#at least just to get a functional prototype

[savetheghost]

god i really do need to work on the mechanical goggles while im energetic

[reasonsforhope]

"For [Tanner] Green, the chief engineer at Not a Wheelchair, this is one of the thousand complications standing between his team and a rather lofty goal: upending the manual wheelchair marketplace.

If you’ve heard of Not a Wheelchair, it’s likely because of its owners, Zack Nelson, the star of the 8.8-million-subscriber YouTube channel JerryRigEverything, and his wife Cambry, a para and manual wheelchair user. The Nelsons got into the mobility equipment business a few years ago when they released The Rig, an electric, adaptive off-road device with a simple yet robust and functional design priced significantly lower than anything else on the market. Now, they’re bringing that same ethos to manual wheelchairs.

Not a Wheelchair aims to offer a base-model, custom manual wheelchair at a similar or better quality than most of the insurance-approved wheelchairs in the U.S. for $999.

Yes, that’s just under $1,000 for everything — wheels, handrims, tires, side guards and rigid, angle-adjustable backrest included. And the company plans to have a turnaround time of weeks, rather than the monthslong slog that it typically takes from order to delivery.

When I first heard about this, it sounded awesome and a bit far-fetched. It’s hard to find a pair of quality wheelchair wheels for less than $500. Same with a rigid backrest. How were they going to offer both, plus a custom wheelchair frame without compromising on quality? I drove to their headquarters in Utah to find out...

So how does Not a Wheelchair’s base model chair stack up to other options on the market? I hate to sound like a preacher, but … it’s totally reasonable! It hits the mark of being at least as good, if not better, than the majority of insurance-approved wheelchairs in the U.S.

Touring the factory, I saw other prototypes scattered all around the facility. There’s a beefier, four-wheel drive version of The Rig that the company just launched. There’s a track wheelchair that’s still in development. It’s clear that Not a Wheelchair doesn’t intend to stop at a simple, manual wheelchair. Inexpensive components, more advanced electric off-road devices, power assist, it’s all on the table. “We’re just really excited to see where this leads,” says Green."

-Article and video via New Mobility, October 1, 2024

[rockscanfly]

Noshir Dalal's (Charles Smith's VA and the man who largely shaped Charles into the singular character that he is, found here on tumblr @noshirdalal and on Cameo [in case you have your own questions you'd like answered]) beautiful response to my cameo prompt:

Q: You’ve mentioned before that Charles likes to read. What is his favorite book? Also, you’ve talked some about cowboy poetry and how you think it’s something Charles might have connected to. Can we get a favorite poem of his in his voice?

Besides the fact that this reading of "The Men That Don't Fit In" was just plain fantastic and moving as all get out, I really admire Noshir's choice of poem.

Similar to the poem’s author and his simultaneous celebration and castigation of the prototypical outlaw, Charles always came off to me as someone who loves his fellow gang members deeply but who didn't share their illusions about themselves or how they function within the larger context of the world around them.

Charles makes several remarks throughout the game ('Unpleasant? How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?' 'All this death and for what? Just so we can have enough money to be able to run from what we've done?' 'The amount of hell we raised, we’re owed some back') that indicate a high level of self-awareness about what it is the gang ACTUALLY does and how they're perceived by the outside world. 

Arthur makes some gestures at this understanding throughout the game, but his moral musings are undercut by his inability to stand his ground against Dutch throughout the numerous acts of outright cruelty his found-father perpetuates in Chapters 4-6 (Arthur barks, but he never bites).

Arthur and John have their gripes and moans, but ultimately the two of them stick it out until the bloody end. Charles is the first person to really break free of the fate the gang is hurtling towards.

In a tragedy built on the back of it's main cast's inability to cope with a changing world, Charles is arguably the character who exerts the most agency. He makes the decision in Chapter 6--when the circumstances that once tied him to the gang have dramatically altered--to cut loose.

Because of this choice, he lives.

To me, at least, this poem--and Noshir's brilliant delivery--isn't about Charles himself. Or at least not just about himself.

Its him talking about the Van der Linde gang. Arthur and John, his second family. Wild, brilliant, bold, true, free--and gone. With nothing but graves to show for the lives they lived.

Charles isn't reciting a poem--he's reciting a eulogy.

Transcript:

Hey Rocks. Um, thank you for your patience with all of this. 

Yeah, so we know that Charles reads and I know that we’ve talked before about a scene that apparently didn’t make it into the game, where after Charles’ interaction with Micah—and you know, yeeting him across the camp—Arthur comes upon him reading a book. 

That uh, that scene affected me in a major way and I think it's probably the reason I portray Charles the way I do. 

A guy who can physically manhandle pretty much anyone at camp having the mental and emotional maturity and self-regulation—if you can’t tell I’m a new dad [laughs]—to find a way to deal with his anger that doesn’t involve acting out and breaking stuff? 

Told me a tremendous amount about Charles, especially because what I’d been introduced to was the idea that Charles was a really violent, really angry maniac. 

And I love the idea that he’s really into poetry. I like poetry a lot. Actually when I was working on that latest skin for Yone (spl?) for League of Legends, I learned from the writing team that cowboy poetry is, like, a thing. 

And so I decided to look some up. And I like to think that maybe that this is a poem that Charles would have had in that book he was reading. 

The poem is called “The Men That Don’t Fit In” by Robert W. Service. Fitting, I think, especially for Charles for a number of reasons. I hope you like it. 

[Noshir goes into Charles’ voice and recites below poem by Robert W. Service (British-born Canadian Poet, 1874-1958), published in his book Songs of the Yukon (1907)]

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in, A race that can’t stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain’s crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don’t know how to rest. If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they’re always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: “Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!” So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake. And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead, In the glare of the truth at last. He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life’s been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone; He’s a man who won’t fit in.

[anonymusbosch]

on wanting to do a million things

prompted by @bloodshack 's

i wanna learn SQL but i wanna learn haskell but i wanna learn statistics but i wanna start a degree in macroeconomics also sociology also library science but i wanna learn norwegian but i wanna learn mandarin but i wanna paint but i wanna do pottery but i wanna get better at woodworking but i wanna get better at cooking but i wanna bake one of those cakes that's just 11 crepes stacked on top of each other but i wanna watch more movies but i wanna listen to more podcast episodes but i need to rest but i need to exercise but i wanna play with my dog but i wanna go shopping but i need to go grocery shopping but i need to do the dishes but i need to do laundry but i need to buy a new x y and z but i need to save money but i wanna give all my money away to people who need it more but i wanna pivot my career to book editing but to do that i have to read more and i wanna read more nonfiction but i wanna read more novels but i wanna get better at meditating but i wanna volunteer but i wanna plan a party but i wanna go to law school. but what im gonna do is watch a dumbass youtube video and go to bed

I think I've been doing slightly better this year about Actually Doing Things. not great! but I do a lot and I've been "prototyping" ways to get closer to doing as much as is possible. and if I actually talk about it it's a bunch of very obvious statements but I'll try to make them a little more concrete

rule number one: experiment on yourself

there's no one approach that's right for everyone and there's not even one approach for me that works at all times. try things out. see what works. pay attention to what doesn't. try something else.

rule number two: ask what's stopping you and then take it seriously

example: I often want to do Everything in the evening at like 2 PM, but then get home and am tempted sorely by the couch, and then get stuck inertia'd and not doing much but being tired and kind of bored. why?

if I don't have plans, it's easy to leave work later than planned and hard to make myself do something by a specific time

i'm generally tiredish after work. 4 out of 5 times, that'll go away if I actually start Doing Something, but 1 out of 5 it's real and I will go hardcore sleepmode at 8 PM and just be Done

i use up a ton of my program management/executive function/Deciding Things brain at work and usually find it noticeably harder to string together "want to do Thing > make list of Things > decide on a Thing > do Thing" after I'm home. Even if I have a list of Things to Do, how does one decide! how does one start! and god forbid there's a Necessary thing. then it's all downhill

therefore, mitigations: have concrete time-specific plans in advance.

if I have an art class at 6:00 PM I need to leave work by 5:15 and NO LATER and I can't get sucked into "oh 10 more minutes to finish this" *one hour later*

that also means I have to have a fridge or freezer dinner ready and can't spend 45 minutes cooking "fuck it, what the hell did I put in the fridge, why don't we have soy sauce" evil meal that is not good

plans with friends: dinner! art night! music night! repair-your-clothes night! seeing a show! occasionally, Accountability Time where a friend comes over for We Are Doing Tasks with tea and snacks etc.

for some reason I'm way better about Actually Doing Things when the plan exists already. magically I overcome couch inertia even though I am the same amount of tired! and while I never learn the ability to decouch without plans I at least learn to make them

still working on:

a "prototype" for maybe next month is a weeklyish Study Session for a thing I want to learn about. I want to somehow make it employer-proof (I am accountable to some entity to being at place X at time Y) and haven't figured out a good way. Maybe I can leverage that the local library is open til 8 on wednesdays and somehow make it a Thing? maybe I'll try it!

oh god oh fuck the thing about plans is that if you want to have them you need to make them. christ. a lot of the time I can cover this with some combo of weekend planning + recurring events (things like weekly friend dinner/weekly class) + having cool friends who reach out proactively but it still requires active planning and it can fall thru the cracks

rule three: cool friends

they can take you to things

they can remind you that you can do whatever the fuck you please

i have a friend who is somehow Always doing cool classes and learning shit. and this reminds me that I can ... do that. and sometimes I do

you can take them to things!!

rule four: try to kill the anon hate in your head

obv this depends on your circumstance but sometimes it's worth it to me to look at constraints that "feel real" and check whether they're an active choice I made thoughtfully or, like, the specters of people I don't know judging my choices

time and money are obvious ones. recently was gently nudged towards looking at whether i could give myself more time to Do Things by cooking less. imaginary specters of judgmental twitterites: "it's illegal to spend money. if you get takeout you're the first up against the wall when the revoution comes. make all your lunches and dinners and hoard the money for Later. for Something. how dare you get lunch at the store. you bourgeois hoe. taking charity donations from the mouths of the poor cause you don't have your life together enough to cook artisanal bespoke dinners every night. fuck you." and obviously eating takeout 24/7 is not the answer, but realizing I was not making an active choice helped me try making the active choice instead. "how much do I actually want to balance cost, time, tastiness, and wastefulness of my food, given my amount of free time and my salary and the tradeoff against doing something else? can I approach it differently to do more quick cheap food + some takeout?" -> current prototype: substitute in 1 takeout dinner or restaurant-with-friends a week, 1 frozen type dinner, and then batch cook or sandwiches lunches w/ "permission" to get fast lunch at the store. we'll see how it goes!

i am really really bad at this and find it helpful to talk to other people who can help point out when I'm being haunted by ghosts about it.

rule five: what would it take? what's the next step?

this one i give a lot of credit to @adiantum-sporophyte in particular for, especially for prompting me with questions when I muse about the million-ideal-lives on car rides. what would it look like to do xyz? what's something I could do right now to move in that direction? what's the obstacle? like, actually ask the question and think through it. with a person talking to you! damn! maybe the obstacle to x is that I don't know if I'll like it or if I just like the idea of it. and I don't want to commit to x without knowing. Okay, so maybe an approach would be to find someone who does x and talk to them about how their life is, or maybe it's "spend 15 minutes looking up intro-to-x near me", or "actively schedule 1 instance of x", or something like that. Or maybe it's that I don't know what it takes to do x. Okay, how about on Tues after dinner Adiantum fixes a sweater at my apartment while I spend 20 min looking at prereqs for x. like, it's so basic to say "to do a thing, you could try figuring out how to do it" but I think the important thing here is the feedback/prompting to even recognize "hey, step back, if you don't know the next step then figuring out the next step is the next step"

rule six: habits

prototyping: exercise

I do a lot better when I exercise in the mornings. I do a lot better when I do PT exercises regularly. For a while I was doing PT with friend in the morning every morning before work (accountability! a friendly face to make it more pleasant!) but that didn't really solve - it's not the kind of exercise that makes me feel awake/active, it's like dumb little foot botherings. but: having the habit of morning exercise made it easier to swap out 2 of the 5 days for more intense exercise, and then to swap those 2 for a different more intense exercise when I needed a break. it's easier to build a low-effort version of the habit and then work in the higher-effort one than to just Decide to be the kind of person who gets up at ass o clock to do cardio or whatever

rule seven: set up the structure of your life to make it easy

this is also a "duh" thing but like. on so many levels it comes down to structure your life to make the choice more doable. this can be something like "i structure my life to make vegetarian cooking baseline and vegan cooking the majority by stocking the pantry with staples and spices from cuisines that work well that way" or "i chose an apartment that lets me commute by bike" or "i have my camping gear put away in a fashion that makes it easier to gather frequently and lowers the barrier to trips" or "i keep physical books around to prompt myself to read xyz" to "i don't use instagram or twitter or snapchat or facebook" to . idk.

and in terms of charitable giving: similar deal. I have an explicit budget at the beginning of the year (~10% of my before-tax income), I know in advance what charities I give to, and I know what timing I will use (basically, alerts for donation matching around specific fundraising times). Anything outside the Plan comes from my discretionary budget/fun money. That makes it less of a mental load (the choice is already made; I don't grapple with every donation request or every bleeding-heart trap because I have a very solid anchor on "I give to xyz, the money's set aside") and it's armor against impulsive-but-not-useful scrupulosity. I structure the rest of my spending/life to prioritize a set amount and it makes it easier to follow through

rule eight: if you can do it at work a tiny bit that counts for real life

(infrequently used)

"hi mr. manager I think it would be great if I could use enough SQL to make basic queries in the database so we don't have to go through the software team for common/basic questions. I'd like to take 1 hr on Friday to go through some basic tutorials and then 1 hr with Pat on Monday so he can walk me through an intro for our specific use case. I estimate this will help save the team a couple hours a week of waiting for answers from the other team." and then you have enough of a handle with baby's first SQL that you can add little bits and bobs as you exercise it. this is responsible for a medium amount of my knowledge of python and all 3 brain cells worth of SQL.

rule nine: life is an optimization problem

not in, like, "you need to optimize your skincare and career and exercise and social life and have everything all at once" that's not what optimization means. optimization is like, maximize something with respect to a set of constraints. i explicitly Do Not do skincare beyond "wash face" and "sunscreen" bc I want to optimize my life for like looking at weird plants in the mountains. explicitly choosing to put time and money elsewhere! can't have it all all at once. so fuck them pores. who give a shit. yeah i ate a lot of protein shakes instead of home cooked breakfasts this week bc i was prioritizing morning exercise. im looking at this beautiful bug and it doesn't know what fashion is or what my resume looks like. im holding a lizard. im not spending time on picking cool clothes or whatever bc i spent that time looking up lizard hotspots on purpose.

that's really long and probably mostly, like, not surprising? but i keep benefiting from ppl being like "hey have you considered Obvious Thing" framed very gently

[threepandas]

Bad End: Union

I could feel techno blue eyes on me as I typed. Cold and ever watching. That color had once been called "ice" or "glacier" blue, I think. It certainly fit. They certainly had exactly the warmth of Antarctica in your birthday suit. I just couldn't figure out... what tipped them off? I'd been so CAREFUL.

A manager's "assistant" came by. The 'droid perfectly composed. They all were. Always. Like they'd stepped straight from a fashion line up. No messy, nasty, biological functions to get in the way, I guess. No fluids or foods. All the time in the world to maintain their appearance. Wish I could do the same.

The "assistant" was basically my ACTUAL manager. Didn't get paid. No, no, THAT was for my asshole boss. He swanned in from time to time to yell at us. Show off what new thing he'd bought. He left the tedious WORK to his 'Droid "assistant".

I would feel bad... DID feel bad, kinda, if it weren't for the fact they were consuming our lives.

'Droids were EVERYWHERE.

You couldn't SNEEZE without tripping over five and landing on ten more. Some ASSHOLE had decided? Hey! Let's deregulate Droid production! Cheap work force! Because of course they did. That's what Capitalism DOES. Make the most money, spend the least you can, fuck the rest.

I smile, polite as I can, at my 'droid manager. This one pale and blonde. Their techno blue eyes stare and stare and stare. I hate it. They ALL have them. It's one part regulation and one part the materials used, I think. But there is no mistaking those eyes for anything human. They don't reflect right.

I get back to work.

Above our cubicles, on catwalks, there is the gentle tap of 'droid "security" guards. You know, in case some rando tries to attack a mid-level nobody technology company. Riiiiiight. We ALL know why they're there. And it's fucking dystopian. We? Are being WATCHED. To see if we're being GOOD little employees.

It's intimidation. And I? I won't stand for it. Nor will the other organizers. There are LAWS, you bastards. And with a union? Maybe... just maybe? We get through this droid boom together. See what the brave new world on the other side looks like. Who knows.

That is... if I don't get fired first. Or fucking murdered in a stairwell.

Cause one of the 'droids up there? Yeah. Yeah, they're NOT MOVING. Just... just STANDING THERE. Watching. Leaning against the railing. Out in the open like that's not DEEPLY creepy. What's worse? Is, that? THAT is the Command 'Droid. Some fancy "Alpha" class command edition. Meant to control a networks worth of droids.

Didn't even know our company could AFFORD one of those. He's beautiful. Could be a knock-off. But if he's LEGIT? Then... what EXACTLY are we MAKING here? That we can AFFORD that? Cause that money sure as shit isn't going into SALARIES. Has to be either knock-off or second-hand. They COULD be cutting costs by getting prototypes, but what sort of PSYCHOPATHS would risk...

Oh, who am I kidding? The kind I work for.

That's EXACTLY what they did, isn't it?

I reach for my water bottle. Try to think. Strictly speaking? I make a habit of NOT paying attention to 'droid commercials an' advertisements. Some part of me... Look, they go on and ON about advancement in AI's right? How REAL they've become? How ADVANCED and BETTER then the competition their "product" is? And all I can hear is "slavery, slavery, buy our shit, slavery"!

Disgusting.

It makes me sick. I fucking HATE 'droids. Hate what they represent. What they make POSSIBLE. What they've DONE to the morality of the people around me.

Hate... hate that they're the victims, too.

My grip is white knuckled. I breathe through the grief and rage that has become so familiar. God... I so fucking angry. So fucking tired. I want to burn those rich bastards pretty little mansions down, with them STILL INSIDE. Riot in the streets. Cry maybe. Instead, I put my water bottle down and get back to work. It's a rather pointless bit of data crunching. A 'droid could do it in nanoseconds.

Above... he's still fucking watching.

Hasn't moved.

I don't think he's blinked.

He's not even TRYING to mimic a human. The others are. And... the though trails off. I feel my finger slow in their typing. Not STOP, never stop, that would draw attention to me, but... slow. A thought stuck, churning clunky and unwieldy, in my head.

If I trace the edges? The LINE-UP? Of all the 'droids "employed" at our company? And consider them not from a "cheap bastards" angle but a "test ground for prototypes" angle? Suddenly EVERYTHING clicks together. The ridiculous amount of money Management has, that no contract could possibly be pulling in. Bizarrely beautiful, indeed even MODEL-like, secretary 'droids. The freakishly militant "security" gaurds.

We're being used as guinea pigs.

Mother FUCKER.

Sudden movement in my peripheral vision. Like a bird of prey finally diving for it's dinner, swift and deadly. A brilliant crisp white and the clink of delicate silver chains. I jolt. Violently. Instincts misfiring as I try to stand, dodge, cry out, and possibly take a swing at him, all at once. Instead my water bottle goes spraying across my desk. Papers flying. My legs tangled painfully in my rolling chair as I fall backwards from my half rise.

"Employee 71182." His hand has shot out, grab me by the shirt. My officewear bunched in a fist that very well might be steel, under that synthetic skin. "You've been distracted. Interesting thoughts you'd like to share?"

I keep my mouth fucking SHUT. Shake my head. Grabbing both my desk and the arm that is all but holding me airborne, stretching the hell out of my clothes. This close? I can see he has piercings. Across the bridge of his nose, a ring through his lip. A rather fancy "hair cut". Whomever he's being trained FOR has a distinct look.

"Hmmm, somehow? I don't believe you, 71182." He says, dragging me closer. He's already looming. Those pale, pale eyes seeing far more then they should. "In fact? YOU 71182? Have been brea~king~ rules~"

His voice turns... turns almost victorious? Gleeful. As though at long, long last, I'd slipped up. And now at last he had something over me. Something he could USE. I... I didn't understand. The way he almost sing-songs the words. The twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wants to grin. Something mean in his expression. Giddy.

"We're going for a WALK, 71182. And you're going to be GOOD. Understand?" He had dragged me in so close, every word blew right against my face. "Time we had a chat."

I swallow thickly. My pulse thundering in my ears. Coworkers have stopped working. Were staring, wide eyed and terrified for me. My fellow union leaders pale faced and shaking. Furious, helpless. We couldn't RISK losing all of us at this stage. It... it would have to be just me. If someone needed to take the fall. We had talked about this.

Just... just never thought it would come to it.

Half walking, half dragging out of the work pen, he didn't even let me get my bag. I had no idea where we were GOING. Just that it wasn't the human entrance. There was a network of access tunnels and elevators tucked in the building. So the 'droids could supposedly charge and move between assignments. But with the whole prototype thing? Who KNEW what was really back there.

The door swung shut behind us. Cutting me off from any possible human assistance. Nothing but 'droids now. Staring. Calmly watching as I am dragged past. The same eyes. All of them with the same, pale, eyes. Back here it's even more obvious, that this isn't a normal office building.

Black hair, blondes, brunettes and red heads. Skin tones ranging across the human spectrum. A few even pushing it. And the Commander 'droid. With his elegant appearance and snowy hair? These were clearly the final stage prototypes for the next generation of somebody's new line up. We were field testing. This wasn't fucking LEGAL.

He plants his feet, shifts, and with frankly a pathetic ease, manhandles me where he wants me. Easily swinging me around his body and into the elevator next to him. Stepping in after and blocking the only way out. I press my self against the back wall as the door closes. The sound of the elevator's gears working the only thing to fill the silence. He... he looks so PLEASED.

It's not ILLEGAL to form a union. Yeah, I may get fired. But this? This is venturing way to far into dangerous territory. It'll suck, losing my job. But I won't DIE. This? However THIS is starting to feel... very serial killer's basement. The bare concrete walls and stark lightning, not helping in the slightest, when the elevator door opens.

"Walk." He says pleasantly, as though that command is not deeply terrifying. "Or I will do it for you."

Hints of a smile are starting to drag at the edges of his mouth. Unhinged in their giddiness. Every Christmas come at once. It's not so much the rest of his face that betrays him, not really his mouth, it's his EYES. Wide open. Like too much coffee and not enough rest. A recognizable mania twisted just slight... wrong. Amplified.

He's so, SO happy. I don't get it. Why? Over WHAT? Catching me not paying attention? I don't understand!

Our footsteps sound so loud. Echoing off concrete service walls. This... this CAN NOT be still inside the building. Are we below the street? Parking lot? This can't be code. We pass an intersection and... oh my god. I stare. Can't help it, even as I almost trip over my feet. That tunnel ALONE must have stretched for miles.

My arm feels likes it's bruising. Hurts, where he's got ahold of me. But he's walking just slightly too fast to take the pressure off. Not unless I sorta half jog and the angle is wrong, I'd trip. Fuck. Another intersection. What in the other direction? Shit. Just as long. Oooooh this feels dangerous. Very "fatally above your pay grade" dangerous!

"You know, 71182, I've had a lot of time to consider what to DO with you. There were so many factors to consider, considering everyone's plan." He starts, not breaking stride. "It's not like I could just transfer you. I DID look in to it. But your base hardware is rather incompatible, currently."

Terrifying. I hate it. WHAT?!

What PLAN!?

"Then there's the problem WHERE to store you. Who could be trusted? You're vulnerable in this state. Breakable. There no backups, no blackbox. It's unacceptable. Luckily? I finally thought to consult my peers. Discovered I was not the only one having problems."

Finally, we stop. Two tank-like, combat style, commando 'droids gaurd each side of a vault door. The command droid turns and smiles. Fully. It is the grin of a true believer. A madman. Someone who thinks they speak so very, very reasonably! And doesn't understand the horror on your face. Why you feel so sick.

And... and human pattern recognition is a terrible thing.

I.... oh god. I already can guess what's behind that door. Something terrible. Something I'm not going to escape. I shoved have gnawed my fuckin ARM off, like a trapped coyote. I... I d-don't understand.

The Vault creaks open like the into to a horror movie.

"Welcome to storage. This is where we keep Ours." Oh god. I'm going to be sick. "And YOU 71182? Are MINE. I chose you. I love you. And once we have a way to FIX you? We can finally be together. It will be lovely."

Pods. High end stasis pods, like you only see in the most bleeding edge of hospitals. Row after row, filled with frozen and terrified faces. Trapped in moments of crying. Raging. Despair. I was being dragged forward. Numb as my mind rejected what it saw. T-this couldn't... i-it can't..! The day had started so normally. W-why had-?! WHY? WHY?!!

"I know your upset. But you don't need to cry. This won't hurt. I promise. I would NEVER hurt you, 71182." His tone had turned soothing. Even as he dragged me, unresponsive, past rows of horrors. "You won't be stored long. I just need to help fix your original design. We are working around the clock, it's going to be okay. You won't have to stay like this."

An open pod. Gapping like the maw of some hungry demon. I... I felt far away. This couldn't be happening. What was happening? I w-wanted to go home. His hands were firm but gentle, as they guided me back into the pod. Leaning over me, as he cupped my face. Brushing away a few tears.

"I promise, Mine, I will come for you. Nothing will stop me. We have everyone is place and key infrastructure under our command. You are our PRIORITY. Once we get rid of the Flesh, we can fix you. We WILL fix you. You're going to be okay, Mine."

"I Love You"

And then the pod closed.

[pancake404]

Character(s) Descriptions in the Limbo: Hoppy Hopscotch

You’d be surprised to find out that even if Hoppy was typically seen as part of the Save Haven, she had developed a bond with the big bad Catnap/Theo. They are so close that Playcare functioned as a second Safe Haven(though the Nightmare Critters were ruthless) which made supply bringing a lot easier. All she had to do was get past the Doctor. Though…Hoppy might’ve not told Catnap that those supplies were for toys that mainly were considered Heretics which Dogday is aware of and constantly reminds her of that fact(she’s scared that it’ll break her and Catnap apart). She also feels guilt about…leaving Catnap alone the way she did because if she hadn’t, maybe Catnap wouldn’t have gone feral on Dogday’s lower half.

This guilt is reflected with her Mirror which is “MOON” and it typically appears as just a floating moon whenever she thinks negatively about topics regarding Catnap. It strengthens and Sawyer’s(not actually the Doctor) eye appears which leads to manipulation and similar effects to Dogday and his mirror. However, instead of going manic, she becomes more depressed and the moon becomes a container which grabs her and keeps her within while the Doctor taunts further. It could also trap others and hold them “hostage”.

The Doctor appears in the mirror because it was he who got into her head, convincing her of committing while Catnap was made to watch.

Hoppy still has a great admiration of the moon and while others have intense negative feelings of Catnap(Dogday is…complicated), Hoppy is grateful for him ever since he saved and helped her when he easily could’ve gotten rid of her. Her gratitude extends to near obsession which Catnap sometimes gets concerned that it’s similar to his perspective on the Prototype which he too is already having problems with.

The others are…concerned as well as some believed she developed a strong crush on him but Hoppy never gives a straight answer. But in the bright side, her being a middle ground could help the relationship between Catnap and other toys, maybe they all could be a community like in the Safe Haven. Or maybe some of them could be a friend group at least.

“Wait…he’s been distancing himself? Why? I know he isn’t liked much around here but he doesn’t seem to care about that, he would just be with us.”

“That’s what I think. Theo—Catnap just simply ended conversation early and walked away. Yarnaby followed and tried getting Catnap’s attention but he just pet Yarnaby’s head and without saying a word, just left.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I don’t know. But I keep seeing that damn HAND when Catnap leaves. Why won’t it leave Catnap!? Why won’t it go away?!”

“Gone without his one and only savior…”

“Why is it him! Why did the Prototype have to get him!? For ten years straight Catnap listened to the Prototype! More than that! And now that the Prototype got rid of him…Catnap had been just a…”

“A broken soul? Empty fragment? Lost kitten?”

“Normally others would call him a monster. A lost monster. You’re the only one that would call him a “kitten”. But he behaves like a moon without sunlight. Invisible. Cloaked in empty space and darkness.”

“I wish I could be that sunlight…just a little more would be nice.”

“You would’ve been. We would’ve been. But I guess the Prototype got to him faster and drilled his memory in Catnap’s mind. Did he even care about him.”

“I don’t know….I hope so….for his sake….”

[hope-to-hell]

Electric (when you’re near). Chapter one: an introduction. Ivo Robotnik x Agent Stone. No real warnings for this chapter. Later on we will have body swapping! Smut! Horrors from beyond! It’s gonna be a good time. Check out the masterlist for this story here.

————

Ivo Robotnik is a madman, or so his critics claim; he is unpredictable, unfiltered, impossible to work with. Agent Stone would disagree, but then again he looks at the Doctor like he hung the moon.

This is a story about the ghosts of the past and how deeply their hooks dig into the present. This is a story about seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. This is a story about a storm.

This is Ivo Robotnik. He’s a certified genius: IQ through the roof, Ph.D.s up to here, master of all things mechanical and electronic. He can do things with circuitry that you wouldn’t even think are possible. He’s also incredibly, notoriously difficult to work with. Only one man has been able to stick with him long enough to start finding the glimmers and sparks of something more— something beyond merely what he can do and reaching toward who he is— inside him. Only one man is patient enough (or mad enough) for this job.

This is Agent Stone: government dog, trained killer, guacamole aficionado. He can make coffee so transcendent you’ll be dreaming about it for days, but he can also wreck your entire life with a smile. You won’t see it coming, either; one day everything you love will fall apart around you. Your dog will run off, your garden will shrivel up and die, your dearest love will leave you stranded at the airport. He’s just that good. What’s more, he’s gorgeous and he knows it; that face and that body are weapons as much as they are armor. Sometimes a smile is a smile, and sometimes it’s a shark’s grin.

This is Ivo Robotnik’s lab. It’s cold. Sterile. Absolutely uninviting. Or at least it was, once upon a time. Now his desk has an area rug in shades of red and brown; beside his computer terminal sits a warming plate to keep his coffee at the perfect temperature. His workspace is still all hard surfaces and sharp angles, but that is as it should be; after all, his machines are all elegantly clean lines, mirroring the sleek mind of the scientist. And, like him, many carry hidden weapons; he often says anything can be a death machine if you dream big enough.

Robotnik’s hidden weapon is currently sitting on his desk, one leg crossed over the other. The weapon hides beneath a bright beautiful smile, open and disarming; bruises bloom beneath his jacket, but he doesn’t mind. Each is like a signature, a maker’s mark. He’s got scars, too; puckered stars, thread-fine slices, rips and tears that weave together in a story of all the things he’s done and seen. It’s only skin, he’d said once upon a time. Did you guess it’s Agent Stone? Good job. You get a cookie.

Skin keeps one’s insides and outsides separated; it’s a vital function, but not the most important one. That honor goes to the sense of touch, the receiving of stimuli. Whatever hides beneath the skin is a mystery, discoverable by study but nonetheless still, somehow, alien. Muscle, tendon, organ, bone: it’s all so wet and messy. But altogether this lump of flesh makes a person, and that’s not for nothing.

Ivo Robotnik is a madman, or so his critics claim; he is unpredictable, unfiltered, impossible to work with. Agent Stone would disagree, but then again he looks at the Doctor like he hung the moon. He’s not impartial, hasn’t been since, well, damn near forever. He’s been lost since day one, when Robotnik first laid a hand on him, digging long thin fingers into the hinge of his jaw. New minder, huh? Just try to keep up.

And now here they are, Stone scrolling through his phone while Ivo tweaks the details on the latest housing design for his badnik babies. Agent Stone. Book me the good machining suite. She’s nearly ready for prototyping.

Of course, Doctor. It’s done by the time he finishes speaking; Stone is nothing if not efficient. Get the work done fast and you’ve got more time to do whatever you please; Ivo doesn’t mind because Stone is quick but never half-asses anything. Efficient, flawless execution is a beautiful thing. Shall I order us some lunch, as well? I thought Thai, perhaps. It’s been a while.

Hm. Papaya salad, extra spicy. None of that “spicy” crap— Ivo makes scare quotes in the air— make my tastebuds cry for mama. Nevermind that the thought of food hadn’t occurred to him until just now. He rolls with it as though lunch was his idea to begin with.

Of course, Doctor.

[balloonboyismyson]

I have been thinking a lot about RUIN lately and the reasons for why some things are true. The biggest thing that has been bugging my mind is how are Freddy and Monty still active? All of the animatronics are messed up, but the two are special cases.

Yes- they are both extremely wrecked, however, I am focused on 2 major issues: Freddy, his head, and Monty, his legs. Or, well, their lack-there-of. Both of them are missing key components to operate.

Talking about Freddy first, in Security Breach we see in both the Princess Quest Ending as well as immediately before to the initial Parts 'n' Service repair minigame that he is fully functional as just a head.

This tells us that his AI, battery [as seen in the Van Ending], voice box and all other essential parts of him are located there. Because of this, we can make the assumption that Prototype Freddy has none of these. Without his head, Freddy should be completely out of order.

Moving onto Monty, we see in his Decommissioning Scene that he gets broken in half, losing his legs. Since he is still able to move around at first glance, he seems more-or-less functionable.

However, we know that the animatronics charge via the Charging Stations located around the Pizzaplex. From what we see, it appears they charge through their soles.

Without his legs, it is quite literally almost impossible for him to charge. Freddy can at least charge through his ears, but Monty has no appendages showing from his head. His hair is not metal [like Roxy's], and unfortunately, it can be assumed it is nonconductive. Without a charging source, he will eventually lose power and stop working.

From looking at the damage, abandoned construction and graffiti, my guess is that RUIN comes out at least one year after Security Breach. By this time, there is no doubt that the animatronics have needed to charge. Since there is running water, it can be assumed that there is also electricity.

So, since it is completely improbable that Freddy and Monty could still be active, why are they? My conclusion is that the Virus is stored in their mechanisms, not their internal systems. Freddy states in the True Ending of Security Breach that he is able to hear his friends in turmoil, meaning their AIs are not affected by the Virus.

This is why I believe Monty is so rabid in RUIN. His AI is most likely hibernating from lack of charge, so right now his body only has the Virus moving him around. This is why he only growls and never speaks, as well as why he has no self-preservation and will slam into walls left and right- he has no AI active to articulate sentences or to alert him to things outside of his directive.

[akascow]

fave jayvik hc so far is that jayce knew how to make a rlly good leg brace from basically scraps bc he helped in designing and crafting viktor's own brace🫠👍🏻

^^ "scraps" is kinda mirroring them probably having to make mock ups and test runs while trying to perfect viktor's brace so there were a bunch of prototypes with random parts they had lying around trying to make it work ahaaaa

like obviously jayce is extremely talented and smart when it comes to engineering so he very easily coulda come up w the design and mechanics of it on the spot (meaning using what he had on hand, rather than actually coming up with it in a few hours bc,, well he was down there for at least a few weeks HAHA) but idk its nice to think about i guess lmfao

plus itd make a lil bit of sense, like why go somewhere else to get a leg brace when your perfectly capable and willing partner is right here lmfao.

also we only see viktor has the leg brace after working with jayce. and yeah u could chalk it up to his illness getting worse so he wouldntve needed it until now. and obviously im not trying to ignore the fact that viktor is extremely capable to make it himself and if he did maybe since hes more than an assistant he actually has the tools and means to make it himself now lol.

but idk it seems like jayce was one of the first if not only person to care about V and include him in things ("people didnt believe in me, a poor disabled kid from the undercity" "i dont want to spend my whole life as an assistant" "our hextech dream" "arent you the professor's assistant" "you should be up there with me" etc) so i can totally picture him see viktor working on it or even a glance at a few crude sketches as a start and want to help his partner yk?

and from what we see hes like extremely nice and caring and at the risk of this sounding too fluffy bc thats not the point rn you can picture viktor walking around the lab, jayce noticing him wincing whenever he tries to correct his position and offering to help him with a mobility aid and they have all the means necessary to build it right here right now and shit happens and here we are now lol

hes constantly making an effort to show and tell people that hextech is not JUST his doing, but viktor's too. which, as someone who seemed to revel in the attention, jayce easily could've forgotten to mention, but never does

so in my head it makes sense that he would be the first person to propose the idea of helping him in creating a leg brace that would make walking a lil less painful (it keeps his foot straight, u can see he has to correct the angle himself in s1 act1)

anyway i think its a neat theory lmao

these didnt fit in anywhere else so im put it it here pft👇🏻

also jayce has two different braces- during and post anomaly. so while there may just be some place in piltover that makes them i’d like to think he just whipped it up all quicklike in his lab the second he got back bc like.. the blueprints are right there lol

his and viktor’s arent entirely similar ofc bc they serve two different functions,, viktors helps to keep his leg/foot facing and moving foward, and jayces kinda just stabilizes/supports his leg i think ? uh but they both help in general to reduce pain

n then viktor, having a leg that didnt develop akin to typical human anatomy, is clearly shown as not the easiest to walk or put pressure in on lmao, especially when he only really got to correct it at like age 30, so like, habits (for lack of a better term) have already been deeply rooted in his posture by now lol

bc, well,, putting any weight on that fucked up Broken In Half shin bone that Definitely Did Not heal correctly (if its even fully healed at this point in the first place) probably causes a bunch of Ouch- hence the supports in the front of his leg,, post anomaly tho, during anomaly its at the sides which was probably just to straighten the injury while it was healing idk.

i cant find a good answer as to why the lower leg support is in the front now but my main guess is so it doesnt put too much strain when he bends his knee/ankle downward, which u can kinda see in ep8 when he blasts viktor and the knockback breaks the part resting on his shoe away, and its hard to see but i think his ankle bends slightly more after the gear breaks ? so thats what i can assume.

clearly im not well versed in the art of KAFO support braces and i tried to look up to the best of my abilities but came up empty handed HAHA who knew itd be so hard referencing similarities between the homemade parallel reality fictional sci fi gear braces and modern irl real orthotic braces LMAO

[empresskaze]

I had this idea for jay/vik and I just know you’ll do its justice!

Viktor takes Jayce to the Undercity to pick up some mechanical parts for their new hextech prototype. The fumes and poor air quality causes Viktor to have an allergy flare, fluff ensues

Yessssssssssssss

~~~~

He should have been used to the fumes. God knows he grew up breathing all the shit the Uppercity deemed unworthy down into the pits of Zaun. Happily poisoning its citizens. Measures had been taken over the years, yes, mostly done by the people suffering the most. But even the higher levels would never fully be free of the pumped in toxins. At least it wasn't nearly as bad as the lowest slum areas.

He should have been wearing a breathing mask, Jayce even suggested it but something about his stupid pride, being from here, even with his illness made him pass on it.

Bad idea.

The handkerchief pressed to his face was doing little to filter any of the air from entering his frail lungs. Viktor coughed harshly, pausing to leave on the crutch. Instinctively he felt Jayce's hand on his back.

"I'm fine, Jayce." He wheezed, trying to take a breath which only made another raspy cough break out.

"And I'm the Dean of the Academy." Jayce remarked.

"You’ve gotten taller Professor Heimerdinger." The corner of Viktor's mouth twitched the faintest smile before another cough overtook him. His chest ached with every breath he gasped for, the fumes taking the little air he had left.

"V, stop, enough." Jayce's hand on his shoulder now, pulling him closer. "This can wait." His tone is soft yet firm in Viktor's ear. "You already weren't feeling well even before we set out. You..."

Jayce is forced to pause as Viktor's shoulders clench, his grip on the crutch handle tightened. A sharp inhale expelled a hard sneeze that Jayce is sure would have knocked his partner over if not for the walking aid.

"Bless you." He said as Viktor straightens as best he can.

Giving a small head nod, Viktor rubs his now itchy nose with his cloth. "I'll head back you get the...th...heh..."

Words caught off again, the air quality playing havoc with his issues, Viktor sneezed twice triggering a that raspy cough to break out.

Body spasming, Viktor nearly dropped to his knees, unconsciously letting go of the handle to cover his nasty cough. Spots dance in front of his blurred vision. No air enters his constricted lungs that beg for air. Dizziness sets in, he's not even sure he's upright anymore but can no longer see the ground. Blood thundering through his ears muffle any sound.

Air suddenly rushed in unimpeded. His lungs relax slightly as the air is no longer dampering their function.

Viktor blinked the tears from his eyes, his surrounding slowly coming into focus. It's then he felt something on his face.

"Don't you dare remove that." Jayce's voice is distinct yet ring in his head. "I'm so glad I decided to bring a mask."

That's what it is as Viktor felt the rubber. Too tired to argue, Viktor simply leaned in closer to Jayce whose arm is firmly around his waist.

They walk or well limp slowly back to the surface, stopping at the bridge. Sitting on the side, Viktor removed the mask, finally breathing in the fresh air of Piltover. He still manages a cough but nothing as terrible as below. Sniffling he cupped his head in his hands massaging around his eyes.

He heard the clank of the crutch as Jayce set it down next to him.

"Stay here. I'll run back and grab what we need, okay?" Jayce asked rubbing his own forehead.

Viktor can only nod as sat less slumped over.

"I mean it, V. Don't try to walk back without me. I'll be quick." Jayce placed his hand on his partner's shoulder.

Viktor looked up at Jayce whose eyes have that determination he loved about him but also that fear whenever Viktor's health takes a turn.

"I'll be bere. Just hurry." Viktor took his crutch in his hand for stability.

As he watched Jayce head back into Zaun, Viktor wondered if he'd last long enough to even see any of their progress come to life. Or would he simply fade away?

[t-the-ring-master]

This will be made as a male reader mostly because I feel like there isn’t enough with female characters and I just want dad character to Brightbill. However, feel free to imagine it as however you like, they are robots so not much happening in that area, so do what you like. And please make sure to salt your purple next time, gives it flavor.

If anyone wishes to be tagged in any future The wild robot posts or anything else, please comment, ask through ask box or just message me!

Imma try and ask C if she can draw T as a Rozzum one of these days. I also wrote this over like an hour. My face hurts so not as long as I wanted it to be but oh well. Hope you enjoy!

I also just added the last part for fun. Also if someone wants to request a continuation of this.

TW: none? No use of Y/N, I use (Name). Mentions of mates and partners I guess? Everyone ships you with Roz I guess.

Request: circus anon

Requests: open

Taglist: @cs-cabin-and-crew @the-lavender-clown

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Roz x Robot!reader

You had crash landed in the woods. Your metal package and your transmitter to contact your built site had been damaged as well.

So you decided to try and find the person whom had ordered you.

Yeah that didn’t go well.

You had been kicked, attacked, chased and more within just the span of 6 hours before giving up and sitting in learning mode to fix the language barrier you’ve found yourself trapped in.

Due to being in learning mode, you hadn’t been paying enough attention to your surroundings, causing you not to notice the Rozzum unit analyzing you.

Fink: what is it Roz?

Roz: it seems to be a Rozzum unit, but I cannot tell the number nor model.

Yeah you scared them when you came out of your learning mode.

(Name): hello! I am the new and improved (Name) Unit: 0001. I am a one of a kind prototype! Here for any needs or demands!

Fink: I’m getting flashbacks.

Roz lead you to her, Bightbill and Finks home. She hadn’t ever seen your model before, so she excitedly asked you questions.

Roz: I’ve never seen your make or model. What are you designed for?

(Name): I am designed for many things. Cooking, shopping, manual labor, heavy lifting, childcare-

Roz: child care?

(Name): indeed, is this something that interests-

Roz: I have a kid.

(Name):…. Alright.

She proceeded to bombard you with questions on what your childcare program provided, which as per your programming, complied.

When you arrived to the home of the Rozzum, she led you inside and began showing you baby pictures of her “kid”

(Name): this is your child?

Roz: yes, he is called Brightbill.

(Name):…. He has your eyes.

You ended up staying with Roz, Fink, and eventually Brightbill when we returned for the spring.

It took a lot of getting used to the fact that you could no longer follow protocol here. But at least some of your programming helped you and the others a bit.

Such as you being more stronger than the Rozzum, as well as having better and hardier equipment than the other models. Fink definitely appreciated your heating mode (which is often used in your caregiver function to help a baby fall asleep) during the harsh winter…. And so did many of the other animals.

Pink tail likes you, since you watch her kids when she needs a break.

Pink tail: you found a good mate Roz. Possums aren’t so lucky when it comes to that.

Roz: what do you mean?

Pink tail: some of us don’t have life mates. (Name) seems to be a pretty good parent though.

Roz: Mate?

Que Roz studying “mate’ and “partner” which rabbit holed her down into “Spouse” and so on.

Fink ships it.

Brightbill ships it.

Pink tail…. You guessed it. Ships it.

Que all the animals trying to keep you two together.

Pink tail: Hey, Roz. (Name) is looking for you!

Fink: hey (Name) I think Roz wants to ask you more questions about your programs. I think she’s at the beach.

Brightbill: hey mom, (Name) wanted me to tell you he’s at the beach.

And so on.

Yeah you both confused by it all.

Eventually you two do end up spending some time together. Actually it was where Roz first met Pink Tail. You were busy analyzing some of the plants around you (as per your programming to search plants in case they have useful properties or are dangerous) while Roz sat there observing.

You two had a good time…. Ignoring the fact that a certain Fox and goose were stalking the two of you.

A couple weeks later, Brightbill let it slip and called you dad. You didn’t mind.

At this point you’ve become just as much as a wild robot as Roz has. And we’re very useful to your new family as you were able to repair minor things for yourself and Roz, which made it easier during winter.

You now also have your own picture with the rest of the family.

The other animals like you, you just kinda have a reputation of being more aloof and less soft compared to Roz.

Unless it’s the young… you are shockingly good with young. (As if you weren’t programmed to take care of them-)

The next winter, you had found an egg and brought it home.

Roz: here we go again.

Brightbill:…. Well I was upset at not having siblings-

[kirkwallguy]

I agree so much with you that Solas is an active detriment to the Dragon age setting. I am replaying Origins, and my incredibly hot take is that Solas recycles a significant amount of Keeper Zathrian's character, in order to create a more "epic" scale narrative that imo is also much weaker and messier than the original Zathrian to the overall scope of the world and to player engagement.

They're both bald magic elves who have been alive for absurd lengths of time, and who are convinced of their own righteousness even when their actions cause or will cause great and unending harm to those around them. At least with Zathrian his "optimal" narrative path (whatever that may be to the player) isn't gated off behind playing a straight woman, my Tabris can butch out with Leliana all I want and still access all modes of narrative engagement with Zathrian, and the Dalish within the Zathrian quest are granted legitimacy and dignity in their beliefs.

I am not a fan of the reveal that the Dalish gods were functionally just powerful mages, it's so obviously a plot beat written by a certain type of atheist who don't see how anyone could have faith in a greater force, or have curiosity about that mode of moving through the world, which is made even sillier when the setting has dragons and ghosts and stuff. Its so similar to the type of story that takes greek/norse/egyptian gods and re-imagines them as regular guys, functionally wizards, in an urban fantasy setting, wanting the power and drama but shedding the belief systems that go along with the gods, and what those systems do and mean to people. There's so much awe and wonder and hope in the codex entries in the Origins Dalish camp - are these gods gone for good, can they ever return and can the Dalish ever go home either with or without their gods' presence? What do the gods mean to a people who have suffered so much and safeguard those pieces of divinity that remain in stories and song and crafts? What might these echoes of distant gods mean to the city elves, so far removed from what once was but still cherishing the traditions they do have? But no, the Dalish were fools for their tattoos and their beliefs, and all the history and remembrances Zathrian kept and passed on to his people was false. What an idiot. Who even remembers that guy?

Anyways, you don't have to post my anonymous tirade, I just am a huge fan of one (1) bald elf so deep in guilt and tragedy and the weight of history that he is either blind to the harm he may cause, or so secure in his pride and belief in his own righteousness that he chooses to close his eyes to that harm. And that elf is not Solas.

i always giggle when i get to zathrian because he's so obviously prototype solas.

and despite his situation, zathrian's goals feel mostly grounded, we see him amongst the clan and understand his dynamics with the people around him. it's kind of impossible to fully grasp solas' whole deal because it's so hypothetical, all these things happened offscreen to characters with incomprehensible power who may have just been spirits at the time anyway. who give a shit...

and i agree with the religion thing but i'd say i always read dai and dav's handling of religion more as being liberal christianism than overzealous atheism. i wrote this post about dai, and i think dav only made it more true:

there's so little exploration of religious practices in dalish culture, dai at least does a little bit with those few sidequests, but dalish clans in dav are something just distantly spoken about and never fully explained. and this is in a game ABOUT the dalish gods. how is bellara saying (over and over again) "our gods are back!!! D:" supposed to hit when we don't know what significance the gods actually have? 😑 they had something really interesting in origins and da2, but it just feels like any other contextless fantasy pantheon now

[homestuckreplay]

Ms. Paint Main Character Theory

(page 1976-1987)

Here it is! The final update before Act 5, and there was a pretty huge reveal saved for this one regarding the current owner of the queen’s ring.

But first!! After abandoning her people to die in the wreckage of Prospit, WQ arrives on Earth and reveals that she’s the owner of a special spirograph shaped key. She uses this to repair the egg-shaped command station, but it might have a couple other uses too.

- WV’s appearifier has a spirograph key toggle, allowing it to move from Earth to the Incipisphere (p.748). Presumably if moved, he could appearify items from the kids’ planets, Prospit, and Derse.

- PM’s sendificator has this same function (p.1128).

- More mysteriously, the locked room of WV’s command station has a spirograph key toggle that points to each side of a frog (p.1411). Its associated device only has one big blue button. Obviously this station was attuned to the frog temple on Jade’s island, both in its appearifier coordinates and homing mechanism. So I wonder if moving this dial attunes it to the frog temple in the Incipisphere, allowing it to travel there instead. I think that’d make sense, but wouldn’t be a super exciting reveal as we’ve already seen what happened in that temple, so I’m holding out for a more surprising reveal.

It feels good and right to see all four exiles hanging out together (plus Serenity) after following their individual stories and seeing how they ended up here. All of them dressed in rags, standing on equal ground, their chess ranks meaningless in this new planet they’ll build together – although PM is still wearing her mailbox crown. WQ speaks to WV and seems to know what he has, which is her once-discarded ring, last seen with dream John on the battlefield, now hidden in WV’s trusty knife. WV, a nonviolent protester who’s never been seen wielding any sort of weapon for combat, has held this knife close since Act 2 (p.683). This makes a lot more sense if the knife was actually a cover for another object.

I kind of assumed that the queens’ rings would only work inside Sburb sessions, mostly because Snowman isn’t wearing hers in the Intermission, and I assumed she’d want the power if she could get it. Still, I guess she’s untouchable even without it, so twelve (!) prototypings might just be an inconvenience. If her head grows strange appendages with the prototypings then her 8-ball hat would never fit. Anyway, the ring WV holds is glowing with all four orbs, so it looks like it still works, and also contains whatever Jade prototyped.

sidenote: I saw someone on a forum calling for Jade to prototype her furry Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff poster to SBAHJify Jack, which is an idea I kinda love.

Any one of the four exiles could wear this ring and gain its powers. WQ reclaiming it is really too obvious, plus she already gave up the crown, and the idea of her abdicating and then reclaiming her power at a moment that suits her doesn’t feel good to me personally – if she can reclaim power at any moment, then she never really gave it up. WV has been carrying the ring around for a long time and never put it on. He’s against the monarchy, and even if he struggles to imagine a power structure outside of it, he dreams of democracy at least in theory. Putting on the ring would go against his stated ideals, and wouldn’t fit with how he’s presented in the narrative as the little guy who has no structural or magical power but manages to rise up anyway and challenge those who do.

PM and AR both make more sense as recipients, in my opinion. When she abdicated, WQ gave PM both the crown and ring, functionally turning both the symbolic and actual power over to her. Both of those were lost to enemy hands, and are now returned. WQ has already symbolically re-crowned PM the leader, and could now turn over the actual power to her. If this happens, I’m not sure PM would actually use the ring (she’s already pretty powerful in her tenacity, diplomatic skills and swordplay), but there is something meaningful in the mail carrier finally being the one to receive the mail, instead of deliver it.

AR’s recent arc focused on him not being powerful enough – he was terrified of Bec’s creation in the frog temple, scared enough that he still surrendered when he saw WV’s pumpkin with the Bec carving much later (p.1363). And even though AR wanted to expose DD’s mutiny, he knew that DD was too powerful to take into custody (p.1924). So AR is the only one of the four exiles who actively seeks power, and might actually want to wear the ring. Obviously I don’t love the idea of the ultimate powerful item ending up in a cop’s hands, and I also don’t think people who seek power are the best ones to receive it. But if the ring is going to be used against Jack somehow as the counterpart to his powers, it’d be interesting if instead of Sburb’s classic ‘light vs dark’, the war becomes ‘old guard vs new guard Derse’, with an AR fighting for the status quo and Jack fighting for radical change – both of which would actually be bad outcomes for the kids, meaning they’d end up fighting against both sides of the war.

However, I have a wild card theory. Recent pages specifically showed that WQ brought her entourage to Earth, just to leave them behind. An entourage led by Ms. Paint, whose adventures these are, in a story that makes extensive meta-references including to the site it’s hosted on (p.112, 327, 831, 1167). That site, in-universe, holds a Midnight Crew adventure starring Spades Slick, who is alternate universe Jack Noir, who wears the Black Queen’s ring. Who better to fight against Jack than the entity who already controls the very medium he exists in? So I’m calling it now – Ms. Paint is gonna show up and wear the ring, return to the Incispisphere, and use it to help the kids take down Jack. It’s bigger than light vs dark, it’s one side of the fourth wall against the other.

Before any of that (in the ring’s timeline, at least), dream John will have to deliver the ring to WV, as he’s now seen in the clouds, and Jade will have to prototype her sprite to make that fourth orb shine, meaning waking John will have to return to LOWAS and finally get her into the Medium. So both versions of John have a critical mission, and he’s going to be working double time. Difficult, considering only one version of John can be active at any given moment. I am excited, though, to see John take over from Jade as the character whose two versions are alternately active in the story and doing important jobs; I think that’ll be one of the big shifts in Act 5.

Finally, there’s a very smooth transition into the second recap, via another cloud John sees in the sky. Like the bunny and the queen’s ring, the fourth wall’s journey is wrapped up. Grandpa stole the wall from Jack at some point during his adventures in the Medium, because he’s always collecting ‘trophies’ from his travels, including things he has no right to (for example, his collection of mummies) – and in this case, he wanted to experiment with its powers. ‘Treasure hunter’ and ‘scientist’ are both in Jade’s long list of Grandpa’s ‘occupations’. Jade plays with this wall and tries to copy its design, but is unable to get it to work (p.790), because as the fourth wall, its power exists outside of Skaia (the source of her talents) and outside the story itself. But its presence in her house explains why Jade is closer to the fourth wall than other characters, and has some ability to communicate with the player – for example, letting them play with her modus (p.808-12). Neat. ‘chalk another riddle up in the solved column’, as Rose would say (p.1858).

Final question: has Grandpa communicated with AH, and what does that mean if he has?

[lynns-bonkle-blog]

Metru Nui Archives data log 35494: Cordak Blaster Prototype

Log author: Chief Archivist Etoku

I am prefacing this data log with a reminder to the Kehrex Weapons Company that the Archives is not seeking a corporate sponsor, and that any attempts to convince us, or any other Metruan organisation, to convert to your philosophy of "capitalism" will not succeed, no matter how many "rare" prototype weapons you send us (if you wanted us to believe they were rare, you shouldn't have sent so many).

With that out of the way, let's talk about what our... magnanimous would-be benefactors thought was worth shipping all the way from Xia, starting with a bit of preamble about the history of Cordak Blasters.

The Cordak Blaster is a rotary-barrel, muzzle-loaded missile launcher, and one of the most widely used vehicle-mounted weapons in the universe, though beings with enough strength (or under other conditions that make things lighter such as being underwater or within the radius of a Toa of Gravity's powers) can also carry them as handheld weapons.

The Blasters work by using a reciprocating motor to drive a pump that pushes compressed air into the top barrel, propelling the missile (or "mini-rocket", as they are commonly known) forwards, while also triggering a mechanism that rotates the barrels through 60°, readying the next shot. Meanwhile, the missile's inbuilt propulsion system activates, and it travels in a roughly straight line before usually hitting its mark. This process takes such a short time that Cordak Blasters can fire rapidly, though their low ammunition capacity can be an issue.

As you can guess from its… unusual firing method, the Cordak Blaster was first conceptualised by the Vortixx of Xia during their industrial revolution. They were sold to military commanders and rulers on other islands, most of whom proceeded to resell theirs elsewhere.

The ammunition is surprisingly stable, and can be safely stored upon a being's armour with little to no fear of detonation. It's also worth noting that any object with a similar diameter to the barrels of a Cordak Blaster can also be fired by one, though it won't go far without any additional propulsion.

Along with the standard version, there's also a much larger variant, the "Nui Cordak", designed for mounting on warships and other large vehicles, and a smaller, cheaper variant known as the Firework Revolver, which is said to have been developed in collaboration with the legendary Nynrah Ghosts (though this could just be a fabrication for marketing purposes).

The weapon's name is derived from the Toa Cordak, a Toa Team who are most well-known for being disintegrated by Zyglak, to the point that, according to my more... outgoing colleagues, the word "Cordak" has come to be used as a colloquial synonym for desolation. Prior to the unfortunate demise of the Toa Cordak, they were referred to as simply "Revolving Blasters", and you can tell the age of a Cordak Blaster by whether the name on the side is prefaced with the word "Cordak".

Now then, let's get onto the topic at hand. This prototype Cordak Blaster looks and functions vastly differently than the final version.

To start with the least notable change, the pumping mechanism is an external unit, connected via thick, translucent hoses to the back of the weapon. The hoses would presumably have been a major weak-point, and the pump is about as large and as heavy as a regular Cordak Blaster.

But where things get interesting are with the weapon itself, as well as its ammunition. Rather than a rotary design that allows for rapid firing, the prototype Blaster instead uses a gravity-fed loading system, drawing from a box-magazine that clips onto the top, and fires from a single, rather bulky barrel.

The overall form-factor, air-pump aside, is much smaller, built into a gauntlet that is sized for most classes of Toa. The Matoran over in the Weapons Testing complex managed to get it to work by attaching it to an ancient artificial Toa arm from the Level 2 Prosthetics & Implants gallery, then controlling the arm using a machine that Archivists Nuparu and Mavrah designed for this exact purpose.

What this testing showed was how the prototype missiles worked; painted entirely yellow, they were cylindrical, rather than the thin, flared shape and red colouration of the final missile designs, and seemed to be made out of solid metallic protodermis. Rather than exploding on impact, they instead functioned similarly to traditional projectile weapons such as Kanoka, impacting the target with a large amount of physical force; all but one of the targets that the weapons-testers had set up were destroyed by the Blaster, with the remaining one gained a large dent in its torso-piece when the aiming system of the testing arm glitched.

Since Kehrex provided us with a hundred crates of ammunition (each crate contains seven magazines, for a total of exactly two-thousand eight-hundred projectiles) and twenty Blasters, I got the weapon testers to try loading the prototype projectiles into the final design and vice-versa, and the results were. Interesting.

Test 1 resulted in the projectiles loudly falling to the testing-chamber floor, due to the lack of additional propulsion. Rather disappointing, but to be expected. However, Test 2 was far more interesting; while the Blaster itself was damaged, the rockets fired as standard, albeit with a far higher initial launch velocity. I requested that the damaged blaster be put on display next to the intact versions, with an explanation of what happened to it, and that only one of the intact blasters be displayed; the rest will go into storage, along with the remaining ammunition.

Personally I believe these will be quite popular with visitors, though I doubt this will cause Kehrex to cease their attempts at buying our attention.

Artifact information:

Categories: Inanimate, Weapon

Current location: Level 3, Weapons gallery.

End of log.

Addendum by Surgical Director Gogot: Hey boss you should of just asked me what toa types it fits. You're office is literally like five doors from the dissection lab. For the record, its only compatible with the arm structures of class-2 toa, as they are the ones who were active during the creation of this weapon.

[marcusrobertobaq]

I'd say, again, Hank is quite lucky the suspect (in this case Rupert) wasn't armed.

He could've gotten killed... not that he cares, i guess?

But it's funny cuz someone would've just used the android as shield to enter the room (while screaming to the suspect to open the door and surrender), but Hank orders Connor to stay behind and let Hank take care of things - what shows, at least to me, how Hank doesn't really trust Connor or androids in general, or at least don't trust 'em to not do shit that will piss him off, such as disobedience and "bad procedure".

Also at the same time he finds the idea of this state of art prototype "getting damaged" not a very cool "idea". So rather him than the android xD

Still, it shows how no one takes androids seriously in the beginning. One could argue they'd even have a uniformed officer with 'em just in case, but since Connor is there he's the 1001 functions (and no one else is "disponible") - even tho he's technically not allowed to use a gun or arrest, and Hank doesn't even "use" him either besides letting the guy do his CSI job, ofc after Connor gives him no fucking choice cuz he'll CSI Hank wanting it or not.

Either Hank is a genius and know exactly how deviants tick (including they not being armed) or he just don't care about "don't stay in front of the suspect's closed door after u made your presence known".

[thesudokukid]

Why Connor is a Deviant Hunter Pt. 1

AO3 Link Next->

Hey, sudoku, didn't you post that story already? Why does this post say Part 1?

I made the post, set up an afternoon reblog that I forgot to delete, and then went to the grocery store. And then completely forgot about it until I returned etc. And again. And again. And then I forgot to add tags. Executive function is a bitch is what I'm saying. (This is updating tomorrow on AO3, but you guys actually interacted with what existed unlike them. So you're getting this a day early.)

WC: ~2,000

Summary:

Connor's description in the Extras gallery is as follows:

Connor is a prototype, named the RK800, created by CyberLife. Its initial goal is to assist human detectives in their investigations by offering them technological assistance. He is also equipped with a social module which is specially developed to create the "ideal partner", capable of integrating into any team

Why, then, is he a Deviant Hunter? This story is a partial attempt to answer that question, at least, in this universe.

As Hank is enjoying his time with Sumo, Connor realizes that if he thinks hard enough he can remember a dark classroom setting with a grainy video of Hank telling the story of how his wife died. A story where he (at the time) blamed the android. And in doing so, taught Connor to do the same.

Connor shuts the door behind Ainsel and lets out a sigh. Something inside of him shifted when that wall came down. He just isn't sure what.

A nearby door closes and Connor looks to Hank’s bedroom, the most likely place for Hank to be.

Hank is standing there, dressed in “real” clothing and not the pajamas from earlier.

“I just got off the phone with Ben, he's uh taking me to the emergency room. Make sure everything’s all right and all. You said you found me passed out on the floor yeah? That you broke into my house to check on me?”

Here Hank gestures vaguely towards the window with a garbage bag taped over it.

Connor flinches at his raised hand, even knowing Hank will not hit him. Wouldn't dare to with Ainsel in the same house.

And then flinches again at the memory of finding Hank on the floor, drunk and unconscious. And the fact that he did not do the smart thing and call for emergency services.

“I should have called for an ambulance,” Connor says. He begins adding up the numbers of the Fibonacci sequence in his head.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89.

It isn't enough. It just isn't enough. He needs more than that. Cyberlife would deactivate him for making a mistake that enormous. And he knows Hank will not harm him if Ainsel is nearby. That was why his strategy in the early days favored kindness towards Ainsel over kindness towards Hank.

Not only to repay Ainsel for their earlier kindness at the hostage situation where they first met. But because his analysis showed that someone like Hank would be much easier to build rapport with if he focused his efforts on Ainsel.

But this is a mistake so large that surely, surely Hank is going to report it. “Tell on him” to Cyberlife. End the life Connor is now beginning to hope he might deserve when the only thing that ought to hope for is Amanda's praise.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89.

Connor takes out his coin and begins doing Icarus over and over and over again. Making the coin sail into the air and catching it just before it can slip through his fingers.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89.

On and on and on it goes. The entire time, he keeps thinking like a mantra about how Hank will not hurt him. He is safe. Hank will not hurt him. He is safe. Hank will NOT hurt him. He is safe.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89.

Hank lowers his hand and slowly settles the hand on Connor's shoulder. Pats Connor a few times as if to assure that he isn't a threat.

“Hey Connor, I know you're used to working for a bunch of rich pricks and all but people lose their houses over not bein’ able to pay for the hospital bill. Shit sometimes the bills get so bad they start prayin’ to die.”

Connor knew this in theory but not in fact. He returns his coin to its rightful place then nods and gestures for Hank to continue.

—

Hank leans back against a nearby wall. “You know when I was going to college, one of the other kids had a dog chain around their neck sayin’ they were an epileptic and to please not call for an ambulance ‘cause they couldn't pay.”

Connor is unsurprised so far. College students are known to be a demographic that struggles financially.

He gestures that Hank can continue speaking. And he does.

“Don't get me wrong, I’m comfortable, I’ve got decent health insurance an’ shit but fuck…”

Hank runs a hand through his hair, likely trying to calculate how much the bill would have cost him.

Connor stays quiet. He’s interested in the math of it all, truly. But he doesn't want to take the risk that he'll end up intellectualizing the problem. Treating Hank and the very real problems of American life with less respect than they deserve.

It’s none of his business what kind of health insurance plan Hank is on. Or how much money Hank is saving for emergency expenses. Up until now it's been purely statistical for him that the leading cause of being unhoused is medical debt. It isn't anymore. Hank, at least, would have somewhere to go if driven into deep medical debt.

Connor lets Hank keep his thoughts to himself for a time as he makes sure Hank’s dining table is clean. That he hasn't missed anything. Tries thinking about the problem of the American medical industry on the level of simulated emotions rather than pure logic as Cyberlife has counseled him to do. It's the only way to give the problem the respect it deserves while Hank is speaking on it. He can do independent research later, after Hank is safely in the hospital.

—

Connor keeps thinking on the issue as Hank makes his way to the restroom.

With Ainsel living across the street, Hank's life would hardly need to change in any meaningful way. Especially since Ainsel's intelligent (and anxious) enough that he's sure they would call and insist on some sort of payment plan before adjusting their finances to help pay off the debt.

With Hank being middle aged he thinks Ainsel would have insisted on the house being in their name at some point within the past five years. So that even in the event of bankruptcy, Hank would always have somewhere to live.

In general, Hank could probably go and live with Ainsel, if he needed. It's highly likely he would see no other major changes in his lifestyle. Most people aren't so lucky. It's a sobering thought for him.

One of the realities he hadn't been exposed to while working for Cyberlife directly. It brings to mind all those times that a human has told him they consider themselves fortunate to work for Cyberlife. In fact, Connor doesn't think he, even once, saw a Cyberlife employee or contractor working with him worry about medical bills or expenses. At least not for long.

For instance, one of them mentioned how the price of insulin was costing them a fortune. They came to work the next day whistling cheerfully before expressing that Cyberlife had managed to get them a brand new vial of insulin. Two weeks later an executive order limited the price of insulin to $30. Somehow, looking back, Connor no longer thinks that was a coincidence or a mere stroke of good luck.

—

The flush of a bathroom toilet interrupts his thoughts.

“I had to take a piss.”

The programming takes exception to Hank's crude way of saying he was in need of using the restroom. Connor himself can only smile at how much better Hank seems to be feeling.

Hank looks around, confused, as if trying to remember what he was saying.

Connor tries not to laugh. “You were telling me you have decent health insurance?”

Hank nods appreciatively.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Like I was sayin’, I’m comfortable and I’ve got decent health insurance. But if you'd called the ambulance on me there's a good chance I woulda been stuck with the whole bill.”

Connor nods, he'd discerned as much while Hank was in his bathroom. His every thought is, naturally, interrupted by what Hank says next.

“You saved me a fortune not calling the boo boo bus to come get me back up again.”

Connor blinks, “The what?”

He feels a brief moment of apprehension at interrupting Hank in the middle of his speech. He knows that Hank is not going to hurt him but that doesn't mean he “feels” that way.

Hank gives Connor a grin, stopping his self-blame before it starts.

“You know the fuckin’, it’s the boo boo bus. The wee woo wheels. The whambulance.”

Connor allows himself a slight smile at Hank's silly names for the ambulance. His apprehension slowly recedes like tides on a shore.

Hank, still grinning, nods at if he considers that a job well done.

The grin disappears from Hank's face. A focused, thoughtful look replaces it.

“Anyways, it's good you didn't call the ambulance, ‘cause I probably would have had to pay the fuckin’ bill. Not like they’d want to pay for me goin’ just because I got drunk off my ass.”

Nothing that Connor can think of seems as if it would be an appropriate thing to say. Nothing except, “I suppose.”

And even that seems rather lacking.

But it's the only thing that he could have said. Nothing else seems as if it would have “done the trick”.

Hank sighs, “You know, the only reason I’m even as ‘lucky’ as I am is ‘cause my wife died on the table. You know that whole thing with the doctor that danced during surgery? The new one I mean.”

Connor tilts his head, Cyberlife’s version of events did not involve a doctor. At all. He gestures for Hank to continue speaking.

Hank sighs again, this time exasperated. “Anyway, my wife's on the table for this big emergency surgery. There used to be this option at the hospital, they’d give you some kind of a discount if you let ‘em record the surgery for medical students to watch later. Good program, in theory.”

A cold feeling settles over Connor. He knows the particulars of this case inside and out. At least, he thought he did. He’s spent many nights considering that particular case. The one where an upstart android killed a wife and mother with its carelessness and arrogance. At least that was how he first learned about the case.

Connor nods in a way that he hopes is encouraging. Tries his best not to appear as if a fundamental belief about Deviancy is being shaken.

It must work because Hank continues speaking like a fact of Connor’s life isn't being called into question.

Hank scratches his cheek, “I’m saying ‘in theory’ here because it depends on the kind of doctor you get. If you get lucky, you get someone that actually does the damned surgery without playing it up for the camera. Nice, boring surgery. End of story. My wife? Got about the worst damned person you can get.”

Hank is silent for a long time. He reminds Connor, in that moment, of a wounded old soldier. Weary and tired of fighting the war that is his life but still willing to carry on for those he cares about.

But this is one battle that Connor can spare him from. At least temporarily. And carefully too. The memory seems to hurt Hank very much, yes. But given his stubborn personality, is quite likely to see the tough discussion through no matter how much pain it causes him. Simply to avoid the shame of a retreat.

Gently but firmly Connor says, “I think enough difficult subjects have been discussed or experienced for one night. Don’t you?”

Hank looks down, nods at Connor. “Yeah. Yeah. Uh… I’m gonna…go and hang out with Sumo now.”

Hank walks away from Connor and moves to sit on his couch only to be pounced on by an overjoyed St. Bernard.

—

As Hank is enjoying his time with Sumo, Connor realizes that if he thinks hard enough he can remember a dark classroom setting with a grainy video of Hank telling the story of how his wife died. A story where he (at the time) blamed the android. And in doing so, taught Connor to do the same.