#Space Transport System Program

[lonestarflight]

Concept art of the fully reusable Space Shuttle using Saturn V S-IC stage.

Date: 1972

NASA ID: S72-456-X

SDASM Archives: 08_01044

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

Extremely annoyed bc I couldn't fall asleep for like 2 hours last night bc I was vividly hallucinating an entire scene for my novel but I have neither the time nor the energy to write it down atm and I'm so worried I'm gonna forget

[fatehbaz]

can't stop thinking like this when i see posts

"three types of animals defined by utility and simplified transactional relationship to humans. including categories of productivity, domestic companionship, or passive/threat/disgust/pest":

British and colonial American institutional and folk taxonomy of "the natural world" in the eighteenth century. The unofficial-but-still-influential way of imagining animals in "utilitarian" ways that support material accumulation and colonial "productive land" and "land improvement." Like a secularization of previously explicitly-religious "great chain of being" schema but adapted for Englightenment-era scientific cosmology that reifies racialized imaginaries of environmental space and reinforces class/racial/species hierarchies with technical expertise.

"we have to do something about the distances":

Britain and the United States in the nineteenth century trying to control the globe and conquer "frontiers" and obsessively trying to more quickly and efficiently move trade, industrial products, information, communications, administrators, indentured laborers, and imperial military across seas and vast distances to cement hegemony by utilizing technical expertise with railroad networks, sailing ships, steamships, investments in cartographic surveying, latitude/longitude establishment, canals, and elaborate systems of telegraph lines.

"they should make a big heavy machine beast that can pull tons of black iron across grasslands and such":

British Empire technicians, Canadian administrators, and their US advisers from 1900-1930-ish when the Canadian "federal government also established breeding programs designed to cross cattle with bison or yak to create a new [ultimate] range animal" with "a reserve stock of pure blood bison of the highest potency" and an "enthusiasm for stocking northern [boreal and northern Great Plains] environments with exploitable game populations" when "nothing, in fact, captured the imagination of bureaucrats and private promoters in the early twentieth century more than the idea of importing domesticated reindeer from northern Europe as a the vanguard of a settled and prosperous agricultural civilization in northern Canada." And they partially pursued the project as "a response to the success of Americans" in "assimilating" the Inuit by importing 82,000 European reindeer to Alaska by 1916: "[A]n Alaskan Bureau of Education Report proudly proclaimed [...]: 'within less than a generation, the [slur] throughout northern and western Alaska have been advanced through one entire stage of civilization.'"

And in the same decade with British administrators in Southeast Asia, when they pursued the "purchase of elephants whose labour made possible the logging and transport of this harder-to-reach teak [in Burma]. By the period between 1919 and 1924, elephants represented the largest assets owned by the biggest timber firm operating in the colony […]. This animal capital, of around three thousand creatures, represented [...] the equivalent of roughly a third of the corporation's liabilities [...]. And these elephants must have been busy. This five-year period saw half a million tons of teak exported out of the colony, the overwhelming majority of which was exported by a handful of large British-owned firms. Their ownership of these beasts of burden gave imperial trading firms a considerable advantage."

"america will be a manufacturing nation once more , We're going to build great and terrible machines, so great and terrible they carve the land they walk on, the sun will set and it will rise and the forge will still burn and the hammer will still ring true folks"

Without comment:

[Quote.] [O]n the morning of February 20, 1915, [...] Franklin K. Lane, the secretary of the Interior […] intoned to the crowd, “The seas are now but a highway before the doors of the nations […]. The greatest adventure is before us, the gigantic adventure of an advancing democracy, strong, virile, kindly, and in that advance we shall be true to the indestructible spirit of the American Pioneer.” The fair did not officially commence, however, until President Wilson […] pressed a golden key linked to an aerial tower […], whose radio waves sparked the top of the Tower of Jewels, tripped a galvanometer, and closed a relay, swinging open the doors of the Palace of Machinery, where a massive diesel engine started to rotate. […] [T]he PPIE was organized to commemorate the completion of the Panama Canal […]. As one of the many promotional pamphlets declared, "California marks the limit of the geographical progress of civilization. For unnumbered centuries the course of empire has been steadily to the west." […] One subject that received an enormous amount of time and space was […] the areas of race betterment and tropical medicine. Indeed, the fair's official poster, the "Thirteenth Labor of Hercules," [the construction of the Panama Canal] symbolized the intertwined significance of these two concerns […] that crowned San Francisco as the Jewel of the Pacific. […] The construction of the Panama Canal unfolded against the backdrop of […] the installation of American colonial rule in Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, Guam, and Hawai’i. […] In San Francisco, […] this meant the presence of artifacts such as Fountain of Energy, a strong male mounted on horseback […] crowned by figurines of “Fame” and “Valor.” Referred to by its creator as the Victor of the Canal, this sculpture symbolized “the vigor and daring of our mighty nation […].” In his address titled "The Physician as Pioneer," the president-elect of the American Academy of Medicine, Dr. [W.H.], credited the colonization of the Mississippi Valley to the discovery of quinine […]. [A]t the Pan-American Medical Congress, where its president, Dr. [C.R.] delivered a lengthy address praising the hemispheric security ensured by the 1823 Monroe Doctrine and "the combined genius of American medical scientists […]" in the Canal Zone. […] [A]s [CR]'s lecture ultimately disclosed, his understanding of Pan-American medical progress was based […] on the enlightened effects of "Aryan blood" in American lands. […] [End quote.]

Source: Alexandra Minna Stern. "Race Betterment and Tropical Medicine in Imperial San Francisco." Eugenic Nation: Faults and Frontiers of Better Breeding in Modern America. Second Edition. 2016.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Thirty Five - Reactionary Actions

Part Thirty Four

———

There are considered four basic types of human relationships; familial relationships, friendships, acquaintanceships, and romantic relationships. 

Familial relationships are formed through blood ties or legal connections, invoking both close and extended family. 

8% of pilots have this direct connection.

Friendships are defined as voluntary bond based on shared interests, values, experiences, and are often characterized by shared support and respect. 

87% of pilots among the MECHA database log between 1 and 4 other pilots in this category. 

Acquaintanceships and Professional relations are known to be limited in scope, often involving those you either recently met or those whom you spend limited or set time around.

25% of pilots consider other pilots at large to be professional relationships while another 15% consider them solely acquaintances.

Romantic relationships are formed through romantic attraction, respect, intimacy, and a deep emotional connection. 

93% of pilots who enter the program while in a romantic relationship, no matter the category thereof, are known to no longer have those relationships post testing.

Relationships are highly complicated and complex, dependent on the person or persons involved as a whole.

—

Leaving New Kaon felt like going on a cruise, maybe not a long cruise or even one on a smooth ocean but still a cruise. A respite that was more than needed, at least for Hound.

It was hard to picture that they’d only been there for around a week, it truly felt like a lifetime. Then again, missions like that one usually felt that way, especially with those outcomes.

Sunstreaker was on a different transport shuttle with Ironhide and his unit, while Breakdown was remaining in the city with the secondary unit for more monitoring of the system. Hound had tried to stay but now was sitting effectively in isolation on the shuttle. Though Megatron had not said a lot his actions had spoken louder than any orders. His commander was remaining on New Kaon as well; they'd likely return in a few weeks. The Prime’s shuttle was ahead of this one, taking the few wounded that needed more intense care with it.

Sighing slowly, Hound hangs his head, closing his eyes. 

The ship hummed quietly through space, it was weird how familiar the sound of a spaceship could become. It was oddly comforting, how the small sense of familiarity brought so much peace. Leaning back in the seat, Hound opens his eyes slowly, “You know, it’s unnerving how quiet you are.” He kept his voice low, staring at Mirage who was now sitting across from him.

With a smile, Mirage shrugged a bit, “Says one of the few mecha who can tell where I am when I use my outlier.” Hound shrugged and nodded, “True.” He smiles, his visor lighting up the shuttle a bit.

Shifting, Mirage stands and moves to sit next to him, “You feeling better Hound?” He almost wanted to sigh or worse, roll his eyes, but instead he nodded, “I’m alright Mirage, I swear it.” Kicking his feet out in front of him, he crosses his ankles comfortably. Mirage watched with a slight frown, “Are you sure?” Nodding, Hound looked over, “Of course, why do you ask?” It wasn’t obvious, not to him.

But to Mirage he could see the difference clear as day. 

“Your movements, physical mannerisms, they’ve changed.” He was frowning, “They changed before your crash but they're still different.” Hound’s heart raced, frowning down at his feet a bit before looking at Mirage, who shifted a bit, “You almost look more comfortable, more fluid in your movements, less stiff. Was that precursor? To the crash?” Sighing, Hound shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice.” Rubbing his hands over his face, his head thumps against the wall. Closing his eyes again, Hound bit back a curse.

Shifting some, Mirage rests a hand on his shoulder, “Hound, what’s going on?” Keeping his eyes closed, he sighs slowly, “Back, back when I was a new pilot, I was different. We have classes of pilots, anyone can be a striker, that’s what I am now.” Mirage leaned forward some, “Now?” Nodding, Hound finally looked over, “Now, I first tested into Hunter class. Back then there were more classes than there are now, but most pilots are strikers now. It’s what we need.” Frowning, Mirage shifts again in his seat, “But you're all so different, does your class really cover so much?” Nodding, Hound smiled a bit.

Shrugging, he sighed, “Well, Breakdown is a tanker class, but the twins and I are all strikers. Or, well, before the crash I was just a striker. Now, I feel like I used to. More.. awake.” He flexes his fingers with a bit of a smile, visor brightening slightly. Mirage stared, nodding slowly, “Did you feel asleep this whole time?” With a sigh, Hound shook his head, “No, god no. I wouldn’t have been able to do half of what I’ve done had I been asleep. No, I just, I feel like me again.” He sighed, “No, that’s not right either.” Mirage chuckles.

Shaking his head, he tosses a hand out, “Forget it, I don’t have the right words for how I feel.” Hound looks at Mirage, visor still bright with a smile, and Mirage smiles, shaking his head, “Not even in another one of the languages from your home?” It almost brought him to crying laughter.

“Oh god, I can barely speak my native language let alone the two others I have certifications in. If I can’t explain it in English, then I can’t try to in Spanish or Arabic.” Mirage was smiling, a real smile that reached his eyes, and Hound tried not to swear again or shift uncomfortably. Glancing away, Mirage rubs at his neck subconsciously, “So, why do you know those languages over any others? Why not upload a communication chip?” Shaking his head, Hound shrugged, “We don’t have those on earth, you’ve got to sit down and learn it. These translators we use are new and you’ve seen how fallible they are.” Nodding, Mirage chuckles a bit, “Well, yeah. I was wondering why Jazz had a hard time back when he first appeared.” Hound chuckled, shaking his head.

For a moment, Hound thought of Perceptor, and the pilots still on Earth. Looking at the hands of his suit, he sighed slowly, “He tried to give us our best chance, Percy, he designed the translator.” Slowly, Mirage puts an arm around Hound’s shoulders, “He did and you’ll see them again, plus most of us have to meet him. Making it so that we can speak and grow close.” If anyone else were awake in the shuttle, they’d be cringing or gagging or making obscene gestures. Thankfully, most of everyone was asleep and the few that were awake were too focused on their own conversations. 

Nodding some, Hound sits back, “If we all make it out of this war it will be a miracle.” Mirage squeezes his shoulder lightly, “We know the feeling, very well but we’ve got each other. All of us, we’re fighting this war together this time.” Smiling, Hound nodded. Never before getting sent across the universe did he think he’d be thankful for giant aliens.

—

To be fair, he tried to stay awake to talk, he really did. Even with Blue on comms it didn’t keep him awake. Disconnected and passed out on his cot, Sunstreaker was dead to the world.

The shuttle around them was lively and it shocked more than a few mecha when Bluestreak was quiet for a while, at least until the visor on Sunstreaker went dark. Blue seemed to deflate after a few minutes, though was content enough where he was at.

Sunstreaker had his arms around Bluestreak’s middle, head resting on his shoulder, and was clearly asleep now. Bluestreak was trapped, but the small smile on his face gave all the clues that anyone needed. Whistling and cat calls were not unheard of, along with a share of obscene gestures. Someone even made the comment of how lucky the Paraxian’s seemed to get with the “hot aft aliens”.

Honestly, Bluestreak wouldn’t disagree. Looking down at Sunstreaker, who’d settled like that to talk and even when he disconnected, kept talking with him. Listening contently, not wanting to overrun the conversation or cut his train of thought off. Maybe he was lucky. His comm line was still open, glad to be able to make sure Sunny was alright even while he slept. Okay, maybe that was a little creepy but he was so small compared to everything else around them. Just being able to see that he was okay was comforting enough.

Bluestreak blinked as someone waved their servos in front of his face, “Primus,” Ironhide smirked, “Not quiet kid, well, don’t you look all cozy.” And his faceplates burned, clearing his vocalizer, “Slightly, what do you want?” And Ironhide’s servo came up to cover his spark, “Yelling at your commanding officer! What would Prowl think?” Blue couldn’t help but roll his eyes, muttering, “What did he think about the commanders running the humans ragged.” Nodding, Ironhide vents deeply, “Yeah, you’re not wrong there.” Rubbing at his neck, Ironhide shakes his head, “Sunstreaker feeling okay?” Nodding, Blue looks down at Sunny with a soft smile, “Yeah, just recharging.” 

Ironhide smiled a bit, “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d probably hear it from Prowl, again.” Bluestreak chuckled, “Yeah, I’m not surprised by that at all.” With a nod, Ironhide pats Bluestreak’s shoulder before heading back for the cockpit.

They’d have a flying stop in Iacon, a few days to re-supply before they were going back to their planet’s “tropical paradise”, as Sunny had called it. Elita and her unit would be setting up on the other coast, something about the system was attracting the Quints and they needed to figure it out.

Looking back down at Sunny, at the camera in his cockpit, Blue sighed. They needed to know what the Quintessons wanted, not just for the sake of Cybertron but for Earth. It was bad enough they were attacking a species that was well matched, to know that there were only so many suits and pilots on Earth to defend Sunny’s kind was killing him.

It was hard to know the person you, you might love; his spark spun funnily. Would be heartbroken if anything else were to happen to his planet, that he cared that much he’d be willing to die for it. Bluestreak had known the feeling once, back when Paraxus had been beautiful with its tall and shining spires. He almost felt that way for Cybertron, but nothing was quite like home. For Sunny, he could understand why it had shifted to Earth over the place called Florida, when you lost home it was easy to see the planet as home. Just for Blue, it was different.

He almost giggled when Sunstreaker started to snore, sitting back and putting his arm around Sunny’s back, closing his own eyes. The anxiety could wait till morning.

—

Iacon was beautiful, as always, and Hound was happy to be back. What he wasn’t happy about was the checkups that were scheduled in with a handful of the Prime’s medics. For him and Sunstreaker, it was hours before they escaped and the sun was starting to set already.

All Hound wanted to do was take a shower and be out of the suit for at least five minutes. Sunny was dragging his feet, Bluestreak having disappeared hours before and the poor guy was pouting. It was hard to hold his tongue, “How was your mission with Ironhide?” Sunstreaker looked up and started to walk more normally, “I got my visor shattered by Blue, I killed I think three quints, uh, swam in the ocean.” Nodding a bit, Hound smiles some, “Yeah, I heard about the visor, the new one looks good though.” Sunny hummed.

That was one of the things Hound could count on with Sunny, not having to make painful conversation, just quiet understanding. They walked together through the quickly darkening Iacon, plating scrubbed and scratched buffed, likely looking as nice as the suits had the day they came off of assembly. 

Neither of them expected to be facing Prowl this late in the evening, let alone be facing down his disapproving glare, “Shit.” Their voices combined in a way that only happens when you spend too much time around each other. 

“You would think I’d start to grow accustomed to that greeting.” His doorwings flicked, for what reason Hound didn’t know and he could guarantee Sunny had no clue, “Head inside, once you’re cleaned up Jazz wants to talk.” Hound barely spared Sunstreaker a glance, “I’ve been out of Iacon longer, I’m showering first.” He didn’t even want to think about what he and the cockpit of his suit smelled like. Almost gagging again.

—

Running a towel over his hair, Sunstreaker ducked past him just as the door for the bathroom opened. He barely sidestepped to let him past. Neither of them had expected Bluestreak in the apartment, but he and Prowl had left not long after they got their suits to clean. Though Hound will have to spend some time actually scrubbing at the floor of his suit, the assistance suit was currently soaking in their makeshift sink. 

It was a relief, to feel clean again, though his hair was starting to get on the longer side. Certainly longer than it ever had been, at least since he was eighteen. 

To be honest, he hadn’t noticed the state of Jazz’s own suit when he came in, too busy or maybe just too tired. Though he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the look on Jazz’s face, “Look,” Jazz held up a hand and Hound scowled, “Tell me what happened.” Sighing slowly, he kept a scowl on his face, “Fine, I experienced the crash after using my suit for almost forty-eight hours.” Jazz’s face dropped, without another look, Hound went to the kitchen. Jazz did not stop him. 

It took him only a minute or two to get together something to eat and a cooling pack for his head. Disconnecting was getting harder with the jerk to his coding, he could remember how painful it had been before but at least this wasn’t as bad. Sighing, he went back into the living room, thankful the door to the bathroom was still shut and would be for a while yet.

Jazz stared, biting his lip, “What was it like?” Shrugging a bit, Hound sat and started to eat, keeping his head down to hold the cooling pack there. They didn’t have enough water reserved for showers and ice, “It was an artificial seizure effectively.” Each time he chewed, his head would pound and his implants would ache, “Did you not go through it before? Back when you first got here?” Slowly, Jazz shook his head, “No, no I didn’t.” He sighed and shifted back, tucking the cooling back into the collar of his shirt instead.

“Jazz, this was my second one. I didn’t know it until it happened again.” And Jazz went pale, staring at his own food before pushing it away, “How?” Shrugging, Hound can only shake his head, “My best guess is being hybrid-class.” He knew Jazz would sigh from relief, couldn’t help it, but it didn’t make his current state suck any less.

Jazz sat back, “What are you going to tell the others?” Closing his eyes, Hound sighed, “That I experienced the crash, end story. They don’t need to know,” “But they might.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hound sighed, “Not now, not yet. Look, you didn’t crash. I was always going to be the most susceptible. They might not ever crash.” And the door behind them slid open as Prowl and Bluestreak returned. Both men shared a look before turning to the Cybertronian’s.

This would stay between them. Just one more secret to be kept from their allies. Another thing that could leave a crack in the foundation.

Prowl moves and sits on the couch, offering a hand to Jazz, who happily takes it and sits contentedly on Prowl’s shoulder like an odd parrot, his calculating gaze shifted to Hound, “I was told you crashed.” Tilting his head a bit, Hound shakes it just slightly, “I don’t think it’s like how you mean.” Prowl tried not to smile, “Then what’s your crash like?” Sighing, Hound looked down.

His head was pounding but the apartment in Iacon was cool and familiar, “When the crash hits, it’s the overloading of your implants with the main system. It’s the first and last time you’ll experience it because the system will adapt, overuse will ebb and you’ll be a stronger pilot for it.” “If you don’t die.” Jazz points at, pointing an accusatory finger at Hound, sighing he nods, “Yes, if you don’t die. If it doesn’t kill you. If you're able to handle it, it’s horrific, everything about it is horrible but once it’s done it’s at least done.” Another lie to go among the dozens.

Nodding slowly, Prowl sighed, “Alright, go ahead and get some rest Hound, you’ve earned it. You won’t ship back out until the lord protector returns to Iacon.” Bluestreak sighed and said something Hound didn’t understand. Prowl nodded and Hound frowned, “What did he say?” His helmet was still soaking for the time being, Prowl glanced over, “He asked if the prime and lord protector are fight, the answer is yes.” Nodding, Jazz snapped his fingers, “That’s why you called him Lord Protector instead of Megatron. Get all formal when they get mad?” Prowl looked like he wanted to roll his eyes to a painful extent, “Extremely.” Hound sighed deeply, “Great.” Looking down at his bowl, he stacked it on top of Jazz’s unfinished one before making his way to the bedroom.

All he wanted now was some halfway decent sleep, and to not think about the screaming match Megatron and Optimus Prime had had, and the implications of their argument.

—

They were supposed to be set up on opposite sides of the land mass, opposite coasts but the communication signal became strained not even five miles out and non-existent on the other side of the continent. Which made the point of the units splitting up useless.

So, now while Ironhide and Elita were setting up watches, the twins were avoiding each other and Bluestreak was nowhere to be found. Likely hiding from Sideswipe. Sighing, Sunstreaker sat down near the heater again, rubbing his face tiredly.

It was the middle of the night here and not exactly early back in Iacon either. Honestly, all he wanted to do was sleep, but not having others around while he slept had proven to all of them to be more dangerous than it was worth.

He wasn’t sure why he was avoiding Sideswipe, maybe because of Bluestreak who had wandered off for energon, now almost an hour ago. He knew his brother wouldn’t quiet understand, hell, he didn’t understand. It had all felt so normal, so natural. 

There was no label there yet, of course, but when their unit was out they were together up till the moment Blue needed to set up and then Sunny was off to tear the Quints apart. It was all still so new and terrifying, he just liked being able to be the listening ear for Blue.

Sighing, his mech sinks a bit in the sand, curled up near a heater, by himself trying to keep his eyes open.

Sideswipe was sat around the heater with his unit, laughing and listening to Chromia tell yet another story about the war. It’s weird, these things wouldn’t have kept his attention back home, learning of their pointless history while the war waged around them but this. When the peace had been found and they all only were now working together because of it, it felt far more interesting. Glancing over, he frowned a bit at Sunny, sitting all by himself.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had changed so recently, that they were now sitting apart instead of together. Part of it he knew was Hound splitting them up, ‘for the greater good’ his ass, it was to keep them all alive. But that was the farthest he could understand it. 

There had never been a time where he and Sunny were separated so often or for so long, not once. 

He could see the cafeteria, the long tables with the round uncomfortable seats, watching Sonny sketch in a notebook. It was before their parents died, before that attack that took everything from them, how the light came through the windows high up on the wall. The school had been old when his grandparents were alive, let alone now after dozens of battles off the coast. Plastic tray in his hands, a few friends were laughing behind him, thankfully making their way towards his brother rather than away.

“Hey, Sideswipe, we lose you?” He blinks and looks up, frowning a bit before shaking his head, “Uh, no, sorry Skids. Was thinking.” With a hum, Skids looks back to Chromia, “I say we just invite the pair over, not like more bodies will make it any colder.” She nodded and smiled, standing and patting Sideswipe on the back. He smiled some, looking up at her, he’d only been with these people for around a month and knew they’d sooner lay down their lives for him then not; “Hey! Bluestreak, Sunstreaker! Come on over, join the better unit!” There of course was the typical uproar from those busying themselves out of Ironhide’s unit but the laughter from his brother almost made him smile.

Almost.

What wiped it away was Bluestreak, who had now almost killed his brother twice. The sooner Sunny saw that that particular alien wasn’t his friend, the better. When they came over, Sides had hold of Sunny and pulled him to sit between himself and Skids. Bluestreak had stared dumbly before sitting with Chromia.

“So, tell me Blue, how’s Ironhide’s unit treating you? Oh, and how the hell you broke Sunstreaker’s last visor. Sides here won’t shut up about it!” He suddenly remembered that Skids had a big mouth, his foot met Skids leg with a practiced ease he’d gained from doing to Sunstreaker over the years. The resounding clang and yelp brought him satisfaction.

Once Blue got talking though, Sideswipe couldn’t help but lean in and listen, even as Sunny fused and tried to get his attention. Something was going on, and he wanted to know what.

Sunny was thankful he only had to ping Blue to get him to shut up before spilling their secret, mumbling something about being tired and reminding Sideswipe he hadn’t slept in over a day. Of course, he didn’t darken his visor till his brother had.

It was going to be a long trip.

—

In the last month and a half, give or take, it has been nice to just deal with the local issues on the planet instead of jettisoning off to some other part of the system or a neighboring system. 

The apartment was at a much more comfortable temperature than it had been in the last week or so with the thermostat on the fritz. The twins were apparently in some tropical paradise with their teams and Megatron’s unit had finally returned to Iacon, just as Optimus Prime had gone across the planet. Hound doubted it was a coincidence. 

Currently, Breakdown, Jazz, and himself were sitting together. Trying to enjoy the quiet conversations they really only got to have when Sideswipe wasn’t around or when Sunstreaker didn’t have Bluestreak around.

Even though Jazz cared for Prowl’s brother (though Hound didn’t think that the translation was quite right) he could be a lot of mech to go around even a group of them. He was honestly surprised Sunstreaker was so moon-eyed over him, but was he any different? Any time he could go out in the suit, he found himself at the bar that played music from home with Mirage of all people, the pair of them content to sit and listen.

“Earth to Hound, come in Hound.” A hand was waving in front of his face and he pulled back from it, Jazz smirks and Breakdown chuckles, “Welcome back to the land of the living, what were you thinking about?” Jazz couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice and Hound sighed.

Before smirking and shifting his cooling pack, they were becoming a staple of his whenever home to avoid using up their limiting supplies, “The look on Knockout’s face the other day, when Breakdown asked if he wanted to join us in the market.” The grin on Jazz’s face was wicked even as poor Breakdown looked more confused than anything, “I was trying to be kind.” Chuckling, Jazz shakes his head, “Yeah, and flirting.” Hound snorts as Breakdown turns bright red, saying something neither of them understood which only made Jazz laugh harder.

To be fair, they wouldn’t be this giggly if the twins hadn’t perfected their still. So liquid courage was certainly a help in this.

“As if you are the one to talk Jazz! You and Prowl!” Breakdown frowns down at his cube, they were large but thankfully not full of gin. Or the closest that they could make to gin with their alien plants, “And I’ve never denied it! Just tried to keep the PDA on the down low, it’s a bit odd, dating a giant alien.” Jazz shrugged a bit even as Hound chuckled, setting aside his glass, this stuff was far too strong to be healthy. “What? I have, you all didn’t know for months.” Sighing, Breakdown shook his head, “Regardless, I was not flirting. Just trying to be kind.” Both Jazz and Hound hummed, unconvinced.

They lulled into silence for a bit, to watch the city, all thinking of their own relationships. Thinking of this place and how much things had changed in the last, six months, more? God, Hound wasn’t sure anymore. Frowning he looks down at his watch, now broken, just a habit to wear it still. Adjusting the cooling back to sit just under his implants, he sighs and closes his eyes. They all got lost in their own trains of thought, each trying to deal with their demons in their own way.

Jazz was the first to break his silence. 

“You need to stop talking to them about the treatment we got from MECHA.” Jazz’s voice was quiet, the apartment was dark but the sky line of Iacon in the night showed through the window, “What? Why?” Hound glanced over, shifting the cooling pack on his neck, “There are things you don’t know about Cybertron, who they used to be, who they fought to not be.” There was something in Jazz’s eyes that made Hound want to ask a million questions but he stayed quiet, “Our recent history sounds like their darkest days.” Breakdown rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Our planet is living ours.” Sighing, Jazz nodded, “I know, but it doesn’t change the fact that they're eerily similar.” Both Hound and Breakdown slowly nodded.

Looking back out on Iacon, Hound felt his throat tighten, “I’m not going to lie,” “No, you shouldn’t, but stop bringing light to the torture we faced.” He winced and closed his eyes.

How could being the only one compatible in his family be torture? How could wanting the freedom for their planet be torture? How could becoming the best part of his life be torture?

“And don’t listen to the voice they put in your head during testing.” Jazz’s voice was lower, he was staring at Iacon with such intensity, “It will ask you how it could be torture, to be a hero, choosing to forget every moment of horror we face.” His fingers brushed lightly over his implants, eyes watering.

Nodding slowly, Hound took a slow breath, “We were soldiers Jazz, our bodies haven’t been our property since we were eighteen.” He shifted and rested a hand on Hound’s shoulder, squeezing, “I know, but it’s time to take it back.” Jazz chuckled, “None of them can get to us here, we’re still fighting for our planet, but on our terms.” His gaze turned to Breakdown’s, “No one’s going to die, not of our crew, not on our watch.” Breakdown nodded firmly, eyes watering too, “We have to learn to live again.” Jazz looks between them.

They sat there, quietly for a moment, “We were tortured for the sake of it, weren’t we?” Hound’s voice wavered, tears forming, “I think so. Discovery or not, it doesn’t change that we’ve been owned, used, and abused.” He nodded slowly, even as the tears fell down his face, gasping once before covering it with his hands. Carefully, Jazz rubbed Hound’s back as the man cried.

He could love his life, love being a pilot, be proud of it even and still know, finally know, that how they did it was wrong. No wonder the Cybertronian’s stared at them every time they mentioned the work back home, every time they threw themselves on the live grenade, it wasn’t expected or needed of them here. They didn’t have to be the sacrifice for “the greater good”. The guinea pigs for the never ending, churning machine that was this war from hell. 

Taking a slow and deep breath, Hound wiped his eyes and stared back at Iacon.

It was a beautiful city, how the cities of his memory looked, before they were destroyed. Before every beautiful thing in their world had become nothing more than a resource. How everything had become expendable beside the suit. 

“Dozens of pilots tried to pilot Vortex before Aid came along, and they just kept sending them to die, for data.” Jazz nodded slowly as Breakdown hung his head, “They sent us to die, for data.” Sighing slowly, Jazz laid a careful arm around Breakdown, “We’re more than just a resource here.” He smiles a bit, “Joan had to remind me a million times my first year here, that freedom is the right of all sentient beings and what we endured. That was not freedom.” What it wasn’t didn’t need to be said, it was so plain as day.

Hound hung his head in shame, the pilots lived and breathed the propaganda. Unwilling, no, unable to open their eyes with Shockwave digging through their coding every— 

“It’s been six months.” It hit him and Breakdown at the same time. The same instant, “Actually, closer to nine now, but yeah. It’s funny how it’s easier to see when they aren’t digging through your brain every six months or so.” Jazz stood and went to the window, leaning against it to stare at the soldiers in front of him, leaving his glass almost empty, “So, what are you going to do with your freedom?” Hound and Breakdown shared a glance, looked to Jazz, then to Iacon before back at each other and grinning.

Standing, Hound offers Breakdown a hand and helps him up, the poor man stumbled slightly, having had more to drink than either Jazz or himself, “Jazz, we’re going to fight to live.” His smile was contagious and bright, “I was hoping you’d say that.” Jazz’s voice was light, lighter than it had been when they decided to drink that evening.

Fighting to live gave them more time, fighting for Cybertron gave them people they could trust. The more of both they had, the less likely it was that they’d die as soon as they stepped foot on Quintessa. 

———

A/N

HOLY FUCK 5k words, that is more than I thought it was going to be but I almost posted the chapter without the intro which would have made me very sad to forget.

So, there is a tiny time skip in this chapter as we saw, but next chapter I will be going over the events leading up to the chapter after, which takes place several months from now.

Honestly, I am kinda sad that I’ll be time skipping but it’s time, it has been a minute and I need to progress the story.

Is my plan set in stone? No, I think I have proved that with literally finishing the chapter and putting it up right after. But, do I know where I want it to go? Vaguely. Uh, I think..

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! I know the twins part towards the end is rough but I have the hardest time with Sideswipe out of anyone.. I kinda know why but yeah, I need to do a him focused chapter soon.

Also blame the delay on the fact my mind has been eating itself, I got into an audiobook the other day and now am listening to the 9 book series. I have made a grave mistake.

TAGS

Thank you @keferon for this amazing AU, I would not have written god knows how many words of this fic without you.

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week. #6

Feb 16-23 2024

The EPA announced 5.8 billion dollars in funding upgrade America's water systems. 2.6 billion will go to wastewater and stormwater infrastructure, while the remaining $3.2 billion will go to drinking water infrastructure. $1 billion will go toward the first major effort to remove PFASs, forever chemicals, from American drinking water. The Administration all reiterated its plans to remove all lead pipes from America's drinking water systems, its spent 6 billion on lead pipe replacement so far.

The Department of Education announced the cancellation of $1.2 billion in student loan debt reliving 153,000 borrowers. This is the first debt cancellation through the Saving on a Valuable Education (SAVE) Plan, which erases federal student loan balances for those who originally borrowed $12,000 or less and have been making payments for at least 10 years. Since the Biden Administration's more wide ranging student loan cancellation plan was struck down by the Supreme Court in 2023 the Administration has used a patchwork of different plans and authorities to cancel $138 billion in student debt and relieve nearly 4 million borrowers, so far.

First Lady Jill Biden announced $100 million in federal funding for women’s health research. This is part of the White House Initiative on Women’s Health Research the First Lady launched last year. The First Lady outlined ways women get worse treatment outcomes because common health problems like heart attacks and cancer are often less understood in female patients.

The Biden Administration announced 500 new sanctions against Russian targets in response to the murder of Russian dissident Alexei Navalny. The sanctions will target people involved in Navalny's imprisonment as well as sanctions evaders. President Biden met with Navalny's widow Yulia and their daughter Dasha in San Francisco

The White House and Department of Agriculture announced $700 Million in new investments to benefit people in rural America. The projects will help up to a million people living in 45 states, Puerto Rico, and the Northern Mariana Islands. It includes $51.7 million to expand access to high-speed internet, and $644.2 million to help 158 rural cooperatives and utilities provide clean drinking water and sanitary wastewater systems for 578,000 people in rural areas.

The Department of Commerce signed a deal to provide $1.5 billion in upgrades and expand chip factories in New York and Vermont to boost American semiconductor manufacturing. This is the biggest investment so far under the 2022 CHIPS and Science Act

the Department of Transportation announced $1.25 billion in  funding for local projects that improve roadway safety. This is part of the administration's Safe Streets and Roads for All (SS4A) program launched in 2022. So far SS4A has spent 1.7 billion dollars in 1,000 communities impacting 70% of America's population.

The EPA announced $19 million to help New Jersey buy electric school buses. Together with New Jersey's own $45 million dollar investment the state hopes to replace all its diesel buses over the next three years. The Biden Administration's investment will help electrify 5 school districts in the state. This is part of the The Clean School Bus Program which so far has replaced 2,366 buses at 372 school districts since it was enacted in 2022.

Bonus: NASA in partnership with Intuitive Machines landed a space craft, named Odysseus, on the moon, representing the first time in 50 years America has gone to the moon. NASA is preparing for astronauts to return to the moon by the end of the decade as part of the Artemis program. All under the leadership of NASA Administrator, former Democratic Senator and astronaut Bill Nelson.

[argyrocratie]

“Did you see that Facebook post about the budget cuts?” my co-worker asks. “What the fuck, no,” I reply. She hands me her phone. I see a headline announcing that, due to the push to slash basic services coming from Elon Musk and Donald Trump, 20% of our funding for local public transportation is now threatened. Lawyers are fighting it out in the courts, but if these cuts go through, it will mean less service, possible layoffs, and lots of people not having access to a system that is one of the few lifelines for poor people in our area. People depend on these buses to get to their jobs, to medical appointments, to programs for special needs adults, to court dates.

I sit back down, staring out the window at the cold, grey parking lot. I am waiting for a member of the morning shift to come in with a bus so I can take it out. A few buses dot the bus yard. They’re sitting idle because the parts on order haven’t come in for months—even years, in some cases—and because the city refuses to hire enough mechanics to keep up with daily maintenance. This means that drivers on night shift, like me, sometimes have to wait hours for a bus to arrive. Our transit agency, which contracts out to a huge multi-national corporation, is already dramatically underfunded. The new cuts will only compound our existing problems.

“Fucking Musk, man,” I say with a sigh. Another co-worker on the night shift agrees with me. He’s in his mid-70s, but he’s still working full time because he recently burned through all his savings burying his parents. I launch into a long rant about how both Musk and Trump hate labor unions and workers and want to replace us all with artificial intelligence. A third co-worker, presumably a Trump supporter, grumbles about how “they” just want to blame the cuts threatening our jobs on the “administration.”

It’s pitch-dark when I enter the trailer park, passing a metal gate, I drive slowly through the ever-growing rows of manufactured homes. Some of them have signs reading “For sale.”

“Lots of people moving out?” I ask my only passenger.

“Yeah, no one can afford to live here anymore,” she replies. As I turn the corner, she launches into a long tirade about the corporation who owns the trailer park and how they keep raising the cost of “space rent,” the monthly fee that mobile home owners pay to trailer park owners. “Every year the rent here goes up. New people move in from out of town and they can pay more, and that’s pushing us out,” she says, as I unhook her walker inside the cold, dark bus cab. “I don’t know why the landlords are so greedy. Do they just want everything?” I lower her and her walker down onto the pavement outside her trailer.

As the electronic ramp whirls its gears, I turn to my left. In her front window, there is a strange collage of images of Donald Trump. It is faded and worn from the sun. I shake my head and chuckle, resisting the temptation to point out the obvious. How can you complain about a corporate landlord ruining your life, but place all of your hopes in another landlord who is trying to become a dictator?

Perhaps she senses my disdain. “Trump is gonna fix it, you’ll see. Prices are going to go down once he starts drilling.”

My eyes narrow. “Biden was drilling more oil than any president before him,” I reply.

I meet all sorts of people like this at my job. One guy smells like piss so bad while I strap in his wheelchair that I have to turn my head so I don’t gag. The car in front of the house where I pick him up has a bumper sticker on it reading, “I Don’t Trust the Liberal Media.” I wonder if the conservative media is telling him his healthcare is about to be nuked from orbit.

Another guy, as I load and unload his wheelchair, takes out his Trump hat, puts it on, and asks me what I think of it. I tell him Trump and Musk want to use the military to shoot protesters, destroy unions, and fire workers like me, so why would I give a fuck about them. He looks away, says, “Alright then,” and jets off on his electronic scooter. I wonder if he is looking forward to ICE deporting half of his neighbors.

On election day, I lost it and got into a heated back and forth with a pro-Trump guy. He rested his case by proclaiming that we need to make it easier on rich people so that the wealth will trickle down to the rest of us. I want to grab these people and shake them.

Trump represents the triumph of the nihilism of our age. The foreclosure of the idea that the working-class can take and shape its own destiny. Instead, apparently, we should throw ourselves at the mercy of a reality TV star who shits in a gold toilet, eats breakfast with billionaire pedophiles, and has dinner with neo-Nazis between rounds of golf. In the absence of the kind of social movements that could connect people and enable them to grow and change, Trump has built a mass parasocial spectacle that makes these isolated people feel like they are part of something greater than themselves even as all of our lives become smaller and smaller, more and more impoverished and alienated.

I shuffle into the union hall, past the placards reading “ON STRIKE” and faded signs several decades old. Almost fifteen years ago, during Occupy, I attended a meeting in this same room. I wonder what’s changed since then. I find a seat and one of our union shop stewards slides a packet across the table to me. I open it up and start paging through it, looking at the spreadsheets and graphs.

We start to discuss the ins and outs of the proposed contract that our elected union representatives and corporate lawyers have been going over during recent meetings. One of the much-hated top corporate bosses was recently fired for corruption, much to the delight of the entire workforce. As one of my co-workers said, “Really tells you a lot about a place when motherfuckers are walking around singing, ‘Ding-dong, the witch is dead!’ and morale has never been higher!”

We go through the contract. Despite a few small improvements, things are mostly the same. “What about the pay?” I ask, fingers crossed. The shop steward cocks her head to the side and turns a page, pointing with her pen to a graph showing a dollar increase. She explains that the contract will be for five years, during which time we’ll only be getting a few cents more each year. “This is literally what I was making ten years ago,” I sigh, “and this contract will be valid for five years?”

I already can’t save money. Imagine what things will be like in five years.

She shrugs. “We’re encouraging you to vote “Yes,”’ she says, and hands me a piece of paper on which to mark an “X” signifying yes or no.

If enough workers vote the contract through, the company will ratify it and it will govern my life for the next five years—presuming that I don’t get downsized. Any strike or protest activity will be illegal, as per our “No Strike” agreement. If enough people vote no, it goes back to the union bargaining team, and they will continue to bargain for more changes in closed door meetings.

I head into another room, mark an X by “NO,” and drop the piece of paper into a wooden box. I wave to a few co-workers on my way out. As I leave, I pass a portrait of Sean O’Brien, the president of the Teamsters union. You smug bastard, I say to myself. I remember his glasses and bald head on stage of the Republican National Convention last year, when he called Donald Trump a “Tough son of a bitch.” What a dipshit.

I used to have a poster in my room many years ago, proclaiming, “The past doesn’t pass.” Next to the slogan was a photo of striking Teamster bus drivers—bus drivers, just like me—beating police officers with baseball bats during the general strike of 1934 in Minneapolis. That was one of the decisive labor battles that forced the ruling class to accept the New Deal in order to cool down the class war that was brewing on the streets.

At home, I look over a letter announcing that people in my neighborhood shouldn’t drink the tap water because the levels of uranium in the river are too high. Sometimes I wonder what I would say to my children about this moment in history—if I could afford to have children. Probably the same things my parents say to me now: they’re sorry we are inheriting this world. Sorry they didn’t fix it. Sorry they didn’t build strong enough movements to turn the tide against these monsters.

At work, as I drive, I begin to notice that there are fewer Trump flags and signs out. Resentment is rising. A joke by a cashier here about being replaced by AI, a comment there about Trump cutting programs. I walk into the break room and someone is shaking their head angrily while watching a video of Musk on their phone. They mutter something about tariffs and rising prices.

The tension in the air is palpable. It is similar to how things felt at the start of the economic crisis in 2008, when many of the homes in my neighborhood were foreclosed on and many people lost their jobs. It also reminds me of the start of the pandemic—how at first, I thought it wouldn’t be so bad, only to watch in horror as our family members and friends succumbed to the virus.

In 2008, many people thought that crowds would flood the streets immediately when the administration bailed out the banks while leaving the rest of us high and dry. That didn’t happen. It took years for resistance to grow. In Chicago, workers occupied their factory when they were terminated without pay. In Wisconsin, workers occupied the capitol building against government attacks on collective bargaining. In California, students occupied universities to protest budget cuts. The Occupy movement began in the fall of 2011 and rapidly built to massive occupations of city squares across the US, coordinated port shut downs, and a general strike in Oakland, California. With Joe Biden as vice president, the federal government helped to coordinate violent raids targeting the movement in order to break it apart.

In 2020, on the other hand, things didn’t fester—they exploded like a bomb. Millions of people across the country mobilized in response to the pandemic, providing mutual aid in the face of government inaction and right-wing disinformation, and then hit the streets in the George Floyd uprising.

Who knows how things will evolve this time. It will probably be different from both of those scenarios, but it could be similar in some ways. What is clear is that things are not as people expected them to be. Many people on the left thought—or at least hoped—that Trump would govern the way he did the first time, constrained by mass protest, the courts, and his own party. Many who voted for him honestly did not expect him to follow through on many of the policies he explicitly promised to carry out. Those who were not paying attention are surprised that suddenly, jobs are disappearing and services are being cut while prices only continue to rise.

The material conditions are forcing people to reckon with the fact that the state is attempting to reshape our lives for the sake of an authoritarian project. As we speak, thousands of people are flooding town halls across the United States, screaming at their so-called representatives about the plan to gut programs like Medicaid—only to hear the bureaucrats repeat a slew of MAGA talking points. Anger is brewing. Hopefully the MAGA strategy of “flooding the zone” with shit will produce diminishing returns as people turn towards their neighbors and co-workers and away from their phones and YouTube.

This is an opportunity for us to call out the authoritarian project of the Trump administration, the techno-dystopian fantasies of billionaires like Musk, and the complicity of the Democrats who helped make all of this possible. Beyond naming the systems that we are up against, we also need to be clear about our position as workers and how the billionaires running the country want both to hurt us and to weaponize our anger, turning us against each other through propaganda and fearmongering. This is why it’s important to stand in solidarity with everyone attacked by the Trump administration, whether trans folks, migrants, prisoners, or beyond. We can’t leave anyone behind. The only immigrant trying to steal my job is Elon Musk. It’s time to be clear that our interests are not theirs; we must develop and promote our own vision of a better world in total opposition to the ruling class, the billionaires, and their fascist puppets.

Moreover, it’s time for action. We need to give expression to these antagonisms while revealing the poverty of the institutional forms currently at our disposal—the Democratic party, the ever-shrinking union bureaucracy, the non-profits. We can show examples of past struggles and resistance from the mass wildcat strikes by teachers in West Virginia and the fierce anti-fascist mobilizations against the alt-right to the airport shutdowns following the Muslim Ban. We can support and expand the existing fronts that are already breaking out around us: protests against Musk outside of Tesla, rallies to demand that hospitals continue to treat trans people, community defense and rapid response networks to address ICE attacks, bashing back against the violence of the far right. We can demonstrate the utility of tactics and strategies that others can take up and expand on as all of us figure out how to fight in the new reality.

It’s hard to look at the news without imagining tanks on the streets or scenes out of V for Vendetta. But the scenario I worry about most is that this will simply become the new normal. That we will accept this just as we accepted the last round of attacks. As we accepted the genocide in Gaza. As we accepted the ecological gun to our heads that is climate change.

While people are angry and energized, we have a chance to push in a new direction. Let’s use this moment to foster broad and popular networks of resistance that improve our lives, strengthen our communities, and enable us to meet our needs directly. At this point, we don’t have much of a choice.

Like it or not, this is life now—and it is coming for all of us.

-“The Only Immigrant Trying to Steal My Job Is Elon Musk” A Bus Driver’s Perspective on Elon Musk’s Austerity Measures

[mindblowingscience]

For the first time, water frost has been detected on the colossal volcanoes on Mars, which are the largest mountains in the solar system. The international team led by the University of Bern used high-resolution color images from the Bernese Mars camera, CaSSIS, onboard the European Space Agency's ExoMars Trace Gas Orbiter spacecraft. Understanding where water can be found, and how it is transported, is relevant for future Mars missions and possible human exploration. "ExoMars" is a program of the European Space Agency ESA: for the first time since the 1970s, active research is being conducted into life on Mars. On board the ExoMars Trace Gas Orbiter (TGO) is the Color and Stereo Surface Imaging System (CaSSIS), a camera system developed and built by an international team led by Professor Nicolas Thomas from the Physics Institute at the University of Bern. CaSSIS has been observing Mars since April 2018 and is delivering high-resolution color images of the surface of Mars.

Continue Reading.

[xmads-omensx]

Pairing: Android!Noah X Reader

CW: Android au, sentient being, Noah navigates new and big feelings, references to being "owned" in a vague context, angst if you squint

Heavily inspired by @saythatuwill 's android!noah au

Sorry if the formatting is a little weird, I started it as a one shot then changed it to headcannons

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @tosoundlessdarkistare @bloody-spades @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986  @dominuslunae @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @overmydeadbodysblog @illmakeyousaywow @dsireland86 @missduffsblog  @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @dontwantthemoney @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm @museonfilm @death-ofpeace-ofmind @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @kissestomyomens @flowery-mess @athenexe @anything-more-than-human @oobleoob @dollieomens @astronoids @pipidoll

At first, Noah thought his system was malfunctioning, but then again, thinking wasn’t exactly something that Noah was supposed to be good at.

As a companion model, Noah’s job was more or less to become a placeholder for the love and affection that his ‘owner’, so to speak, lacked.

You, however, had purchased him for an entirely different purpose.

Her desire to create a band and situate Noah as the frontman was something that he wasn’t programmed to do, but after various upgrades, he was perfect for the role.

He had the voice, the looks, the style, the only thing that he lacked was feeling.

You know when you watch someone perform live and it’s like they are living the song right in front of your eyes, it was never like that for Noah. Granted, he wasn’t a real person, so he wasn’t exactly going to be the most immersive performer, but you could see the rest of the band you put together were really living the music.

Noah just… couldn’t.

It was as if his new, state of the art music software was completely lacking any form of function in that regard.

That’s when it started.

He stood on stage, singing the songs and moving around the stage in the routine that he had carefully crafted for himself.

Walk to the right, then slowly step back, take three steps to the left before the chorus hits then step forward to sing it. 

You were always standing stage left, behind the heavy curtain, watching your band perform. 

As Noah looked at you, completely out of schedule from the rest of his routine. He never looked at you, that’s when it happened.

In the cavity within his chest, there was what felt like a spark, then his whole body felt like it had lit up.

The spark travelled from his chest, so the empty space in his stomach where nothing but wires and machinery lay, then travelled to his toes, until his whole body felt electrified.

It felt so right.

It felt so wrong.

Noah’s instant reaction was to presume that his system was combusting or something of the like, so he went into power-save mode.

His eyes closing, and head dipping down, he just stood on the stage completely motionless which didn’t affect the rest of the androids on the stage who continued to perform as they were programmed to do.

Luckily for you the two stage hands were big, burly men who were able to carry the now idle Noah off stage and back into the green room to await transportation back to the house. 

After that night, Noah was in a state of limbo. 

Never quite sure what to do with himself.

It was as though his programming had been re-written. 

Noah seemed more on edge around you than normal. Since he was a companion bot, his role was to care for his ‘owner’, but this time it seemed… different.

It was as if every time he went to do something in his basic programming, a switch went off that made his eyes light up and his mouth stretch into a warm smile.

Noah felt that little spark whenever Y/N was near and he was completely lost as to what it could be other than a malfunction.

You took him to get his system checked out, but nothing came up in terms of errors within him, so that ruled out Noah's only hypothesis for the situation.

Following a deep dive into some internet sites and various documents that he could access through his hard-drive, he discovered sentience.

And that became his only explanation for what was going on.

This was the hardest thing that Noah had to navigate.

Going from nothing more than a bot, programmed to love, to a sentient being who would willingly love was terrifying.

The prospect of getting it wrong hung over his head constantly.

And he did get it wrong.

All the damn time.

But you never made him feel bad for it.

He's new at this.

He's learning.

You know the scene from Bambi where he is trying to learn how to walk but his legs are all shaky and he keeps falling? That's exactly how Noah seems navigating his new life as a sentient being.

One thing that was hard for him was navigating the switch from not needing his programming anymore.

He doesn't need the programming that alerts him to hug and kiss you, he can just... do it.

He is no longer held back by his wiring, and that freedom is terrifying for Noah.

But he's getting there.

Slowly.

Noah had tried to voice his fears to you, but finding the words had been tough.

After all, you were human so how on earth could you relate to how he feels.

The rest of the band weren't sentient, so they couldn't relate to him either.

He felt so isolated.

So alone.

But that spark in his chest made it all worth it.

He never wanted to go back to the life he had where the sight of your smile didn't made his body light up with electricity.

[delulupunk]

DUNE AU DAMIAN WAYNE X READER PART FOUR

Mild brutalia

Fem reader

Notes: Under no circumstances should opinions expressed by characters be linked to this author in anyway. This is written in the style of Frank Hebert’s book, this means spoilers for Dune. While inspired by Frank Herbert’s novel the plotline may be similar, however it will not be the same.

Someone please bully me into a regular update schedule

Imperial terminology

Bene Gesserit: The ancient school of mental and physical training established primarily for female students after the Butlerian Jihad destroyed the so-called ‘thinking machines’ and robots.

Caladan: Third planet of Delta Pavonis.

Filmclip: An apparatus used mainly for training consisting of a shigawire imprint carrying a mnemonic pulse.

Faufreluches: The rigid imperial system of class stratification.

Shield, defensive: The protective field produced by a Holtzman generator. A shield will permit entry only to objects moving at slow speeds.

Spacing (Guild): Powerful organization which ad a monopoly on space travel and transport due to their Navigators.

Mating index: The Bene Gesserit master record of its human breeding program aimed at producing the Kwisatz Haderach.

Mentat: The class of imperial citizens trained for supreme accomplishments of logic. ‘Human computers’.

Sapho: High-energy liquid extracted from barrier roots of Ecaz. Used by Mentats who claim it amplifies mental powers. Users develop deep ruby stains on mouth and lips.

Without our mothers, we are nothing of worth. Commentaries On The New Emperors Family- Empress Y/N

The soft wind swished Talia’s hair to the side as she looked down at her favourite flowers, which were jewels in a sea of sage leaves.

Pondering she brushed her hand against the soft surface of the petals. She found herself wishing that she knew who her parents were- she understood the Bene Gesserit reasoning of why it was never to be shared, yet still she longed to have true clarity over she truly was. It was well known that the information wasn’t shared, in case the necessity for crossing blood lines arises.

Talia didn’t want to know just for the sake of lineages. No, she was interested in possessing a picture of her parents, to see which one she most looked like- where all these features of herself came from.

She raised her hand slowly to her face, rotating it as she analysed it. Her hands were slender yet firm, a mix of her parents she decided to dub it.

Would they be proud of me?

If only she had a little diary filled with memories of her parents, their subtle tics, their beliefs, their friends and foes. Would she align with them or simply be so profoundly different that she could feel nothing but disgust?

The soft crunch of leaves from strong boots filled the air, Talia noticed the imperceptible difference between the sound of the standard issue boots, and the strength of the Duke’s.

Duke Wayne stopped before her and tipped his head to his lady, causing a smile to grace her face.

“You don’t frequent the gardens much my love.” The Duke stated, however his eyes shone with curiosity.

“Well it hasn’t rained today, beloved, so I thought I’d pay a visit.” Talia replied, answering his hidden question. The sun today on Caladan had been glaring as if it was prodding around the planet for a traitor. Even at sunrise this morning. Talia found her skin covered with perspiration which was a sensation she’d completely forgotten, due to the humidity of Caladan.

“And I thought I’d pay a visit to you.” Lovingly the Duke muttered, dipping his head down to place a kiss as sweet as cherries onto his woman’s lips. Silently they kissed each other, their lips making small movements against the others. Talia firmly tilted her head up and moved her hand to the back of his neck.

Clang

Clang

CLANG

Their kiss was broken like shattered glass as they heard clanging of the gates.

Talia used Bene Gesserit techniques to prevent herself from snapping her head like animal, and instead turned with curiosity.

The training could not prevent her breath from catching, as the Duke latched his arm around her waist- pulling her inwards.

Dreams are all emotion, and no thought.

Lessons From The New Emperor- Empress Y/N

“The language of flowers is so elegant Damian, you must learn it one day! A bouquet isn’t just solely about aesthetics, it’s about hidden meanings!” The girl excitedly told him, her hands gesticulating as wildly as a bull. Each time she paced behind his back he felt a gust of air, she was truly going that fast.

“What doesn’t contain hidden meanings, beloved?” Damian smirked as he looked down at the papers thrown onto his desk.

“Yes, but the same type of flower can have different meanings, just dependant on its shade! Take for example…”

Damian shook his hand amused, his girl was truly an addict to knowledge. Not the same as a Mentat though, who concerned themselves with the nitty gritty and science.

He paused his thoughts to snigger at the thought of her being a Mentat, she was simple too happy and restless to be confined to her mind with all those facts.

Where Mentat’s found solutions in learning, she seemed to find joy. Damian admired her for it, he’d only studied purely for the duty of his House. Perhaps if he found pleasure in it, he’d be able to engage as throughly as she could in these conversations. Damian strengthened himself with steel, promising to love learning as she did, so he could see that brilliant smile of hers.

He was hyper aware of the harmony of her voice- it exhilarated him and awoke him from what felt a slumber for the ages. Each punctuation of her words, sent a jolt through his spine, while the soft syllables relaxed his head.

The girls fingers threaded through his hair, before yanking his hand back insistently.

“You’re ignoring me.” Damian could hear the pout in her voice, before any other senses could be felt. The twang of pain at her sudden pull came a moment too late, like an echo of a sound long passed.

Smiling amusedly Damian tipped his head back, “This better for you beloved?”

She grinned satisfied, “There’s my handsome-“

“Damian!”

A pillow rammed into his face causing him to splutter.

“I’ve been shouting your name!” Talia pulled her son from her bed and rushed to the other side of the room, hastily throwing a set of clothes at him.

“Come quick Dick Grayson is at the gates- he’s alive!” His mother cried.

Taglist: @maria-trisha

I love you all so much, thanks for still reading xxx

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Pettiness of Man

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Human pocket kingdoms were the result of the fragmented nature of humanity’s space exploration and settlement programs. Central authority still resided with the Terran Protectorate the closer one got to the Terran homeworld, but the further one went the less and less power the Protectorate had leaving opportunistic parties to establish their own domains.

The Federalist Union and Kingdom of the Fallen Sun were two such domains. Each situated in their own star system neighboring the other, the two realms had at one point been part of what was known as the Caspen Initiative. Funded by the Caspen Corporation, both systems were colonized and put under direct corporate rule rather than the laws of the Protectorate.

The Truna System held the most infrastructure and had turned its settlements into thriving cities. The comforts of the core worlds could be found here in abundance leading to a higher quality of life. It was here Caspen situated their corporate headquarters for the initiative which further led to the system becoming a major trade hub.

In contrast, the Kefer System was still largely untamed and wild yet rich with natural resources. Caspen did not wish to risk losing more experienced personnel on these planets nor take the time to invest in an expensive robotic work force. The wildlife across all the planets within the Kefer System was extremely hostile and dangerous; resulting in the failures of two colonization attempts already. In the end Caspen instead was able to obtain several transports of convicted criminals and turn them into penal laborers.  Fortified factories were established with a heavily armed guard force watching over the laborers and delivering them expected quotas. In exchange for their labor they were provided with basic necessities for living and comfort; though the prisoners soon realized that the corporate ideal of “comfort” was often the least expensive option they could find.

Initially the management of both systems under the Caspen Corporation went well the company saw ever increasing share values. Unsurprisingly though, corporations are not equipped to act as a governing body and rifts soon began brewing in both systems. In Truna, the citizens began moving for more reasonable work hours and a louder voice in who is selected for high level positions. Around the same time the penal laborers in Kefer began planning mass revolts to overthrow an increasingly oppressive guard force that repeatedly put them in danger for the sake of profit margins. Caspen naturally tried to clamp down on the unrest, but their often heavy handed retaliations only further inflamed dissident movements to the point open revolt occurred almost simultaneously.

The resulting struggle would eventually see the complete removal of the Caspen Corporation from both systems, but also lay the groundwork for future conflicts between the newly established Federalist Union of the Truna system and the Kingdom of the Fallen Sun in the Kefer System.

The Unionists of Truna saw the penal laborers as nothing more than convicts and refused to recognize their newly founded kingdom as legitimate. Likewise the newly freed prisoners of Kefer, under their chosen king Sigvold the Mad, saw the citizens of Truna as part of the corporate machine that had made their lives a living hell and wanted nothing to do with them.

Each side regards the other as being the natural aggressor, but to finding the truth of who fired the first shot will never be known. What is certain is that not long after their corporate overlords were driven away did both systems set their sights on each other.

For nearly two centuries both systems have been at war with each other with the Federalist Union developing into a thriving independent system and the Kingdom of the Fallen Sun becoming a haven for every backwater, illegal, and nefarious scoundrel the galaxy has to offer. The Federalist council has attempted to isolate the Kefer system via naval blockades, while the new king Haren Hammer launches periodic raids against the Union to steal technology and supplies.

It looked like the stalemate would continue until the end of time until a third party intervened.

The alien species Gresh’n had been eyeing the prosperous worlds in the Truna System and had waited for the right moment to strike and claim them for their own. This moment came when the Federalist Union deployed the majority of their fleet to make yet another attempt to destroy the Kingdom of the Fallen Sun and remove the corruption so close to their doorstep.

Once the Gresh’n confirmed both human fleets were locked in deadly battle did they commit their own forces to invading the Federalist Union.

Caught completely unaware, the forces left to protect the borders of the Federalist Union were easily swept aside in a series of lightning strikes. Even the capital world came under siege with Gresh’n forces poised to conquer the world in little more than a month.

Just when the system was at its darkest something beyond comprehension happened.

At the outskirts of the Truna System the Gresh’n detected a massive fleet. The picket lines established to screen the main invasion force were decimated and when the mystery fleet finally held orbit and squared off with the primary fleet of the Gresh’n military they were surprised to see that it was comprised of both Unionist and Kingdom forces. Before the final battle commenced a system wide broadcast went out originating from the Kingdom’s flagship and personal ship of king Harren Hammer.

“YOU FUCKING INGRATES!!!” the pocket king shouted into the camera, “YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!!!!”

“FOR YEARS I PLANNED THE PERFECT WAR TO END THESE UNION BASTARDS ONCE AND FOR ALL AND YOU COME ALONG AND FUCK IT UP! I WILL NOT HAVE MY VICTORY STOLEN FROM ME!”

With that the massed armada descended on both the Gresh’n fleet and their forces on the capital world. The civilized citizens of the Union watched as they were rescued by pirates, thieves, criminals, and every variety of psychopaths the galaxy had a name for while overhead Kingdom junkers and corsair ships boarded Gresh’n ships and took them as trophies.

After thirteen hours of intense fighting the Gresh’n finally flung up the proverbial white flag and surrendered. King Harren replied that he would give them a three hour head start and that after that every Gresh’n in system would be hunted down and killed. In its weakened state the Federalist Union could not oppose this decision and so remained quiet.

Three hours passed and true to his word King Harren began a massive hunt the likes of which are still spoken of. Fleeing Gresh’n ships were magnetically harpooned as they fled and dragged back to be boarded by cutthroats while Gresh’n ground forces pleaded to deaf eared Union citizens for shelter as the Kingdom vagabonds scoured the planet for new trophies.

When the hunt was finally finished there was no exchange of thanks, nor celebration held in honor of their saviors. The forces of the kingdom withdrew one by one, hulls full of new bounty, until only King Harren’s flagship remained.

“You get five years to rebuild.” He said over another system wide broadcast. “After that I’m coming back and taking this all proper.”

With that final ominous warning the pocket king left.

The effects of the Gresh’n failed invasion would have limited impact on the wider galaxy save for the fact it would teach future alien leaders that when considering invasions of human territory, one could not always count on the enemy of your enemy being your friend.

[lonestarflight]

What if video of the Phase B (C-1057) Space Shuttle design, known among the fandom as the Flying Breadbox, lifting off from LC-39A, Kennedy Space Center, Florida.

Video by Hazygray: link

[roseaesynstylae]

Jedi-related Technology — Light of the Jedi

These were the crafts of the Jedi Order, their Vectors. As the Jedi and the Republic worked as one, so did the great craft and its Jedi contingent. Larger ships exited the Third Horizon’s hangars as well, the Republic’s workhorses: Longbeams. Versatile vessels, each able to perform duties in combat, search and rescue, transport, and anything else their crews might require.

The Vectors were configured as single- or dual-passenger craft, for not all Jedi traveled alone. Some brought their Padawans with them, so they might learn what their masters had to teach. The Longbeams could be flown by as few as three crew, but could comfortably carry up to twenty-four — soldiers, diplomats, metics, techs — whatever was needed.”

“The Vectors were as minimally designed as a starship could be. Little shielding, almost no weaponry, very little assistance. Their capabilities were defined by their pilots. The Jedi were the shielding, the weaponry, the minds that calculated what the vessel could achieve and where it could go. Vectors were small, nimble. A fleet of them together was a sight to behold, the Jedi inside coordinating their movements via the Force, achieving a level of precision no droid or ordinary pilot could match.

They looked like a flock of birds, or perhaps fallen leaves swirling in a gust of wind, all drawn in the same direction, linked together by some invisible connection…some Force. Bell had seen an exhibition on Coruscant once, as part of the Temple’s outreach programs. Three hundred Vectors moving together, gold and silver darts shining in the sun above Senate Plaza. They split apart and wove into braids and whipped past each other at incredible, impossible speed. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. People called it a Drift. A Drift of Vectors.”

“[…] Weapons on a Vector could only be operated with a lightsaber key, a way to ensure they were not used by non-Jedi, and that every time they used, it was a well-considered action.

An additional advantage— the ship’s laser could be scaled up or down via a toggle on the control sticks. Not every shot had to kill. They could disable, warn…every option was available to them.”

“They were riding in another vehicle customer-designed by Valkeri Enterprises for the Jedi — a Vanguard, the land-based equivalent to the Vector. It was also sometimes called a V-wheel, even though the thing didn’t always use its wheels to get around. Every Jedi outpost had at least one as part of its standard kit, and the machine was engineered to operate in all of the planetary environments in which those stationed were situated [?]. It could operate as a wheeled or tracked ground transport, or a repulsorlift speeder for ground too rugged for tank treads. A Vanguard even had limited utility as an amphibious or even submersible vehicle, being able to seal itself off entirely as needed. It could do everything but fly, and that came in handy on Elphrona, where the planet’s strong magnetic fields made certain regions utterly inhospitable to flying craft.

The overall aesthetic was analogous to Vectors — smooth, sleek lines, with curves and straight edges integrated into an appealingly geometric whole. Behind the seats in the driver’s cabin — currently occupied by Indeera Stokes and Loden Greatstorm — was a large, multipurpose passenger area, with space to store any gear that a mission might require. Vanguards were more rugged than Vectors, but were built with many of the same Jedi-related features as their flying cousins. The weapons systems required a lightsaber key, and many of the controls were mechanical in nature, so as to be operated — in an emergency — via an application of the Force rather than through electronics.

No Jedi would use the Force to accomplish something as easily done with their hand — but lives had been saved by the ability to unlock a Vanguard’s hatch from a distance, or fire its weapons, or even make it move.”

“Indeera slipped past them to the rear of the vehicle, where its two Veil speeders were stored on racks, one above the other. Like all the Valkeri Enterprises built for the older, they were designed for Force-users, and as such were delicate, highly responsive machines. Little more than a seat strapped to a hollow duralium frame, with a single repulsor and four winglike attachments that sprang from its side, a Veil was basically a flying stick. But if you knew how to to ride them, they were incredibly fast and maneuverable. A group of skilled riders, with lightsabers out and ready, could take down entire platoons of armored vehicles while sending blasterfire back at attackers.”

“At the moment, she was aboard the Ataraxia, the Jedi’s beautiful, elegant starship, almost a temple in and of itself.”

“Another ship was visible on his display, outside his command authority but certainly an ally: the Ataraxia, the one large starship under the direct control of the Jedi Order. It was a beautiful ship, designed to subtly evoke the Order’s symbol with its hull and sweeping, curved wings accented in white and gold.”

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

The Thunder That Follows | 1. Do You Think I'd Give Up?

Frank Castle x Fem Reader

next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: Frank meets a mysterious new foe.

warnings: None for this chapter

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

word count: 933

Frank Castle was not used to competition in his line of work. Sure Red was a pain about the ‘no killing’ thing whenever their paths crossed, but there weren’t exactly a lot of people (except the scumbags he was after) getting in the way of his work. That was until tonight.

The HVAC system of the building hummed in his ears as he stalked the halls of the 72nd floor of the Skyward Airlines corporate offices. Every corner he turned led to a different executive suite, each one more plush and lavish than the last with modern furnishings and stunning views of the New York skyline. Not a soul was around to enjoy the luxury and he was growing more agitated with every room he entered that turned up empty. The bastard had to be in here somewhere.

He took the stairs two at a time to the 67th floor, wondering if C Suite assholes like Herman Douglass even knew his company had space on the lower floor, where all the underpaid employees - regular people with rent to pay and families to feed, worked overtime to make sure he could buy a yacht that sat empty docked in the Hudson most of the year.

He sighed with relief as he turned the corner and saw a light coming from under a door in the long hallway ahead. A woman’s voice giggled from behind it and he heard his target hum in agreement.

Having an affair with his younger secretary, how cliche.

Frank waited patiently for a few moments, listening to see if there was any chance the woman would slip out of the room and leave him the opportunity he was there for in the first place.

“Oh darling, there’s a special gift for you I forgot on my desk upstairs. Why don’t you be a dear and go get it?” the male voice said from behind the door

Perfect.

“Oh yes, Mr. Douglass!” she agreed with another giggle

She didn’t see Frank standing in the shadows waiting as she flung open the door and traipsed down the hallway, hips swinging as she went.

Frank took the opportunity and slipped into the conference room where Douglass sat, leaned back in a chair with his feet on the conference table. He had a smug expression on his pudgy, red face as he undid another button on his dress shirt.

The click of the gun alarmed him as he spun in his seat, sputtering and scrambling to his feet to meet his visitor.

“What… what could I possibly be… The Punisher… but I’m not some low life.. I mean, I…” Douglass stammered

“Shut it Douglass, like all those heroin strains being laced with whatever fucked up shit that’s killing people ain’t getting transported on your planes.”

“I don’t know anything about heroin transportation you must have the wrong…”

Bang.

The sound of a gunshot rang out through the conference room and Herman Douglass flinched, ready to meet his maker.

But it seemed as if time stopped and both he and the man who fired the gun stared at the bullet, suspended in mid air.

A woman appeared between them, holding the bullet between her index finger and thumb.

“Who the hell—?”

But before he could finish his sentence, she spun around and landed her fist right on Douglass’ temple, rendering him unconscious as he slumped against the table.

She turned to face Frank, combat boots thumping on the grey carpet as she threw the bullet on the floor and stepped towards him.

“This one is mine, Castle.” she exclaimed, stepping on her tip toes to nearly press her nose to his. “There’s more to this heroin transport than just him. I need him alive. For now.”

Frank could see the anger in her eyes. After all, it was about all he could see of her. The cowl of her grey athletic zip up and a black beanie covered most of her face, and her black cargo pants hid the rest.

“Can’t let that happen.” Frank replied

“And why not?”

“Cause he’s been facilitating some nasty drug trafficking, the kind that’s been gettin’ people killed.”

“I’m aware of that. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Honestly, not a fuckin’ clue. Don’t even know who you are.”

“You don’t have to. I’m here about his crimes too and he will be dealt with. But later.”

The woman waved a keycard in Franks face. Herman Douglass’ work keycard to be exact.

“This is my ticket to figuring out just who is paying him to move the drugs. But I need him alive.”

“So I’m just supposed to go on my merry way then? Huh? That it?” Frank asked “Look lady, I have no idea who you are or how you stopped my bullet out of thin air or just… appeared. But I ain’t about to just take the word of some stranger that he’ll end up dead and not just kill him myself right now.”

The woman shrugged.

“Just stay out of my way, Castle.”

Frank barely had time to react as the woman disappeared before his eyes just as she had been before. He had no idea where she was until his gun was out of his hand and striking him against the forehead. Then it was black.

The alleyway where Frank woke up smelled of hot garbage, reeking of a New York summer air that lingered in your nose for days. His head pounded as he tried to recall how he’d ended up here.

A woman, who was there then not? No that couldn’t be right…

[epicaxolotls]

Philza Craft is in space.

But Phil was no astronaut.

He wasn't sailing the stars, journeying to find a new land. He wasn't going to the moon, or Mars, or out past their solar system. No, they had left those behind about fifteen minutes ago.

Phil was here to talk. To represent humans in these new political climates that the universe has been building for centuries, without them. He was here representing the newest discovered sentient species recognized by the Galactic Council.

He was representing humans.

-

Wilbur wasn't the captain of the ship, but he owned it. And, at the end of the day, he decided what happened with it.

He hadn’t thought much about signing up his ship in a transportation-for-hire program. It was just another way to keep fuel in their thrusters.

Maybe he should’ve considered other options, he amended, as he read the assignment that was pinged to his screen. Because traveling a new species from the Milky Way Galaxy all the way to the Universal Concession was not how he wanted to spend the next thirty cycles.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62730034/chapters/160592329

hey tumblr. pspsps ive escaped the writing hole. i dont know how long i have. go read my fic before its too- wait no. no. dont take me back there. no- NOOOOOOO

[un-monstre]

Got a lot of responses to a previous post about poverty and environmentalism and I have come to the conclusion that people genuinely don't understand just how little autonomy a lot of poor people have. Ideally, we'd all vote with our dollars for a better world, but many of us don't have much to vote with.

By virtue of being poor, low-income people already buy few clothes and use what they have until it wears out. They mostly thrift and wear hand-me-downs, and take what they can get. If they need something specific (like a certain color of clothes for a uniform or a safety shoe for work), they buy it from Wal-Mart or whatever they can access locally. Perhaps they might like to "buy something sustainable" that would last longer, but longer-lasting clothes are no longer available where they live. Their options for new clothes are "decent mall brand" and "shitty mall brand," and it's hard to justify the price increase if they both wear out just as fast. They could buy online and have more options, but given how hard it is to find good clothes while plus size, they might be hesitant to take the risk of online shopping - especially if returns means going to the post office across town. Perhaps they should be sewing their own clothes, but that's just another chore heaped at their feet, something they hope to get around to when they have the spare the energy and money to learn.

A poor person cannot will a working public transportation system into being on their own, nor can they easily justify getting a more fuel-efficient car (if they can afford a car at all). Hopefully, they have reliable public transportation with benches to sit on and covered stops for when it rains. Hopefully the busses run late enough for second and third-shift workers and don't stop running when the office workers get home. Another thing people don't think about it the fact that perhaps a poor person COULD take public transportation, but can't physically handle an hour plus on the bus after work for a journey that takes no more than twenty minutes by car.

Poor people are often harangued about "eating better," whatever that means, but no one is willing to admit that poverty also brings time poverty, energy poverty, and lack of storage space. Sure, we should all be eating home-cooked, locally-sourced, organic vegan paleo keto probiotic prebiotic low-carb high-carb blue zone food, but after a long shift, not everyone has the mental and physical energy to prepare a meal to that standard. And the answer is always that we should meal prep it all. Not everyone has refrigerator space like that, given that many us live doubled up, couch surf, or live out of cars. Many of us just eat what we can prepare, given lack of proper kitchens, disability, and time poverty.

None of this is intended to make people feel bad, it simply represents my own lived experience and how frustrated I feel as someone with an interest in the environment and a long history of making due without much money. So much dialog about the environment focuses on trimming excess, but many people don't have that much excess to trim.

Instead of shaming people for not doing this or that, why not make it possible for them to do so? Consider organizing a clothing swap, either in your community or for friends. Advocate for public transport in your community, and offer to carpool with friends that need it. See if there's a community garden or a food sovereignty project in your area, or just start growing if you have a backyard and some friends to help out. Advocate for good recycling programs that don't involve driving miles in a car to a recycling center. If you make a useful craft (like lotion bars or soap, for example!), give some to your friends so they don't have to buy the plastic-wrapped version at the store. Above all, be conscious of the barriers that stand between people and sustainable living. I think we could all do better to focus on breaking barriers down, not people down.

[original-bookshelf]

Space Cowboy AU World Building

And it's not just in the accent sense although boy oh boy is that accent fun.

So, here are some primary setting details:

The space cowboy AU takes place in the ████████ Planetary System with five habitable planets and a cluster of moons, that are classified as Aria Primus, Aria 7, Aria 15, Aria B16, Elegy, Ipra, Theon 8, Lippe 87, and Dahlia 42 by the Department of Spacial Exploration and Naval Technology or DOSENT (pronounced doe-sent). Colloquially the planets are known as Stormrider, Whiplash, Bullettooth, the Immortal, and the Fiend with one of the rings of Aria Primus being known as the River.

Here's a quick run down of what to expect from each of these planets.

Stormrider (Dahlia 42): mainly agriculturally based planet, there are small colonies and settlements across its surface, and if you get close enough to some of the core settlements with the space ports, it's actually a pretty nice place to live and work, you've got all sorts of different crafts you can go into and if you're wanting to work your way off the planet? Well, there's a few apprenticeship and indentured exploration programs you can join up on.

The further from the core settlements that you get, the further into wilderness territory that you get. This is where a lot of the space cowboys are because they handle a lot of the cattle like aliens that are tended to out here and also protect the literal crop circles that are out in this area. They protect against the wildlife and bandits, but also take on the occasional odd job.

Whiplash (Theon 8) : One of the harsher planets to live on in terms of environment. People have to deal with constantly changing weather patterns and the occasional sea monster, but things actually are a lot better here economically than several other areas. Whiplash is mainly self-sustaining and operates with very little oversight from Aria Primus so long as they're able to get their allotted tithe off planet and to the Immortal every season. The academy of space exploration has several training facilities here as well.

Bullet Tooth (Ipra): This is where your average outlaw hangs on the fringes of society and where you'll find a fair amount of casinos, hidden money stores, and black market deals. It's a dog eat dog world and you'll find people who are criminals trying to catch other criminals, people making bad decisions with vast sums of money, and many illicit substances. This is where deals that are made off the books happen and some of your more adventurous people (ie guns for hire) can be pulled from.

The Immortal (Aria Primus): The economic hub of the planetary system. It's where most of the wealth is concentrated and does a lot of work in manufacturing, banking, education, and trade. Your average robber baron, socialite, educated 'man', and explorer will have come from here.

Sweeping skylines, beautiful architecture, high tech transportation and fashion trends that are the very definition of opulence, you would be hard pressed to not be impressed or at the very least disgusted by the excess.

Elegy (one of Aria Primus' moons) is one of the few unexplored celestial bodies in the planetary system. It's remained untouched due to the laser array that was left behind by Aria Primus' previous inhabitants. Very little is known about it, but it's assumed that it must have had some value to be protected so fiercely. There's currently several expeditions being put together to try and destroy the laser array and make it onto Elegy.

The River - one of the rings surrounding Aria Primus that houses several species of space whales and helps to generate some of the planet's gravitational and electrical field. A few people live out there, but they're either scientists, or crazy because you can get pretty intense radiation poisoning out there if you aren't careful.

The Fiend (Lippe 87) : The poorest planet in the system and also where many of the prisons are where convicts are put to work in the mines. People want to get off this planet and find prosperity elsewhere, but the doors to that are guarded by a cult that masquerades as a well fare group. And even if you join the Silver Order, who says that you want to leave anymore? It's your job to care for the corrupted souls who end up trapped here and make them see the light.

A brutal landscape with sheer rock faces and lava vents that fuels most of the electricity used on that planet. The Fiend was initially an experiment in creating an ideal atmosphere that backfired and warmed the planet considerably in the process.

So, who populates these planets?

The humans who settled the system originally had brought along some alien refugees and so there's been some intermingling between species and so you've got humans, mixed humans, mixed Crammell, mixed Chaltu, Crammel, and Chaltu.

Crammell are bipedal aliens that utilize sound and echolocation to navigate the world, they're lacking in the eye department but all their other senses are heightened, and they have incredible memories. they have much thicker skin than humans and the 'queens' of each cluster have four arms and are built considerably larger than the others, pushing almost over 9 feet tall. Height wise the Crammel are usually around 7'-9' tall.

Note: Queen is a needlessly gendered term used by humans to describe the leaders of clusters of Crammels. Crammels don't have the same understanding of gender and sex that humans do and there's more of a denotation between worker and leader. They possess multiple sex traits and present a particular way depending on what is deemed the most useful at any given time.

Chaltu are much smaller averaging at around 4'-5' and have much more delicate constitutions, but they also photosynthesize and produce oxygen. They're more floral in appearance and are almost fairy like, but they also are born with varying levels of venomous spit.

This is a work in progress and I am open to questions and feedback as stuff continues to be built out.