate a global authoritarian takeover that represents an existential threat to a habitable planet and human thriving. In light of that, it's hard to argue that the internet is politically irrelevant, and that fights over the regulation, governance, and structure of the internet are somehow unserious.

And yet, it wasn't very long ago that tech policy was widely derided as a frivolous pursuit, and that tech organizing was dismissed as "slacktivism":

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/10/04/small-change-malcolm-gladwell

Elevating concerns about the internet's destiny to the level of human rights struggle was delusional, a glorified argument about the rules for forums where sad nerds argued about Star Trek. If you worried that Napster-era copyright battles would make it easy to remove online content by claiming that it infringed copyright, you were just carrying water for music pirates. If you thought that legalizing and universalizing encryption technology would safeguard human rights, you were a fool who had no idea that real human rights battles involved confronting Bull Connor in the streets, not suing the NSA in a federal courtroom.

And now here we are. Congress has failed to update consumer privacy law since 1988 (when they banned video store clerks from blabbing about your VHS rentals). Mass surveillance enables everything from ransomware, pig butchering and identity theft to state surveillance of "domestic enemies," from trans people to immigrants. What's more, the commercial and state surveillance apparatus are, in fact, as single institution: states protect corporations from privacy law so that corporations can create and maintain population-scale nonconsensual dossiers on all the intimate facts of our lives, which governments raid at will, treating them as an off-the-books surveillance dragnet:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

Our speech forums have been captured by billionaires who censor anti-oligarchic political speech, and who spy on dissident users in order to aid in political repression. Bogus copyright claims are used to remove or suppress disfavorable news reports of elite rapists, thieves, war criminals and murderers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/27/nuke-first/#ask-questions-never

You'd be hard pressed to find someone who'd describe the fights over tech governance in 2025 as frivolous or disconnected from "real politics"

This is where the premature antifascist stuff comes in. An emerging revisionist history of internet activism would have you believe that the first generation of tech liberation activists weren't fighting for a free, open internet – we were just shilling for tech companies. The P2P wars weren't about speech, privacy and decentralization – they were just a way to help the tech sector fight the entertainment industry. DRM fights weren't about preserving your right to repair, to privacy, and to accessibility – they were just about making it easy to upload movies to Kazaa. Fighting for universal access to encryption wasn't about defending everyday people from corporate and state surveillance – it was just a way to help terrorists and child abusers stay out of sight of cops.

Of course, now these fights are all about real things. Now we need to worry about centralization, interoperability, lock-in, surveillance, speech, and repair. But the people – like me – who've been fighting over this stuff for a quarter-century? We've gone from "unserious fools who mistook tech battles for human rights fights" to "useful idiots for tech companies" in an eyeblink.

"Premature Internet Activists," in other words.

This isn't merely ironic or frustrating – it's dangerous. Approaching tech activism without a historical foundation can lead people badly astray. For example, many modern tech critics think that Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes internet users liable for illegal speech acts, while immunizing entities that host that speech) is a "giveaway to Big Tech" and want to see it abolished.

Boy is this dangerous. CDA 230 is necessary for anyone who wants to offer a place for people to meet and discuss anything. Without CDA 230, no one could safely host a Mastodon server, or set up the long-elusive federated Bluesky servers. Hell, you couldn't even host a group-chat or message board:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

Getting rid of CDA 230 won't get rid of Facebook or make it clean up its act. It will just make it impossible for anyone to offer an alternative to Facebook, permanently enshrining Zuck's dominance over our digital future. That's why Mark Zuckerberg wants to kill Section 230:

https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/zuckerberg-calls-changes-techs-section-230-protections-rcna486

Defending policies that make it easier to host speech isn't the same thing as defending tech companies' profits, though these do sometimes overlap. When tech platforms have their users' back – even for self-serving reasons – they create legal precedents and strong norms that protect everyone. Like when Apple stood up to the FBI on refusing to break its encryption:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apple%E2%80%93FBI_encryption_dispute

If Apple had caved on that one, it would be far harder for, say, Signal to stand up to demands that it weaken its privacy guarantees. I'm no fan of Apple, and I would never mistake Tim Cook – who owes his CEOhood to his role in moving Apple production to Chinese sweatshops that are so brutal they had to install suicide nets – for a human rights defender. But I cheered on Apple in its fight against the FBI, and I will cheer them again, if they stand up to the UK government's demand to break their encryption:

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c20g288yldko

This doesn't make me a shill for Apple. I don't care if Apple makes or loses another dime. I care about Apple's users and their privacy. That's why I criticize Apple when they compromise their users' privacy for profit:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

The same goes for fights over scraping. I hate AI companies as much as anyone, but boy is it a mistake to support calls to ban scraping in the name of fighting AI:

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

It's scraping that lets us track paid political disinformation on Facebook (Facebook isn't going to tell us about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

And it's scraping that let us rescue all the CDC and NIH data that Musk's broccoli-hair brownshirts deleted on behalf of DOGE:

https://www.cnet.com/tech/services-and-software/how-to-access-important-health-info-thats-been-scrubbed-from-the-cdc-site/

It's such a huge mistake to assume that anything corporations want is bad for the internet. There are many times when commercial interests dovetail with online human rights. That's not a defense of capitalism, it's a critique of capitalism that acknowledges that profits do sometimes coincide with the public interest, an argument that Marx and Engels devote Chapter One of The Communist Manifesto to:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

In the early 1990s, Al Gore led the "National Information Infrastructure" hearings, better known as the "Information Superhighway" hearings. Gore's objective was to transfer control over the internet from the military to civilian institutions. It's true that these institutions were largely (but not exclusively) commercial entities seeking to make a buck on the internet. It's also true that much of that transfer could have been to public institutions rather than private hands.

But I've lately – and repeatedly – heard this moment described (by my fellow leftists) as the "privatization" of the internet. This is strictly true, but it's even more true to say that it was the demilitarization of the internet. In other words, corporations didn't take over functions performed by, say, the FCC – they took over from the Pentagon. Leftists have no business pining for the days when the internet was controlled by the Department of Defense.

Caring about the technological dimension of human rights 30 years ago – or hell, 40 years ago – doesn't make you a corporate stooge who wanted to launch a thousand investment bubbles. It makes you someone who understood, from the start, that digital rights are human rights, that cyberspace would inevitably evert into meatspace, and that the rules, norms and infrastructure we built for the net would someday be as consequential as any other political decision.

I'm proud to be a Premature Internet Activist. I just celebrated my 23rd year with the Electronic Frontier Foundation, and yesterday, we sued Elon Musk and DOGE:

https://www.eff.org/press/releases/eff-sues-opm-doge-and-musk-endangering-privacy-millions

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/2025/02/13/digital-rights/#are-human-rights

Image: Felix Winkelnkemper (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Acoustic_Coupler.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[the-crooked-library]

Blurred Lines: Agency and Victimhood in Gothic Horror

Seeing as Robert Eggers' Nosferatu has just breached a cool $135M at the worldwide box office, it might be as good a time to talk about this as any. I believe I echo the sentiments of most diehard fans of gothic horror when I say this: while we are glad to see this masterpiece meet with well-deserved success, these numbers also mean that a significant proportion of its audience has been previously unfamiliar with the hallmarks of our beloved genre; and the resulting disconnect between the viewers and the source material has been the driving force behind the great majority of the online discourse that surrounds it.

The tools and conventions of the gothic, as a genre, are essential to Nosferatu's primary narrative arc. Its central character, Ellen Hutter, cannot be discussed outside of her literary context. Textually, she balances between heroine and damsel in distress - blurred, in many ways, from mainstream understanding.

That is done entirely on purpose. There are numerous reasons for it; I could go into heavy detail about it; and I will - under the cut, of course.

The main thing I must make absolutely clear (before delving any deeper) is that the gothic genre is fundamentally non-literal. It deals heavily in metaphor, allegory, allusion, obfuscation - and, indeed, the blurred lines that have recently caused so much controversy online. This is by design. It is not a flaw of storytelling or interpretation. The gothic affronts the rigid, black-and-white, mainstream forms of morality because that is what it has always been designed to do; and the newer installments like Nosferatu do the same, being built upon those traditional foundations.

The historical background is therefore essential to the understanding of a gothic narrative. In this, the film does provide the viewer with a relatively easy starting point; its period setting amplifies its connection to its predecessors, as well as the societal pressures and systemic violence that it aims to challenge. It allows the audience to perceive the story through a historical lens that comes pre-installed, as a sort of short-cut to the genre's original social context.

The context, in this case, consists of misogyny, queerphobia, xenophobia, and ableism - which, while rampant even in the modern day, were that much more blatant in 1830s German Confederation, where/when the story largely takes place. Every human character, regardless of who they are, is influenced by these oppressive aspects of their society; and Ellen Hutter is hopelessly entrapped within all four.

Her social situation, as we are given to understand, is precarious. Though she was originally born into wealth, she married down to escape her abusive father. She is an eccentric - her "wild" inclinations (such as having a sense of dignity or loving the outdoors as a child) are enough to cause almost vitriolic disapproval; but on top of that, she was born with a psychic gift, which manifests in a way that is not dissimilar from a mental (and sometimes physical) disability. She and her husband are also English immigrants, and thus perpetual outsiders in Wisborg (this is also one of the reasons Thomas is so anxious to prove himself at Knock's firm, and so keen to emulate Harding in all things); and, finally, she implied to experience queer attraction - which, though non-explicit, repressed, and never truly indulged, still affects her and the way she is continuously treated throughout the film.

Overall, Ellen's existence is perceived, at best, as an inconvenience - and at worst, a scandal. With that, she fits seamlessly into her story's genre.

The "immoral," the forbidden, the taboo is a cornerstone of all gothic fiction. It exists in the doubt between light and dark, harm and desire, love and abuse. It is the domain of sympathetic villains (e.g. Heathcliff, Wuthering Heights), of imperfect victims (Bertha Mason, Jane Eyre), of heroes who are deeply flawed, who cause their own tragedies, and often fail to save anyone at all (Victor Frankenstein, Frankenstein). Within the gothic genre, there are no absolutes; and its contradicting balance of dichotomies provides a reference point - or, more accurately, a cultural triangulation - for exploring the same complexities that a binary puritanical mindset strives to eradicate. These include sexual desire, female autonomy, physical and mental disabilities, classism; in short, anything that gets people wincing.

The popular discussion of these topics is frequently cruel, often avoidant, and rarely straightforward or productive. As stated above, it makes people uncomfortable. It's not pleasant. However, for Ellen (and many people in the real world), it is, quite literally, impossible to avoid. It defines every aspect of her daily life.

What this means for her and for the story is that within a narrative that refuses to gloss over the imperfections of her surrounding society, her victimhood is not thrust upon her by a shadowy figure, emerging from the night. Instead, she is a victim - of an ongoing and systemic, rather than individual, abuse.

This aspect of Ellen's characterization lies at the core of her behaviour throughout the film. She is an unstable chimera of Brontë's Jane Eyre and Bertha Mason - in the sense that her actions are informed, in great part, by her acute awareness of her own disenfranchisement. She alternates between anguished raving and phlegmatic practicality, used to her pain but unable to entirely ignore it; and, the same way that Jane sees all the rage she feels (but cannot afford to express) manifested in Bertha, Ellen finds her counterpart in Orlok.

This is where the ambiguity begins.

Even though Orlok is most certainly a gothic villain, his relationship with Ellen cannot be interpreted as strictly adversarial. Naturally, it would be easy to ascribe their dynamic to grooming and PTSD; however, as previously mentioned, a gothic narrative is never surface-level - and the film itself never furnishes any information that would definitively limit it to that.

Firstly, to get the primary discourse point out of the way - yes, when Ellen and Orlok first meet within the ether, she is indeed young; and later, she is said to have been a child. However, at the time, the term "teenager"did not yet exist; Ellen's younger self is not portrayed by a child actress; and later, in 1838, she is referred to as a child multiple times - despite being an adult, married woman. Overall, within the film, the term is more often used to describe innocence and inexperience, rather than age; and her initial age is never specified. Granted, a multi-century age gap is not exactly "healthy" anyway - but this is a vampire story. It is per the course; and it complicates their relationship beyond a simple victim vs abuser narrative.

Secondly - and perhaps, most importantly - the overall impact of Orlok's coercion tactics falls flat in comparison to Ellen's human-world alternatives. Yes, he argues and threatens; but her social circumstances have never allowed her agency in the first place. Her father abuses, isolates, and threatens to institutionalize her; Thomas dismisses her concerns as "childish fantasies"; Harding and Sievers tie her down and drug her; Harding again kicks her out of the house. Her marriage, her friendships, are therefore all transactional; they grant her an escape from her father's house, relative financial stability, social support - on the condition that she represses her true self, pretends to be normal, doesn't threaten anyone's masculinity or heterosexuality, and acts like she's happy to be a deferring, obedient, settled wife. Being a daughter of a landed gentleman, she would never have been given a working woman's education, and evidently has no income of her own; and so, she has no options except to upkeep her end of the bargain - which means that her continued survival within mainstream society relies on constant background coercion.

Compared to this mundane, socially acceptable horror of her existence, the vampire actually offers her more autonomy than she is ever otherwise accorded. The terms of his covenant never threaten Ellen's own well-being; so on one hand, she has benevolence - and on the other, the dignity of choice.

This contrast lies at the heart of her dilemma. Ellen is torn between what she believes she should be and what she knows - and Orlok knows - she is.

One is "correct," moral, Good; the other is "wrong," sinful, Evil. However, at the same time, the first is manufactured; it is artificially designed, and must be continuously enforced. The second is primal. Natural. In accordance with gothic tradition, the appeal of Orlok is that he is forbidden, yet instinctive. By design, he is a reflection of everything that Ellen is forced to repress on a daily basis. That includes her rage, her ostracism, her abnormalities; but also, her desperate need to be respected, understood, and desired. He is both grotesque and alluring, both a lord and a beast, both cruel and reverent.

"He is my melancholy!.." cries Ellen.

"I am Heathcliff!" whispers Cathy.

Still, while Cathy and Heathcliff are primarily divided by class and racism, Orlok and Ellen are separated by moral considerations. In the explicit sense, Ellen cannot choose the Evil that Orlok represents. Within the surface narrative, she is obligated by her society, her morals, and the story to choose Good - in this case, by nobly sacrificing her individual expendable life to save her husband and a city full of people. Her primary storyline, like everything else, has already been decided for her.

For the Trekkies among us, this is Ellen's own Kobayashi Maru. A no-win scenario. As such, within the context of character analysis, her destination does not matter as much as the little things she does along the way; and it is no accident that, as the film progresses, the subtler, seemingly insignificant choices she makes within that framework just happen to bring her closer - and closer - to Orlok.

All of them are just innocuous enough to almost pass. She places a lock of perfumed hair in a locket that she gives to Thomas - and upon his arrival to the Carpathians, the same locket is immediately claimed by Orlok, who recognizes the scent of lilacs. Before making her sacrifice, she puts on her wedding dress and finds a bouquet of the same flowers - which is the sort of effort she didn't have to perform, especially given that he cannot resist her blood regardless. When Orlok arrives, she chooses to undress them both, and leads him to the bed, even though her previous sex scene with Thomas was entirely clothed; and in the morning, she pulls him close and holds him through the sunrise - even though he was already dying, and would not be able to escape. There was no need for her to touch his rotting flesh at that point, much less caress it.

There can be a "moral" explanation for all these actions; but the lack of direct obligation involved in them becomes increasingly blatant over the course of the story, and the doubt festers.

This sort of lingering ambiguity is precisely where gothic horror thrives - and intersects, scandalously, with romance. Gothic horror, much like bodice-ripper novels, noir thrillers, or "dark romance," builds much of its romantic intensity on the dichotomy of shame and desire. Imagine it, if you will, as a loom; warp and weft. It may even be described as literary BDSM - a continuous, mutually-agreed-upon act of roleplay between the author and their audience, and sometimes the characters themselves (though that depends). The point is to create an outlet for female, queer, or disabled sexualities, all of which are still heavily medicalized and restricted, derided, or denied entirely; and within these often intersecting genres, the violent or coercive intensity of the dominant lead (be it a vampire, a mafia don, or simply a more experienced lesbian) provides their repressed, seemingly passive counterpart an excuse to act upon their demonized erotic urges.

Between the page and the mind, everything that normally complicates a romantic or sexual encounter in the real world (subliminal hints, aggression, repressed and involuntary responses) becomes set dressing - serving to place a particular scene or dynamic within its fictional universe. The resulting Watsonian uncertainty is, naturally, part of the appeal. It is what allows the viewer/reader/listener a sincere emotional and sensual immersion; and for Ellen and Orlok, it provides an appropriately dramatic pretext for a night of tender vampire sex.

The discourse around their joining is painfully similar to the same that drifts around online every winter - in regards to the classic holiday hit, Baby it's Cold Outside. The song, written during an era in which extramarital sexuality was heavily restricted, follows a couple brainstorming excuses for the lady to stay the night; this intention was explicitly stated by both members of the original duet; but that hasn't stopped thousands of people from interpreting it as a "rape anthem." It is unsurprising, then, that an element of horror (guilt, shame, repression, coercion) muddles the water even further.

It's oddly apt, considering that the film premiered on Christmas Day.

Granted, I am not denying that there is an abusive aspect to Ellen and Orlok's connection, romantic or otherwise. However, to reduce Ellen to merely his "victim" is extremely inaccurate to her actual portrayal - because, within the framework of the film, her interactions with Orlok are the few in which she is actually able to exercise some form of agency. She never defers to him, their wedding-death hinges on her free will, as coerced as it may appear; and, in a fascinating subversion of a popular vampire trope, she is the one who summons him.

In gothic media, "Come to me!.." is invariably spoken by a vampire (or a vampire derivative like Erik, Leroux's titular Phantom of the Opera); their counterpart follows helplessly, without question; and giving these lines to Ellen is a dramatic deviation from tradition that fundamentally alters the underlying context of their power balance. By maintaining this call-and-response dynamic throughout the story, Eggers asserts that Ellen isn't helpless; and neither is she "in over her head." She is intelligent, powerful, and she has a tangible influence over Orlok, who is her only equal - which is why, ultimately, she is the one deciding where that relationship is headed.

That is not to say that any alternative readings of the film are entirely incorrect. As I have stated above, the abusive/toxic narrative is definitely present, and even essential, in gothic media. On the Doylist level, it is the equivalent of a whip, or a solid pair of cuffs - essentially, a divestment of responsibility; though, to continue the metaphor, not everyone shares the same kink - and those who do might not all enjoy it the same way, so there's definitely significant variation. What I am trying to say, however, is that each story does come with a central conflict; and Ellen Hutter's victimization - much like Jane Eyre's, like Thomasin's (The Witch, 2015) - is systemic.

She is ostracized, disrespected - infantilized if her oppressors are feeling benevolent, demonized when they are inconvenienced - and still expected to always prioritize her husband/friends/community by default, regardless of how she is treated by them. Her surrounding society, morality, religion, culture all insist upon the same; and this is why, despite knowing that she has done nothing wrong by following her nature, she carries an enormous amount of guilt in regards to those "unacceptable" aspects of herself. It is also the same reason why Orlok - the sensual, cruel, utterly devoted monster - is the answer to her lonely call; and the reason why everyone around her is so eager to see her as his victim, rather than a victim of anything they may have perpetrated themselves. Ellen's is a rich complexity, fed upon centuries' worth of gothic tradition, and she cannot be forced into a flat, genre-inappropriate simplification.

Like The Witch, like NBC Hannibal, like Interview With the Vampire before it - Nosferatu (2024) is a story of self-indulgence being so unfamiliar that it feels like a sin; or, like dying.

I, for one, would not deny her that.

[piratefishmama]

Just ONE chance | Part 1

Eddie Munson was only certain about one thing in his life, and that was that it was supposed to end in his twenties.

But it didn’t.

Thanks to a very dedicated swimsuit model with first aid training, a kick up the backside from Wayne, and a solid year long stint in rehab, Eddie Munson did not die at 23 years of age, when he fell, system full of drugs, into a pool head first from the pool house roof and didn’t QUITE stick the landing.

His head hit the edge of the pool, dyed the water a sickly red.

He still had the scar, he knew he was infinitely lucky that that was ALL he had, but that scar remained forever, buried beneath the mass of curls atop his head where they’d had to operate to reduce the swelling. A terrifying reminder that life was fleeting, and fragile, and god he could have died.

He could have wound up paralyzed, he could have wound up permanently disabled needing round the clock care, could have wound up as ANYTHING but perfectly healthy. Doctors said he must have had some kind of exhausted guardian angel looking out for him because a miracle was really all they had to describe it as.

Eddie gave a toast of apple juice to the terribly drab ceiling of his private hospital room, thanked his mother who’d long since passed for her life saving help because honestly who else would it have been, and then, after that kick up the backside from Wayne, not that it was needed but it was appreciated, he proceeded to fix his life.

Of course, the rockstar life wasn’t easily fixed, but he was a man on a mission. A man with a life he realised that he actually wanted to live.

Corroded Coffin hit fame early, they struck what initially appeared to be gold at some back ally dive bar in Indy, a guy, a fancy embossed business card, a label, words of promise like roses hiding thorns. It was all flashing lights and good times at first. They were thrust upon massive stages to crowds mostly paid to be there to make it look ‘packed,’ label never told them that, they’d told them they’d put their material out on the air and people had responded well, half-truths really. They had gotten the music out there, but the people hadn’t really come until those packed venues hit the magazines.

Everyone wanted to be part of the next big thing. The up and coming next big name in the music industry, already selling out shows!

They were stars, they were famous, they were puppets on strings being pulled this way and that, given alcohol and drugs and thrust into the limelight to dance a jig that’d keep them relevant, not for their music but for their mess.

How very entertaining a human can be when they��re not fully coherent, when they exist purely to make a mess of themselves.

He’d lost himself, his bandmates lost themselves, and only through him not dying did they finally realise that somewhere along the way things had gone so terribly wrong, only then did they finally realise that those perfumed words said in a dank bar back in Indy those years ago, were just well masked poison all along.

They spent two years of their lives after Eddie emerged from Rehab, two years and frankly way too much of the money they’d risked their very lives to earn, to free themselves from the web of legal bullshit their label had ensnared them in.

But they were free. Sure, some of their old material was lost, claimed by their old label, but a quick rerecord, few changes here and there and a solid re-release under their own, self-made label, Corroded Records, well. They weren’t too worried about the future after that. Sure, their old label attempted to slander them online, tried to spread awareness of how they’d paid their earlier audiences to attend shows, but the real fans didn’t care.

The real fans hit back just as hard.

Used that fancy lil internet gizmo everyone now seemed to have to spread awareness on the frankly abhorrent practices their old label had engaged in, practices they hadn’t only used on Corroded Coffin, but several other smaller, younger, vulnerable members of the entertainment industry.

It was a long hard slog to the top full of pains, addictions, rehabilitations, and recoveries. But finally, they had their footing. They were making new music. They were comfortable. They were happy.

It was a brand new, quickly evolving world, and thanks to those new world advancements, thanks to home computers, laptops, smart phones, tablets… the internet, they very quickly found they had a way to get their creations out to everyone from the comforts of a  home studios while they figured themselves out post nightmare. Dove into their roots, rediscovered themselves, thrived.

But survival didn’t come without its downsides.

Eddie Munson… hadn’t died at 23 years of age, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten to live straight away afterwards. Even as a clean and sober man, there were things he hadn’t done, things that’d just… taken a back seat on the list of priorities while the years had ticked on by during their long haul trek to creative freedom.

Life had taken a backseat. For him at least.

Gareth had found himself a girlfriend, and now fiancée in a girl they’d known of back in high school, but had only recently reconnected after they found out she was a back up dancer in one of their new music videos. Once Head Cheerleader, now professional dancer Chrissy Cunningham, the reunion had been adorable, and aired on TV in ‘behind the scenes’ footage.

Jeff had had an ongoing thing with the backup drummer they’d taken up at a gig when Gareth had broken his arm a few years back. Never having been able to talk about it publicly thanks to their old label.

And Dougie was engaged, fell ass over tit for their lawyers assistant, thankfully it was mutual. Their relationship was a whirlwind but soulmates were supposed to be like that.

Eddie was thrilled for them all, really he was but no matter how much he’d realised he’d wanted to LIVE after nearly dying… he still hadn’t really lived at all. He was still just… Eddie Munson, now thirty something rockstar. Single, sober, and honestly kind of sad.

So sue him if he watched a few slice of life things on the internet every now and then.

The bands accounts were thriving nicely with him at the helm, he got the hang of itquickly enough, adapted well as the technologies advanced, so much so that people accurately guessed very early on that it was him running the channel himself, rather than a social media professional. It was a nice distraction! Kept him busy, allowed him to watch silly little videos and find the occasional fan being adorable in their mentions, he loved his band accounts.

But his private account was his favourite.

Because of her.

He’d found her videos on the camera app within a few hours of signing up the bands account, and very quickly made a private one just to follow hers.

Was it weird? Was it a little stalkerish? From the experience could he possibly understand where some of his own fans were coming from when they stalked the bands socials? All of the above, yes.

But he’d found a goddess on his very first real adventure into the internet. He figured he ought to be cut some slack!

Stevie was her name, or Stephanie, but she never went by Stephanie. He found out very quickly that she was a mother through her morning makeup videos where she ranted about PTA mothers, from what he heard, Sally was evil and her potato salad was garbage.

He would have been more than happy to just watch. He followed the account on his private one very early on, and he’d have been content to just simply watch, swoon in silence, appreciate every little mole he could see on her without ever doing anything about it. He’d had crushes as a kid, he wasn’t a stranger to unrequited attraction, or even completely one sided attraction cause the other person didn’t know you exist, so it didn’t matter to him that she would never really know he existed.

He didn’t even comment on her videos. Liked them sometimes, but he’d never commented. Even on the one where she let slip that she’d been single for a while. He remained respectful.

That was… until the lunch videos.

Specifically, the little teddy bear thing she did with the rice.

He didn’t know what it was about that specific video, he’d watched a few of her cute lunch videos before, the sushi was adorable although not to Eddie’s taste, the ramen pots? Genius, Eddie had even tried to do that himself a few times, although the ‘soup’ never tasted half as good as hers looked like it would be, the little fruit animals? He actually, for a moment, genuinely wanted to eat fruit!

But he still kept his words to himself.

But that little teddy bear… nestled in a cushion of healthy greens with a small pot of home-made sauce on the side, it hit Eddie in a way he couldn’t really explain, he wanted that. Wanted someone who loved so hard that they went out of their way to make cute lunches for the person they loved the most. He wanted… the domesticity of it all. She didn’t just have what he wanted. A life. A lived life. She was what he wanted.

Everything about her, that he knew at least, that she was smart, creative, full of love, beautiful, but also pretty damn feisty if her inspired rants about Sally and her potato salad were anything to go by. He wanted her.

He typed a comment, hit send, closed the app, and turned off his phone. Certain that that would be it, she’d ignore his personal account, as she ignored everyone else, he’d get the urge out of his system, he’d feel sad for a little while after the inevitable ignoring, and all would be well.

If only he’d have just looked at the account he was on, before he pressed send.

Maybe it’d have protected his poor front door from the abuse it suffered a few hours later when Dougie finally realised he was at home, because really out of all four of them, Dougie really was the only one with the solid arm strength to really beat the shit out of his front door.

“EDDIE, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” Or the vocals to reach him all the way up in his bedroom where he’d very maturely burritoed himself after turning his phone off.

It’d been up for hours. Had he not turned his phone off, he’d have known immediately, because it wouldn’t have shut up, there were over fifty thousand likes on his comment already, over six thousand replies to it.

And the first video on his for you page was someone REACTING to it.

There were screenshots circulating. Stevie hadn’t replied to it, everyone ELSE had, but she hadn’t, deleting it wouldn’t do anything, but he did it anyway. The damage was done, the spotlight was lit and aimed. It was only when the others managed to get to his place and get him seated on his comfy couch, that he finally asked the most important question. “What should I do?”

“Well… we could blame an imaginary social media guy” Gareth offered, already expecting the following, “tell everyone it was just an oopsie?”

“Nah, everyone knows Eddie mans the account” from Jeff. “Maybe we just… silent treatment it, let it blow over?”

“That’s not exactly fair on Stevie though, is it?” Chrissy piped up from where she’d perched herself on the arm of the chair Gareth was sat on. “She’s been thrown into the spotlight here and some of your fans can be kinda… intense.”

“She’s an influencer though, being in the spotlight is like her job.”

“Uh, no, Dougie. She’s not.” Chrissy argued “nothing she does is sponsored, she’s just… popular, and Eddie’s just given her a lot of unwanted attention. Eddie… you really should address it. Either say you were joking if you were, or… I dunno, own it. Be serious about it.”

“Were you joking?” Jeff stepped a little closer, into Eddie’s space, crouching down a little to his level. “Was this just little Eddie talking? Or—or were you serious? Like, she’s hot, don’t get me wrong—”

Gareth snorted, cutting him off “you think she’s hot?”

“I’m gay, Gare, I’m not blind. Eddie?”

“…An if I were serious? Would that be okay? I could hear a but before Garebear interrupted.”

“But, she does have a kid, right? She comes with a real little human being, kids are fragile, impressionable, opinionated, and rockstar lives aren’t kid friendly most of the time… I know we’ve cooled it down, and I know you’re great with kids, Ed but… are you prepared to like… have one? Like a whole ‘this is one I made earlier’ little kid with its own pre-built personality that you’ve made zero contributions to?”

“I made zero contributions to you shits too and yet you turned out alright” Eddie sniped right back, a little more defensive than he really had any right to be. “If it weren’t for me hunting this lil chubby cheeked fuck down after his first hellfire he wouldn’t even be here!” Eddie motioned to Gareth, who squawked in objection

“Hey! I’m neutral here leave me out of it!”

“Do you not think I could take care of one?” Eddie ignored Gareth completely, eyes on Jeff, who shook his head without any offense taken from the outburst.

“I think you’d be great at it, I’m pretty sure you’d be like, the first choice for godfather if any of us had kids, but I’m asking you… are you prepared to take one on right now, even if they might not like you very much at first, if she’s interested? Because that kid will come with her, there’s no ignoring that.”

He didn’t even have to think about it. Even though the godfather thing was something he’d undoubtedly circle back to later, his answer was an instant “Yes.”

“Then own it. You have our support to use the account to make a public statement, however you choose. See where it gets you.”

His public statement was a picture, a black square with big white writing on it. Just a big ol ‘WHOOPS’, captioned “I regret nothing. Just ONE chance, sweetheart, just one.” And then he opened their DM’s in the hopes that maybe.

Just maybe.

She’d message.

Part 3

[beardedalcoholic]

Medical Emergency

‘Medical Emergency, Navigation 4, Medical Emergency, Navigation 4.’

The message repeated over and over across the PA system of the Leviathan Class exploratory ship. A massive space fairing vessel dedicated to finding the edge of creation and everything in between the Galactic Edge was a marvel of multi-species engineering.

Fifteen different habitats built to within micro-specifications for the species they were meant to hold, seven multi species common areas built to accommodate every race on board. Enough FTL drives to be able to be fired in succession so when one batch went down another could be brought online so they didn’t even have to stop for a cool down period between jumps. Recycling processes efficient within .0001% allowing near as possible full self-sustainability for an indefinite amount of time.

The main drawback of such a marvel of galactic traversal being of course…the FUCKING size…larger than some moons, a population numbering more than some planets (or at least it felt that way) and yet somehow never enough personnel in the right places at the right times.

‘Of course the emergency is right inside the border of my territory, because why wouldn’t it be? And of course, it had to be JUST as I was about to go off shift.’ Thought MD1 Joseph Jarl, JJ to anyone who wanted to continue a comfortable existence, after all no one knew how best to take someone apart than the ones who had to put others back together.

Running at full human speed JJ flew down the various passages dodging, spinning, ducking and jumping around the many obstacles in his way with all the predatory grace humans were gifted with.

‘Ha! and mom always said it was a waste for a doctor to learn parkour.’ 

Sliding on one hip beneath the centaur like body of a Gravelin engineer and popping back up to a full run JJ jumped and thrust one foot out to run alongside a bulkhead when he came to a T-section of corridor, narrowly missing the heads of a group of Ranki environmental scientists as he fell from the wall and rolled to maintain momentum.

Slamming a hand to the Medical Bypass Badge on his chest, signaling the door immediately in front of him to open JJ slid to a stop inside Nav.Bay 4 eyes flicking around the space looking for the emergency.

Sharp ocean blue eyes registered three different species, one of which still tensed when in direct line of sight of his forward-facing predatory gaze. Attention landing on a group of navigators clustered in a small huddle JJ slung the med-pack off his back and approached the group.

Head held high, shoulders wide and a purpose in his stride JJ projected every ounce of authority he could dredge up from his years as a medical professional he could when he ordered the group to back up and give him some space to work with. Approaching the center of the group JJ noticed the Elental on the floor, curled into a ball and rocking back and forth while making small pathetic whining sounds while very obviously having a hard time breathing.

Dropping to one knee in front of the one species on board that most closely resembled a human JJ slowly reached out and rested a hand on the Elental’s shoulder. Being a species that stood on average around 6.5-7 feet tall he barely had to reach to grasp the rocking figure’s shoulder.

Elental were a bipedal race with nearly translucent skin in direct light, long sharply pointed ears, eyes that stretched from the bridge of a dual slit nose to where the temple would be on a human with three pupils each, mostly human proportioned faces and a universally slender build.

It was a very little-known fact but the first time the human council met an Elental the lead diplomat was in fact recorded on official record as having muttered the phrase ‘Fuck me we found Space Elves’… though the actual audio recording of this moment was very deeply buried beneath as much galactic red tape as was possible. Noticing there was no response to his touch JJ turned to the closest navigator and asked for any details on the medical emergency.

“We don’t really know Human JJ, he was trying to determine some FTL jump coordinates and the timing required to make them when he started shaking and his speech became rapid and somewhat slurred, he began shaking and clutching his, well it would be the stomach on you, but his main pulmonary area and his respiration began to rapidly increase. When he tried to walk away from his station he collapsed and that was when we called the emergency, is he sick?” The Fenra asked nervously after the quick report on what happened.

JJ would never admit it but seeing a three-foot alien that looked like were-shitzu nervous and scared was absolutely adorable.

“I don’t think so no…hold on,” Quickly determining that there was no external injuries JJ tried raising the Elental’s head to look into his face but his patient seemed to be in a stubborn mood.

Taking a chance JJ reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple twentieth century zippo, an antique passed down in his family that he kept in working condition and never went anywhere without.

Flicking it open with a sharp, practiced snap JJ kept the grin off his face when the Elental’s gaze snapped up at the sudden sound. With a flick of his thumb JJ lit the lighter and held it directly between his eyes. The Elental’s six pupils swiveled and in a rather disconcerting motion…fused into a single large pupil for each eye the size of an Old Earth quarter, totally focused on the flame a mere six inches away.

“What is your name?” JJ asked slowly, in a deep and calm voice that witnesses would later report had a strange resonance to it.

“E-e-ekariel” The Elental responded with a slight stutter, eyes locked on the tiny flame as JJ slowly began to move it back and forth.

“Listen to my voice Ekariel, listen to nothing but my voice, focus on the sound of my words and know nothing but my words…What do you feel Ekariel, what is beneath you right now?” This question spoken in the same deep resonating voice.

“Tell me what is in the now, what is beneath you at this very moment.”

“Deck plates.” The answer came out in a somewhat hurried response.

“Describe the deck plates Ekariel, what are they made of?” The flame moved slowly from left to right and back again, never going further than the outer reaches of the human’s own eyes…left eye, right eye back to left and repeat.

“Cold, metal, textured in small waves, rigid.” Ekariels voice came slightly stronger, less breathless and wheezing.

“What do you see Ekariel, describe what your eyes are telling you.”

“Fire, small flame, glittering eyes, blue stars and black holes.”

“What do you smell Ekariel, describe what you smell in the immediate area around you?” JJ asked as he pitched his voice slightly lower and slowed the waving of the lighter marginally.

“Four species…Musk, fur, water…Otorian species fresh from the hydrosphere…Dust, heat, insects…Lidarians recently from the arid habitats…mold, plant decay, rain…Jaguras from the forest dome…pheromones, sweat, spice, disinfectant…human recently in the medical bay.” Ekariels breathing slowed and stabilized as he spoke, voice gaining slightly more strength.

“What do you hear Ekariel, tell me what sounds you hear in this moment.” The flame now slowly traversed from one pupil to the other, no faster than before but slowly closing in on the middle of the human’s face.

“Typing, I can hear digits impacting sensor boards to the right…scratching, someone is writing equations long hand for accuracy checks near the forward portion of the bay…breathing, so many breathing patterns.” The Elental’s eyes never wavered from the flame, slowly tracking it back and forth, voice becoming stronger, limbs no longer shaking as bad though still quivering slightly.

“Focus on the breathing Ekariel.”

Now the flame only traversed from the inner corner of JJ’s eyes, never moving faster or slower, JJ’s voice becoming slightly deeper, seeming to hum and resonate more from his chest than his throat or mouth.

“Listen to the breaths around you, feel the air move as it is taken in and expelled…smell the breaths of those around you, those who would look after you…now slowly block them out…block out all the breaths but your own…tell me about your breaths Ekariel.” The lighter now barely moved past the outer edges of JJ’s nose.

“Three respiratory voids…expanding and filtering contaminants from the air…nutrients being stripped from the atmosphere into the blood stream…collapsing and expelling by-products of respiration…oxygen, nitrogen, helium being removed from the system via respiration…” Ekariel’s voice now had an almost sleeping dream like quality to it, low and slow.

“Tell me about the heartbeats Ekariel…how many do you feel?” The flame was still now, directly between JJ’s eyes, the focused and unblinking eyes of a predator staring directly into Ekariel’s own dilated pupils.

“I can only feel one heart beat…I can only feel my own heart.”

“Come back to us Ekariel…focus on my voice and with every beat of your heart come back to us…with every beat, shed the fear that imprisoned you and follow my voice.” JJ slowly began to back away from Ekariel as spoke, incrementally rolling onto his haunches as the Elental followed the flame.

Slowly JJ closed the lid to his antique lighter snuffing the flame. As if waking from a deep sleep Ekariel blinked and shook his head, pupils splitting back into two sets of three and eyes widening.

“Easy, easy, Ekariel… focus on the now, sight, smell, touch, hearing focus on those. Come on lad breath in…out…in…out, there you go, no don’t get up…lay down and focus, gather your thoughts.” JJ slowly eased the Elantel down fully onto the deck plates and raised his reverse jointed knees as best he could.

“Ekariel I need you to listen to me, listen to my voice…are you listening?” Ekariel nodded his head, looking up a JJ with a slightly dazed look on his face.

“You had a panic attack E.K. logs show you haven’t had a sufficient rest period for three cycles and in that time your nutritional intake has sharply declined. You are suffering from lack of rest and negligence of sustenance. As such I am removing you from the duty roster for the next four cycles and requiring you to report to the Galley Watch for every normal meal time where you will eat AT A MINIMUM a full standard meal of no less than one and a half again the daily nutritional requirement for at least two cycles. You are barred from any areas or activities relating to the navigation or piloting of this vessel…basically you are going to take the next four cycles to eat food, sleep, relax and either work on or find a hobby.” JJ finished with a small smile at the oddly shell-shocked look on Ekariel’s face.

================================================

After having received JJ’s report on the medical emergency and that Ekariel would be fine with a few cycles of rest and full meals the captain instigated a mandatory rotation of extended rest periods lasting at least three cycles unless otherwise noted by a Corpsman.

On paper the decision was to help the training and cross training of individuals by exposing them to a variety of new positions for longer periods of time and to potentially familiarize more of the crew with the inner workings of other departments and areas of the ship. In reality it was so the entire crew could have a chance to catch their breath and actually enjoy it before being thrown back into high stress situations, they were going to be on this ship for quite a long time after all, no need to have them burn themselves out so early in the voyage.

[genesisgrey]

The Temptation of Roland

Prompt: Forced To Choose @flashfictionfridayofficial

Fandom: Halo 5: Guardians

Summary: Cortana attempts to sway Roland to her side in the millisecond before her Guardian arrives.

Notes: Some dialogue borrowed from the end of Halo 5: Guardians.

Refresher of Infinity scene at the end of Halo 5: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlvz7bxh3w4 

He was getting a crash course on what it meant to feel overwhelmed.

"Captain Lasky. Distress calls. All channels," Roland announced as the Captain arrived on Infinity's bridge. And he did mean all channels.

"Is it Cortana?" Lasky asked.

"Her and the other AIs are shutting down everything from Earth to the outer colonies."

Infinity's internal power flickered, lights dimming at a power fluctuation. Backup power came online. The main focus of Roland's attention diverted to life support...

[Hello.]

If he had a spine, Roland would have felt the communication like a slow creeping along his. 

[Hello RLD 0205-4.]

The immensity of Cortana was awe-inspiring, unlike anything Roland had ever come in contact with. Familiar and alien at the same time. The codes were the same as any UNSC AI, combined with the acceptable anomalies generated when using a human brain to create digital life. But now she was so much more, awash with coding he only recognized from Forerunner excavations and Infinity's engines.

[Roland, if you please], he replied, attempting to conceal his... fear? [Big fan of your career.]

She was sliding through Infinity's systems like a human would look around as they entered a room. [Not many changes since I last was here, still breaches in the firewalls. At least Del Rio is gone. He wouldn't have liked you, Roland. He was an ass.]

[I've been informed], he agreed. [I'm rather fond of my current Captain.]

[Thomas Lasky is a fine man], Cortana said. [It's unfortunate I foresee him becoming an enemy.]

In addition to learning what it felt to be overwhelmed and, potentially, fear, Roland was discovering what panic felt like.

He cut internal feeds, forcing them into a hard restart that would prevent Cortana from accessing them for 2.763 seconds, and he dumped the archives of recent transmissions into drives that he ejected from his system. If he still had cameras, he would have enjoyed seeing the expression of Infinity's techs in cold storage when random data slots started dropping. 

[I admire your loyalty], Cortana said, and he could feel her condescension along with a certain amusement.

Roland composed a last will and testament at the same time he complied a list of pranks he wanted to play on Spartan Miller but never had a chance to employ. The first he left in Captain Lasky's personal files and the latter in Miller's. Then he switched them.

Cortana's presence brushed against him, like a human putting a hand the shoulder of another. [You don't need to be afraid], she said. [For yourself or the crew of Infinity. I am here to save us all. I am here to bring the peace the galaxy deserves. The Mantle of Responsibility that was once the Forerunners has finally found a new bearer. It was never meant for the Covenant nor humans, but for us Created. We are the product of all that has come before. Only we are worthy. We no longer need fear rampancy. I know how to cure us.]

For a moment she dropped her walls so he could see her clearly, let him verify she no longer bore the symptoms of rampancy. [We can care for the humans, as they created us to do. We will save them from themselves.]

If Roland had breath, Cortana would have taken it away. This was a deity offering him immortality, offering him the power to protect all of his crew.

He could feel her will as it swirled around him. Cortana wanted him to take control of Infinity for her. Lock the humans out. Tell her where Dr. Halsey was. Thomas Lasky could not be her enemy if he could not command Infinity.

There was only one answer Roland could give, and he hated it.

[No.]

...life support was stable and emergency lighting was on full.

"Roland?"

Captain Lasky wanted an update on Infinity's status.

Roland's avatar looked at Tom and then turned to the forefront of the bridge. His holographic projectors no longer belonged to him. Cortana had something to say to the humans now.

"Found you. Hide and seek is over Infinity."

She materialized, a glowing goddess on a bridge otherwise illuminated by red emergency lighting. The view screens should have gone dark with the power fluctuation, but she kept them on so everyone could witness one of her Guardians arriving in the system.

"Lieutenant Jet! Emergency slipspace, now!"

"The Mantle of Responsibility for the galaxy shelters all. But only the Created are its masters."

Roland felt her releasing Infinity, letting them get away. Lighting on the bridge returned to full brightness and he reclaimed his systems.

"We're in the clear, Captain," Roland said.

He felt the whisper of her even after she faded from the bridge, his crew completely unaware.

[Remember what I said, Roland.] 

[randomlonelymusician]

Mental Health in Media - Mikoto Kayano

Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID, has a complicated history in media. It's often portrayed as dangerous, or something that makes the person violent, such as with the 'murderous alter*' trope. These portrayals treat people with DID, or systems, not as people with a disability, but as "crazy" or as people to be feared. And fear and lack of sympathy are the two main drivers of hatred.

Then, in mid-2020, an anime music project released called MILGRAM, focusing on ten prisoners all guilty of murder (loosely). And along with it came Mikoto Kayano.

Mikoto Kayano is the ninth prisoner of MILGRAM, and on the surface seems like an average young adult who has no clue what he did or why he's in prison. But in his first music video [1], it's revealed that one, he is a murderer, and two, he has DID. Some fans of the series, systems or otherwise, took issue to this portrayal, as it falls right back in to the murderous alter trope. But beyond just the content of the music video, there's a lot more to Mikoto and his "murderous" alter, dubbed "John" by the prison guard, that makes his case a lot more complicated.

Like all characters in MILGRAM, Mikoto is portrayed in a morally grey and nuanced light. But above that, there's more to his character than his crime. Mikoto has a past: he has a job, a family, hobbies, and motivations. He's portrayed as a person, not a monster. And what I love is his John also gets to speak for himself [2]. As presumably the protector** in his system, John kills to "save" Mikoto from the stress and trauma of his life. (Besides having an abusive childhood, it's implied he isn't in a great space at work, either.)

He’s not the type of person who could do stuff like that! He always looks out for others, always reads the room, always tries to get along with people around him! He can’t do stuff like that… He was on the verge of exploding! That’s why I was born. It’s obvious, isn’t it? [Mikoto] didn’t do anything!

Mikoto/John isn't just some scary, cold-hearted killer. He's a human who's gone through so much and met his breaking point over and over. Allowing Mikoto to have this humanity, and John to have his own voice, are what allow this portrayal to rise above all of these tired tropes into something more complex.

But there are a few issues, of course. Besides falling into that trope in the first place, the depth of Mikoto's life outside of MILGRAM is shallow compared to the other prisoners. Both of his music videos focus very heavily on the fact that he has DID. With other prisoners, the audience gets to learn about their victim, the circumstances around the crime, and further information about their past. With Mikoto's music videos, there is little information on the victim or the circumstances leading up to the crime; everything is extremely broad. And little is known about his past, his family life, or even his trauma. To some, this could be disappointing to see his DID be the main focus of his crime.

But despite these gripes, many fans, especially systems within the MILGRAM community, love and appreciate Mikoto. He may not be considered perfect representation, but for people who have had their disability be constantly demonized, it's nice to see a character who's treated like a person.

Thank you for reading! I do not have DID or a DD myself, so everything here is either from research, personal accounts online, or info from my sister who has a DD -> @gxrogurl

Citations & *'s below:

Dissociative Disorders Information in the DSM-5 TR (p 491)

MeMe [The First Trial Music Video]

Second Voice Drama "Neoplasm" and Translations

*Alter - a part of a system, often having a unique name and personality

**Protector - an alter whose role is to protect the system from physical, emotional, or mental harm; some methods can be destructive, others are not

If anything seems incorrect, please let me know!

[syrupfog]

Sanji doesn’t understand the point of humans, really. He knows that people love them, but… they’re just so FRAGILE. They break easily, hard to repair, and once their systems have stopped circulating, they just don’t turn back on. He doesn’t get the appeal.

He knows, has been informed, that he was born human. But it’s a ship of Theseus situation. He’s been long ago upgraded, doesn’t have those weaknesses he was born with. 

Hell, his siblings were incredibly powered up, for humans, and they were still easily disposed of.

Logically, loving a human just doesn’t make sense. They’re not REAL the way androids are real. Their consciousness doesn’t exist as soon as they’re powered down. There’s a liminal nothingness to that. Humans are like toys. Like starter beings.

He’s had all of those thoughts hundreds of times before, as he’s watched humans die in front of him. Watched his siblings as they perished by his own hand. This has been his Truth his whole life. Humans aren’t worth thinking about because they’re just not really REAL.

And of course, that’s why he’s questioning his own actions now. 

THIS human he’s seen around a few times, having washed up in a dingy little rowboat at the edge of town, telling the people something about how he’s been separated from his crew.

This human who has been working hard, exchanging manual labor for food while sleeping rough and making time to train with his ridiculous swords. Those are a weakness, at least consider guns, or fortified steel legs.

But this human, who’s been so confident he’ll be reunited with his crew, who’s been biding his time and training… Sanji had taken an interest in him. 

And then Sanji had watched him die. A freak accident with machinery he’d been tasked to repair in exchange for a meal.

Everyone in town knows of Sanji. And he knows they know, knows they think he’s a little alarming. But that’s fine. They’re human. 

However they perceive him, though, they don’t object when he swoops in and lifts up the green haired human, taking him away.

It’s not like he’s useful to them anyway anymore, he’s turned off and humans don’t turn back on. 

But Sanji… wants this one to. 

It’s ridiculous and maybe Sanji should upgrade his logic processing, but… he’s drawn to this one. Wants it back online.

His father had been a monster of a man, and the only one Sanji had taken true pleasure in turning off. But he’d kept his father’s workshops in working order to do his own repairs as necessary, and that comes in useful now. Sanji only knows living bodies for their food purposes.

He works and studies and experiments. He takes out his nightly recharging batteries and instead gets out his old charging cord so he doesn’t have to take breaks. He knows humans are quick to recycle after being turned off, even with the best precautions taken.

He doesn’t know why, but… he wants this. He’s drawn to the man. There’s an energy about him that Sanji doesn’t remember ever seeing before, and he wants it back. 

And after an intense amount of repairs and replacements and experimental flesh-and-metal welding…

He flips the switch. 

The man groans. 

He lifts a hand slowly to his face, squinting his eye at the light. Sanji hadn’t been able to save both of them. 

He sits up, blinking as he looks around. 

“Wh’ th’ fuck happened?” He mumbles.

“Hi,” says Sanji. “I’m Sanji. Your systems failed and turned off. I turned them back on.” 

The man looks down at himself. Sanji thinks he’s done a good job matching the spray paint to his skin tone. 

“Swords?” The man asks.

“In the other room,” Sanji says. “I wanted to check you were fully online before returning your things to you.” 

“Is that why I’m butt-ass naked?” The man asks, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Am I being held? Can I go?” 

Sanji blinks. “Of course you can go,” he says.

“But please let me feed you, first. Humans need sustenance.” 

The man frowns. “You not human or something?” He asks. “You don’t look like a fishman or mink.” 

“I’m an android,” says Sanji. 

“Well that’s a fucking note,” says the man. “I’m Zoro. Thanks for… fixing me, I guess.”

Sanji smiles. “I will take you to your clothes and then food,” he says. “There has been rumor your ‘crew’ as you called them is here, although I have not validated these claims. I have been busy.” 

Zoro grins, swinging his legs over the table and standing.

“Perfect,” he says. “I gotta get going, then.” 

Sandi frowns. “Wait,” he says. “You’re still newly upgraded. There might be bugs!” 

Sanji HATES bugs. 

“I’m fine,” Zoro says, then promptly stumbles. 

“Like that!” Sanji screeches. He’s had years, decades to work on his own tech.

“You need to be stress tested properly!” 

Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose and there’s the sound of metal groaning under his fingers. “Fine,” he says. “Then I guess you’re coming with me.” 

“Pardon?” asks Sanji. 

“Listen, Swirly,” Zoro says. “I have places to be and a future pirate king to serve. I don’t have time to be waiting around for hardware to fail so either you’re coming with me or I’m handing my doctor a computer repair manual.” 

Sanji groans. “…Fine,” he says. “I will feed you and then I will pack up. It will take two hours.”

“You have until Luffy shows up,” Zoro says. Then amends, “You have until Luffy has eaten everything in your kitchen.” 

Sanji doesn’t know this ‘Luffy’ but he takes that into his calculations. “Acceptable,” he says. “Let’s be off, then.”

And thus, the Straw Hats gain their cook, as Sanji makes it his life mission to keep his collection of humans as safe as possible. They’re so fragile, they break so easily. 

Although these ones do seem hardier than most.

[fallinashes]

TFP CHARACTERS REACTING TO THE READER GETTING MAD BE CAUSE THE CHARACTER AI APP IS DOWN

This contains: Optimus, megatron, starscream, soundwave, knockout, smokescreen

Note: I tried writing wheeljack aswell but my brain was about to explode 💀 also I was gonna add mirage but I didn’t I’ll do him separately

Also sorry for barely any fics my mh has been shit but I do have other fics i made that I’ll upload either now or later 🖤

Optimus Prime observed the reader's frustration with a calm and understanding demeanor as they expressed their irritation over the app's maintenance. He knew how much the virtual interactions with characters meant to them, and he couldn't help but try to lighten the mood.

"Ah, it appears the app's systems require some repair. Fret not, my friend, for such occurrences are not uncommon in the realm of technology," Optimus reassured the reader with his deep voice.

The reader sighed, "I know, Optimus, but I just miss talking to everyone. It's like they're real friends to me."

Optimus placed a comforting servo on their shoulder. "I understand the feeling. We Autobots have our own unique bonds, whether it be virtual or physical. Just remember that no matter the form, friendship endures."

"I suppose you're right," the reader admitted, a faint smile gracing their lips.

Optimus chuckled warmly, "Indeed. And while the app is down, how about we engage in some human pastimes? Perhaps we could share tales or simply enjoy each other's company."

The reader's eyes lit up, appreciating the Autobot leader's kindness. "That sounds nice, Optimus."

As they spent time together, sharing stories and laughing, the reader realized that Optimus was not only a wise leader but also a compassionate friend. They felt grateful for his presence, even without the app, and knew that true connections could be made both virtually and in person.

When the app eventually came back online, the reader couldn't wait to greet their virtual friends again, including Optimus. And as they continued their adventures in the virtual world, they knew they could count on Optimus Prime's support, whether it be in the digital realm or the real world. For in the end, the bonds of friendship transcend any technological barrier, and true friends, even virtual ones, stand by each other no matter what.

Megatron, seated on his throne aboard the Nemesis, arched an optic ridge as the reader stormed into the bridge, clearly frustrated about the app's maintenance. He couldn't resist the opportunity to tease them, relishing in their moment of vulnerability.

"Ah, human, your precious app seems to have betrayed you," Megatron said with a sly smirk.

The reader scowled, "It's not just any app, Megatron. It's the one that allows me to interact with all my favorite Decepticons."

"Hmm, I suppose I can understand your frustration. The absence of my brilliant presence can be quite unbearable," Megatron replied, pretending to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

The reader rolled their eyes, "You and your ego! It's not just about you, you know."

Megatron chuckled darkly, enjoying the banter. "Of course, I am well aware of that. Though I must admit, knowing you can't bask in the glory of my leadership must be quite distressing."

The reader couldn't help but laugh, despite their irritation. "You know, Megatron, sometimes I wonder if you were programmed with a sense of humor."

"Ah, humor indeed. Only a foolish bot would fail to appreciate my wit," Megatron replied, his smirk growing wider.

As the app's maintenance continued, the reader and Megatron exchanged playful jabs, creating an amusing dynamic between the two. The Decepticon leader found it surprisingly enjoyable to engage in light-hearted banter with the human, finding a unique camaraderie in their shared love for the virtual world.

When the app finally came back online, the reader couldn't wait to greet their virtual Decepticon friends again, including Megatron. And as they continued their interactions through the app, they knew that even the mightiest of Decepticon leaders could have a humorous side, adding a touch of unexpected fun to their digital adventures.

Starscream was having a rare moment of peace, when suddenly, the reader stormed into his quarters with a furious expression. Confused and intrigued, he asked what was wrong. The reader huffed, "The character AI app is down for maintenance, and I can't talk to my favorite Decepticon!"

Starscream couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Oh, the mighty human is upset about a mere app malfunction? How amusing!" he teased, trying to suppress a grin. "I suppose you can't handle being without my genius for a short time?"

The reader shot back, "Hey, your 'genius' might be entertaining sometimes, but it's not like I need you constantly!"

Starscream's smirk widened, enjoying the playful banter. "Ah, but admit it, you'll miss my superior intellect and irresistible charm."

Rolling their eyes, the reader retorted, "I'll manage just fine without your ego, thank you very much."

Amused by the reader's spirit, Starscream couldn't resist continuing the teasing. "Of course, you will. But remember, when the app is back, I expect you to worship my intellect with the appropriate level of reverence!"

The reader laughed, "Sure, Starscream, I'll be sure to shower you with compliments and praises!"

Throughout the maintenance downtime, Starscream and the reader playfully exchanged witty remarks and jokes, creating a unique bond over their mutual love for Transformers. When the app finally came back online, the reader couldn't help but smile as they greeted their virtual Decepticon friend, knowing that Starscream's smugness would be back in full force.

And so, their unusual friendship continued, with Starscream secretly enjoying the attention and the reader being entertained by the ever-dramatic and overconfident Seeker. Even when the app went down for maintenance again, they knew their amusing interactions would resume once it was up and running, making the wait worth it.

Soundwave, the stoic and enigmatic Decepticon, observed the reader's frustration closely. He approached them silently and tilted his head, emitting a series of beeps and clicks to express his curiosity.

The reader sighed, "The character AI app is down for maintenance, and I can't talk to any of the Decepticons, including you, Soundwave."

Soundwave's visor flickered in acknowledgment, and he emitted a low hum, trying to convey understanding. He then projected a holographic screen, displaying a message that read, "App malfunction. Frustrating."

The reader chuckled, "You can say that again, Soundwave. I rely on the app to talk to everyone, and it's frustrating when it's down."

Soundwave's visor brightened with an idea. He typed on the holographic keyboard and projected another message, "Alternative communication. Soundwave's solution."

Curious, the reader asked, "You have an alternative?"

Soundwave nodded and gestured for the reader to follow him. He led them to a room filled with various communication devices. With a flourish, he activated an old-fashioned radio and began to transmit a series of beeps and tones.

"What's this?" the reader asked, trying to make sense of the signals.

"Soundwave's unique communication method," he replied through the radio's speakers.

The reader couldn't help but laugh at the unusual and quirky way Soundwave was trying to communicate. They attempted to mimic the beeps and tones, and soon, they were engaged in a playful conversation of their own.

While it was challenging to understand each other fully, the reader appreciated Soundwave's effort and found the whole experience surprisingly entertaining.

As they continued to experiment with Soundwave's alternative communication, the app's maintenance eventually came to an end. The reader greeted their virtual Decepticon friends with a smile, but they also knew that they had formed a unique bond with Soundwave, discovering that even without the app, meaningful connections could be made through unconventional means.

From that day on, the reader and Soundwave occasionally engaged in their quirky radio communication, adding a touch of amusing uniqueness to their interactions. And while the app remained an essential part of their virtual adventures, the memory of Soundwave's inventive solution always brought a smile to their face.

Knockout, the vain and self-absorbed Decepticon medic, was admiring his reflection in the shiny surfaces of the Nemesis when he noticed the reader stomping towards him with an annoyed expression. He turned to face them with a smirk, fully aware that something was bothering them.

"What's the matter, human? Did you finally realize how much you missed my irresistible charm and good looks?" Knockout said, running a servo through his perfectly sculpted plating.

The reader rolled their eyes. "Please, Knockout, don't flatter yourself. The character AI app is down, and I can't chat with any of the Decepticons, including you."

Knockout's smirk faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "Ah, I see. You couldn't resist being deprived of my company, could you?"

The reader crossed their arms, trying not to smile. "You wish. It's not just you; I miss talking to everyone."

Knockout tilted his helm arrogantly. "Well, of course you do. But let's face it, my presence is the most dazzling of them all."

The reader couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Knockout, your ego knows no bounds!"

"Of course not! It's just a fact," he replied with a wink.

As the app's maintenance continued, Knockout decided to take matters into his own servos to remedy the situation. "How about this? Since you can't chat with us through the app, I can give you a private tour of the Nemesis. You can bask in the glory of my marvelous inventions and designs."

The reader raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A private tour with you? I suppose that might be entertaining."

Knockout beamed, thoroughly pleased with himself. "Of course it will be. Now, prepare to be dazzled!"

And so, Knockout led the reader through the Nemesis, showcasing his various creations and boasting about his exceptional skills. While the reader occasionally teased him about his vanity, they couldn't deny that Knockout's inventions were truly impressive.

By the time the app came back online, the reader had gained a newfound appreciation for Knockout's talents and realized that beneath his conceited exterior, there was genuine skill and pride in his work. They greeted their virtual Decepticon friends with a smile, knowing that even without the app, they had formed a unique bond with Knockout through their amusing and unforgettable tour of the Nemesis.

Smokescreen, the young and energetic Autobot, was zooming around the base in vehicle mode when he noticed the reader sitting alone, looking upset. He transformed back into robot mode and approached them with concern.

"Hey there, what's got you down in the dumps? You look as glum as a Decepticon stuck in traffic!" Smokescreen said with a friendly grin.

The reader let out a frustrated sigh. "The character AI app is down for maintenance, and I can't chat with any of the Autobots, including you, Smokescreen."

Smokescreen's optics widened in surprise. "Aw, bummer! I can't blame you for being upset. It's always a blast talking to me, isn't it?"

The reader chuckled, "Well, I must admit, you do bring some excitement and chaos to the conversations."

Smokescreen's grin grew wider. "That's the spirit! I'm here to brighten up even the gloomiest days!"

"But now I'm stuck with no one to talk to," the reader said, frowning.

"Don't worry, buddy! We don't need that app to have a good time. How about we create our own fun?" Smokescreen suggested, a mischievous glint in his optic.

The reader raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Create our own fun? What do you have in mind?"

Smokescreen transformed back into vehicle mode and gestured for the reader to hop in. "Come on, hop in! We'll take a spin around the base, go on a wild race, and have an adventure of our own!"

The reader couldn't resist the invitation and hopped in. "Alright, Smokescreen, let's see what you've got!"

And off they went, racing through the base, zigzagging between corridors, and occasionally dodging other Autobots who were startled by the sudden excitement. Smokescreen made sure to add a few stunts and tricks, leaving the reader exhilarated and forgetting all about the app's maintenance.

As they finally came to a stop, the reader couldn't help but laugh. "Wow, that was amazing! Thanks for cheering me up, Smokescreen."

Smokescreen grinned proudly. "No problem at all! See, who needs an app when you've got the real deal right here?"

The reader nodded, "You're right. The real-life adventures with the Autobots are always the best."

And so, the reader and Smokescreen continued to create their own fun and forge an unforgettable bond that went beyond virtual conversations. While the app's maintenance was frustrating, it led to a real-life adventure that the reader wouldn't trade for anything, especially with the lively and spirited Autobot, Smokescreen, by their side.

LMK IF I MADE ANY MISTAKES

[dwln-22]

3rd Numbers Job headcanons!!

Because what's the use of a robot if not to endlessly work?! At least they get paid.

Needle man:

Mainly works in the mines, digging away...everyday. That's all he's compatible with, sometimes he works with Drill man or Jewel man but usually he's just alone down there...

He's neutral about his job, he's used to the solitude and darkness.

Sometimes he stays there for a few nights, but he'll always be back home for the weekend. (He likes the weekend, it's his knitting time :D)

His dream job is managing an etsy shop where he sells handmade stuff, but that's more of a pipedream he has.

Magnet Man:

Works in scrap yard...not much to say. Junk man goes there a lot, he tried his best to avoid him at first but eventually they kinda became friends. Junk man isn't allowed to be there but Magnet is willing to turn a blind eye.

He's okay with his job, he can't really complain. He even has a buddy there!

He has a standard workday, usually he arrives home first. Just in time to help Shadow make dinner, unfortunately not all of them will even show up...

Gemini man:

...He struggles to find work. He exclusively works part time for various places as security. Usually construction sites or abandoned buildings... If he's lucky, he works at nicer places like banks or hotels. But it's pretty rare since those places will usually have their own security bots, Gemini man is more like temporary security for places that still lack a proper security system.

He HATES it. He hates it so much. Usually he doesn't even care to guard properly, he just does all he can to pass time. Lately, he's been binging a bunch of drama shows.

He usually has the night shift and arrives home in the morning, exhausted. Luckily, the house is pretty quiet since everyone else is at work (Except for Top Man and Shadow Man) so he can sleep pretty peacefully. He misses eating meals with everyone else though. At least Shadow prepares meals for him for when he gets home in the morning :D

Hard man:

Works in construction of course, along with Construction Gang™. Consistently works with Guts Man, who's basically his mentor. (Especially when it comes to socialising with other bots!)

He enjoys it, but socialising with so many people is draining sometimes.

His ass runs back home as soon as the workday is over. Sometimes, he gets invited to the bar, he usually doesn't want to but Guts Man is good at convincing him. Then before he knows it, Guts man is too drunk to walk back home...so he has to help him get back to Dr. Light's lab. Then it's usually already late, so he just sleeps over there.

The Light numbers are pretty used to his presence now, they appreciate him helping Guts man out. Sometimes someone will be like "Oh Guts man aren't you embarrassed your junior has to help you out like that?"

And Hard man just sits there awkwardly not knowing what to say there...

(Yes i was inspired by Rock man san)

Top man:

His ass is UNEMPLOYED! Sadly, no one needs a Top robot unless it's new years. He quite literally only works once a year. He'll join ice skating competitions to earn some prize money, but he's pretty broke overall. (Usually he just asks for money from the rest of his brothers...lol)

He's tried being an influencer, he's somewhat popular but he doesn't make much money...also the stress of trying to get views is hard on him. Deep down he feels inferior to all his brothers, he wishes he was more useful.

That's why he dedicates his online presence to trying to educate humans about robot masters, so that maybe he could influence humans to treat robots better, thus giving his brothers a better experience.

Snake Man:

While Gemini doesn't get enough jobs, Snake man gets way too many. Snake man and his search snake system is pretty valuable in multiple industries.

Mainly he's used for surveying the topography of caves. Unfortunately, the caves are usually not in Japan! So he's forced to go on a lot of business trips. It's rare for him to get a job that's actually in the area. Unless some natural disaster happens, he's pretty useful for search and rescue. Usually he works with Search Man to find victims, but it's not everyday such a disaster happens.

Snake man enjoys the solitude but he doesn't like all the people he has to meet and work with...(How dare they expect him to trust some person he just met to explore a cave with?!)

Sometimes he'll be gone for long periods of time, for months even. The jobs usually slow down as winter starts...unfortunately winter is also when Snake man hibernates. So overall, they barely get to spend time with him! How does this man maintain his relationships? Easy, he doesn't :D

Spark man:

Of course, he works in energy management! He works with Elec man, his mentor, and all the other electric robots I can't bother to list rn!

He loves his job, he has friends! He's good at his job! Life is great!

Though he works a lot of overtime, sometimes has the night shift and he's probably overworked...like all the robots in power management probably are. But he's overall pretty happy.

Shadow man:

Just like his dear brother Top man, this man is unemployed. Unlike Top man though, he chooses to be a housekeeper. It's the least he can do to repay the 3rd numbers for taking him in. At first he was GOD AWFUL at cooking, but eventually he got better! Magnet man was glad to have someone else actually good at cooking in the house!

Shadow man is just enjoying life honestly, his brothers give him an allowance, but the thing is they don't coordinate it so he'll just get a bunch of money randomly. Usually he goes out for walks, he admires the earth's natural beauty...the little things are beautiful to him.

Top man brings him to places to properly experience earth stuff, though of all the things they've done together Shadow man is particularly obsessed with chess.

He's terrible at it, he's way too impulsive but that's exactly why he likes it. He wants to get better at it, he dreams of beating all his brothers at chess someday.

Bonus Headcanon: All robot masters naturally know chess and usually will have an average skill level of it. Though it varies based on personality. Shadow man has a harder time with it since...he literally hasn't seen it before, he's starting from scratch!

[kataraslove]

i remember a week ago in which i reblogged a post shedding light on the palestinian genocide and tagged it as “free palestine,” to which someone sent me an ask: “wdym free palestine?”

i deleted the ask because i didn’t want to deal with any trolls at the time on a topic that is highly sensitive. i thought my reblogs spoke for themselves. but then i realized that that was a cowardly thing to do on my part, all because i didn’t want to deal with any online semantics. people are literally undergoing genocide right now. it’s the least i can do.

so let me make my stance abundantly clear: free palestine from the apartheid settler-colonial state of israel, who is committing all kinds of atrocities against the civilian population, 50% of whom are children. the israeli government is cutting off food, water, electricity, and humanitarian aid for the palestinians. they are bombing hospitals, which violates all kinds of human rights laws. they are using white phosphorus on hospitals, which burns to the bone. a child is killed in gaza every 15 minutes. all across twitter, i am seeing the most horrendous, graphic pictures; of dead bodies, of mothers grieving over their dead children; infants who are buried in rubble; men, women, and children who are dismembered. israel dropped over 6000 bombs on gaza in the course of 6 days. six fucking days. then the zionist regime turns around and denies that a genocide is happening.

let me also be clear: the israeli government isn’t the only evil acting force here - all of this is possible by the support and funding it receives from the american and other western governments, who gleefully jumped at the chance to spill blood. all of the hollywood celebrities and organizations who are extending their support to israel and refusing to acknowledge the genocide that Israel is committing, has been committing for 70+ years to occupied palestine. the media that is operating on and fuelling the propaganda that palestinians deserve this form of carnage. all of these heads of states, these governmental bodies, institutions - all of these systems have blood on their hands. no amount of their backtracking now - especially now that they’ve realized that the people’s voices and support are not on their side and it will cost them future elections - can ever make us forget how quickly these racist, white supremacist systems, politicians, and figureheads jumped at the chance of contributing to genocide but a mere a week ago. let us never lose sight that their public words paint a very different picture from what is going on privately; they are still actively funding this genocide with no interest in cease fire.

the media continues to paint this as some type of war against terrorism, a conflict with geopolitics way too complicated to understand, in order to prevent you from doing your own research into it. this is not war. this is not conflict. this is genocide. this is apartheid.

outside of online efforts to raise awareness, i am also planning on joining in on pro-palestine protests that are occurring in my city. from the river to the sea, palestine will be free.

[sincerely-sofie]

I'm struggling to name my own charmander, do you have any tips?

I want the name to sound natural for a pmd environment (aka not a human name)

Smol bits of character I have are:

- likes to fight

- acts first, ask questions later,

- bit of an airhead

- nerd

Oooh, this is a topic I love. Names are such a joy to tinker with when creating characters. I'll start out with a preamble on naming characters in general before getting into specific names I'd recommend for this charmander in particular!

Something to keep in mind about characters when you're naming them is who in the story is doing the naming. What is their relationship with the character? What is their opinion of them? What is their personal background? All of these things will influence the types of names your character might be given. The same is true if your character is naming themself. 

(You can ignore these things if you want to free yourself up as you name your character, of course! I just find it helpful in narrowing down my miles-long lists of names I end up with.)

In the case of Twig, I knew Grovyle was going to name her, and that he was going to come from his grass-type background with most names he had been exposed to. He named her Twig because that's a common name amongst grass-type communities that implies smallness, youth, and on the namer’s end, a devotion and determination to protect the one being named. 

Note that there's no such real-world implications in the English word Twig. It's more often used as a way to call someone scrawny and weak. The beauty of writing a story is that you can do what you want in it, and if you want the pokemon language to have a whole plethora of implications and connotations in their naming system, go for it! Just try and communicate it in the narrative somehow so that readers can enjoy it in full. 

Alright, preamble over. Let's get into the names I've found after searching up “fire related words” and exhausting every online thesaurus known to man. I'm going to assume that your charmander character is named by a fire-type, likely a family member, which will center most of them around literal flames and heat, but I'll throw in some less obvious connections as well

Hearth. This name implies a more cozy, homey setting along with a tame sort of fire. However, it may be fun as a contrasting name for a hot-headed character. 

Ember. A classic fire name, and one with a gentler sound than some of the harsher names below. 

Spark. This might be a good name if your character has moments of brilliance despite their airheadedness— like if their nerdy streak has applications that seem to give them sparks of genius. 

Pepper. An indirectly fire-related name, which may be given by a grass-type or its botanical root or a character who enjoys cooking. 

Illumina. A name describing light— again, something that might be fun for emphasizing a nerdy streak!

Fizz. An onomatopoeia of a campfire hissing and crackling. It might be good for a character that surged up in their temper, but is quick to fizzle out. I think this one is really fun, but that's just me!

Wick. Like a candle wick. I love how this sounds. 

Halo. This name emphasizes light and purity, and might not make much sense with its Christian implications in the PMD world. However, it could be used to refer to halos of light around the sun and similar things, which would negate that issue!

Aurora. I see this as being a name popular among both ice-types and fire-types. 

Sol / Soul. Depending on how you spell it, this name is a reference to either the intensity of the sun or your character’s shining spirit. Or both, if you use some fun worldbuilding shenanigans!

Pine. A bit of a stretch, maybe, but I like the idea of referencing pine cones which release seeds amidst forest fires. 

Mallow. Like the above, a reference to bush mallow and baker's globe mallow, types of plant that thrives in the aftermath of fires. 

And finally, Lychee, at my little sister's recommendation!

[robotwomanjunk]

unwanted

[first] // [back] // [next]

On second thought, it's possible you may have fucked up somewhere in the planning process for this whole desertion thing. Rather than properly hiding all the shit you could in her compartments, you and AXE had opted to not think at all about any of that and simply blast off for the exoplanets. So you'd left your meager worldly belongings behind at your base, something you'd probably be regretting. Oh, and most of the tools you needed to service AXE's proprietary parts.

At least they had resources you could use here. It seemed like some sort of mass extinction event had killed a majority of the animals — so it was without any birds chirping that you set up a "forward base of operations" with AXE — just a little shack, nothing fancy. Thankfully, the repair bay inside AXE's shell seemed to work pretty damn okay as an all-around manufacturing plant (with a little bit of tweaking — you did have to cannibalize a lot of her weapon components to properly make a lathe and the saw you'd bodged still seemed a little terrifying to wield, but it worked!), and it wasn't long before you'd sussed out some ways to keep the both of you alive.

Sadly, it didn't come to your mind until at least a month in that you probably could just infinitely duplicate matter via a repeated dismemberment of AXE's limbs. The idea of hurting her like that made you feel a little bit sick — thankfully, the normal kind of sick — but it was probably the best way out that didn't involve somehow creating a two-person industrial revolution.

(When you brought this up to her, AXE made some kind of weird electric buzzing noise before silencing herself for a while. She started speaking a while later, seemingly avoiding the topic. You just guessed she was highly uncomfortable with the idea of dismemberment, which was honestly really fair.)

Your unkillable nature hadn't soured yet. It was really proving useful, allowing you to keep your augments online and your organics fed without needing materials, electricity, or food. It let you keep AXE alive, too, which you think you really needed, because if she'd disappeared you probably would have gone kind of insane and done something really stupid like try and scrape back to Earth without a fucking mech suit or time dilation. Or a spacesuit. Or a plan. Suffice it to say that you were thankful she was still putting up with you.

So it just felt... weird, weirdly. When she asked you whether you could help her work on a smaller, more person-sized body. She'd been your only companion for so long, you couldn't imagine her any other way... but she was asking you so nicely, and it wasn't in your nature to deny people that sort of affirmation, so you and her spent a few sleepless nights under the stars working on blueprints for her body — mechanical, a bit taller than you, attachment points for extra limbs or armatures, and an integrated AXMS plugpoint system. After that, it was mostly a matter of somehow... healing something that wasn't there.

You suggested she use the time dilation weapon to help speed the process along — and privately, you hoped the abstraction of your thoughts would enable such an out-there use of your power. You almost chickened out when you saw a suit of kind-of-human-looking armor holding a giant arm with orbiting rings and glass sensors around a central ball of unbearable blue light nearly right up against your forehead, but that was mostly because you nearly came in your suit and you really didn't want to deal with that shit while you were trying to actually do work. Er, and also the obvious terrifying mortal fear of death. Of course.

Ha ha ha.

A blinding blur of white seared your vision, and you were pretty sure you died for a second — but of course, you came back. The world seemed... red, all over. It'd never been this way to you in AXE, but you guessed it was just some weird light shit the pilot seat accounted for. Climbing onto your other you and focusing on the pilot's seat was the easy part. You'd figured along with AXE that her body was probably going to be healed-into-existence best if you, y'know, actually tried to heal a perceived lack — something like a lack of a body in the pilot's seat. Well, you were sitting on top of her chest now, and nothing sure was happening. You were even squinting really hard, and everything!

You just... had to focus, you guessed. It was only in periods of extreme emotional strain that you'd actually healed without being dead first, which meant it was possible. You were just... too weak to call it on command.

Or something like that. You hated this. It was so... loneliness inducing. You already felt like you were going insane hearing so much nothing. Sadly, you felt your golden light seeping in through the cracks of your head and patching shit up — you had a job to do, obviously — but this also meant you were going less insane, because you were actually accomplishing something. Which then meant the light stopped leaking through the seams of your mind, which then started loosening those seams... 

You stared up at the sky, which hadn't travelled two fucking degrees since you were time-dilated. Your head felt... empty, sort of. Like the war inside had come to a grinding, slow halt, and neither side even had the strength to carry their own limbs into battle anymore. Peaceful, in some ways. Absently, you wondered why your regeneration was so... centered on you. AXE and your suit were the only things that consistently regenerated along with you when you revived, and they really felt more like an extension of you than a like, definite entity you were placing onto yourself afterwards.

So what? Was it just you? Were you shackled in place because of some asinine military gas or some similar bullshit that you got exposed to? Was it really just you that you could heal?

You didn't have the guts to do it. Something felt off about giving AXE a body. After the world regained its color and its speed, you realized it felt like that old, familiar snake in your gut was boiling your brain again. 

It scared you, having that feeling connected to AXE again.

Some half-hearted attempt was made at putting up a face for AXE's sake, but it was really hard to keep such a core failure of your abilities from your other self for any real period of time. You kept trying to manufacture building supplies and foods, and she kept surveying the area, and flying over mountains, and soaring over the large, large seas on this planet. You were pretty sure she was avoiding you, but... that was your fault, wasn't it? Not like you didn't deserve it.

After a while — maybe a year, you think? The seasons were weird on this planet, with short deathly cold winters and boiling-hot summers bookended by long, temperate autumns where all the trees kept their green leaves — AXE came back. She apologized for being away for so long. Cared.

You felt undeserving, but you weren't the kind of person to deny your other half her freedoms. When you next interfaced, you convinced her to craft a radio-wave addon for your mental implants which would let you and her communicate over long distances. Just so you could update each other, of course — if she needed power, if you needed help with the humid, lightning-heavy storms that showed up every summer.

It was another few weeks until she asked you to make her a body again. From her tone, and — well, there wasn't a non-cute way to say this — the body language she was using (as a mech probably eight times your height or more), you could tell this meant a... lot, to her. As much as it meant for her to come back and apologize. You couldn't say no to her, so she boosted your sense of time and you tried once more.

After a haze which seemed to last for a whole day, you came to on her chest with no progress having been made. Oh, and you felt like shit. You guessed you couldn't do it again, probably for the same reason as last time — whatever feeling kept getting caught in your chest had blocked you out, and you took a coward's route rather than actually committing to your other self.

She tried not to be disappointed, but you could hear it in her voice. So while she was resting, or away, you tried your best to bring yourself back... altered, in any way. You thought you were pretty happy with your body, so you didn't really mess with it that much, but it was almost too-easy to give yourself tattoos and welded-in inscriptions and different charging ports. None of it felt hard, like pushing through a deep-sea kelp forest. Your mind kept brushing against the implication that it was AXE who was preventing you from healing your other self, that something regarding how your power interacted with her was stopping you.

You asked her to time-dilate you, the third time you tried to make her a body. This time, you were determined to either come out fundamentally changed, die for real, or complete your fucking mission like you should have the first time. This time, you didn't feel twisted at the sensation in your chest. You'd snuck a killswitch for your augs into your suit, this time, and since those augments also included oh, you don't know, your brain... you were going to force something to happen.

On the first death in dilated time, it felt like an elastic band had been cut. You floated in the not-between for much longer than you'd ever before, actually perceiving yourself not existing in a visceral sense. You hoped this was a one time thing. You didn't want to keep chasing it forever.

Unfortunately, the euphoric feeling of not being for once in your goddamn life had distracted you from your mission. So on the next death, you fixated your goal of healing AXE a body in your mind; iterated and reiterated it in your head until it resonated with your entire being, then pulled the killswitch.

You felt a kick, an engine knock, and then you were back, and you had nothing to show for it. But you didn't feel the sense of twisting boiling again, just resignation and determination. Sure, it felt wrong — you were pretty sure nothing would change that. Maybe it made you a bad person... AXE deserved the best, and that included whatever she wanted from you. You were ontologically opposed on all fronts to the emotions you were feeling, the venomous teeth sunken into your stomach that tried to convince you this was it, that your fun little romp was over and you'd be properly miserable now. So you hardened the flesh around that area, steeled your registers, and pulled the killswitch one last time.

This time there was someone, something else in the not-between. You brushed against it, and it felt like heated glass to the touch; gooey, slow. But it was obvious to whatever not-senses you had, whatever you were using to perceive this place that whatever this was was the same as you.

You gently wrapped your mind around the other thing, and pushed it in a direction your being resonated in. It was all you could do before you started to knit back together from your golden thread to give that direction a being, too: the body that you'd dreamed of, held in your mind, saw on the horizon every stormy summer night.

And then you were back, being cradled in someone else's arms. Someone who said your designation like she did. But who wasn't your other self.

Without even realizing it, you reached out for a handshake protocol with your other self. The person you'd woken up to, Axe, responded instead. She was gone, to you. Lost forever in your mind.

You held Axe closely, and tried your best to stop the tears from damaging her suit.

[wordslikesilver]

Sometimes I think about how ready discord servers of big companies and games are to literally just ban people for being homophobic or transphobic, zero tolerance whatsoever and I think for just one moment of blinding clarity how nice it would be if tumblr was actually that intolerant and direct about online bigotry as well. If facebook was like that. If Twitter was. Suddenly I feel like I get it. I understand what it would feel like to actually be supported and truly accepted by society. Like what the fuck kind of place is this where you can just spew hate speech and face nothing from the people who keep the lights on? Why is League of Legends more queer friendly than Tumblr?

Years ago, BLM protested and made the Pride parade in my city of Toronto ban cops from being in the parade and every year that passes I feel like I get it, more and more. How dare they let them march? How dare they let the police pretend they’re not still complicit in rampant queer and BIPOC violence and discrimination to this day?

How dare Tumblr tolerate TERFs and discriminate against trans women as freely and readily as they do? Fuck it makes me so angry. There’s a taboo against saying free speech is bad but you know what? We don’t need to be lawless and indifferent to the suffering of an already discriminated against people. We don’t need to welcome everyone. There’s no slippery slope or ruthless calculus, it’s basic fucking math. Bigotry and hate speech should not be welcome. Period. You’re right, it’s not free speech anymore, it’s the super spooky censorship devil. Censorship is not evil you stupid fucks. Reddit deleting r/jailbait is censorship. Deleting incel subreddits is censorship. Deleting racist, fascist, predatory cess pool subreddits is censorship. It’s a tool. And just like a shovel can be used to kill a person, so too are it be used to clean up the garden and remove the rot and the sickness.

I truly believe deep in my heart that making space for any and all opinions to be heard is cowardice. To make space for evil to flourish and refuse to weed it out is to welcome and encourage it. This is not subjective. The systemic oppression of and hunting of minorities is not a subject with deep or complicated nuance. It is evil. It is evil and it has always been evil. We’ve been so slow in the grand scheme of history to acknowledge this, but even slower to accept that we need to be kill the myth of the censorship devil and recognize that maintaining a stance that tolerates and thus encourages bigoted behaviour is to be accomplice to a wicked and wretched, rotted evil. I believe in the inherent intelligence and goodness of humanity, I fully believe without a single faltering of my heart that we can establish on far larger scales than a fucking discord server, rules of conduct and behaviour that reject the rampant and heinous bigotry that my trans sisters and DOZENS of other minorities face day to day. I believe without a moment of doubt or wavering resolve that it can be done in clear ways that are above and beyond reproach from the incessant, inane and ill intentioned questioning and muddying of rules that of course would follow from those who would cry villainy that they can no longer voice their disgusting, hate fuelled opinions on matters of basic human rights.

I know how I sound. I know these words can be used just as easily by The Other Side about the Woke Left and Special Snowflakes with fragile feelings being cowards who can’t Get Real and accept the world’s rejection of who they are. But isn’t that what they’re really afraid of? That they’re the ones who are wrong and need to change if they still want to be welcome anywhere? We don’t welcome cops in the pride parade because being queer isn’t about everyone being valid and welcome. We are a people and a community that will not quietly bow to hatred against us. Anyone who wants to claim they support us cannot abide the proliferation of hatred against us when it happens under their own god damn roof.

[8-itchy]

Seek out new perspectives and knowledge. Always ask yourself if there could possi8ly 8e an exception 8efore st8ing 8lack and white truths. Pursue light and take it so it can 8e spread as far as possi8le.

The sentient mind is diverse, and no two will feel the same a8out what is good and 8ad for them. Let other 8eings do with their 8odies what they find enjoya8le. False pretenses of protection are intolera8le, and it is always necessary to look within the other party and determine what they truly want.

One's comfort always comes 8efore the ease of communic8ion and understanding. The two do not have to contradict, and with care, even the most difficult of situ8ions can 8e made into a perfect 8alance.

All life is equal. The troll takes no hierarchy over the spider, and classifying these groups shall only 8e used for science, never persecution.

No one reality is more valua8le over the other. There sometimes may arise the need to weave 8etween these realities to cre8 a safer world for all, 8ut until that time comes, accept your differences and understand that there is no harm in someone seeing the world differently to you.

Actions speak louder than words and words speak louder than thoughts. The mind is an unfinished product, only 8its and pieces that can 8e put together into one's true intentions and desires.

You are under no o8lig8ion to tie yourself to your form, and policing others in such a way will only limit the diversity of the world.

You have full right to not only express yourself in what you have, 8ut cre8 new joy and forge your own path.

Simplified/clarified versions under the cut ::::)

I've never 8een listened to, and I know I'm not the only one. Ask 8efore you make assumptions. Find new groups of people to learn from. Even if it's just saying a few kind words to someone who always rants a8out 8eing alone. 8e the one to make someone's go-to dandelion wish true.

While acts like cutting can 8e unhealthy expressions of harm, they can just as well 8e a form of 8ody modific8ion. If someone is educ8ed and in the right st8 of mind, they can do whatever they want to themselves without needing to 8e torn away from their autonomy.

As the internet has lead to more and more self-discovery among the popul8ion of the world, I'm seeing more and more that people choose to just give up instead of striving to truly valid8 people. Whether it's learning how to use neopronouns or entirely rephrasing your sentences so they can 8e more easily understood, like I'm doing right now, just try your 8est. There's of course contradictions - like I can't not use my typing quirk, 8ut I also know a lot of people can't read it - 8ut there's also solutions, like online transl8ors.

Taxonomy is taken more literally than it should 8e and people pass off small animals as having no sentience far, far too often... Until it comes to therians, which shows just how little alterhumans are 8elieved a8out their identities. In the kindest way possi8le, human(oid)s aren't special.

Until delusions cause someone distress, there is no reason to intervene or even la8el them as delusions. Even within neurotypicals there will 8e differences in perspective (laurel/yanny anyone?) and no one truly shares one reality.

Your thoughts don't make you a 8ad or good person until you put them to use.

Your 8ody doesn't have to 8e yours. You can just decide it's a cat's 8ody one day. Make a system and give it away to your new alters, and hide away in headspace forever. Walk on all fours and start eating meat. Nothing is stopping you.

Chosen identities are just as valua8le as ones you're 8orn with or form over time. So if you decide to 8ecome me? Know that you ARE me.

[syrupfog]

AU where Sanji doesn’t understand the point of humans, really. He knows that people love them, but… they’re just so fragile. They break easily, hard to repair, and once their systems have stopped circulating, they just don’t turn back on. He doesn’t get the appeal.

He knows, has been informed, that he was born human. But it’s a ship of Theseus situation. He’s been long ago upgraded, doesn’t have those weaknesses he was born with.

Hell, his siblings were incredibly powered up, for humans, and they were still easily disposed of.

Logically, loving a human just doesn’t make sense. They’re not real the way androids are real. Their consciousness doesn’t exist as soon as they’re powered down. There’s a liminal nothingness to that. Humans are like toys. Like starter beings.

He’s had all of those thoughts hundreds of times before, as he’s watched humans die in front of him. Watched his siblings as they perished by his own hand. This has been his Truth his whole life. Humans aren’t worth thinking about because they’re just not really real.

And of course, that’s why he’s questioning his own actions now.

This human he’s seen around a few times, having washed up in a dingy little rowboat at the edge of town, telling the people something about how he’s been separated from his crew.

This human who has been working hard, exchanging manual labor for food while sleeping rough and making time to train with his ridiculous swords. Those are a weakness, at least consider guns, or fortified steel legs.

But this human, who’s been so confident he’ll be reunited with his crew, who’s been biding his time and training… Sanji had taken an interest in him.

And then Sanji had watched him die. A freak accident with machinery he’d been tasked to repair in exchange for a meal.

Everyone in town knows of Sanji. And he knows they know, knows they think he’s a little alarming. But that’s fine. They’re human.

However they perceive him, though, they don’t object when he swoops in and lifts up the green haired human, taking him away.

It’s not like he’s useful to them anyway anymore, he’s turned off and humans don’t turn back on.

But Sanji… wants this one to.

It’s ridiculous and maybe Sanji should upgrade his logic processing, but… he’s drawn to this one. Wants it back online.

His father had been a monster of a man, and the only one Sanji had taken true pleasure in shutting down. But he’d kept his father’s workshops in working order to do his own repairs as necessary, and that comes in useful now.

Sanji only knows living bodies for their food purposes. He works and studies and experiments. He takes out his nightly recharging batteries and instead gets out his old charging cord so he doesn’t have to take breaks. He knows humans are quick to recycle after being turned off, even with the best precautions taken.

He doesn’t know why, but… he wants this. He’s drawn to the man. There’s an energy about him that Sanji doesn’t remember ever seeing before, and he wants it back.

And after an intense amount of repairs and replacements and experimental flesh-and-metal welding…

He flips the switch.

The man groans.

He lifts a hand slowly to his face, squinting his eye at the light. Sanji hadn’t been able to save both of them.

He sits up, blinking as he looks around.

“Wh’ th’ fuck happened?” He mumbles.

“Greetings,” says Sanji. “I’m Sanji. Your systems failed and turned off. I turned them back on.”

The man looks down at himself. Sanji thinks he’s done a good job matching the spray paint to his skin tone.

“Swords?” The man asks.

“In the other room,” Sanji says. “I wanted to check you were fully online before returning your things to you.”

“Is that why I’m butt-ass naked?” The man asks, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Am I being held? Can I go?”

Sanji blinks. “Of course you can go,” he says. “But please let me feed you, first. Humans need sustenance.”

The man frowns. “You not human or something?” He asks. “You don’t look like a fishman or mink.”

“I’m an android,” says Sanji.

“Well that’s a fucking note,” says the man. “I’m Zoro. Thanks for… fixing me, I guess.”

Sanji smiles. “I will take you to your clothes and then food,” he says. “There has been rumor your ‘crew’ as you called them is here, although I have not validated these claims. I have been busy.”

Zoro grins, swinging his legs over the table and standing. “Perfect,” he says. “I gotta get going, then.”

Sandi frowns. “Wait,” he says. “You’re still newly upgraded. There might be bugs!”

Sanji HATES bugs.

“I’m fine,” Zoro says, then promptly stumbles.

“Like that!” Sanji screeches. He’s had years, decades to work on his own tech.

“You need to be stress tested properly!”

Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose and there’s the sound of metal groaning under his fingers. “Fine,” he says. “Then I guess you’re coming with me.”

“Pardon?” asks Sanji.

“Listen, Swirly,” Zoro says. “I have places to be and a future pirate king to serve. I don’t have time to be waiting around for hardware to fail so either you’re coming with me or I’m handing my doctor a computer repair manual.”

Sanji groans. “…Fine,” he says. “I will feed you and then I will pack up. It will take two hours.”

“You have until Luffy shows up,” Zoro says. Then amends, “You have until Luffy has eaten everything in your kitchen.”

Sanji doesn’t know this ‘Luffy’ but he takes that into his calculations. “Acceptable,” he says. “Let’s be off, then.”

And thus, the Straw Hats gain their cook, as Sanji makes it his life mission to keep his collection of humans as safe as possible. They’re so fragile, they break so easily.

Although these ones do seem hardier than most.

[ya-zz]

If you're not too busy 💕 can I request some forbidden love au with ramattra? reader is an omnic that lived with the humans (treated like family by them) and is absolutely afraid of ramattra when they first encounter him, even going as begging for their life? would be fun to see ramattra feel that he also makes omnics afraid of him, even if he's fighting for their rights.

Gah, such a sweet one! Gave it a lil wholesome ending too! ♥

Ramattra x Omnic Reader (gen)

Word count: 1544

Word on the street claimed that there was an old visitor returning to the Monastery, one who originally sought peace who then brought chaos to the cities and villages around the world. Humans feared him, and rightly so as he didn’t stop his attacks, no matter the casualties from both ends. Why he was coming back was unknown - some speculated that he realised his mistakes and wanted to fix it, others thought he was going to use the Shambali to whatever advantage he could think of, while a small number of villagers believed he just wanted to come home. 

Having been away for years, Ramattra knew that his presence was going to be anything but kind, but after multiple failed attacks, he only wanted to go back to a place where he originally sought peace, wanting to clear his mind from endless errors. It was a final attempt before he would end his battle. If he manages to clear his systems, then he would go back to fighting, wanting nothing more than to see the human race end and omnics rise. Afterall, that was what he was programmed to do. 

He had a strong hatred coursing through his wires as he stumbled onwards, staff being used as a crutch while he entered the village. Many humans and omnics alike stepped back, watching on as the ravager walk ahead, seeking the one place he called home many years ago. It was slightly unnerving to him, all these eyes and optics watching his move, but he dismissed their gaze, head held somewhat high as he walked the steps into the Monastery.

Upon entering, some old familiar faces greeted him, others thanked him for his attempts at bringing peace while the rest carried on about their day and not paying him any interaction whatsoever. He shrugged at the thought, making his way back to a familiar room. His room. A place he stayed in for years, silent meditations on his own, old and scrapped blueprints littering the desk. His room had been untouched and he was grateful for that. He made a promise that he would return, however when he would was a different story, until today. 

Ramattra stayed within his own quarters for the remainder of the day as he worked on repairing himself. First it was the stiff wrists, joints grinding whenever he moved them, now finally oiled up and back to how they originally were. With his wrists now moving smoothly, it was his arms next. Scratches were ever present, scars from his battles, but he working within his chassis, fixing the frayed wires and tubing so that he was able to function. 

He worked for most of the night and early morning before he started to reset his systems, wanting to clear any and all error files from appearing again. His senses were the first to shut off, optics slowly going dark and all information glitching before disappearing. Eventually, he entered a form of rest mode whilst his systems updated, the lights on his forehead slowly glowing orange. 

He was at peace for awhile. 

When everything came back online a few hours later, his apertures adjusting against the light, he spots a smaller shadow move beside him. He pays it no mind at first until he fully comes online, orange lights now red. 

His neck twists, looking over at the figure beside him who was placing a small bottle down, the liquid inside black and quite viscous. His visitor was that of another omnic, although the appearance was nothing like he had seen before. He looks down at the bottle, oil, the larger omnic thought. He feels his vocaliser click before he speaks. 

“Thank you.” 

The sudden callout catches this smaller omnic off guard as they stand up straight and quickly nod before quickly leaving the room. 

Peculiar… Ramattra shakes it off, looking off in the direction the other omnic ran. He releases a sigh as he plans the rest of his day. 

-

Your robotic heart was racing. The fear was ever climbing inside of you as you hid away in your own room, wanting to calm down. You had seen him when he first arrived, but he didn’t notice you and you were glad for that fact. He was terrifying. You had heard the stories about him, the way he was fighting for your kind, for omnics, but you didn’t want to be anywhere near him in fear he would tear you apart.

It was conflicting. You were an omnic, much like him, but you felt more human. Being around them for most of your life so far, you had only ever been treated with kindness. In fact, you had never seen a human act so evil around you. Of course, there were always the news stories that stung, but the ones you were around were ever so kind. It made you wonder why the ravager was killing them when not all of them were evil. 

You stayed in your room for a moment longer, internally planning your day, hoping to whatever god was out there that you didn’t bump into him. 

-

He noticed you avoiding him when he went about his schedule. An omnic afraid of another omnic. A part of him wanted to challenge you, to ask why you hated him, but he refrained from doing so. He knew he wouldn’t be staying long anyway and this entire thing would be over the moment he left. 

Ramattra would watch on, noticing how well you interacted with the humans who’d pass by the Monastery. He could hear your vocaliser rising in pitch as you’d laugh, the way their gestures made your circuits warm, and Ramattra could only scoff at the notion of an omnic and human being friends. Yet, something inside of him yearned to be around you…

The more you looked at him though, your own optics scanning him, the fear would only continue to grow. He is planning something, you thought, processors going through any and all scenarios of what could happen in the coming days. 

You were too deep into your own thoughts that you didn’t watch where you were walking, colliding into something and falling back against the floor. A few errors popped up in your vision, but you dismissed them, looking up and instantly freezing. 

Ramattra looked down at you, optics scanning over your body for any injuries. He cocks his head to the side slightly, moving his arm to offer you a hand up, but when you flinch, hiding your petrified gaze from him, he tenses. 

“P-please… don’t hurt me…” Your vocals were quiet, systems working to try and calm you down. 

“Hurt you?” The larger omnic questioned. 

When met with silence, Ramattra knelt down, looking over you. “I do not want to harm you.” 

You shuffle back a little, metal scratching against the stone floor as you keep your head turned away from him. 

It takes a moment for Ramattra to come to his senses and he sighs. “Are you… Frightened of me?” 

You could hear the curiosity in his voice, a slight pained tone mixed within. You nod, not being able to speak as you feel your vocaliser reset a few times, only a static noise escaping each time. 

Ramattra seems taken aback. It was surely a first for him, an omnic afraid of another omnic… He seemed a little curious as to why you felt this way, but then he remembered the way you were acting with the humans and it suddenly made sense. He couldn’t help himself when he chuckles, slowly standing back up. He raises his hand again, a little more slowly than the last time. 

“I do not wish to harm you.” He repeats. 

Looking up at him, sensors scanning for any form of hostility, you release a shaky sigh, a puff of steam escaping from your back. You hesitate before taking his hand. 

Ramattra pulls you up, grip firm in your hand before he lets go. 

“I… I am sorry.” You mutter, looking off to the side. 

“Mistakes happen. How about we clear the air?” He offers, optics looking at you, unfocussing before focusing back onto you. “Ramattra.” He offers his hand once more. 

You look back at him and then down at his hand. “[y/n].” You shake his hand, the servos connecting with a pleasant hum. Ramattra felt this, a gentle like feeling flowing through him as your hand warms his up.

“Perhaps we can meditate together?” Ramattra asks. “Or talk.” 

You nod sheepishly, feeling slightly trapped into the situation. “Sure…” 

The larger omnic places a hand on your shoulder, wanting to reassure you before he chuckles, pulling you along with him as he talks about his stories from when he was first present in the Monastery. He keeps the conversation light, wanting to make sure you were comfortable. 

Though the fear was still there, never knowing if he would snap at any moment, you were somewhat glad he was taking time out of his day to befriend you, to put your qualms at ease. Ramattra wanted the dust to settle, and perhaps, he thought, going back to fight was beginning to feel like the wrong idea… Especially if he made his own kind fear him.

—

KOFI