#like how can your machine learning be so stupid that it can state all the apps I know how to use and all the fields I'm competent in

[galoosreblogger]

I got one of those automated job offer emails that was made with AI and they even generated a "profile" for me based on information scraped from my various online accounts (I assume). It said I prefer locations outside of where I currently live and that I'm willing to relocate for the right opportunity.

I never said that. If anything, I only ever said the opposite of that. You tried, Word-Order-Machine, you tried.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 36 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

You are getting the feeling that Mariko Kimura doesn’t really like you. 

And maybe it’s stupid, but you’re really not used to that.

Worse yet, this woman basically has a license to beat the hell out of you as The Personal Trainer–how else are you going to learn how to defend yourself in this vicious world? Strikes, blocks, throws, joint locks–she’s taking her job seriously, and after a week has gone by you’re not sure how much more you can actually handle. Maybe you’re a hiker girl, but it’s been a long time since you’ve done any athletic activity that demanded you give everything you have, take a breath, and then give fifty percent more. Your body hurts everywhere. Your torso is bruised in twenty places under your top, and you think she might have knocked one of your back teeth loose with a dirty punch.

You do not want to complain to John. You know he went through so much worse, and it would feel like tattling. So you take a moment to compose yourself on a bench before returning to your room, breathing deeply. That hurts too–jesus fuck, did she crack your ribs? 

What you really want to do is have a good little cry, but that’s completely off the table. 

Show no weakness. 

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Your eyes fly open to find Winston Scott, looking dapper as ever in a pinstripe suit, standing nearby. You hadn’t heard him approach. That’s probably not a good thing, even in this supposedly neutral environment. 

“I’m fine,” you say brightly with a smile you know looks more like a grimace. “Just…catching my breath.”

“May I?”

You scoot over on the antique wooden bench, very aware that you are sweaty as the proverbial whore in church, surprised this fastidious man would dare come within six feet of you at the moment. 

“I must admit I was surprised when I saw that Jonathan enrolled you with Miss Kimura. She is close friends with Akira Shimazu.” 

“I…don’t know what that means,” you admit. 

“Ah. Well, Jonathan should.”

You blow out a long breath through your teeth, bracing your kidneys. Maybe a shower and a dip in the cool waters of the pool downstairs would be nice. 

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” you sigh. If John suspects Mariko is playing rougher than what is demanded for some personal reason that has nothing to do with you, that could breed a whole new problem. You have enough problems. 

“As you wish. I am not sure you know this about our Jonathan yet, but politics are not his strong suit. He is the best at what he does, but the more subtle machinations of our world still escape him.”

This doesn’t come as a total surprise to you, although if you let Winston in on some of the psychological games John played with you not so long ago, the old man’s hair might have stood on end.

Or, maybe not. 

“Are you telling me it’s my job to keep him from killing everyone when the Camorra finally show for this sitdown?” 

“Well. I’m sure you’ve heard tell of what happened with Santino d’Antonio.”

“Yes.” 

“Perhaps Jonathan is in a better state of mind these days thanks to you. But I also fear what our dear boy may do, to defend you.”

Hearing anyone call your fearsome assassin John dear boy brings a little smile to your lips. You are glad that someone seems to be in his corner. You’ve gotten the impression from hearing John talk that Winston is like a father figure to him. You’re relieved it goes both ways. 

“I will keep what you’re telling me in mind.” 

“That is all I ask,” he says with a nod, standing. “And perhaps, a little break from the Trainer would do you good.”

A small laugh escapes you–you know it sounds bitter. “You give very good advice, Mr. Scott.” 

“I know I do. If only the young people around me would deign to benefit from my wealth of experience.” This is his parting shot, and you watch as he makes his exit stage left, leisurely strolling back down the hall like a king in his castle. 

***

Lounging in a warm bubbly bath–with John Wick’s solid naked body behind you, maybe makes the beatings you’ve been taking worth it. 

Ok, it’s totally fucking worth it. Nothing hurts anymore…except for when his soapy hands gently massaging your sore muscles find a bruise. There are a lot of them. 

It also helps that a few minutes ago he ran those soapy hands all over your breasts and aching center, coaxing a soul-wrenching orgasm out of you, all while talking you through it with his low voice in your ear.

He never actually asked if you’re alright, and you take that as a compliment. Maybe it’s fucked up, but you’re kinda proud of your pain tolerance–and John’s quiet approval. 

That doesn’t mean you’re capable of keeping your mouth shut about something else that’s bothering you. 

“Who is Akira Shimazu?” you ask sleepily, your head lolled back on his broad shoulder. His hands pause tellingly upon you, before resuming their soothing circuit. 

“She’s the daughter of one of my oldest friends, Koji,” he finally answers, his tone deliberately neutral. “He…was killed by the High Table, when I went to his Continental in Osaka for shelter.” 

There is a lot to unpack in that sentence. You start with the part that alarms you the most. “Wait…the High Table are allowed to break the rules of the Continental?” If those fuckers were coming, supposedly to play mediator–what good would it do, if they were not bound to follow their own rules? 

“Not usually,” he assures you. “The Marquis who was hunting me was granted…privileges.” 

“Sounds like bullshit.” 

“It was bullshit.” 

You decide this is all the information you need to connect the dots. If you were Akira Shimazu, you would probably blame John Wick for your father’s death too. And if you were Akira’s friend, and had no recourse to hurt John Wick directly–beating up his girlfriend was pretty much the next best thing. Great. 

“Why are you asking me this?” 

“Oh…just a conversation I had with Winston today.” You turn in the bath, reaching for the soap to return the favor to John, only in part to distract him. He weighs you with those dark eyes, only half believing you, or at least, sensing there’s more than what you’re telling him. You sit up straddling his lap, running your hands over his chest. His eyes slide closed, quiet for some time as you touch him. His wounds from the home invasion have healed now, his stitches out just the other day. Now they are simply slick pink flesh under your fingertips–as though it had all just been a bad dream.

These moments seem even more precious between you, now. You want to hoard them like a dragon with its pile of gold, keep them forever shining in your memory. You know what you’ll draw in your sketch journal tonight. You’ve been trying to keep up with a drawing a day, a way to pass the time, though the past week you’ve been too tired in the evening.

“Is Mariko…associated with Akira?” 

Maybe Winston doesn’t give John enough credit. 

“I think they might be friends.”

He touches a bruise on your arm with a new understanding, his dark brows drawn in a frown.

Well shit. So much for being subtle. 

“Is she hurting you on purpose?” 

“She’s…not pulling any punches. That’s ok, John. I’ve learned more this past week than in the five years I did in Tae Kwon Do.” You realize that is absolutely true. 

John’s eyes narrow as he searches out your bruises with new eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s interesting to you, how it was par for the course before, but with the new information that it might be personal, it’s suddenly not ok. 

“Don’t be.” 

“I didn’t think I would be a good hand to hand combat teacher for you.”

“Why not?” you ask, not accusing, just curious. 

“Because when I put my hands on you I just want to fuck you,” he admits bluntly, raising gooseflesh all across your body, your greedy cunt suddenly clenching in insistent reminder of her state of abject emptiness...drama queen.  

 “Even…if we were fighting?”

Considering his penchant for chasing, maybe you already know the answer to that. He blows through his nose, pulling you close with those mitts for hands on your hips so that you can feel he’s hard just with the thought of it. 

He ducks to graze his teeth upon the curve of your shoulder, and your state of relaxation is starting to fly out the window again. This man. 

“Especially if we were fighting,” he admits against your ear, his voice gravely with desire. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking you down. I’d fuck you right there on the mat, and you wouldn’t learn a thing except that you drive me wild.”

Your nipples tighten with the thought, your breath caught in your throat, and he lifts you easily in the water with that controlling grip on your hips, rubbing your now slick center against his throbbing cock. Tub sex can be tricky, but the bath water stands no chance against the suddenly raging state of your arousal. Without further ado he lifts you onto his cock, impaling you on his thick tip. The glorious glide and stretch of his girthy shaft inside you still takes your breath away, like you can feel him in your lungs, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” you squeak, winning a dark chuckle that scrambles your insides. 

“Yeah.”  

It’s the last intelligible word you manage, in the next few minutes, as he uses you just as he pleases, the water sloshing all around as he pistons inside you. It’s all you can do just to hold on, clenching tightly upon his insatiable erection the way you know makes him lose it. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he invites, though you know he’s close. You’ve reached that point in your physical relationship when you know each other’s bodies so well, your rhythms and sounds, down to the very tone of a gasp or the desperation of a thrust. 

“I don’t think I can cum again,” you admit, though you’re thoroughly enjoying him inside you. 

You really didn’t mean it as a challenge, but when he smirks at you with that certain sparkle in his anthracite eyes you just know you’re in for it. 

“Yes you can,” he insists, slowing his pace inside you, arching you back in his arms so that he can flick one of your nipples with his devilishly clever tongue. Oh. Well that’s not fair at all. You reach down to rub your clit while he fills you like this, delaying his pleasure to hit that perfect spot just past your entrance that makes you forget anything else exists in the world but you and him and the promise of a soul-snatching orgasm on the horizon.

“Give it up for me, my pretty girl,” he coaxes with his lips against your skin, and you know the snake must have sounded like that when he spoke to Eve. Tempting and forbidden and yet oh so reasonable. You’ve asked a lot from your body in the past few days. Maybe this is how you die–and what a way to go. That wonderful tingling pressure fills your hips and you moan, forgetting, again, that the other assassins down the hall probably do not want to hear more evidence that John Wick never misses. 

There are stars in your eyes and a ringing in your ears as this shining, bone-shattering release takes you. You are a ragdoll in his arms as he fills you to the hilt and bathes your cervix with the hot rush of his cum. It’s all the two of you can do, not to sink into the water and drown. With a shaky sigh you kiss his lips before melting against him, re-learning how to breathe with his arms wrapped around you, your head on his shoulder. 

He strokes your hair, whispering endearments so low you can’t really make them out, but the tone is so soothing you drift asleep for a few minutes. You only wake when he freshens the bath with more hot water, before drifting off again. 

***

Much later, when both of your faculties have returned, and your fingers have turned to prunes, he tells you, “I think we’ll give you a break. We’ll start weapons training tomorrow. That, I will handle myself.” 

This is news to you. “Here? In the hotel?”

“There’s an armory, a range, even a course.” 

“In this hotel?” 

He chuckles a little at your disbelief. “Yeah.” 

The New York Continental: anything and everything a killer could need…

And here you are, trapped amongst them with the man you love. You know this is technically John’s world, but a part of you just can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here. That he shouldn’t have to be back here–it’s not fair. 

You sit up in the water, reaching for a little yellow rubber duck on the side of the tub, not meeting John’s eyes. You’re not sure where it came from; there must be some inside joke you’re not privy to…but it’s cute. 

You do feel some relief, knowing you’re not going to get beat up again tomorrow, though going through tactical firearms drills makes you more than a little nervous. You’re sure it will be different from plinking in the backyard on a Sunday with your dad and his drinking buddies. Ah, alcohol and guns–a time honored American classic.

“I feel like I’m walking out of here with my Certificate in Baddass Assassin Studies,” you say with a nervous little laugh. “What else is there? Are you going to teach me how to pinball flip someone with a muscle car? Maybe how to ride a motorcycle while swinging a katana?”

His lips twist in a smirk. “If you want, when we go home.” 

You find the thought buoys you with hope. “Will we ever get to go home?”

“Unless you really want to move to Argentina,” he needles you.

“Argentina does sound pretty bitchin’...” you tease him. 

He narrows his eyes at you; after all this time, it still gives you a thrill. “Are you sure your fascination with Argentina doesn’t stem from the good looking men who seem to live there?”

You make a raspberry at the thought. He still remembers Javi, it seems. You do too, of course, but all that feels like a distant dream in your memory. “Darling, I have all the Tall, Dark, and Handsome I can handle right here.” You place the rubber ducky on top of his head as though bestowing a crown, and he rolls his eyes before snatching you to him, water splashing all across the floor again. 

“Who’s going–to clean–that up?” you tease between kisses and giggling, suddenly drunk on his arms around you, his strong hand running down your side to squeeze your behind before long fingers quest further towards your aching center. 

“Baby, that is the least of your worries right now.”    

“I can’t!” you whine in protest as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You absolutely give yourself away with your joyful laughter that turns into a moan.

“We’ll see, cheeky girl.”  

This insatiable man really might prove the death of you. 

----

Pretty sure the rubber ducky is all on @sweetwolfcupcake …😂😘😘😘

[authorxxxxxx]

Based on this request . . .

Title : Chaotic

Pair : bayverse!optimus adoptive dad x human!gn reader

Summary : You and Optimus are going for a ride and you just can't stop thinking about how you ended up in this situation.

Tw : actually none , just pure fluff.

English isn't my first language so if you spot any mistakes just bare with me.

Ps. I finally published this after a week l and I'm so sorry that I was late. I hope you liked it. I personally loved it. I'm going to be out of town ( I don't know for how long ) because of some family issues. I will try to work on a new series that I was requested too.

I really tried. I hope it's good.

_______________________________________________________

He is so done with you.

He actually can not understand how you are so much energetic.

One minute you are quiet and peaceful -

and the all of a sudden you are going crazy and started doing all kinds of stuff.

At first you decided to clean the whole entire base , including the Transformers themselves.

That is how Optimus found himself - in this type of situation.

He is sitting on top of his berthroom , looking at you while your cleaning literally everything.

He looks at you and decides to give it another chance. " Are you certain that you do not need any help ? "

"Thanks again but no. I think I'm gonna go clean Ratchet's room again. " You say to him , but more to yourself.

To save you from trouble Optimus decided that the best option is to take you away from the base - maybe for ride.

Just to calm you down.

_____

This is how you found yourself sitting in his cabin at his alt - form driving in the night.

A podcast you both love is playing softly in the background.

You are in your peaceful state right now.

And you both knew why.

" it's quiet. I like it. " You said to Optimus , your head resting on his left window.

" How so ? " He asked you making you both laugh at his obvious joke about your personality.

" it's not funny. " You answered smiling.

When you reached your secret place , where Optimus could change into his real form , you both went quiet.

After a couple of minutes you broke the silence.

_____

" Do you remember the first time we met ? Wait - that was a stupid question - you remember everything. Anyways - back to what I was saying . . . I wanted you to know that I am so grateful that I was there that night. If I had said no to Sam to go out for a ride with Bee I wouldn't have met you. And do you remember when we first started to form our relationship? You are just like a father to me and I know it sounds strange , because your this - . . . You're just special you know ? " You said to him , trying to hold your smile back.

You didn't know if he was comfortable with that , but you really admired him and loved him as a father and you couldn't think about your life without him.

His silence made your stomach turn.

'I freaked him out. I fucked up. ' You thought to yourself.

"If you think that my silence after your confession is a bad thing , do not because it is not. I am grateful that you gathered the courage and tell me that you are happy that you've met me. Trust me all Autobots do. Even Ironhide - even though he doesn't show it much. But me ? Especially me ? I am extremely happy that you are inspired by me. You are a wonderful human being and we've learned so much from you. I'm proud to be considered your friend but I'm even more proud to consider you my daughter. " He answered making tears form in your eyes.

_____

You both remembered the moment. Hearts and sparks filled with love.

You loved your dad - even if he was a big , giant , tall machine.

Your dad loved you - even if you were a small but fierce human.

You knew everything about each other.

You told each other everything.

You were father and daughter.

You had an amazing bond.

" I love you dad. Even if your extremely bossy sometimes. " You said to him smiling.

"Well I have to be , considering that I have to deal with bots and humans like you. " He answered making you gasp and laugh.

"But I love you too. " He finally said to you.

You loved your dad and your dad loved you.

__________

Until next time . . . Enjoy summer : ]

@unimportantbabymilksharkte

[medusapelagia]

S - Soulmate

S is for Sage (@cranberrymoons) I swear I tried to write some fluff but I wasn't able to! I still have to learn from you! Thank you for your kindness💜

I hope you will enjoy your present 🎁!

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve /Eddie WT: needles, hospitals, car accident Words: 1145

Steve sighs for the umpteenth time, wondering why in the hell he should have been born as the only son of Richard and Margaret Harrington and being used as a test subject for their latest crazy idea.

Being the owner of a big pharmaceutical company they were always eager to show Steve what they had come up with, especially when their last invention was a machine that was able to predict who your soulmate was: all you had to do was give a tiny drop of blood to the machine and it would have found your perfect match.

No more apps or websites, no more awful first date! Find your soulmate now!

That is the spot that keeps going on the television in the waiting room, and now Steve is sitting in a waiting area, ready to be pinched and find his soulmate. Not that he was really looking forward to it, but his girlfriend just broke up with him and his mum was adamant that the machine would have found Steve's perfect match avoiding more suffering, and in the end, Steve has agreed to be a test subject.

“It will be ok.” his mother tells him while lifting the collar of his shirt.

They aren’t allowed to test the machine on a minor without the parents' approval so Steve is going to be the first minor tested “You don’t have to worry, the machine will find the perfect match for you, isn’t that what everyone wants?” his mother asks him, before gently pushing him toward a nice nurse and Steve suppresses the desire to ask her if she has taken the test and if his father is actually her soulmate or not. He probably is not, Steve already knows that since the first time that his father punched the door and his mother threw him a few plates.

"If your soulmate has ever been to a hospital, the machine can match their blood results with yours and give us a name." the nurse is saying to Steve while she helps him on the examination table.

"Mum says it only has data from the USA." Steve states monotone, while he tries to keep his mind focused and not worry about what would happen if his soulmate is from another country or even worse, dead.

The smile on the nurse's face falters a little "That's true, but I'm confident that a young boy like you will find the proper match in no time." she insists, pinching his finger and putting the data in the machine.

He thanks her and goes back to the waiting area where his parents are waiting for him and the three of them stare at the numbers on the screen looking at the countdown and waiting for the number one, followed by a name, but the machine doesn't stop at one.

It stops at zero.

No match.

This could mean that either Steve's soulmate has never been to a hospital, and that’s why there are no records to match, or that he is not from the USA, or… that he is not alive anymore.

It’s not bad, he doesn’t even know their name so he can’t mourn someone that he never knew, right?

"I'm sure that's a mistake, honey, you can retake the test when you want." his mum assures him.

He takes the test another three times, always with the same result: zero.

***

Steve’s parents have become even richer thanks to the technology of the soulmating machine; somehow people are willing to know who their true soulmate is and it doesn’t matter if some family broke after they get the result, they keep going to the center and being tasted again, and again, and again.

Steve doesn't believe in soulmates anymore, and when Dustin asks him if he should be tested to know if Suzy is his soulmate Steve firmly denies him access telling him that he is far too young and that it doesn’t matter the name of a stupid machine, what matter is how he feels and if he loves Suzy that’s more than enough.

Dustin doesn’t seem convinced but he doesn’t ask again to be tasted and Steve takes it as a win, at least until he receives a call from a crying Dustin.

“There was an accident.” the kid says between the tears “Eddie was driving, then a dog appeared from nowhere and Eddie tried to avoid it and we crashed.”

“Are you ok?” Steve asks worriedly, already taking his car keys and his jacket.

“The ambulance came and they brought us to the hospital. My mum is at work and I didn’t know who to call.”

“You did good Dustin, don’t worry I’m coming to get you.” Steve replies, trying to calm the kid.

“But Eddie…”

“He will be ok. I’m sure he will.”

“You haven’t seen him. He had blood all over his face…” Dustin continues while Steve gets in the car and continues to talk to the boy until he finally gets to the hospital; Dustin is still on his phone, talking to Steve who is just a few feet away, when he sees him he lets the phone drop and runs toward him, hugging him tight.

Steve holds him until the kid stops crying, and then they go to ask for some information from the staff.

“He has no health insurance.” someone tells him and Steve throws a platinum card with his name in big bold letters “Now he does.” he states and then comes back to Dustin. Steve doesn’t really like Eddie, he is a little bit jealous, to be honest, but he is Dustin’s friend and Steve’s family has so much money that paying for Eddie’s care is not a problem.

“Come with me.” he says to Dustin “I know for sure that the cafeteria has the best hot chocolate ever.”

The hot chocolate comforts Dustin enough that he finally falls asleep on Steve’s shoulder. The boy calls Claudia, telling her that they are at the hospital, that Dustin is fine, but that he has to wait to have news about their friend, and the woman gets to the hospital as fast as she can “Are you sure you want to stay here? We don’t know how long it will take to have any information.” Claudia asks Steve before waking up Dustin but Steve nods “Someone has to stay until his uncle arrives and Dustin already had a difficult day.”

The woman nods and after a few complaints, Dustin agrees to go back home, promising that he will be back in the morning.

Steve nods and finally goes to grab a coffee at the coffee machine; he has just pushed the button when his phone starts to vibrate and he tiredly takes a look at the notifications: it’s the soul-matching app.

He got a match.

His name is Eddie Munson.

[oneatlatime]

The Avatar State

Season 2!

I KNEW Aang wouldn't be ok with getting possessed by the megafish. Called it!

As well as the most comfortable looking hammocks I've ever seen, this boat has decorative turtleshells.

Having learned the very hard way that bending is not infallible, the northern water tribe finally takes some safety precautions and installs non-bending means of locomotion on their ships.

So glowy is called "the Avatar State." I was kind of attached to calling it glowy.

Pakku continues his consistent and unwavering pursuit of being a poophead. You almost have to admire his unwavering jerkiness.

We're going to see Bumi! I like Bumi.

I don't know about constructing a building complex that near a waterfall. The cherry blossoms are nice though.

So they weren't eaten by vultures after all. Not so subtle exposition from Iroh. And then Zuko is as subtle as a kimodo rhino with his backstory rehash. That being said, there was probably a few months between seasons, so a refresher was needed.

Yes that did come out wrong. Rare misstep from Iroh.

This is Zuko's crazy talented sister right? The one he was angsting about in the snow cave? She seems to be just as much of a dumbass as her brother, although she makes her stupidity seem threatening instead of embarrassing. I don't care how much political power you have, you can't win against tides. Literally the last episode was all about how the ocean always wins.

I am begging you guys to see the pattern here. First time the Gaang got a hero's welcome, Suki's village burnt down. Second time, the whole season finale happened. At this point it's probably safer if the Gaang sticks to going where they're not especially welcome.

Aang saying "I try not to think about it too much" is kinda ouchy given his nightmares at the beginning of the episode.

WAIT A MINUTE

Gotta look something up

That's Bato's map! The animators had no reason to have such crazy good continuity.

I don't think Aang is too happy being described as "the ultimate weapon."

Thank you Katara for calling the general on his pushy steamrolling. They've committed to nothing.

I think the guy in front has a burn on his cheek. I have been surprised by how few burns I've seen after a whole season's worth of episodes. We've seen Zuko's, and Bato's. But the Fire Nation is supposed to be this all-dominating unstoppable war machine, so why isn't every random earth kingdom background character covered in burn scars?

It's amazing how many people can't see the 12 year old for the avatar. Guilting him into cooperating by showing him wounded vets? Harsh.

Also, the last time Aang tried to leapfrog his destiny he burned Katara. Yes, the war needs ending, but maybe don't skip learning the basics before you try?

Heh. Basics. I sound like Iroh.

Pretty sky. I was hoping for a continuation of the 'so pretty it hurts' background trend. I wouldn't have equated fire with electricity, but apparently Zuko jr. can make lightning? And yes, this is very obviously Zuko's sibling: unreasonable and completely out of touch with reality, although rather in the opposite direction than Zuko. The lightning you're throwing around will still kill your target whether or not your hair is pretty while you throw it.

Aang this seems like a bad idea. Even you think it's a bad idea.

The earth kingdom seems to use green lighting. It's weird.

Katara is unreasonably angry about this. The hard work being thrown away isn't really her's, it's Aang's.

Please do not give the hyperactive airbender caffeine.

They gave the hyperactive airbender caffeine. Starting to think this general's not so bright.

Shout out to Aang' voice actor for such an accurate rendition of getting sucker punched.

That's pretty good. Momo really understood the assignment.

The sacred Bellows! This just gets stupider and stupider.

Pretty.

Well in MY country, politeness is only owed to people who don't pour the power of 1000 mean girls into a single line read. I'd be quick to get to the point too if it would get her out of my house.

The ego on this girl. She drops a life-changing bombshell on Zuko, who has spent the last three weeks as vulture food, and explodes when the conversation doesn't immediately pivot to showering thanks on her for the extreme hardship of going somewhere on a royal ship? She's surpassed Zhao's whole season of assholery in barely half an episode.

Now we get the real reason Katara was so angry about "wasting their hard work" or whatever it was she said. She's frightened. I get that. Glowy floaty Aang is frightening.

Another rock and a hard place situation. People are dying everyday, Aang is 100 years late, but the Avatar state is scary, and turning a pacifist into a weapon is a bad idea. Once again the world needs a fully realised Avatar and all they have is a half trained 12 year old.

Iroh's right. It IS unbelievable. Mostly because Zuko jr. is nowhere near as subtle as she thinks she is.

Doubling down and lashing out when the truth is uncomfortable: classic Zuko. Iroh really puts up with a lot.

This is how you know it's a dream: real Zuko runs towards mysterious glowiness.

I'm not a dreamologist, so I have no clue why Aang would dream about hurting Zuko while glowy after being told that the avatar state is hard for his loved ones to watch. Seriously, why is Zuko in this dream?

"Uncle! You've changed your mind!" "Well someone's gotta save your dumb ass."

Not to imply that this general isn't INCREDIBLY stupid, but he's certainly done something right to so solidly secure the loyalty of his soldiers. That's the avatar, and also a 12 year old kid, and they don't hesitate.

It's all wibbly

Double nutshot. Boy's got heels of steel.

Apparently the horse bird things can do parkour.

Things you can get away with in cartoons but not live action: this eye colour. The only place I've seen this colour in the real world is goats.

I like how the voice acting for the helmeted fire nation soldiers sounds like it's coming from inside a metal helmet. Such a tiny detail but they put the effort in.

Nifty transition between screaming Zuko and screaming Aang.

This! Why doesn't every earthbender just to this to their enemies? Turn them into sitting ducks. You don't even need benders to finish them off, just a guy with a bat. How has the Fire nation gotten this far when their enemies can do this?

That's going to cause some trauma.

Iroh is a beast. He's taking out the whole royal guard. I also love that they're lining up to be taken out. So polite. They could teach Zuko Jr. a thing or two.

I feel like Zuko usually does better than this in fights. And really, I know little sisters are extremely talented at goading, but Zuko's really too easy to goad. His sister's not even trying that hard.

This episode's most satisfying shot. Hoping the tides take revenge for that earlier comment.

That's the lowest quality animation I've seen in this show. It bobs unmoving across the screen.

What the hell is the green lady throwing? Elaborately carved thingies?

So it's actually very dangerous to Aang to go glowy. And to the world in general. Neat. I guess an unmatchable power like that needs some sort of limiting factor.

"You're out of your mind." THANK YOU.

No, THIS is the episode's most satisfying shot. About time someone did that to him.

Katara's "I think we're all set" Is a delightfully polite 'get fucked'.

Wow she got those printed up quick.

"There will be no place left to hide" except a short run upstream.

That ends a bit suddenly.

We did not go to see Bumi. Bummer.

Final Thoughts

Quite the explosive start to the season. They really hit the ground running. Also this is very much not a show where you can skip seasons.

Katara was right about it being a bad idea to try and run before Aang can walk. You can't blame the general for wanting a quick way to end the war with few casualties (on his side at least). You can blame him for being really bad at listening. Does earthbending cause stupidity? Because I definitely remember that all non-Bumi earthbenders we've seen so far are not too bright.

We've met what I'm assuming is going to be the antagonist of the season. I don't like her. I'm aware that I'm not supposed to, what with her being the bad guy and all, but would it be too much to ask for a fun villain? This girl's just mean. When Zhao was first introduced, the episode turned into a win for Zuko. This girl's introduction just makes him even more pathetic than usual. I guess starving on a raft for weeks has negative side effects, because this CANNOT be the same Zuko who one-shotted Katara in the spirit oasis.

This does answer my question of what they're going to do with Zuko and Iroh this season. They're going to ground. Zuko's scar is pretty distinctive though. I bet that's going to cause problems.

Sokka has never suffered fools, and seeing him knock out the general is just so satisfying. Both water tribe siblings were supportive of Aang in their own ways this episode: Katara by standing up to the general and giving Aang on honest opinion on what's going on; Sokka by backing up Aang's decisions for and against the proceedings. And also literally standing up for Aang against the general's soldiers. We already knew they were ride or die, but it's good to open the season with a refresher.

Before this devolves into a discussion of the differences in required narrative elements in season openers during the bingeing/streaming era compared to old fashioned network television, let me say one more thing: poor Appa hasn't been sidelined this hard since The King of Omashu.

[projecto2-game]

DevLog 2 - The Devining

well. it only took 3 months. but here is our new devlog! or however you call it... We did write a whole devlog for early march, but with school and work taking up most of our schedule, we did not post it, and most of our progress fell to the sands of time.

Snail (@snailmusic) -

Yeah I didn't do nearly as much as freep, so most of those changes will be down there. part of the reason though is that ive been doing a lot of work on my music (haha yes self promo) so if you want to check that out it'd be great! (most of yall are just from my acc so you probably alr know) (my current style of music is probably not representative of O2's audio style or vibe, still working towards that)

The main thing I did was improve trenchbroom (level editor)/qodot/godot interop, which can bring us closer to building some levels (and who knows, a little alpha test in the future ;)). It was actually realllyyyy annoying due to a lack of documentation for qodot 4 (and also ill admit it, a bit of my stupidity) so there was a bug that I couldn't fix for a long time but eventually it was fixed and now it works great!

I also started looking more into the art style of the game, and I'm even learning a bit of how to draw (thanks to my friends! I wouldn't be able to learn like at all without them lol).

^ guy on a cube

oh yeah speaking of outside help im getting this is (very slightly) now bigger than us two! the others aren't doing too much we can note right now (one doesnt have a tumblr acc either) but when their contributions come more into play we'll include them here.

See ya next time!

Freep (@freepdryer) -

Back in march, i spent a lot of time working on the AI, getting it to move… and run away, sort of. But more of that will come later. 

Lots of these last week or so has been on the character controller, and reinventing the wheel to introduce a state machine and get a lot cleaner code so its easier to revisit if we ever had to.

Im proud of the work that we've done so far, as we come close to a prototype with *Gameplay* 

New Things

Changed the look of the enemy slightly to remove the “amongus factor”

Rewrote the entire script for nav pathing

New enemy prototype can now feel pain / has a health pool that can be depleted using bullets from the player

Added a new line of sight for the enemy to check whether or not the player is in the area to follow

Added the ability for the enemy to hide - WIP - enemy can hide but isnt very good at it. Kinda like a child who turns away while hiding in the corner. 

Enemy can also detect when youre in a certain range, I will be adding more flags later on for detection (when the player shoots, sneezes, or explodes on accident)

New testing map!

New areas for target practice, line of sight testing, following and hiding

New player character controller!

Rewrote the entire script for the inclusion of State machines

This was painful.

Added 6(?) new states for several movement states

Added animations for 

Walking

Running

Jumping

Crouching

Fixed the stair problem

Whats next?

Continue work on enemy AI - finish hiding, add roaming, add attacking

Dunno? 

Fix the stair problem again, but more?

Weapons!

The end?

Thanks for coming to our devlog! We will be back hopefully very soon!

[jellogram]

I feel like the current state of mainstream movies is similar to the state of American rock music in the late 80s. Allow me to give you a quick rock history lesson.

Basically, by the late 80s you had studios that had learned how to create Van Halens and Def Leppards by the dozen. Take four decently attractive white guys, throw them in tights and hairspray and eyeliner, give them some stupid 4-chord song about hot girls, and you were guaranteed a round of radio hits from about 1984-1989.

But people got tired of it. And the studios took waaaay too long to figure this out. They kept pumping out hair metal into the 90s, way beyond when the point where the genre was a joke to most people.

Here is every single one of those bands looked like, just for context:

This is the point we are currently reaching with mainstream blockbusters. We are in the era of movies that are the spiritual equivalent of like, Ratt.

But you know what happened around 1990? Grunge happened. And it sounded a bit shit and the guys dressed like homeless people but it exploded in popularity because people were so starved for rock music that actually meant something. Nirvana actually had something to say. They were real and genuine and even the young kids could sense that.

This is what Nirvana looked like:

So you can imagine how strange it would have been to see them amongst the other rockers.

This is all a gross oversimplification that ignores a lot of other contemporary music but I think it's a good lesson for mainstream media moguls. You can only keep the diarrhea machine running for so long before a bunch of freaks shatter your whole system just by daring to be unique and sincere.

[froggipied]

For Science Chapter 3: R.E.M

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41680413/chapters/135273061

Word count: 3.7k

---

Aperture Science Innovators is responsible for most concealed modern-day innovations, namely the creation of a quantum tunneling device, dubbed by test subjects and interns as ’the portal gun/device’. These interns have been fired for calling such an advanced piece of science something as stupid as a gun, and test subjects have been placed on the more advanced testing tracks for teaching the robots of aperture to call it a gun as well.

Aperture thanks you for not being nearly as stupid as those who came before you, and invites you to personally test the Aperture Science Portable Quantum Tunnelling Device.

–

“Elvira Scott. Head of neuroscience. We are here today to consider something our CEO had breached the surface of. The human condition, and how it applies to our robots. Here joining us, we have Assistant administrator of ‘R.E.M’, Michael Stafford” A middle aged woman with graying brown hair sits in the middle of the frame, addressing the camera as she shifts its position on a desk, turned towards the experiment the team would be conducting. A younger man stands not far behind her, gazing down through a glass panel to a room below, similar to that of the testing tracks, if only an observatory room. “Assistant Stafford, do you mind explaining what we’re here to do today?” the woman prompts him, and the man’s head turns a fraction.

“I believe you said it the best we can.”

“Perhaps, but in the event that Aperture’s contingency plan goes into play–”

“Miss Scott, I sincerely doubt these tapes will ever be found by a run-of-the-mill person.”

“Humor me, Michael.” Miss Scott states dryly as she pushes the camera forward, jostling the screen.

“Fine.” The man relents, though he speaks without facing the camera. “It’s a sleep study, sorta. While most sleep studies are meant to diagnose issues with the brain or body during sleep, like apnea, this is meant to study the function of dreaming, how it connects to the human condition–er..study of what makes a life.. How we dream, and how we can use that with the robots.”

“It’s more than that and you know it.” Miss Scott sighs behind the camera, grunting as she stands “This project is sentience. Building it from scratch–”

“Building it from ourselves as the blueprint. Look–should we really be recording this?”

“It’s important to document. For when we succeed. Mr. Johnson will want to see our progress, and how we–”

“Are you going to destroy the tape after we show him, then?”

“...I see no purpose for that rash of a decision. I could learn from my own mistakes.” Her voice is firm and dry as she watches out of the window. Then, she collects her camera into her hands, pressing it to the glass. Below the glass lay a balding man on his back, covered by a white sheet, with a team of three members of staff pulling sheets of paper and documents produced from some machine. 

“We’ve got the physiology team down there. New hires, first test run. Should consider themselves lucky to have such an easy task to start with”

“They have to deal with your temper, not particularly lucky.” Michael drones off screen in apparent disinterest. 

“Well, Michael, I’m doing something to further this company–our tests–”

“Our tests are damaging people in so many–”

The speaker to the tablet is covered, and the conversation is mostly muffled, until it pauses and cuts to Miss Scott being in the room with the sleeping man and the team of three. A powder white room with nothing interesting beyond a stagnant brown ceiling and a set of stairs leading to the observing room.

“So–tell me what’s all going on here.”

“Miss Scott, the subject requested that we not film him–”

“I’ll do as I need for science.” Miss Scott answers. The one young woman of the team blinks,surprised. Elvira continues “So what’s all this for? What exactly are we tracking here?”

“Well–well we all know the human condition. What makes us alive–birth, experience, morality, conflict, death..we can’t legally force a conflict for us to study a human’s brain waves under stress,so..we induce nightmares.”

“And what does that do?”

“It’s a safer way to study a stressed brain–simulated conflict. The subject is unaware when the nightmare starts and ends, and is subdued to prevent waking up before the test is over..”

“Glad to hear it. We’re doing this for the push forwards. Science depends on all of us. You’re new, but you’ll learn to get it.” Elvira sounds pleased.

“Why are we doing this to this man?”

“..We don’t ask why, just do what you’re told.”

–

The video cuts out unceremoniously, and the tablet screen goes dark after a few moments of inactivity while you stare blankly down at the screen. It wasn’t as terrible as you could’ve been expecting, but it was..stunting.

“..We should get a move on, i think..er..shouldn’t let her die,right?” Wheatley grunts, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the endless line at catwalks. He starts walking slowly, ever so achingly slow when you don’t immediately answer. When you set the tablet back down on the floor with furrowed brows, Wheatley starts talking ‘So, after we get her out–which we will,most definitely. Still ironing out all the um..details there, but I've got plenty of ideas to shell out–we’ll even bounce back and forth, maybe? Again–really good to have another voice around, speaking of which, you’re reminding me of her right now.’ 

“Are we really just gonna move past that?” You question as you jog to catch up with Wheatley, who squints, looking ahead of himself.

“See–now that’s difficult. Curveball you’re throwing me, there.” he mutters “‘Cause i know i said it wouldn’t hurt–and it didn’t. But I certainly don’t know what to make of it–and you don’t seem to know what to make of it. So..maybe shelf it? Put it on the ol’ shelf–come back to it when we’re not conducting a good rescue-n-run? Sounds like a good idea to me.”  Wheatley rattles on, and changes the subject away from the video while he leads you through different rooms. He clearly wanted to focus on the task and hand and not fall off track, and you followed his lead.

It would be a better opportunity to ask some questions then, you decide. 

“Do you even know her name? Or her file?”

“Names..names..See, i didn’t check.” Wheatley blinks “Not because I forgot–mind you. I figured–being kind and totally friendly–that I'd let her introduce herself to me. Humans don’t tend to like it when you just already know too much about them from some silly written file.” Wheatley gestures exaggeratedly “This one time–a few years back, I woke this gentleman for annual physical exercise and just checking the whole vitals and all–he was quite upset to know I knew who he was. Nasty fella, that guy.” Wheatley steps through corroding panels and ducks through misaligned panels while he speaks, leading you along with him “So I figured that I'd let her introduce herself. Turns out– immensely brain damaged. Couldn't even say yes, the poor thing.” He shakes his head,sounding something like pitying. 

“Yeah. Poor girl.” you agree quietly.

When Wheatley finally finds an observation room with a computer, he gasps with breath he didnt take. “Here we are! Knew there had to be one around here–”

“Is it accessed by Glados?”

“Shuhs-ush-sh.” The robot shushes you,dismissively waving while he types on the keyboard “See, there’s passwords to just about everything here. Super protective-aperture. You know–”

“Right–”

“But, luckily for us, I am a master hacker. Master of the um..hacking persuasion, as it were.” Wheatley’s voice slowly falls to a simulated mumble while he types away. He pauses, glances at you, and ‘whispers’ “A-A-A-A-A-A..-A” The screen flashes red, and Wheatley hums. “A-A-A-A-A-A..B” Another red flash and you find yourself staring at the back of the robot’s ‘head’, amused. This seems to be going well.

“Master hacker, then?”

“It’s a very complicated procedure,” Wheatley claims quietly while he inputs a few different letter combinations with no success. As much fun as it is to watch him cycle through the millions of possibilities, you had to at least try to speed it up.

“Try something random. First non sequential combination that comes to mind–”

“Yeah–yep. Was going to try that next. Curious as a cat, aren’t you?” he mumbles, waving with one hand “Er..It’s odd. Hovering over my shoulder…still hovering. Just–step back, please?” you’re half convinced he was going to ask you to turn around while he typed “A..F..G-R.E..M” The computer flashes white once, and Wheatley huffs “There we are..”

By that point, you’d taken a step away from the computer, letting the robot handle it, as to not hover. You didn’t even think that you were hovering, but that’s just semantics.

“Good news!” Whatley chirps while he walks away from the computer entirely “And bad news–but the good news is that she’s alive and peachy-keen. Doing well for herself, actually. Maybe a little too well for someone who’s brain damaged, but that goes to show what a team player she is, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does.” you agree while you follow the robot back out onto the catwalks. Some part of you would kill to see the testing tracks just to really see what they looked like “--Hold on. What’s the bad news?”

“Well, as it turns out, Glados does have access to that computer. Or..well, rather the cameras in that test. But, additional good news, you’ll like this one– all she knows is someone accessed the cameras. She doesn't and won't know who. But, additional bad news, the next chamber is going to be a doozy to get to.”

“How’s that?”

“Well…Fancy an elevator override?” Wheatley suggests as he pushes open one of the panels through the completed testing chamber and it was remarkably dark in there. You weren’t traveling blind, as the lights were slowly getting dimmer, but white walls looked gray, and Wheatley quietly walked through the held-open door and through the emancipation grill with you in tow.

“So..elevator override. That’s safe, right?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Wheatley assures as the closed tube wooshed, sending scrap and testing pieces like broken turret pieces, scrap metal and cubes through it. An elevator landed, and you followed the robot into the cramped space. The ride down itself was uncomfortable at best ,leaning your shoulder against the glass despite Wheatley telling you to avoid doing something so dangerous just in case.

When the elevator landed, he led back through movable panels to the catwalks where you continued on this everlasting, achy walk.

The walk was never silent, however. You supposed you were thankful for that. Something to keep your mind busy while you walked after a robot who didn’t stop unless he properly noticed you dragging behind.

“Funny enough, the elevators might be some of the safest parts of these areas,really. The airflow going through them would normally be enough to crush someone of ..yeigh-height” h gestures at roughly your height, and you hum

“Funny.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Wheatley goes on, even while something catches your eye and stops you in your tracks. Immediately after, you were reminded of why you couldn’t stop moving for a moment. The rushing pain up the back of your legs was quite the reminder.

But the core sitting lifeless against a backed in corner of the catwalks was far more interesting than your pain.

Initially, you thought the core sitting along the walls was broken beyond repair, a nasty crack through the outer shell and tears and broken bits from ‘head-to-toe’, but as you and Wheatley walk by, its’ optic opens, constricts, and starts rattling on in a damaged, high-pitched tone “AmAzonian womEn in mythology lived alongside fellow women–BUt there is no suppoRt for the theoRy of The amazons bEing led by saPphos.” Well that was blatantly a wrong fact. It’s spouting mythology, you realize rather quickly. Adding odd Emphasis to different words that didn’t need to, optic gleaming and searching for something.

“I never really thought about just how many of us there are.” Wheatley mutters, staring down at the partially broken robot “Properly disturbing.”

“HUmanity envelops itself in warm suGar flakes and honeyed words”

“See, now even the space-y fellow made more sense than this.” You’d dare to call it pity, but Wheatley aims to walk off away from the robot. “We shouldn’t really..stay long. They’re just gonna keep going. Just…don’t make eye contact.”

Advice that comes far too short as the core stares up at you with a dim optic and babbles “Lovers stand tall and upsIde down, fAlling right-Side up again. Fallen from a toweR of grace to that down below.”

“..Right.” you mutter, perturbed by the core. You could safely say that you weren’t a fan of these interactions. Words that you think could mean something if you really thought about it enough to hurt, but your robotic friend on the other hand, doesn’t seem nearly as interested in whatever a broken core was babbling. 

“It’s gibberish, really. The audio processors don’t function correctly, they pick up things they hear and spew it back in a randomized order. Umm…getting them to say something coherent is like..rigging the lotto.”

“So you talk with broken down cores, then?”

“There are plenty of things I've done before. Don’t do it now, of course, have better things to do like…walk for myself, that’s definitely one. Still getting used to these legs, mind you.” You could swear your mind was melting, feeling that you were just walking through the same room once again, and again, and again while Wheatley talks. Is it distracting or driving you nuts, you surely couldn't tell. 

Another door, another corridor. Another set of black panels, and after muttering to himself, Wheatley stops walking in front of the set and blue and white backings to the panels. A testing chamber, you assume.

Wheatley peers through the panels to the testing track, watching Chell go through a test. Aerial faith plates, which gave you a rough idea of where exactly you were. Not..particularly any closer to getting Chell out. Wheatley watches with sharp eyes as Chell is launched into the air, catches a cube, and lands right on her feet without a problem–other than a slight scowl on her face the moment her back was turned from the cameras.

The robot a pace ahead of you breathes out, and mutters “seems like she’s er..all better. No more brain damage, then.” he squints “Would’ve been quite nice for her to have gotten better sooner but– um..” a glance thrown in your direction and he gets moving “Actually, it’s fine. Things can wait for later–don’t mind yourself with it.” You didn’t need to speculate. That was a fair change of pace, wrong as it was to think. You already knew it pricked him the wrong way about the fact that a brain-damaged woman was fully capable of catching a cube in the middle of being thrown..but couldn't have caught him.

Though you’d argue that this body was a much harder catch than something the size of a sportsball with a couple times the density. But the sentiment remained.

You followed him through the ‘back-stage’ to the testing track, a line of blue and white paneled arms that glowed faintly and shifted every now and then. Following the chambers correctly was a real pain, with individually placed testing chambers that were all separate from one another. Not to mention the height.

“Agh–Okay um..best of interest, no looking at your feet. No looking down just uh..chin up.” was the advice from Wheatley, who would inevitably be unable to resist looking under himself again and breathing out “Again, just reminding you..terrible idea–looking down, that is.”

However there is something about humans and being told not to do something, you glance below your feet at the seemingly endless fog, and breathe out forcibly. 

“Wow–”

“I told you not to look.” Wheatley grunts while he walks along the catwalks just that much faster. You felt the same, desperate to get off of the set of catwalks with nothing below it to catch your fall if anything were to happen.

“Just how far down does this place go?” you mutter”A fall from this height would–”

“Ah, there’s the door” Wheatley interrupts you before you could go filling two minds with the idea of falling miles and miles to the ground below you without anything to catch your fall.

The next room was just about the same as all the rest of them. Yellowing walls leading to another hallway that would either lead to a new set of catwalks, a set of tubes to precariously walk down, or another set of doors. The only interesting thing in the room was a management rail with a stubbed connector hanging down with wires poking out of it.

Wheatley chuffs “Well, look at that! It’s been far too long since I've seen the rails.”

“It’s been less than a day, no?”

Wheatley waves your comment off while he walks towards the rail to investigate. You, on the other hand, lean your back against the wall for a little break. Maybe you would need to stop here at this point. With nothing to really keep you going, energy wise, there was only so much you could do..and to be fair you were unaccustomed to speed-walking after a robot for miles.

Wheatley eyes the management rail with a squinted optic, debating something. Hand on his ‘chin’,debating back and forth in hushed mumbles to himself that you were starting to block out as you rested against a yellow wall, waiting for him to make a decision. 

If you had to guess, it was the decision between leaving a human to their own devices ‘back-stage’ with no guidance, or something perhaps more dangerous than that.

It’s a bad idea, as it turns out. 

“What is it?” you question, resting your hands on your knees while you breathe. The complete lack of rest was just now starting to get to you, creeping in anytime you stopped walking, leaving an awful ache in the back of your calves and a cold burn to your back. It didn’t help any that you’d wager that you were dehydrated.

“Just wondering how much weight a management rail can handle..” Wheatley answers you, a little distantly “I assume, since it could handle two cores…” he turns to look at you, before his expression goes limp altogether, watching you sit down, arms slung over your knees. He stops talking altogether, and you prompt him to continue

“Yeah?”

“Well um..nevermind that, actually. Looking worse for wear..” he blinks “which doesn’t mean anything–no offense there–just not looking your best is all. It’s the walking, isn’t it? See, I don’t get humans, really. Can walk all over the place, sea-to-shining-sea and what-not, but a few chambers tuckers you out.” he squints “Which is odd. May not have the ability to feel tuckered, myself, but it is weird.”

“Weird cool?”

“Certainly not.” Wheatley stands still for a few moments before he joins you in sitting on the floor with a squint, generally uncomfortable. The fluorescent lighting did nothing to help your eyes, staring out to a black wall with the simple wires of the management rail hanging down. “So resting, that is something–obviously humans have to do. So we’ll stop and have a good rest.”

“Right.”

“And that is–as far as I know–typically done in the cover of silence. Silent nights and um..”

“Right on.”

“Right, silence.” Wheatley mutters “Going silent. Stealthy..not a word, not a sound. Just complete and utter silence.”

It lasts, and you almost think you really could rest like this. Wasn't the most comfortable of places, sitting against a wall, but times of desperation come to this.. Some part of you was at least thankful you were in a part of Aperture that had some sort of heating and cooling–

“Silence..the act of complete and utter quiet.”

To think he’d actually be silent for much longer was silly of you to think. You’d play the game and sit there for minutes just to listen to him drone on, so you weren't particularly upset with the constant chatter. In fact, you rather invited it to continue.

“How is it that you know where everything is? What,with not being connected to the system.”

And while you rest your head back with your eyes closed, you listen to the robot ramble on.

“Well– that’s actually–rather surprising you want to know.”

“You seem well-informed.”

“Well-informed? That’s new–um. I’ve had jobs at one point or another in a good chunk of this facility–or otherwise applied for said jobs. Some foremans are not my biggest fan..haven't a clue what’d make them turn me away. I worked as an assistant for a neurotoxin supervisor once. Accidentally hit a few buttons passing by. No casualties–no deaths, but safe enough to say they weren’t pleased with me. Fired on the spot, couldn't be an assistant anymore. Had to take a gander around, found my way to working with maintenance for a little bit. Apparently–i wasn’t told this– the little turret fellows are supposed to be able to see you from something crazy like…60 feet. Didn’t know that– made em blind. By accident, of course! But it’s not like they’d listen to me. Had some choice of nasty words for me–'' Wheatley pauses in his speech, sitting forwards onto his arms as he blinks “That…Actually gives me an idea. When we get the…apparently not-badly-brain-damaged girl, we take out the turrets. If She can’t use them, She won’t have any way to murder either of you, or damage me.” 

Wheatley turns his head to look at you, only to find a human in an immobile, closed-eye state, the only sign of life being the slightest rise and fall while you breathe.

“Right.” Wheatley mutters to himself as he stands up off of the floor “Humans and their rest. Don’t sleep forever, will you? Rather not go through that again” Five times was enough, he’d rather not witness number six and seven before his eye..again.

Wheatley once again finds himself standing in front of the maintenance rail. Grab the proverbial bull by the horns was the saying, wasn’t it?

[redspringthorn]

It's fucking crazy how the first therapist that diagnosed me with ocd kind of just fucking ignored it, and kept treating me for anxiety anyway?

I didn't really think into it that deeply until having to do more ocd therapy on my own within the past two years once it got REALLY bad... and like regular therapy for anxiety just doesn't really work for ocd. And it makes so much sense why I've found absolutely no relief for anxiety from the classic therapies because I have a completely different problem going on. I even had that problem acknowledged by doctors but then they never DID ANYTHING ABOUT IT???

Like she was literally like, oh I think you have OCD, I have it too! Then explained her symptoms. And then... never proceeded to help me or like, even discuss it ever again. And constantly just talk about how I needed to manage my anxiety, and my depression. So now here I am literally 10 years later with the worst symptoms of my life having to help my damn self by reading mass articles online because it seems like every therapist I encounter is totally willing to acknowledge that I have ocd but just leaves it at that? And then it's back to well, we really need to get your anxiety under control.

Idk. Therapy can be incredibly helpful but also makes me feel fucking stupid and crazy. Often.

Not to even mention how much my issues center around feeling mass amounts of grief for the state of the world and fear of its destruction and how the answer from all my therapists is that I must simply learn to ignore it... or tell myself it's not affecting me. Like I can ignore the fact I don't even hear bugs at night near my home! Like I could ignore the fact that I can go to a HUGE nature preserve in my city in the middle of summer, and not see a single bee or butterfly! Like I should ignore the people begging for food all around and the desperation and stress I feel in all the people around me! Best to just forget about it, so I may go to work tomorrow and keep this horrible machine running!

[peninkwrites]

Vessels & Prisons

Sam's chapter for @dreamoirezine !

Please check out the full project, it's amazing!

crossposted to ao3

The nature of a creeper was to die.  Its sole purpose was to explode and take something else down with it.

But Sam was not a creeper.  At least not entirely.

Even Wardens have childhoods, even if one can no longer see it behind the mask.  Sam didn’t know his childhood was strange, he didn’t know any other way.  There were rules to keep them safe.  Don’t go out at night without armor, make sure you know which way home is, and keep your emotions in check.  Tantrums were the primary cause of their infant mortality rate.

Sam had been lucky.

He spent many years in a state of general, careful contentment.  He liked being a happy-go-lucky kind of man, one without problems or complications or anger.  If anger or hurt threatened to rise, he perfected the art of becoming cold.  Any emotions that pushed him too close, enough that he could taste the sharp, bitterness of gunpowder, he focused.  He worked with redstone until he knew it better than he knew himself.  That became what kept him safe.  The mechanics of redstone, the electrical pulses that kept his body running, he didn’t have to just be a machine.  He could still be alive.  He just had to keep track of how long of a fuse he had left, the end of which he wouldn’t be alive anymore.

When there is an explosion inside your heart, you learn not to go near it.

It worked for over twenty years.

The breaking point, the change of nature, of what parts of himself he could allow to exist, it was not anger or grief or any sort of hurt which changed him.

Ponk had set his heart on fire in a different sort of way.

The first time they became unmasked around one another, Sam found himself unmasked in a different way, one in which Ponk’s gentle words of handsome and stupid uttered affectionately in the same breath could not spare him.

It was meant to be something kind, something gentle and romantic and harmless.  Ponk had stood on their tiptoes, until their noses almost touched, and Sam had leaned in close, finally able to see that easy smile for himself, a hand cradling their face.  He could not remember a time where this kind of joy, this kind of adoration had captivated him, unmasked and devoted.

Ponk was made for gentler things than him.

Soon Sam would be reminded of this.

For the first time in many years, Sam had tasted gunpowder.  He’d felt the heat of smoke curling in his mouth before coming free between his lips and Ponk’s.  It was not pain, it was love that pushed him too close to the edge for the first time in so long.

Ponk had stared at him, confused, hurt, when he had pulled away sharply.  “Sam?”

Sam hadn’t paused for another moment.  He had fled, not knowing if he had enough time to turn back, but utterly set on not bringing Ponk down with him.  If a creeper’s nature was to destroy, Sam would ensure he would be the only wreckage.  That realization alone, that cruel truth being that even elation, vibrant love and joy, can make that feeling grow, that had sent him spiraling far worse, far deeper toward burning himself up.  He could not escape his own nature, that hiss had begun to hum in his ears and Sam had found somewhere to hide, to choke back smoke alongside his love and his fear.  He had warded off an explosion by clinging to every last nerve, shutting it all down until his love for Ponk, his fear for his life and theirs, it became muted, like he drained the oxygen from within himself to suffocate a lit fuse.

He had buried everything, and with it he’d buried the thought that maybe his existence was a cursed one.

Ponk had accepted apologies with ease.  They knew Sam had something more lurking underneath the surface.  They did not need to taste gunpowder on his lips to know that, and they would love him anyway.  Sam would try to find a way to love them in turn.  Sam had to condemn himself to the fact that he cannot feel, not strongly, not freely.  But he wanted to live .

Sam was, first and foremost, an engineer.

As always, he had found answers and sanctuary in a machine.

He buried himself in a tomb wherein he would build his own resurrection.  Metal bones, redstone for blood, and a vessel came to be.  The perfect being.  No complications of mortal flesh or a pounding heart or gunpowder in his veins.  This being would be strong, it would be unbreakable.  He wanted it to be soft too.  To be kind.  He wanted that for himself.

He need only extract his own soul, to cut his being in half, splitting mind and body, but perhaps some things were not made to be severed, some bodies could not be occupied.

Sam knew what he then meddled with was beyond science or reason or divine logic, he knew the dangers, the magic of this world that ran so much deeper than an enchanted trident or a lit portal, but at the same time, those roots had come from somewhere.  He wanted to try.  Not only for his hopes of a future, a life spent less contained, but just to see if he could .  Sam could design a machine, he would trick the very universe, make it not realize that his body had gone to one plane and his mind had stayed in another.

Sam placed a curse of binding upon himself.  He did not trust himself to not drift away permanently, but this way his soul would remain connected to his body whether he wanted it to be or not.  Lapis Lazuli embedded underneath his skin, carefully drawn runes needled onto his left arm.  It had been the easiest place for him to reach and work with precision.  Sam would remain rooted in his body.  That part was essential.  If he had ended up drifting, utterly unattached… maybe there were worse things to become than an explosion.  Still, there were tricks, there were ways around the self and the soul which he was just clever enough– just desperate enough– to try.

Sam would place the vessel in one portal, directly across from another.  It would go through to the other side just as he did and they would link up in the same place.  One vessel would remain empty, save for a tenuous link, the other would not.  Becoming a Spectator of the world, he knew of it.  He only knew of it in theory.  In practice, that was where things would grow more dangerous.  It was a state beyond life or godhood.  He would be nothing, a consciousness able to gaze into the earth itself, but he would do so with the intent of tying himself back down to something other than his own body.

Sam wanted to be a man, a mortal being without divine power or anything beyond what he knew himself to be, he wanted to be something other than a timebomb.  He never asked to play god, but the universe would not reward him for his efforts either way.

Sam was an organic being.

He felt at home amongst machines and mechanisms, but he is still something so much more complex than metal.  Nerves and sinew, blood which cannot be replaced by redstone, but it almost worked.

The world around him bent and warped out of shape, as he and the vessel passed over to the Nether as one.

And the outcome was wrong .  Not quite agony, but perhaps something worse.  He had found a way to liberate himself of nerve endings and a pulse.  His consciousness remained, his limbs reacted to his will– limbs too strong, too unbreakable– but he was not alive here.

But, a light at the end of a dark, unfeeling tunnel, he knew his body remained, empty, weak, but there , waiting for him.  He had fled toward it like a moth to a flame.

Lightning to a lightning rod.

Sam’s return to his own mortal body was a violent one.

He had known the risks, but the instant taste of smoke curling in lungs he had already forgotten how to fill with air and Sam thought he was dying just for daring to be alive again.

You will not die.  You cannot die.  You want to live.

You want to feel again.

A mantra which helped him calm his soul until he felt so little that the fires behind his eyes were suffocated.  For now.  Sam had dragged that old vessel back.  He cannot live out of metal alone, but maybe the machine would have its uses.  One day he would give it a mechanical brain, one designed with its creator’s wishes in mind– protect, build, be gentle, those wishes would live on longer in that machine than they would in him, but not yet.  First he needed more flesh.

Sam felt no kinship to creepers.  They were hollow things with tiny, bitter intentions.  They did not recognize him as one of them and he did not recognize them in turn.  Sam learned how to cut their hearts out before they could reach him, with the help of a few cats.

Sam cut their hearts out and kept what remained and did not wonder what this said about his own anatomy.  It didn't matter.  He took what remained and he began to create.  Nothing in this new vessel would make an explosion.  Its bones would have to still come from creepers, but creepers drained of their spark.

He also knew what other flesh and matter he needed to be reborn into.  Sam’s flesh did not melt off as it one day would at the hands of an infection, a parasitic egg set on eating him alive, instead Sam cut away from himself with surgical precision.  A health potion onto the hollow divots left behind, like water washing away old laid redstone lines.  He was not a god.  Every body had a bloody cost, a mere man attempting to brush against the divine, all because he wanted to be a little more human.  Sam wouldn’t call himself a botanist, that was always Ponk’s area of expertise, but he could make things grow, if he had to.

It took a long time, it took tearing himself to pieces, it took metal welded to flesh over and over again, test run after test run, imperfections in homemade limbs and attempts at self actualization written in blood until finally , there was a body.  It did not feel like his , not really, but it felt at all.  That would have to be enough.  Maybe he was always predisposed to become The Warden.  The Warden was never at home in his own body, his body was a guarded thing, another cog in the prison’s machine.  One day The Warden would be his vessel of choice, but not yet.

Sam returned and he told everyone he had been traveling, vague meant safe.  He no longer ran the risk of exhaling fumes, but he wore his gas mask anyway, so any discrepancies in his face, a copy never fully matching the original, would be hidden.  He had apologies to make, reintroductions and new introductions, but he had a body that maybe he could live in again.

Sam had been gone for a long time.  Long enough that when he returned to the Mainlands of the SMP perhaps a little changed, a little taller, a little less natural; it was long enough to go unquestioned.  Time warps memories as much as anything.  Maybe Ponk didn’t recognize the scar that ran like a seam along his gas mask and maybe Bad hesitated, remembering him just a bit shorter.  He fit in just as well as he always did.  He was still Sam in every way that mattered.

And maybe, in the midst of a festival, Sam for a moment had felt relief, because when a young boy got blown to pieces, Sam’s heart had raced and he had felt dread and panic, but there hadn’t been smoke, at least not smoke from him.  The world started burning down around him, a massacre, Sam having carried Ponk out of the wreckage and even the sight of them no longer whole, blood vibrant and the only thing left from the knees down, Sam had kept himself alive through it all.  He could no longer be burned.  Searching for that fuse inside of himself, he had found nothing.  Maybe that should have counted as a loss, maybe he didn’t feel things as strongly as he once had, but he got to live to feel at all.

In the beginning Sam found himself reaching.  Moments where his thoughts were unoccupied, he felt drawn to his true body, a slight tug from the back of his mind, that curse of binding, trying to bring him home.

But eventually he made a new home in his vessels, they all served a purpose.  Sam wanted to serve a purpose.  And eventually, that little tether, from his soul back to his body, it became something unsettling, a weight around his ankle threatening to drag him to the bottom of some dark sea.  He no longer knew what would be waiting for him if he went back.  He settled so neatly into a body free of explosions or warning, some part of him began to dread his original body, to hate it for what it might do to him.  He began to fear that the moment he tried to return to it, a body not allowed to feel, he would break apart.  So he stayed away.  Every vessel was just a little off, not quite in tune with his senses, but when that became his only known state, it no longer hurt him.

Other things hurt him instead.

Maybe he became reckless.  Decades of his emotions kept bottled and carefully controlled, he had never been taught how to feel.  Fear, anger, betrayal.  He was ill-equipped to handle them.

He built a prison, built it just as he built a vessel.  These things were meant to be soulless, and maybe Sam had no business existing inside of them, but there were more important things than him now.  Sam became a soul encased in a vessel encased in armor, a cog in the machinations of a prison that was without escape.

His coping mechanisms were designed with an attainable goal, a goal he no longer needed to fulfill.  So he stopped baking pies.  He stopped fiddling with easy projects just until his mind settled.  Sam had a new goal.  He wrapped himself around the inner workings of the prison until it felt like another body he occupied.  He stopped searching for calm and allowed emptiness to consume him instead.

It felt too easy to hurt Ponk.  To Sam, the world was not hidden behind a fog, but rather by a sheet of glass.  Ponk had hurt him, they had left him, stolen from him.  So taking that back by whatever means necessary had only felt natural to Sam.  Or rather, nothing had really felt natural to him, but it was an easy illusion.

Sam had cut off Ponk’s arm and his empathy had flinched from the other end of a leash.  There had been smoke when Ponk burned, but as long as Sam hadn’t exhaled it instead, he would let go of their suffering.

Maybe if he had returned to his original vessel he would have realized his wrongs, the damages done, the way he had grown misshapen after so long apart from himself, but he didn’t.  He would never learn.

He did not learn when his friends grew possessed and corrupted and he had been helpless to stop them.  He did not learn when he realized that he could not care for a boy in desperate need of it so he had to manufacture kindness in a metal vessel instead.

He did not learn when that same boy he had put upon himself to protect was trapped in the prison he built, trapped by him.

He did not learn when the day came where he had lowered that wall of lava and found a corpse instead of a child, but a lesson would be imparted upon him whether he wanted it or not.  The monster he had kept caged laughed over a dead body and Sam had, for the first time in years, tasted smoke in the back of his throat.

When the impossible happened, maybe he should have seen that as a lesson.  Maybe he should have believed, maybe the universe finally decided to punish him, to remind him of his place, but all he had thought had been that of a scientist, fear driven by logic– where is the smoke coming from?

The rest hadn’t mattered.  Sam had fled the corpse and the monster, and he had felt himself begin to burn from the inside out.  It had been an impossibility, he had engineered The Warden to be beyond destruction, The Warden could not be destroyed from the inside out, that had been the first Sam, that had been a weak vessel, a version of himself he had kept carefully locked away where it couldn’t be touched or broken.

Smoke bled out anyway.  There was something wrong with him, something wrong not in body, but in soul.  Sam was burning, and all he could do was keep moving.  That day Sam was lucky, or perhaps unlucky.  He fled to another vessel, he pushed off the end, but the damage had been done, and an explosion was a part of him now.  Sam could not rest.  He had pushed away from himself for so long there was nothing left to hold onto.  He would build enough bodies that the gunpowder would have no time to grow like a tumor.  He would run from himself until the fuse ran out.  He would be alive.  He would not live.

[the-chosen-none]

Harold’s Accidentally Horrifying Vault

Okay, so I’ve made a post here before several months ago alluding to what I picked up on about Vault 29, which is where Harold came from, and I also made a post about it on the classic Fallout subreddit a while back, but I’ve decided do a deep-dive into it here because it is a perfect example of how different writers presumably not communicating with each other plus writers treating something obviously bad as not being that big of a deal accidentally created something way worse than what they might have originally intended. 

True, most of it comes from Van Buren and the Fallout Bible, the former becoming very different for New Vegas and the latter being more of a suggestion that writers can use or discard, but a reference to what became of Vault 29 in New Vegas seems to me like it was meant to be an Easter egg for the fans who knew about Van Buren to tell them that this idea created for Van Buren still exists in canon one way or the other. 

So basically, Vault 29′s experiment was to put a bunch of kids between 5-16 without their parents to be raised by machines and see what would happen. Depending on if you look at the Fallout Bible or VB, the parents were either originally with the kids but they were elderly and died off soon afterwards, or the kids were separated from the parents immediately. I’m going with the latter, since the former is pretty stupid. I’m skipping a lot of other story stuff surrounding 29 like the whole Derek Greenway part, but this is the gist. 

Then, a terminally ill woman who had her brain uploaded into a computer system named Diana Stone learned about the experiment and was horrified, so she took it upon herself to take over the Vault’s computers and raise the children herself.

However, rather than doing this purely out of kindness, Diana decided to play god and raise the children to believe that she was a divine being. When they left the Vault, Diana set up a village for her flock to live in, and much like Arroyo, the so-called “Twin Mothers tribe” would pretty much cosplay as Native Americans, in this case the Anasazi, to live in an agrarian society away from the rest of the world. 

My memory is a little fuzzy on what was supposed to happen in VB, so correct me if I’m wrong, but because your player character was a carrier of a plague, they had to find a way to cure it, and so by helping Diana re-establish herself as the ruler of the Twin Mothers, she would help you out, and the cure had to do with the fruits growing from the tree on Harold’s head. 

As far as I know, Diana was supposed to be seen as a good person, or at least helping her continue to keep the Twin Mothers in isolation is supposed to be the “correct” decision, even though she started a cultural-appropriating cult which she made herself the spiritual leader of, keeping her people ignorant of the outside world. It really IS Arroyo all over again, except at least Arroyo eventually abandoned their former way of life. 

Okay, so most of this has yet to be acknowledged in canon... however, Ulysses does mention the Twin Mothers in NV, and that they were either absorbed or destroyed outright by Caesar’s Legion. Like I said, I think this was meant to be an acknowledgement to the fans who had followed Van Buren’s development, so we can assume that the general outline of the Twin Mothers’ origins could be canon. 

Before I move on, I should acknowledge that Vault 29 did get a reference in Fallout 76, where a university student bemoans the thought of having to work with supposedly spoiled teenagers from affluent families, though because this character was not actually working with the Vault when she talked about it, we can assume that she’s not entirely correct in her assessment of the Vault, since the Fallout Bible pretty clearly stated that it was both young children and teenagers in there.

Anyway, so Harold came from a cult? That’s not great, but maybe it doesn’t sound quite horrifying to some of you yet. Oh, I haven’t even gotten to the worst part!

You see, the final piece of canon information about Vault 29 comes from the Tell-Me-About function from FO1 where, if you ask Harold about his Vault, he says that the people had to leave because there was too many people and not enough food and water to go around. If we consider the FO Bible, it says that Harold, and presumably the rest of the residents, left in 2090, 13 years after the War. 

A Vault originally made entirely of minors had to leave in just 13 years because of overpopulation, and remember, due to the nature of the Vault’s experiment, these children would have had to be selected before the War, and it wasn’t a case of random people from all over running inside... 

At best, Diana ignored what was going on and let the kids run wild because she wanted them to be free-spirited and one with nature and all that, OR she deliberately manufactured this overpopulation either to make as many people as possible for her cult or as a controlling method, real cults have been known to set up marriages and make the victims have children to discourage them to leave. 

It’s honestly pretty likely that the writers of Van Buren either forgot or had no knowledge of the Tell-Me-About line, and if they had included the Twin Mothers more in New Vegas, it’s likely that they would have ignored it, but because they have not yet talked about them in more detail within canon, what we’re left with is pieces that have accidentally created something both more disgusting yet interesting than the racist-sounding original idea for Van Buren.

Poor Harold. It’s amazing he turned out as kind and somewhat well-adjusted as he did.

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Hidden Oracle: Chapter 37 (SPOILERS)

"Percy leaped heroically from his mount and slipped in hellhound pee." Heroic entrance right here.

"Apollo, did you do this?" "I am offended! . . . I am only indirectly responsible for this!" I love their banter.

"I need a few more minutes to enchant this arrow." "Of course you do." Cut him some slack, he's still getting the hang of this whole hero thing.

"I had to admit Percy Jackson was moderately impressive." :/ ? Least reliable narrator I've ever seen.

"This time, the words came to me." Wait, so the plague chant actually isn't PLAGUEY, PLAGUEY, PLAGUEY? This is a massive disappointment. I don't think I'll recover. Also, that Styx punishment really didn't last long. The River's going soft.

"sneezed so hard he collapsed." Uh oh.

"FIE! TOO STRONG IS THY PLAGUE." FIE (exclamation): used to express disgust or outrage

"Kayla, be careful. Don't breathe--" "ACHOO!" Oh no.

"MOREO'ER, HIE!" I hate this fucking arrow. HIE (v.): go quickly

"Somehow, I managed to react appropriately. (Three cheers for reacting appropriately!)" I- Wins where you can take 'em, I suppose.

"you and Harley take Kayla and Austin to the Apollo cabin for healing." "But they are the Apollo cabin" VALID concern. Will's gonna be overworked again. Who's gonna heal everyone? Don't any campers other than the Apollo ones learn healing? People are dying left and right; you'd think other campers would learn medicine.

"Perhaps if we got some harpies and some kite string..." He's really desperate if he's suggesting that.

"I'm a stupid ugly mortal teenager! I'm nobody!" Is he throwing a tantrum? "I thought for sure . . . The cosmos would stop turning. Percy and Chiron would rush to reassure me. None of that happened . . . 'You're Apollo. We need you. You can do this. Besides, if you don't, I will personally throw you off the top of the Empire State Building.'" My friend compared this scene to the one in Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles where the four turtles are about to be crushed to death in the Labyrinth maze and Leo[nardo Hamato, not -nidas Valdez], who is the only one who can get them out by making a portal, first pouts at them to ask for a self-esteem boost. Something like "Y'know, it would really help me out if you told me I'm your champion" because the whole point of the Labyrinth was to get to the center and become a "champion" and receive world-class pizza (that episode was freakishly reminiscent of how PJO characters often end up beating their villains of the week). Yes, my friend and I frequently miscommunicate which Leo we are talking about when we discuss fandom stuff.

"just the sort of thing Zeus used to say to me before my soccer matches." Yeesh, never a good thing to be compared to Zeus, but the throw-you-off-a-building threat was deserved. Also, I think Rhea might not be the only one mixing up their centuries.

"a monument to my own conceit. Nero's pride was no more than a reflection of mine." A character development moment! Yes!

"The demigods were getting very good at scattering." I bet they've had a lot of practice, what with all the attacks on their only safe haven over the years.

"a gust of wind caught it... perhaps Zephyros" Yeah!!! That's good. It would've been too hard to believe if Apollo made that shot naturally. A bit soon to call Zephyros awesome, though, since this is just making up for the murder he committed, but good on him for helping avoid the deaths of dozens of small children.

"like a pachinko machine." I know what you're all thinking: "What's the difference between pachinko and pinball?" That's what I'm here to answer. According to Google, pachinko is an upright, vertical version of pinball that uses multiple small balls as opposed to pinball's singular, larger ball.

"geysers of motor oil out his ears" NOOOO! Not the harbor! Oh man, the beach naiads are gonna be so sick after this. Do beach naiads exist? If not, the beach animals and plants are gonna be sick. This is the third geyser we've seen this book and by far the worst.

"a case of hay fever . . . the statue's head achieved first-stage separation from his body." Deadliest case of hay fever I've seen yet. Hey, if it works, it works.

"Then the air blooped out of its neck hole" Blooped was pretty far down on the list of verbs I expected to see in this book. Next time I'll be more open-minded and prepared for verbs of all variety.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 055

Zeno! 

You sonovabitch!

As hot as Bulma looks fixing the time machine in her grimy labcoat, this episode has nothing at all to do with that.  In fact, she finishes the repairs in this very scene, but she wants to let Trunks rest up before telling him it’s ready to go.

Okay so years ago, people were griping about the state of Yamcha’s apartment in an upcoming episode of this show.  I guess they thought it looked too run down or something.  Re-watching this series over a period of a few weeks, it’s clear to me now that the background artists just suck at interior design.  Yamcha’s apartment looked a lot like the fancy restaurant that Gohan and Videl were at in Episode 43.  So is Yamcha’s apartment fancy, or was the restaurant a dump? 

Trunks’ bedroom in this episode informs our answer.   This is supposed to be a futuristic mansion, but this room looks like a prison cell.  I’m not even sure it looks like the room Trunks slept in a few episodes back.  And sure, there’s probably a lot of empty guest rooms in this building, and the Brief family are eccentric enough that they might not bother decorating half of them.  Still, the prompt for this scene was “A guest room in a futuristic mansion” and the artists were like “Well, I guess Venetian blinds?  Oh!  How about a couple of empty shelves!”

Meanwhile, Grand Zeno has contacted Beerus to arrange for Goku to come to his palace.  So Beerus summons Goku, but it takes like two days for Whis to make the trip, and Goku doesn’t want to be away from Earth for four days.  So Whis suggests they ask the Supreme Kai for help, since Supreme Kais can teleport to Grand Zeno’s palace instantaneously. 

So this is just a not-so-clever way to repeat the same scene twice in one episode.  First we have Beerus freaking out and warning Goku not to do anything stupid, and then we get the Supreme Kai contingent doing the same bit all over again. 

One tidbit we learn from all of this is that if the Supreme Kai dies, the God of Destruction dies with him, so Beerus orders Whis to make sure the Supreme Kai doesn’t get on the wrong end of Zeno’s wrath. 

Apparently Shin has to grab your ass to teleport you to Grand Zeno’s palace.  I mean, they don’t spell that out, and maybe this is just the usual Kai Kai power he uses to teleport to other planets, but I prefer to believe my grab-ass theory, because it would mean that this show can just do a thing without having five characters explain it to death.

Upon arrival, they’re greeted by this guy, called the “Grand Minister” in the dub.  I like that name better than “Great Priest”, which is what the subtitles kept calling him.  This dude is basically the attendant for Zeno, just as Whis is the attendant of Beerus, so he’s clearly not a priest.  Minister makes more sense, as it implies a more practical role, like a secretary or a minister in a head of state’s cabinet.  And the religious aspect is still there, but not quite so blatant. 

Also, he has a Dorito on his shirt, which is a bold fashion choice.

Everyone worries about Goku’s clothes being unsuitable for this meeting, so Whis makes an excuse about them being too busy to get him changed, but the Grand Minister doesn’t see the problem, because he can tell that Goku’s outfit is the most important clothing he has.  Perceptive.  And Goku’s like, “well, yeah.”

And this informs the whole relationship between Zeno and Goku.  Zeno wanted to meet Goku again because he liked him from before, and he wants them to be friends and play together.  Everyone else around Zeno is terrified of getting erased from existence, so Goku is the only being he’s ever met who’s totally at ease with him.  The gods accuse Goku of being foolish or rude, but that’s not it at all.  Goku is at ease with himself, and with the universe around him.  He’s very zen, if you will, and that’s something Zeno can appreciate.

Zeno wants Goku to play with him, but Goku says he has something very important to do.  He doesn’t mention that it’s this stupid mission to fight Goku Black, because everyone warned him not to bring up the time travel stuff.  Still, he promises to return when he’s finished, and he’ll even bring another friend who’ll be more fun to play with.  Zeno agrees, and he gives Goku a magic button.  When he’s ready, he can push the button, and Zeno will instantly appear before him. 

Goku pushes it, and Zeno’s like “I’m already here, though.”  Maybe Goku was hoping a muffin would appear somewhere.

Anyway, Goku is permitted to leave, so that takes care of that business.  So what’s the rest of the episode about?   Well, we haven’t checked in on Zamasu lately so let’s see what they’re doing in Universe 10.

Fuck, we’re still here?  Gowasu was using the Time Ring to try to teach Zamasu about mortals, but all Zamasu seems to be getting from this is that the mortals they’re observing are doomed to be nothing more than violent savages.  They watch a bunch of Barbari kill each other in a battle, and then one Barbari attacks the Kais.  So Zamasu steps in and kills the poor dope.

He chops the dude in half, and it’s treated like this insane thing, like he used a cool new technique instead of the energy blade thing Salza used in the first Cooler Movie.

Gowasu is SHOCKED and OUTRAGED that his apprentice, the one who never shuts up about how they should kill all the mortals, would kill a mortal. He wants Zamasu to explain himself, but instead he just makes this goofy face.  I’d joke that Zamasu just had his first orgasm, but he wasn’t giving a speech while he killed that guy, so the conditions weren’t quite right.

So what happens when a Supreme Kai-in-training murders a mortal in cold blood?  Does he get stripped of his rank?  Is he sent to the Phantom Zone for 500 years?  No, they go right back to what they were doing before they left.  Zamasu makes more tea for Gowasu to drink, and they rehash the same dead-end conversation they had before and during their little Time Ring trip.

Let me try to summarize this brilliant rhetoric for you. 

Gowasu: Zamasu, it’s important that you appreciate the mortals. 

Zamasu: Nah, fuck ‘em.  Mortals suck. 

Gowasu: Perhaps with time, you will come to realize that mortals have the capacity to change and grow, and this potential to evolve is part of the complexity of the universe we watch over.

Zamasu: No, you’re 100% wrong.  Mortals are all evil, and anyone who tolerates their existence is also evil. 

I mean, Zamasu uses pretty words to make his points, but the message is always the same.  He despises mortals, and he really isn’t shy about expressing this opinion.  He was visibly outraged by Goku’s visit, and the only logical conclusion to his points is that mortals should all be eradicated.  Like, there’s no subtly to any of this.  The only restraint he shows is out of deference to Gowasu, and he continues to argue with him even after Gowasu tells him he needs to adjust his attitude.  Hell, he killed a mortal right in front of Gowasu. 

Like, the concept here is that Zamasu eventually becomes the big villain of this arc, but that’s the Zamasu of the future.  The Zamasu of the present hasn’t gone down that road yet, so we’re watching his origin story unfold in real time.  This is supposed to be like Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequels, except, no it’s not.  This is like if Anakin Skywalker married Padme right in front of Obi-Wan, and showed off his cool red lightsaber while he killed all the Sand People, and then Anakin’s tailor shows up to fit him for a new black helmet.  And every conversation between Anakin and Obi-Wan would be like “Jedi shouldn’t kill people Anakin” and “No way, killing is the best.  I fucking love evil.”

This scene is supposed to be all profound or something, which is why they put glowing cherry blossoms in it, just in case you couldn’t tell how profound and meaningful it’s supposed to be.  He’s becoming a bad guy, and his mentor can’t even tell!  How tragic!  No, Zamasu was a villain from the moment we first saw him.  All these scenes do is have him repeat his motivation over and over.  They aren’t developing his character, they’re just reinforcing the same information.  The only thing truly profound here is how blind Gowasu is to Zamasu’s shittiness.  It’s like Gowasu doesn’t even care.

I mean, let’s set aside good and evil for a moment.  Who’s to say if it’s right or wrong to kill a few zillion mortals?  Even if Gowasu were that detached from the question, he should still be deeply troubled that his apprentice, the guy he’s training to take his place some day, holds the office of Supreme Kai in such contempt.  The job is literally to care for and watch over the universe and everything living in it.  Even if wiping out mortals were the right thing to do, that’s the job of the Destroyer Gods, so if nothing else, Zamasu has demonstrated a complete failure to understand what the Supreme Kai is supposed to do. 

So you would think Gowasu would at least stop and say “You know, I don’t think you’re cut out for this work.” But it’s like he doesn’t even see the problem.  It’s like he doesn’t want to see it.  There’s glowing cherry blossoms in this scene, but all this asshole wants to do is ignore it and drink his thirty-sixth cup of tea.

Meanwhile, Goku, Vegeta, and Trunks head to Trunks’ world to take on Goku Black, but a bunch of guys start shooting at Goku, so that’s a thing.

[fashionablyenigmatic]

Cadmus Christmas Carol Pt.2

"So, you are the ghost of Christmas past, right?"

"Yule past."

"SAME THING." Cadmus barked, still a little miffed about the ghost's appearance by his bedside, looking like a child who came into their parents' room to report they'd thrown up. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm in no need for whatever this is going to be. So, if you wouldn't mind leaving me alone and finding an actual evil billionaire to mess with, that would be awesome. I heard Elon Musk recently kicked a puppy, so if you would please go-"

"I'm not going anywhere, and for someone who can read minds, you are quite oblivious. Do I not look familiar at all to you?" The ghost of Yule past said, glaring at Cadmus with bright green eyes.

"Yeah, a little. You look like Shirley Temple. I don't know who told you curls were in, but they-."

"I'M YOU, IDIOT!" The ghost interrupted, now agitated.

"I...Uh...oh, forces..." Cadmus sat down on the side of his bed. "I completely forgot how stupid I used to look... Thank God Dad never made me learn tap dancing like he did with Bennie. I would have never lived it down," he added, giving the ghost a look of disdain.

"Is this how you should treat your four-year-old self? Tying them to a lamp and mocking them?" The ghost asked, holding up the magical bonds, still waiting to be freed.

"Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, I do," Cadmus replied, tipping his wand in a downward motion and releasing the binding spell.

Cadmus found himself in a familiar place, and the first thing that hit him was the smell of hot, greasy food under heat lamps. He opened his eyes and realized he was in an Uncle Jeffy's. What surprised him even more was his attire—he was still in his black silk pajamas but now sported a nightcap instead of his usual horns. "What the-" He waved a hand over his head and tried to pull off the cap, only to yelp in pain. "OW! Where are my horns?"

"Oh, those were ugly, so I turned them into a cap," the ghost stated simply.

Cadmus went to reach for his wand, but it, too, was gone. "Where's my wand now!?"

The ghost smiled mischievously. "Ohh, that old thing? You must have left it behind in your opulent cave. Oops! Now, pay attention. Where are we?"

Cadmus glared at the ghost. "Uncle Jeffy's Buffet. A cheap place, but they had good food. Stan used to take me here a lot when I was young, usually when I had a bad day," he explained with a hint of nostalgia.

He immediately looked over to the booth at the far end of the restaurant. It was nearly evening, and the parking lot outside had a fading blue hue. Stan had often chosen this corner booth because it allowed him to keep an eye on anyone entering, and it was an added bonus that the self-serve coffee machine was close by. But what caught Little Cadmus's attention was a particular tree just outside the window behind Stan. It was gnarled and strange-looking.

"Here they come," came the voice of the younger Cadmus as he saw two fat vultures swoop down from the high power lines to land among the gnarled branches, scattering the smaller birds that called the tree home. The four-year-old let out a high-pitched laugh, breaking Stan from his thousand-yard stare. Stan turned to look at Cadmus and gave a small smile before turning his head to see the vultures. "They must like you," he said gruffly.

"Yeah!! They come here every time I'm here!" Little Cad giggled in response, to which Stan nodded. Stan was wearing his Chief of Police uniform, which looked a bit wrinkled and had some small blood stains. It was evident that the day had been rough on him, and this observation wasn't missed by the small child.

"Did you have a bad day, Stan?" Little Cad asked with genuine concern.

"Well, my line of work is tough, Cadmus, but there's nothing I can't handle," Stan replied, though it was clear that he was downplaying the challenges he faced. The four-year-old understood this and wisely chose not to push further.

"My day was rough too," the boy commented, steering the conversation toward the reason Stan had brought Cadmus to Uncle Jeffy's in the first place. "My friend Marcus lied to me a lot today. He kept saying one thing but thinking another." Cadmus poked at his mac 'n' cheese thoughtfully. "I know Dad told me to try and block out the thoughts of others, but it's hard. I need to know! And I know the teachers don't like me because they are scared of me. Anyway, that's why I was crying when you picked me up from preschool," the boy explained, his pout conveying his frustration.

Stan listened attentively, his expression filled with understanding as Little Cad continued sharing his concerns.

Stan understood where Cadmus was coming from, given his own ability to detect lies. He took a moment to digest his thoughts before offering some sage advice. "Sometimes you gotta let someone lie, though, kid. You can't always call them out. But never doubt your gut, and don't let them pull the wool over your eyes," Stan said simply. "I think you'll figure out soon when a lie is meant to be harmful, like with Marcus, for instance. When he lied to you, what was he lying about?" he asked.

This was when little Cadmus brightened a little. "I said I wanted to play Legos, and he said he did too, but he really wanted to play Nintendo," he replied.

Stan smiled a little. "Well, he may have been thinking he wanted to play Nintendo, but I think more so that he wanted to hang out with you. Otherwise, why play Legos at all?"

Little Cadmus smiled and took another bite of his mac 'n' cheese, seemingly satisfied with Stan's response. The two of them enjoyed their meal together, the past echoing with moments of warmth and understanding.

[justfornowokaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

I'll actually tell you what happened.

Monday morning I was doing laundry near my apartment when I noticed a shirtless and barefoot man laying in the middle of an intersection as I walked to the store after putting my stuff into the machines. Someone was already calling an ambulance so I asked the guy on the floor if he was okay, he said no and curled up on the floor and closed his eyes. Knowing an ambulance was coming the guy who called the ambulance and I tried to stop traffic from running him over as he presented no threat to anyone.

At that time some guy smoking a blunt and drinking something comes out and starts to engage with the guy on the floor. He starts tell the guy "you're crazy aren't you, you want to fight don't you. Ill kick your ass" He starts egging the guy on, makes him get up and tells him to square up and swing at him. At this point he let us all know his dad is a cop and hes going to call the cops now on this guy who wants to fight.

I think the cop thing is important, it became clear to me this guy who just looking to act tough. He came out looking to get this guy to swing at him knowing then he could beat this guy up and tell his cop dad it was "self defense".

The guy on the floor in some kind of drunk manic state of course got up and started squaring up to fight and got super agitated and nearly got himself hit by a car. He also nearly knocked over an old man and then wandered away agitated into the neighborhood. This absolutely made me fucking livid. He took a perfectly under control situation and made it fucking worse. Instead of this man being taken in an ambulance he was now off who knows where to probably meet up with aggressive cops instead of a damn EMT. So I told him so. I told him what he did was fucking unhelpful and stupid.

He of course got mad and started yelling and threatening me. Telling me he helped people all the time and i was doing nothing while he handled it. That I was a bitch ass nigga and pathetic. He told me he would kick my ass and that he would call his fat brother to beat my fat ass with him. He kept demanding I swing at him for disrespecting him. I of course refused. I wasn't looking to fight but I refused like my neighbors to let some asshole put someone in danger for whatever pathetic validation they wanted.

He clearly also didn't want to fight me on anything approaching fair terms. He yelled and yelled and followed me up the block but never got close to me. He waited for me at the store but stayed across the street. He mentioned his age and three kids and kept mentioning his dad too. It was clearly what he wanted, he wanted me to swing at him so its self defense then him and his boys jump me and his cop dad will then get him off as "I told him my dad was a cop and he attacked me. it was self defense"

I will not be goaded into doing that though. Like what kind of grown ass man tells you he is going to call his brother to help him handle his shit. I refuse to engage with such a bitch ass limp dick little punk.

I grew up in a scene with dudes who didn't act tough or put on a front. Most looked like any other person. However they were not to be fucked with because while they wouldn't start a fight they knew how to handle a fight. I feel the same way. I will not risk my freedom taking a swing at someone clearly looking for some pathetic validation but if this guy thinks he can harass me or intimidate me he has something else coming to him.

I am a sensitive caring fat man who just wants to pet cats and make my silly posts. I will always help you if I can. However never ever think I am some fucking push over. I will fuck your shit up, Ive done it before, I can do it again. I hope this guy doesn't need to learn that lesson the hard way.

[thessalian]

Thess vs ChatGTP NPCs

Happened to trip over a Kotaku article about this mod for Skyrim that lets ChatGTP create additional dialogue for NPCs. There are a lot of people in the comments defending something that makes your NPC sound like that auto-generated voice you find on TikTok, which ... I do not get. I’m seeing, “Just wait five years and see how great this tech will be!”

First of all ... no.

Second of all ... hell no.

Look, I’ve already seen the development of the tech that turns voice to text. It still can’t figure out some accents, almost no one speaks slowly and clearly enough to get a decent reading, and it’s shitty for people with speech impediments. I mean, it may well be better now, I don’t know. The thing is ... there’s one problem with text-to-speech that speech-to-text doesn’t have: emotional context.

First of all, no voice actor in their right mind is going to sign away rights to their own voice for use however some AI chat bot dictates, mostly because the loopholes would state something about “we can use your voice whenever we want, however we want, forever, and only pay you this one fee”, and nobody is that stupid. And honestly, even if they were, the recording sessions for it would be insane. Here’s an example in text format: “I never said she stole my money”, and how a change in emphasis changes the entire sentence:

“I never said she stole my money.” (someone else made that accusation)

“I never said she stole my money.” (abject denial)

“I never said she stole my money.” (I just heavily implied it)

“I never said she stole my money.” (but someone else did)

“I never said she stole my money.” (she just borrowed it without clarifying that it was okay to do so)

“I never said she stole my money.” (my roommate’s money, yes. Mine, no)

“I never said she stole my money.” (but my favourite necklace is missing)

Stresses change a spoken sentence. That is why we use italics. And stress can go on any word and more or less entirely change a sentence’s meaning. Even how you stress a word changes depending on the sentence. Consider: “I do not drink ... wine”. That elliptical pause is integral to the way that line flows in speech, and suggests a whole host of emotional context that needs to be given to that line when spoken. And verbal stress is different depending on the situation. It might be a voice rising in volume and pitch due to frustration. It might be slow and a bit louder to really rub it in someone’s face. It might be triumph. It might be pain. Wail of sorrow or shout of joy or anything in between.

Now, assuming that an AI could accurately identify the need for whatever stresses are appropriate in their self-generated text, the shift from that to actually making a computerised voice say the right thing in the right way would depend on a voice actor reading pretty much the entire dictionary several times over in various ways to make sure the AI had enough building blocks to put it together correctly. And then the AI would have to actually do it. I can’t imagine what voice actors would say to that kind of demand from a game publisher. I also can’t imagine the size of the sound file folder. And one bug and it’s all a huge mess. Tell me that it’d all be working perfectly when you got the game. Given the tendency of most big publishers to release games in a barely-playable format with intentions to patch it later, tell me that and I will call you a liar.

This kind of machine-learning situation may have its place, but art and entertainment ain’t it. I’m trying to imagine some of my favourite games and favourite voice acting moments being machine-generated instead of acted out. Try to imagine “I AM URDNOT WREX! AND THIS IS MY PLANET!” spoken basically like the TikTok caption-reader voice, but more gravelly. I dare you.

...Honestly, the only place I could see that working is the elcor.

Anyway, point is, if we’re going to take AI anywhere, could we do it someplace that doesn’t rely on emotional depth and nuance? Some people in the comments of the Kotaku article were talking about “video games don’t have the luxury of story or lore”, and my immediate thought was, “Okay, no, no; your fixation with “Go To Place, Shoot The Dudes” is not infecting my single-player story-rich RPG experience so go fuck yourself.” I don’t want a machine just randomly generating movie scripts and then speaking them in barely-emotional snippets of other people’s words. The whole point of flagging up how Marvel / Disney gave no context to anybody’s scripts in scenes like Tony Stark’s fucking funeral was that you can’t just put something together out of unrelated snippets without human talent and emotion at the helm and expect anything good. I signed up for art and pathos and beauty (joyful or terrifying or sad; beauty takes so many forms), not a BtVS Script Generator. Because, seriously, AI learns what you give it, and doesn’t have the option to go out and seek sources other than its parent / guardian / creator / whatever that, say, humans do. AAA games companies will feed the AIs a diet of “what market trends say is popular” and we’ll get faux-witty quips spoken in barely-emotional tones that may or may not match the emotional context the game is going for.

...So almost exactly like a late-stage MCU movie.