#Universal Encoders

[emcoprecima]

FOC Signal Transmission for HTL/TTL up to 100 kHz

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[sewer-swan]

I'm really interested in that irrational realm of absolutes and archetypes. Fantasy fiction, gender roles, sexuality, psychosis, drama, conspiracy theory, poetry.

[sevenines]

i hate the su subreddit so much so when someone posted “why did lapis reform in pants in universe i liked her skirt it was more feminine” and the top reply was “i think she just wanted pants.” that slayed

[yes7erdays-archive]

_________  ⋆˚ ★ INCOMING TRANSMISSION / ENDLESS EDITS OF YES7ERDAYS

[meolcwifes]

I often have the want to run a game of vintage d&d, but I know none of my friends have the desire to do the required reading/attend my lecture on the history of fantasy roleplaying in order to make it work.

[minusgangtime]

(Random code lol

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[astrosexologist]

omg !!! it's my ocs neiyeranya and naveen from my worldbuilding project the universe encoder!! hi neiyeranya and naveen !! ^___^ 🌌☄✨🐲🐲

[shouyuus]

hawks telling you that he'll find you in every lifetime, bc didn't you know? birds are born with a map encoded into their dna, they remember migratory routes through generations, they always know where to go, to follow the innate magnetism of the earth. except, for him, you are that guiding force, so no matter what, no matter how many lives and parallel universes it spans, he'll always find his way back to you.

[horsesarecreatures]

Horses are among the world’s most elite athletes: When galloping, they can consume twice as much oxygen per kilogram as the fittest humans. All that oxygen supercharges horses’ cells’ energy-producing compartments as they crank out ATP, the chemical needed to power their impressive muscles. But making so much cellular fuel so quickly comes with a catch: the manufacture of pernicious byproduct molecules called reactive oxygen species (ROS), which can wreak havoc in cells.

How horses dealt with this biological trade-off and evolved into premier endurance athletes has long intrigued biologists. Researchers report today in Science that they have uncovered a big part of it, identifying a key mutation that lets horses safely produce so much ATP. The trait helped pave the way for horses to go from dog-size critters millions of years ago to the high-endurance athletes we know today.

The study’s detailed molecular work makes it “exceptional,” says José Calbet, an expert on the cellular responses to exercise at the University of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria who wasn’t involved with the study.

The mutation in question occurs in the gene that encodes a protein called KEAP1, which acts as a biochemical bouncer, binding to a different protein called NRF2 to prevent it from entering the cell’s nucleus, where it would otherwise activate stress-response genes that help blunt cell damage.

But ROS can help NRF2 sneak in by causing KEAP1 to release its bind on the protein, allowing it to enter the nucleus and trigger the cell’s stress-response genes.

Johns Hopkins University ophthalmologist and clinician scientist Elia Duh, a senior author of the new study, didn’t set out to study horses. Initially, Duh was interested in the KEAP1-NRF2 system because its role in activating stress-response genes makes it a tempting target for treating inflammation—and aging-related conditions, such as blinding retinal diseases, irritable bowel syndrome, and neurodegeneration.

Duh wondered whether any insights could be gleaned from studying the evolution of these proteins in different animals. So, he teamed up with Gianni Castiglione, an evolutionary biologist and biochemist at Vanderbilt University. Together, they scanned hundreds of vertebrate genomes looking for notable mutations to the gene for KEAP1.

The team’s genomic work revealed birds had almost completely lost the gene, presumably an adaptation to the extreme demands of flight. When they looked in horses, researchers noticed what initially appeared to be a DNA sequence that encoded an unusually short—and therefore presumably nonfunctional—version of the KEAP1 protein. But when Duh’s and Castiglione’s team grew horse cells in culture, it discovered the protein was very much there and working. “Naturally, I was worried I was doing something wrong,” Castiglione says. “Then one day, a light bulb went off.”

As it turns out, the computer algorithm scientists had used to scan the horse genome had made a mistake. The algorithm had spotted a specific kind of mutation in the part of the KEAP1 gene that changed the messenger RNA from CGA—which codes for the amino acid arginine—to UGA, which is what’s known as a “stop codon.”

Normally, the cellular machinery interprets UGA as a sign to stop translating the RNA into a protein. But instead, the horses’ genetic machinery recodes the stop codon into a different amino acid, cysteine, causing it to ignore that order. This phenomenon, known as a stop codon read-through, is common among viruses but rare in multicellular organisms.

“The identification of this evolutionarily significant UGA recoding event represents a potentially seminal finding, offering a model for uncovering other yet-unidentified cases of stop codon read-through,” says Hozumi Motohashi, a biologist at Tohoku University who has studied KEAP1 and NRF2.

That the replacement is a cysteine is particularly notable, Castiglione says. KEAP1 senses cellular stress through its cysteines, which contain sulfur atoms whose reactions with ROS, induce the chemical changes that cause KEAP1 to let go of NRF2. The mutation the researchers had identified adds another place on KEAP1 for ROS to interact, which makes the protein more sensitive to stress—and lets horse cells respond much faster to the cellular stress of intense exercise. “It does make complete sense [that] by introducing another cysteine, another sulfur, you would have heightened sensitivity,” Castiglione says.

What’s more, this tweaking of KEAP1 is a “[key] genetic component to the puzzle of the evolution of horses,” Duh says. “Once they figured out how to run, they could occupy all kinds of ecological niches,” Castiglione adds.

The finding could also point the way toward new kinds of drugs to treat diseases by targeting the specific parts of the KEAP1 protein that help horses hoof it. “By looking at what evolution has figured out, we know this is a viable strategy,” Castiglione says.

Source

[emcoprecima]

Universal Encoder Systems | High-Precision Position & Speed Monitoring

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[charseraph]

I couldn't find it if it's been asked before, but what is a mule/mule kick?

A semiohazard is deleterious information that can be encoded into any stimulus. A tripwire is the medium that a semiohazard occupies, whether it’s a precise sight, sound, temperature sequence, or an injected thought. A mulekick is the effect of perceiving a hazard, ranging in severity from dizziness, to unconsciousness, to autoimmune response, to mind death. A mule can reproduce a predetermined semiohazard with its body. They are like walking bombs.

Whether a mule is immune to its own kick depends on how worthwhile their deployer deems the mule’s survival or reuse. Some mules are not immune, so when they detonate their semiohazard, they mulekick themselves and anyone who witnesses them. Some mules are immune for reasons I’ll describe, and they can be reused after detonation.

A mule can either be an organism (an animal/human, plant, microbe) or a seedlet (conscious artificial intelligence).

There are four methods to mitigating a semiohazard:

Having…

Fewer senses to perceive the semiohazard in the first place

More acidic whiterooms (mental immune system)

Slower clockspeed (cognition rate)

Fewer life systems vulnerable to mulekick (typically this means using a seedlet instead of a human since seedlets don’t have organs that can be shut off)

Seedlets are uniquely suited to deal in semiohazards. However, a human can don sensory cancellation apparel, be nootically subtracted (cognitively engineered before embryonic development) to have a slower clockspeed and potent whiteroom, have mulekick-vulnerable organs artifically replaced, and/or be born without certain senses at all (blind/deaf/anosmic/anaptic). These are called lightfooted soldiers since they don’t “trip wires.”

Slower clockspeed can only be created prenatally. It can either be fixed (clunky but consistent) or toggleable (finicky but versatile). Clockspeed can only be slowed, not quickened.

Some clockspeeds have an oscillating or randomized walk to disarm timing-based tripwires. In other words, the perceiver’s sense of time is warped, eliminating the threat of a hazard that needs to be perceived in exact sequence.

Having a slower rate at ingesting information allows a person’s whiteroom or accompanying mustard (a seedlet specialized in detecting/filtering semiohazards) to find and eliminate the hazard before it mulekicks the perceiver.

Lightfooted soldiers and semiotic disposal technicians can get away with preserving some of their senses when handling hazards. This is until the far future discovery of the theoretical universal silencer, or UNISILE, a semiohazard capable of killing organics and seedlets by targeting the anima, or measurable soul, via a minimally complex tripwire.

But they don’t have to worry about that right now.

[reverie-starlight]

THE BOY HAS RETURNED!!! how I managed to go 5 months without writing for him I will never know. anyway, here’s some atsumu fluff to heal my soul after finishing my last assignment last week and more recently a rough few days of back-to-back exams.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. university student!reader, MSBY!atsumu. very fluffy, ultra sappy. y’all know the drill. uhhhh very suggestive towards the end. this is very short bc I'm slowly trying to get back into writing after a creative block. I've missed him SO much, you have no idea :(

you reach your arms above your head and hiss at the dull pain that follows your much needed stretch. slumping back down into your chair, you sigh and allow yourself a moment to take in the fact that you can actually relax for the next day or two, completely guilt free.

you shut your laptop and make your way over to the bedroom, eager to finally crawl into atsumu’s arms. you feel bad for him- you’ve been so busy with your assignments and finals lately that you’ve hardly been able to spend any quality time with him.

he’s been a good sport about it of course- he knows how important your education is, but you also know extremely well how much of a dramatic little shit he can be sometimes.

sure enough, as soon as he sees your figure in the doorway, he turns to face the wall and leaves you with the very familiar, beloved view of his back.

but you miss him, and you'll be damned if you don't get any congratulatory cuddles from him tonight, even if you have to fight for them.

you grin a little and slide under the covers behind him, tracing a finger along his broad shoulders.

“baby,” you make sure to drag out the last syllable. you press a kiss to the nape of his neck and smile against his skin when he shudders. “you’re really going to ignore me?”

he doesn’t answer just yet, but you can feel his resolve (which clearly isn't the strongest in this moment) breaking with every kiss you press down his spine, along his shoulder blades, the backs of his arms…

until he finally caves and turns to you with that lovesick grin you adore so much. he wraps his arms around your waist and you realize just how much you've been missing him.

"are ya finally done?" his eyes shine with hope and your heart squeezes in your chest.

you nod and he pulls you closer so that you're face-to-face, breaths mingling and lips barely touching. his skin, always so warm and soft, smells of fresh laundry and his breath has hints of the minty toothpaste your dentist recommended. you burrow against his neck and release the last of your worries with one big sigh.

and in typical atsumu fashion, as if he's just received an encoded message, he kisses your temple to let you know he's got you. "I'm proud of ya," he mumbles. "I know this was a tough semester for ya, baby, but you're gonna finish off strong."

you melt against him, let your shoulders relax and allow yourself the mental break that is letting him take care of you. "thank you," you whisper. "I'm just so glad I have a few days to rest now."

the energy of the room shifts with atsumu as he moves to hover your frame. the calluses on his hand from years of athletics are rough against the cheek he cups but comforting all the same. the look in his eyes is familiar and makes you a little dizzy with need.

"since you've got nothin' going on tomorrow..." your eyes stay trained on him as he turns his head to check the clock on your nightstand. "that means ya can afford to stay up a bit longer?"

you nod, not even bothering to check the time for yourself, welcoming him with a small smile when his eyes find their way back home to you. "that's right."

he grins and leans down to finally, finally, finally slot his lips against yours, right where they belong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[mostlysignssomeportents]

I assure you, an AI didn’t write a terrible “George Carlin” routine

There are only TWO MORE DAYS left in the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

On Hallowe'en 1974, Ronald Clark O'Bryan murdered his son with poisoned candy. He needed the insurance money, and he knew that Halloween poisonings were rampant, so he figured he'd get away with it. He was wrong:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Clark_O%27Bryan

The stories of Hallowe'en poisonings were just that – stories. No one was poisoning kids on Hallowe'en – except this monstrous murderer, who mistook rampant scare stories for truth and assumed (incorrectly) that his murder would blend in with the crowd.

Last week, the dudes behind the "comedy" podcast Dudesy released a "George Carlin" comedy special that they claimed had been created, holus bolus, by an AI trained on the comedian's routines. This was a lie. After the Carlin estate sued, the dudes admitted that they had written the (remarkably unfunny) "comedy" special:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/01/george-carlins-heirs-sue-comedy-podcast-over-ai-generated-impression/

As I've written, we're nowhere near the point where an AI can do your job, but we're well past the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

AI systems can do some remarkable party tricks, but there's a huge difference between producing a plausible sentence and a good one. After the initial rush of astonishment, the stench of botshit becomes unmistakable:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

Some of this botshit comes from people who are sold a bill of goods: they're convinced that they can make a George Carlin special without any human intervention and when the bot fails, they manufacture their own botshit, assuming they must be bad at prompting the AI.

This is an old technology story: I had a friend who was contracted to livestream a Canadian awards show in the earliest days of the web. They booked in multiple ISDN lines from Bell Canada and set up an impressive Mbone encoding station on the wings of the stage. Only one problem: the ISDNs flaked (this was a common problem with ISDNs!). There was no way to livecast the show.

Nevertheless, my friend's boss's ordered him to go on pretending to livestream the show. They made a big deal of it, with all kinds of cool visualizers showing the progress of this futuristic marvel, which the cameras frequently lingered on, accompanied by overheated narration from the show's hosts.

The weirdest part? The next day, my friend – and many others – heard from satisfied viewers who boasted about how amazing it had been to watch this show on their computers, rather than their TVs. Remember: there had been no stream. These people had just assumed that the problem was on their end – that they had failed to correctly install and configure the multiple browser plugins required. Not wanting to admit their technical incompetence, they instead boasted about how great the show had been. It was the Emperor's New Livestream.

Perhaps that's what happened to the Dudesy bros. But there's another possibility: maybe they were captured by their own imaginations. In "Genesis," an essay in the 2007 collection The Creationists, EL Doctorow (no relation) describes how the ancient Babylonians were so poleaxed by the strange wonder of the story they made up about the origin of the universe that they assumed that it must be true. They themselves weren't nearly imaginative enough to have come up with this super-cool tale, so God must have put it in their minds:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/29/gedankenexperimentwahn/#high-on-your-own-supply

That seems to have been what happened to the Air Force colonel who falsely claimed that a "rogue AI-powered drone" had spontaneously evolved the strategy of killing its operator as a way of clearing the obstacle to its main objective, which was killing the enemy:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/04/ayyyyyy-eyeeeee/

This never happened. It was – in the chagrined colonel's words – a "thought experiment." In other words, this guy – who is the USAF's Chief of AI Test and Operations – was so excited about his own made up story that he forgot it wasn't true and told a whole conference-room full of people that it had actually happened.

Maybe that's what happened with the George Carlinbot 3000: the Dudesy dudes fell in love with their own vision for a fully automated luxury Carlinbot and forgot that they had made it up, so they just cheated, assuming they would eventually be able to make a fully operational Battle Carlinbot.

That's basically the Theranos story: a teenaged "entrepreneur" was convinced that she was just about to produce a seemingly impossible, revolutionary diagnostic machine, so she faked its results, abetted by investors, customers and others who wanted to believe:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theranos

The thing about stories of AI miracles is that they are peddled by both AI's boosters and its critics. For boosters, the value of these tall tales is obvious: if normies can be convinced that AI is capable of performing miracles, they'll invest in it. They'll even integrate it into their product offerings and then quietly hire legions of humans to pick up the botshit it leaves behind. These abettors can be relied upon to keep the defects in these products a secret, because they'll assume that they've committed an operator error. After all, everyone knows that AI can do anything, so if it's not performing for them, the problem must exist between the keyboard and the chair.

But this would only take AI so far. It's one thing to hear implausible stories of AI's triumph from the people invested in it – but what about when AI's critics repeat those stories? If your boss thinks an AI can do your job, and AI critics are all running around with their hair on fire, shouting about the coming AI jobpocalypse, then maybe the AI really can do your job?

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

There's a name for this kind of criticism: "criti-hype," coined by Lee Vinsel, who points to many reasons for its persistence, including the fact that it constitutes an "academic business-model":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

That's four reasons for AI hype:

to win investors and customers;

to cover customers' and users' embarrassment when the AI doesn't perform;

AI dreamers so high on their own supply that they can't tell truth from fantasy;

A business-model for doomsayers who form an unholy alliance with AI companies by parroting their silliest hype in warning form.

But there's a fifth motivation for criti-hype: to simplify otherwise tedious and complex situations. As Jamie Zawinski writes, this is the motivation behind the obvious lie that the "autonomous cars" on the streets of San Francisco have no driver:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2024/01/driverless-cars-always-have-a-driver/

GM's Cruise division was forced to shutter its SF operations after one of its "self-driving" cars dragged an injured pedestrian for 20 feet:

https://www.wired.com/story/cruise-robotaxi-self-driving-permit-revoked-california/

One of the widely discussed revelations in the wake of the incident was that Cruise employed 1.5 skilled technical remote overseers for every one of its "self-driving" cars. In other words, they had replaced a single low-waged cab driver with 1.5 higher-paid remote operators.

As Zawinski writes, SFPD is well aware that there's a human being (or more than one human being) responsible for every one of these cars – someone who is formally at fault when the cars injure people or damage property. Nevertheless, SFPD and SFMTA maintain that these cars can't be cited for moving violations because "no one is driving them."

But figuring out who which person is responsible for a moving violation is "complicated and annoying to deal with," so the fiction persists.

(Zawinski notes that even when these people are held responsible, they're a "moral crumple zone" for the company that decided to enroll whole cities in nonconsensual murderbot experiments.)

Automation hype has always involved hidden humans. The most famous of these was the "mechanical Turk" hoax: a supposed chess-playing robot that was just a puppet operated by a concealed human operator wedged awkwardly into its carapace.

This pattern repeats itself through the ages. Thomas Jefferson "replaced his slaves" with dumbwaiters – but of course, dumbwaiters don't replace slaves, they hide slaves:

https://www.stuartmcmillen.com/blog/behind-the-dumbwaiter/

The modern Mechanical Turk – a division of Amazon that employs low-waged "clickworkers," many of them overseas – modernizes the dumbwaiter by hiding low-waged workforces behind a veneer of automation. The MTurk is an abstract "cloud" of human intelligence (the tasks MTurks perform are called "HITs," which stands for "Human Intelligence Tasks").

This is such a truism that techies in India joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians." Or, to use Jathan Sadowski's wonderful term: "Potemkin AI":

https://reallifemag.com/potemkin-ai/

This Potemkin AI is everywhere you look. When Tesla unveiled its humanoid robot Optimus, they made a big flashy show of it, promising a $20,000 automaton was just on the horizon. They failed to mention that Optimus was just a person in a robot suit:

https://www.siliconrepublic.com/machines/elon-musk-tesla-robot-optimus-ai

Likewise with the famous demo of a "full self-driving" Tesla, which turned out to be a canned fake:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/tesla-video-promoting-self-driving-was-staged-engineer-testifies-2023-01-17/

The most shocking and terrifying and enraging AI demos keep turning out to be "Just A Guy" (in Molly White's excellent parlance):

https://twitter.com/molly0xFFF/status/1751670561606971895

And yet, we keep falling for it. It's no wonder, really: criti-hype rewards so many different people in so many different ways that it truly offers something for everyone.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image:

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Ross Breadmore (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/rossbreadmore/5169298162/

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

[stars-obsession-pit]

DPxDC or other such DP crossover fics sometimes like to flirt with the idea of immensely powerful/eldritch Ghost King and/or Ancient Of Space Danny who outclasses everyone else, but I feel like they often fall short of making his power come across as truly overwhelming instead of just like… “regular powerful”.

Like sure he can easily take out the designated Worf dangerous villain (often Darkseid in a DPxDC thing) but like… without the actual story itself truly establishing that character’s power beforehand, that doesn’t necessarily feel as impactful as it could.

And even if the story does try to establish that, “he just punches the enemy and they fold” doesn’t carry the same… pizazz as something more reality-shaking.

(Not that stories necessarily need that pizazz, but like for reinforcing the image of strength it’s certainly helpful, especially if you don’t have that established power to take down first)

So anyway here’s a sorta rambled set of ideas for that sort of “more overwhelming power” stuff

What if when Danny is summoned, the whole world lurches for a moment as all of the planet’s momentum is ground to a halt by his arrival then reinstated. Or maybe gravity just… stops working for a moment, letting many items drift upwards into the air before falling back down.

Perhaps the whole sky could suddenly shift too. The daytime sky blackens to night, or the night turns to day. Maybe all the stars flare up brightly enough to become visible despite the sun’s glare (probably also shining brightly enough to cause eye damage to anyone unlucky enough to be looking outside at the time).

Or you could go more horror/freaky eldritch with it. The stars change to resemble eyes staring down on the world. Whispers can be heard originating from somewhere in the sky above. Maybe you’re crazy, but you could swear there’s a pattern to the positions of the stars currently visible, some hidden message encoded within them.

Or like just generally… summoning something that powerful isn’t a quiet affair. The world feels his arrival.

Relatedly, though not quite as directly relevant to this post’s contents, you’d probably also want to greatly increase the difficulty of summoning him. He’s too impressive to be given a lame/easy summoning ritual, you know? Make them work for their chance to talk to something this powerful.

And what about when Danny is present? How would he interact with the world?

Maybe when he needs to grab something from somewhere distant, instead of just creating a small portal and reaching through, space itself folds. Their vision distorts and suddenly the other location is just there beside them as if it always had been. Danny casually just reaches across, grabs the item, and then the world returns to normal.

Or alternatively, a tiny version of the world appears in his hands—not just a copy but an instance of the planet itself—and he just reaches down into it and plucks the item up. If someone were to happen to look up from the item’s location while he did it, they would see a planet-sized figure reaching down and lifting the item away into the heavens. And as it shrinks away into the distant sky, it simultaneously grows to appear in Danny’s own hand retracting from the globe.

That effect could also appear in a more subtle fashion when he travels - instead of zipping through the air, he seems to walk casually, yet each step moves him forward an immense distance across the planet (or beyond).

And when he fights, he’s unstoppable. His regular abilities are already tuned up to a million - cold powerful to bring a whole planet to basically absolute zero, his wail nearly tearing the fabric of universe ahead of him apart, etc. But you could also give him other fancier things based on being Ancient of Space or Ghost King like throwing around miniature stars or black holes, pulling people’s souls out of their bodies, etc. Hell, just the manipulation of space on its own would open up ridiculous numbers of possibilities - redirecting attacks (guaranteeing that his attacks hit and that others’ attacks miss (or are even turned back on themselves)), stretching/compressing space around someone to prevent them from moving, folding space to drop them into something hazardous like a supernova, etc.

Again, this is a version of Danny that’s meant to be godlike. I feel like his power should be able to majorly reshape the whole world around him (and thus you’d want/need to openly shown it as such for that fact to come across).

Even if he isn’t fighting, there’s also the more passive possibilities because like, his power doesn’t necessarily just vanish when not in use.

His aura is often shown freezing people under the weight of his power, but let’s take it further into the theme. It doesn’t just make them freeze, it forces them to experience all the different ways they could die. Or maybe it’s a bit more on the space side of things and they bear witness to the scale of the universe and heat death, all the stars burning out as their whole universe goes dark.

Then Danny apologizes and suddenly the visions recede and they realize that wasn’t even an intentional threat. His mere presence is just like that unless he actively realizes and holds himself back.

Or there could also be like, casual references to situations so beyond the heroes’ perceptions.

He’s summoned and mentions like “oh yeah I solved those threats to your planet for you” and they’re like “Wait, threats? Plural? There was more than one?!”

Because to them, those other threats were impossible to see coming (e.g. a really small, really distant asteroid that wasn’t visible to any telescopes yet, or their universe being on a collision course with something else in the Infinite Realms, or etc). But to Danny they were like… obvious issues with easy fixes (or maybe not easy per se but like, a normal part of the job).

[muletia]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑] ⊹₊⟡⋆

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: when soundwave returns in a sour mood you start wondering why do you even care. why do you care about him.

cw: yandere themes, captivity, isolation, reader's pov, elements of stockholm syndrome

word count: 960

[part 2]

Today, there’s something more human about him.

You noticed it right away, the moment he took his first step into his quarters. The calculated lethargy typical of him was left outside this room, replaced with a rigidity in his stride. His steps were faster, more aggressive.

He also skipped your routine greeting. Didn’t point to the tablet, nor gesture at the books with his thin fingers. He simply turned his head in your direction and looked at you for a moment. Your mind instinctively jumped to the idea of him looking for a scapegoat—a piñata to channel his simmering frustration. But he didn’t. Your interaction ended with a smile displayed on his face. That was all. No aggression, no violence, no crushing or death. He approached the keyboard and began working.

Under normal circumstances, he typed quickly yet lightly, pausing now and then to glance at you for updates on the movie you were watching, even if only ten minutes had passed since the last check-in. But something must have been different this time, because an hour passed. Then two, then three, and the giant remained laser-focused on the flickering screen, inputting data you couldn’t comprehend.

You’re reminded of the early days of your existence in these new conditions, when your only entertainment was watching him work. Back then, he wasn’t so protective, nor did he pay you much attention. He was a nightmare—a cold-blooded, emotionless beast that stripped you of your life and replaced it with a fight for survival.

But that was the past. Painful beginnings you tried not to dwell on. You wanted to focus on the present because you knew something was up. Something must have happened beyond your small universe that shook someone as stoic and composed as him. You knew your curiosity — and especially your concern — should end there. You should revel in his downfall, take satisfaction in the misfortune that befell him. It was the only possible form of revenge, the only way to feel a fleeting sense of gratification.

But you couldn’t. Because you saw humanity in his behavior. You saw yourself. You remembered all the times you’d been unsettled—when your steps quickened, when you reduced human contact, when your fingers struck the keyboard harder than usual. Even without context, you understood how he felt. It was terrifying, humanizing your captor, a faceless alien — a creature displaying the most human of traits. Yet, you couldn’t deny it to him, just as you couldn’t deny it to yourself. You were still human; you still felt, still tried to empathize, even if the subject was a gigantic, enigmatic robot. That intrinsic part of you, deeply encoded in your genetic makeup, was reaping its harvest. You just had to decide whether it was a good or bad one.

"Hey," you attempt. Your voice comes out uncertain, betraying your internal conflict.

The titan turns his head toward you, startlingly fast—too fast for your liking. His sudden attention strips away the last remnants of your courage. As he looks at you, waiting, expecting you to continue, you suddenly feel microscopic, recalling the dynamic between the two of you. You wonder whether you should drop the subject, let it go, and enjoy the rare day when he wasn’t bothering you. Pretend you came home from work and were watching a comfort movie. But as he stops typing and gives you his full attention, you realize you’re a coward. Because deep down, you do want to help him, even if it’s just with one question. But you’re held back by lingering fears, the remnants of a survival instinct that no longer belongs to you.

He tilts his head and leans closer to you—a wake-up call you needed. Was your lack of follow-up really that concerning to him?

"Is everything okay?" you finally ask, looking straight into the center of his "face."

He freezes, as if completely unprepared for such a question. Your concern is uncharted territory for both him and you, so his reaction doesn’t surprise you. It only serves to humanize him further, to draw you in with his awkwardness. And you willingly step closer to the trap.

A thumbs-up emoji flashes on the screen, breaking the awkwardness.

You smile faintly; his use of human emojis has always fascinated you. And your giant seems to read your mind, sending you an adorable :3 moments later.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your chest, taking the tension with it. You don’t expect him to always be in a good mood, even though, for a victim, such conditions are favorable for living. But seeing him like this makes you feel better. Lighter.

He extends an open hand toward you, placing it on the desk. An invitation you cautiously accept. The titan gently wraps his fingers around you and pulls you closer to his chest, where you’re forced to press your whole body against him. Another novelty, another uncharted territory.

He’s unbelievably warm, a stark contrast to the chilliness of the room. The necessity of embracing his strangely soothing warmth shifts into a choice. Because whether you want to admit it or not, he’s offering you comfort.

Your field of vision is limited, but you see him return to his workstation. Two tendrils extend, typing on his behalf, while his head remains focused on you. One of his fingers begins to stroke your back, tracing soft circles, studying your anatomy. He lingers over your shoulder blades, subtly outlining their shape. It’s a gentle curiosity you can’t deny him because you feel the same way. You want to know more — about his species, why he’s here on Earth. But above all, you want to know about him.

"Who are you?" you finally ask, uncertain if you’ll receive an answer.

[thatnightlamp]

I adore Big E's cosmic ex just being So Done with his bullshit. 10/10 I would love to see him being sassed more, maybe having to begrudgingly explain what the fuck is going on

Big E and his Ex part 3

He appeared before you in a blaze of gold, armored in psychic flame and divine presence. The Warp screamed and parted around Him, reality itself unsure whether to bow or run.

You? You rolled your eyes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mister Universe-Build-A-Bear. You finally crawled out of your little flying coffin to talk to me like a real person?”

The Emperor didn't flinch, but you saw the slight twitch of his eyelid. That familiar muscle that used to twitch whenever you mocked his vocabulary.

“You should not be here,” He intoned, voice layered with galaxies.

“And you should’ve thought twice before starting a galaxy-wide imperialist fan club,” you shot back, arms crossed.

He sighed. Loudly. The kind of sigh that echoed through dimensions.

“This is the Great Crusade. I am unifying humanity, bringing order—”

“You’re conscripting child soldiers and setting fire to entire cultures because they use too many vowels in their dialect.”

The Emperor blinked.

“That is… an oversimplification.”

“So is calling this a ‘crusade’ instead of a bloody cosmic pissing contest.”

For a moment, just a moment, the God-Emperor of Mankind looked genuinely unsure of what to say. Not because he lacked words, he had an entire lexicon encoded in his brain, but because none of them were safe from your words.

“You always do this,” He finally said, quieter. “Make light of things that shouldn’t be.”

“You always make things that shouldn’t be. Me making light of them is the least destructive response possible.”

Behind Him, the Warp shimmered like a mirage. Shapes moved. Daemons watched from the edges, wary of both His presence… and yours.

“I didn’t want this,” He said. “I wanted peace. Unity. A future where humanity could survive what’s coming.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed,” you replied, not yelling, not cruel, just… tired. “You could’ve chosen a future with me. But you picked the stars. And look how well that’s going.”

He closed his eyes. For a heartbeat, the entire bridge of reality went quiet.

“I did what I had to do,” He murmured.

“And I’m doing what I have to do. Which currently includes flipping you off every time you try to turn mankind into your personal action figures.”

You smiled, wickedly.

“And by the way? Your Primarchs are dramatic as hell. I met the one with the lion hair. You raised that?”

The Emperor groaned, audibly.