#*dox scribbles

[carcharadroid]

rummaging through old old (incredibly old) art and found this gif lineup of every version of Reboot I had created at the time

I,,,

could stand to update this because I've since made a few more

[gumbleboy]

Gorosei on the Snail Laptop (snaptop)

[aulerean]

Exposing my terrible handwriting, but I drew a thing today so I wanted to share it

[sickness-stricken]

Please do not interact with the post doxxing Sai, simply report and block the account. Lily Orchard’s stans have officially sunk too fucking far

[owl-with-a-pen]

The 21st century was abundant with challenges; indeed, Brainy was starting to believe it had yet to crawl its way out from the dark ages.

The technology was a joke, buckling under his own vastly superior interface every time he tried to connect with something mentally. Until he’d made the necessary adjustments to his own internal network – a task he was not looking forward to - the old-fashioned way was the only method these so-called computers seemed to respond to.

Being here was… uncomfortable to say the least. Though the hardware in these backwards machines was easy enough to decipher, the information they held within was wholly alien to him. Social media, dating profiles, in-app purchases; the state of the internet had been reduced to a shallow caricature of its true potential. The only data this generation seemed to care about were the gigs on their mobile telephone devices – crude little rectangles that weren’t even capable of hosting a low-level hologram.

It was all necessary, of course. His discomfort paled in comparison to the enormity of their mission here. Mon-El had been predictably frosty since learning the truth about he and Imra’s… omittance of certain crucial details surrounding their arrival in this century, though Brainy knew it wouldn’t last. He’d calculated the odds - another few days, and Mon-El would have well and truly thawed.

Despite how important their being here was, it didn’t mean he had to like this century by any means. He’d been accessing all he could on the history of this time since Supergirl’s mission to Fort Rozz had gone sour, adding any and all significant events to his thought tracks on the slim chance he might be caught off guard again. He did not want to suffer the same humiliation as before. Being usurped by this Winn Schott on a technicality was nothing short of mortifying. Besides, how was he meant to have known about some ancient probe, anyway? How was he meant to know anything about how this backwards, primitive, exhausting time period operated?

But that was in the past. Winn had proven himself marginally more useful than Brainy had initially calculated, and though his teammates may have suspected he was avoiding the DEO for that reason, the truth was far less convoluted.

In all honesty, the DEO was a loud and chaotic hive of a building, flocked with soldiers who paraded themselves about this self-proclaimed masterpiece of modernity as though the technology there wasn’t outright laughable. Nothing responded to him as it should, in fact, nothing responded to him at all. It made his skin crawl being so isolated within his own network, to be so far removed from everything he had once relied on as indisputable fact. Imra and Mon-El had certainly noticed his discomfort, because they made no objection to his many transparent excuses to remain inside the ship.

Another recent and far more concerning discovery of the 21st century… were the people. Brainy had at first considered them a positive. After all, the likelihood of anyone recognising him for the stain that was his family name in this century was incredibly low. As far as the history books recorded, Brainiac had not visited Earth to date.

What they had failed to state was that the humans of the 21st century were not yet accustomed to sharing their planet with the outer universe.

Human/alien relations were not sturdy by any means, leading to an alarming trend in the acquisition of image inducer technology. Brainy was no stranger to such gadgets, they were sold as cheap toys where he was from, although there was little need for them in the 31st century. Perhaps on an occasion where the Legion were needed for a covert mission, although even those were usually operated by the espionage squad.

But to use an image inducer out of personal safety on an every-day basis? It sounded downright archaic.

Brainy had learned the hard way how humans took to his less-than normal appearance the first time he had ventured out on his own. Though Supergirl and her friends took no alarm to his natural visage, outside of the DEO, people were far less understanding.

A quick review of recent marketing trends had led to his own acquisition. Though there were changes to this century he was willing to make for the greater good - for Imra - he did not wish to do anything that might destabilise the already rocky relationship mankind had with their alien compatriots. Progress was around the corner, and Brainy very much wanted to keep it that way.

And so, not only was he to make nice with the technology here, but he was also made to adhere it to his own flesh.

The first chance he got, Brainy found himself alone in his quarters, fiddling impatiently with his newly acquired children’s toy.

He stared nervously at his reflection in the holographic mirror, making miniscule hand gestures across his face as he adjusted the inducer’s settings for human features. Even in this century, image inducers were a small but clever gadget, working on a psychic wavelength that affected the viewer’s perception of the user’s chosen presented image. Fortunately, that also made it the perfect tool for Brainy to connect with his own interface.

The device had, ironically, been designed first by L-Corp, a technology giant once owned by the notorious Lex Luthor - a name that had made it all the way to the 31st century in more than one sense of the word. Since Luthor’s incarceration, the company had been acquired by his sister. Lena. Brainy had heard Kara mention her name in passing already, enough that he understood her as an ally in this time. Though, a quick but thorough check of recent news articles circulating her endeavours showed that not everyone was on her side.

He could certainly relate to that.

From his research, he was confident that Lena’s mind was every bit as brilliant as her brother’s, perhaps more-so considering her pursuits towards good over ill. Though image inducers were still in a local testing phase, the plan was to release them worldwide within six months. No matter how Brainy felt about that, he couldn’t deny the results. The image inducer had done exactly as is had described.

Stood before him was a Querl Dox he no longer recognised.

It was still inarguably him, for his physical features had only been hidden behind a thin veil of human toned hair and skin. It was easier that way for human minds to adjust to the telepathic suggestion, and certainly made it simpler for Brainy to digest.

It was odd to say the least, and the longer he stared dumbfounded at his new reflection, the more he began to notice not what had been changed - but what was missing.

Silently, Brainy drew a hand across his forehead, watching the resultant frown lines that appeared across his freshly unblemished skin.

His inhibitors. Of course. How strange; he'd nearly forgotten what he looked like without them. It had been so long since…

No.

A shudder passed down Brainy’s spine. That was not something he was allowed to indulge. His appearance was his strength, his inhibitors his courage. To think of it as anything else was illogical. Wrong.

Besides, he’d dismissed the notion of dreaming a long time ago.

And yet, in that moment of vulnerability, he felt his mind relax, allowing a single thought to surface. One that he’d kept buried for far too long.

As Brainy continued to stare into the soft glow of his reflection, he watched as his image inducer latched onto that one renegade thought, spinning it into reality.

His human toned flesh was human no longer. Instead, it blossomed with green pigment, surfacing in blotches through his pores. The black hair he had decided upon was already lightening again, abstaining from its leeched colouring by halting a few shades short of pure white. Instead, after a few moments, it fell about his shoulders in a soft, free flowing blond, curling inward at odd ends, no longer coarse in appearance, but rather smooth and velvety.

His forehead remained bare, reinstated with the deep and healthy green of his people.

Brainy didn’t dare breathe, holding himself so still that his eyes began to burn.  

He couldn’t see his inhibitors, he couldn’t see them, and with that realisation, his chest swelled with an emotion that was hard to describe. It felt light and airy, rising to his head with a giddy thrill.

But the image inducer could only do so much. Invisible or not, he could still feel them beneath the illusion, a hum of energy in his ears he’d long ago taught himself to drown out.

They were heavy. It wasn’t something he thought about often, but they were. They pinched and irritated his skin, causing undue strain at his neck - yet more discomforts he’d learned to live with over the years. Because so long as they were there, he knew he posed no danger to anyone.

They would all be safe.

Don’t you want that, Querl?

Brainy flinched hard, revulsion twisting his stomach. With that, the image dispelled, and the next time he blinked his eyes open, he was blue again.

His inhibitors glowed hot on his face, as though spiting him for what he’d just done.

What had he just done…?

Brainy shook himself, jerking a hand to the side of his jaw, eager to continue his original preset. He ignored the tremor in his wrist, the telltale churn of nausea in his gut, and focused solely on finishing what he’d set out to achieve.

It was a silly toy, he reminded himself. Nothing more. It would help him present as human when necessary. That was all.  

He could not allow himself the comfort of such an absurd illusion again.

Besides, the feeling would pass, just like every intense emotion that had come before it – it would be curbed and then controlled.

And then, this uncomfortable sensation would go away.

Brainy made another hasty gesture, pre-emptively deleting the Coluan preset from the inducer’s memory file. It would not be needed.

Once he was satisfied with his human visage, he saved the settings for future use, waving away his holo-mirror with a certain level of relief.

Now that the trivial had been dealt with, he could sink his twelfth level mind into matters that were sure to take some of those nerves away.

After all, he still had a mission he needed to complete.  

[not-actually-human]

naddpod d&d court reference?

[astravates]

i am….. going to shit myself with excitement.

[scribbly07]

near instant

[argitscumdump]

I'm back with my questions hehe

what else would you have liked to see or know about Brin?

OMG, Hello again!!!

This is gonna seem like a bit of a cop-out, but just MORE.

Like, we’ve seen that he’s a good fighter, and that he’s smart but a tad dense towards pop culture (high Intelligence, low Wisdom, if you will), and that he’s got snark out the ass, but I wanted to see more of him!

I like seeing characters do stuff and fuck up, or interact with people they’ve been wronged by. I wanna see more of the aftermath of S2E2 and how he regards Kel, Cos, Phantom, and Cham after the fact past the little bit we got. I wanna know what happened to his ma, or if he was some kinda test-tube baby his sperm donor cooked up. Fuck, I would give my left kidney for a whole episode of him attempting leadership, or one of his many off-screen missions.

SHOW ME HIM PACKING EVERYTHING AWAY IN HIS BRAIN. Bc that’s the only plausible, in-universe explanation for him being the exact same before and after all the Events he’s gone through (ffs, man watched/lived through a universe-ending incident, like, three months after finding some friends and a whole new life, and you’re telling me he just…shrugs it off? I know he’s terrible at showing emotion but COME ON.). Either that or give us his struggles, his apologies, MORE BANTER.

I love watching him and PG snip at each other and then lock in when it counts. I want more of him and Brainy talking shop, his and Lightnings rivalry, THE MAN BAKING COOKIESSS. I wanna see what their downtime looks like regardless, but him and his baking gives me life.

I want more of that man being happy in the most roundabout, slightly agonizing way, if that makes sense.😅

[caramelmochacrow]

nana dog oh and junnya is there too

[carcharadroid]

look at my jack o lantern, boy

[literallyimthenerdemoji]

god forbid i try to have a conversation with my sister about her crush bruh

[dearbisexual]

Ok March home and lock screens are these dolls I thought were pretty :)

source post / source post for both images :)

[crisis-squad]

fit had me feeling like kishibe

emotions have me feeling like onodera

[hardcockcafe]

happy to announce I am no longer the only woman. apologies gay men everywhere for taking this seat

does anyone have that tweet where someone is like I’m such a hag I would keep going to gay clubs if they brought back gay porn. me rn

[rowinablx]

Alright, let’s rip into this with the subtlety of a sledgehammer through a stained-glass window. Buddie shippers—you know who you are, the ones clutching your fanfics like sacred texts and screaming into the void of Tumblr and Twitter about how Eddie Diaz and Evan "Buck" Buckley are destined to be soulmates despite zero evidence in the actual show—your toxicity is a blight on the 9-1-1 fandom, and it’s high time someone called it out for the festering mess it is. You’ve turned what could’ve been a fun, speculative corner of the internet into a cesspool of entitlement, delusion, and outright hostility that makes wading through fandom discourse feel like trudging through a landfill after a rainstorm.

First off, let’s talk about your obsession with "subtext" that isn’t there. You cherry-pick every lingering glance, every moment of platonic camaraderie, and twist it into some grand romantic narrative that exists solely in your heads. Buck and Eddie are best friends—brothers-in-arms forged by trauma and trust—and you’ve warped that beautiful bond into something it’s never been scripted to be. You’re not "reading between the lines"; you’re scribbling your own fanon over a script that doesn’t support it, then throwing tantrums when the writers don’t cater to your fantasies. Newsflash: the show isn’t your personal sandbox. Tim Minear and the team don’t owe you a damn thing, least of all a romance that’s never been hinted at in canon beyond your fevered imaginations.

And oh, the toxicity—where do I even start? You’ve harassed actors, writers, and fellow fans with a venom that’s frankly unhinged. Oliver Stark says Buck’s bisexual awakening with Tommy Kinard was a story he was proud to tell? You flood his mentions with whining about how it "should’ve been Eddie." Ryan Guzman dares to play Eddie as a straight man with his own complex arc? You call him homophobic or claim he’s "queerbaiting" by—checks notes—existing as a character who doesn’t conform to your headcanon. You’ve turned the fandom into a battleground, doxxing people who ship other pairings, sending death threats over BuckTommy, and acting like anyone who disagrees with your Buddie gospel is some kind of fandom heretic. It’s not passion; it’s a tantrum dressed up as devotion.

Let’s not forget the mental gymnastics you perform to dismiss anything that contradicts your ship. Buck’s relationship with Tommy—canon, on-screen, confirmed—was a groundbreaking moment for a character who’d been floundering in dead-end romances with women. But instead of celebrating that representation, you sneered at it, called Tommy a "stepping stone," and insisted it was just a plot device to "delay" Buddie. You couldn’t handle that Buck’s queerness didn’t revolve around Eddie, so you trashed a perfectly good storyline out of spite. And when BuckTommy inevitably ended—because relationships in procedurals often do—you didn’t mourn it as a natural arc; you gloated like it was some cosmic victory for your cause. That’s not shipping; that’s a cult mentality.

The entitlement is suffocating. You act like 9-1-1 is a choose-your-own-adventure book where your votes dictate the outcome, and when it doesn’t bend to your will, you scream "queerbaiting" louder than a foghorn. Here’s a reality check: queerbaiting requires intent to mislead, and 9-1-1 has never dangled Buddie as a promise. You built that expectation yourselves, then blamed the show for not delivering. Meanwhile, actual queer rep—like Buck’s bisexuality or Hen and Karen’s marriage—gets overshadowed by your relentless whining. You’re not champions of representation; you’re gatekeepers of a fantasy that drowns out what’s real.

And the irony? You claim to love these characters, but you reduce them to props in your shipping war. Eddie’s struggles with grief, faith, and fatherhood? Irrelevant unless they serve Buddie. Buck’s journey of self-discovery and vulnerability? Only matters if it ends with Eddie’s arms around him. You don’t care about their growth as individuals; you just want your fanfic validated on-screen, consequences to the story be damned. It’s selfish, shallow, and sucks the joy out of a show that’s supposed to be about heroism, not your soap opera wet dreams.

So here’s the brutal truth, Buddie shippers: your toxicity has made you the fandom’s own emergency call—a disaster everyone else has to navigate around. You’ve taken a show about found family and turned it into a battleground for your unhinged obsession, alienating anyone who dares to enjoy 9-1-1 for what it actually is. Keep clutching your fanart and screaming into the echo chamber of your fandom, but don’t expect the rest of us to pretend it’s anything but noise. And while BuckTommy didn’t last long, at least it was canon—something your ship, for all its noise and bluster, will never be. Deal with it.