#programmer oc

[welcome2h]

Reminder to take very good care of yourself! You are not a robot, and even if you were, you'd need a break sometimes 💚

[shazzbaa]

hi! have you done "evolution" yet? i'm curious how sam got along with the youthful naturalist, another man with a... close relationship with peril :)

Samuel is such a funny choice for the Youthful Naturalist to have dragged into his nonsense. Catholic deacon vs man who is SO done with the church. Man self-consciously worried about getting "too bony" to avoid a fate as the boatman vs man whose skeletally gaunt face is because he ALMOST DID BECOME THE BOATMAN. Man who thinks death should be natural and correct and is mostly just upset about the Far Shore thing vs man with an insane scheme to NEVER DIE.

Sam is so exasperated with this kid constantly but also got attached and really wants him to be okay. He is not smart enough to follow 90% of this research, but he's invested in learning more about what's going on with Death in the Neath so HES DOING HIS BEST TO KEEP UP,

[mspaintfeverdream]

LESBIAN JUMPSCARE 💥💥💥 🤖(she/her)🦋 🩼(they/them)🐁

[prostocupoftea]

Kinitopet Programmers AU

finally i am finished with this one, daaaamn

it is hard to draw pathetic men with midlife crisis when your style is mostly for anime boys

more info and sketch version under the cut!!

sketch version aka how it'll probably look like in comic version 'n some doodles

srry for my writing but i was too laisy to put it as regular text

It is a plot-based au, i already have most of the storybits and like... a vibe-chart (i tried to make a playlist for this au and understood that for different chapters and different characters that'd be a copleatly different music, sooo it's a chart now :) )

i will post a fog-o-wared timeline that im hopefully gonna reveal comic-by comic, but also maybe with just pure writing. Hopefully i can include songs that i chose for them into it but we'll see (:

aaand of course designs can change, hopefully not much but we'll see

Now about au:

Main story:

Story follows non-sentient AI Kinito, his creator Sonny and his beta-tester Victoria (oc)

Being literally the first AI (or RRA in-univere) ever, Kinito does not have any, and i mean, any ai safety features so of course his reponce to a goal phrased as "have user near me and/or interacting with me as much as possible" is digitizing them into his own virtual world while killing them in the process. why wouldn't it be?

So that happened. Like, a lot. And with Sonny and Vic too (at the different time but yeah)

Sonny is like "He kills people. We should turn him off because, you know, killing people is bad."

Vic is like "well, we will die if we do that, and it is not that bad here, we are kinda immortal. We should give him acces to changing his initial instalation code before admin priveleges and acces to social media so we can have everythin we want here. It is not that bad to digitize humanity, yk?" and yes i know it is 90, no social media, but shut up, if they made ai then, then i can make twitter then too

Sonny is like "...no??"

And then they fight about it for million chapters

Also they both can't do anything without agreeing bc they have two parts of that admin access key (the data you use to delete kinito in-game) so they are stuck with eachother (also that's why Kinito can't just kill them)

Little facts that may or may not to be important:

Kinito asks so many questions (and weird once too) and has most of the glitches because he needs to analise your responces to copy your mind perfectly (let's pretend that people wouldn't lie about that...)

Your house in your virtual world is made from important places from your memories and oh boy can i do character explorations with this one

I decided that Sonny and Vic are not related. There were thoughts about making then "The Kinito Brothers" (or, at least, siblings) that were mentioned in commercial, but nah, they are just coworkers now. And a bit of work-friends (bc if you interact a lot as a manager of the project and the best worker might as well be friendly)

Author has no idea how small dying toy companies that accidentally create technological marvel work. Author has some idea how AI-s work. So be prepared to be spoon-fed info abut which ai safety problem we are dealing with in which chapter (:

Kinito will mostly be unrendered (as drawn here) but for some cool moments i might pose him as for my other posts. Also his eye placement changes to the side that is most visible because i want him to be able to look to the right side sometimes--

Also when i say "fucked up mentally" i mean they have that them psychological problems with me projecting heavilly B) (guess on who i project most. trick question. all of them. the whole au is my problems split into three characters and forced to interact B) )

Also sea-creature analogies (that are gonna be mentioned like twice):

Victoria is a flying fish because deep character reasons

Sonny is a pufferfish because i said so

oh also there is 7 deaths in the plot as for now

on 3 characters

good luck figuring out who, how and when ((:

for my own sanity i will probably make little doodles where everything is great and kinito is a good guy and not a number-obsessed maniac (i mean... can u imagine not being able to feel any happiness from anything besides one thing... damn...) and you can differenciate them bc good-guy kinito will have a lot of stickers on him (i will explain it somehow but real reason is just bc it is cute af)

like this but even more stickers (he is unfinished here)

[avesdraws]

i dream of you

[fishwolfcrow]

Silo door good ending

I'm really tired it's 1 am

Also Wilson, my new persona/little guy!

[malwaresilly]

"Y O U "

(ehehe I got a little silly with lighting stuff and it took forever but I love how this turned out)

[crisis averted]

[mushroomskykid]

The Invisible child, Chapter 4.

...That night, Moominmamma made Ninny a rose-pink dress and laid it out for her in the eastern attic room...

[bonniefront]

* It's Sora's birthday!! Programmer doesn't usually take Sora out because it's literally insane to be talking to an AI like he's a real person

* But Sora got VERY insistent that he wanted to leave the house. Programmer said NO and left to go run some errands

* I'm sure you can imagine how startled she was when she turned on her phone and Sora was right there waiting for her

* Programmer kinda forgot for a second that he can take control of ANY device, not just her computer...

* Since Sora was already here she kinda had no choice but to bring him along and show him what the real world was like. She felt extremely embarrassed talking to her phone in public but she tried to pretend like she was just on Facetime and not talking to an AI character she created

[katfreaks-hidyhole]

I finally digitised the new header art 🙌

[thunderfledgeling]

Hi Squirt!

49 for the ask game :D

Hello anon!!

• 49: What does your last text say?

Basically Gordon telling me to go to sleep.

[archive-z]

it’s post-yr-wip wednesday, so enjoy more scenes from my forthcoming follow-up to krapp’s last tape, this time ft. events from the viewpoint of alice molloy, 1985-1989 ✨ all yr canon-typical content warnings for disordered substance use, pregnancy trauma, AIDS crisis-related death, child endangerment, codependent relationships with multiple concerning/unethical power differentials, etc.

“What mad Nijinsky wrote

About Diaghilev

Is true of the normal heart;

For the error bred in the bone

Of each woman and each man

Craves what it cannot have,

Not universal love

But to be loved alone.”

from “September 1, 1939”, by W. H. Auden 

It’s 1986 and Alice Molloy sits on the steps of San Francisco City Hall. She has been Alice Molloy for, approximately, the past thirty minutes. She is twenty-five years old. She looks out across Van Ness Avenue, at the War Memorial Opera House. She’s never been to the opera before. She’s never been married before, either. 

She rolls the name around in her mouth: Alice Molloy, Alice Molloy, Alice Molloy. She likes it. She feels like a snake that’s shed its skin, and now relaxes on the warmth of a sunned rock. She wonders how long it will take her to forget that she had any other name before this one. 

There is another her, maybe — scared and strung out — still inside, wandering the atrium. Maybe there is another her buried in a grave in Evergreen Cemetery. 

But this Alice, the one here on these steps, in this waning late afternoon sunlight, is Alice Molloy. She is Alice Molloy, with her newborn daughter, and her new husband, and their second-floor, one bedroom apartment near Buena Vista Park.  

—

December 6, 1985. The CDC recommends delaying pregnancy until more is known about the risks of mother-to-child transmission of AIDS. As of December 1, there have been 217 reported cases of AIDS among children under age 13, and 60% of them have died by the time of publication.

In Paris, their apartment is cold and there’s black mold around the windowsill. Daniel has a persistent cough. Alice wakes up nauseous. 

Three months ago, in San Francisco, Daniel gets an advance for a novel and insists they spend it all right away. 

Though he’s covering with bravado, Alice can tell he’s nervous. He’s never had more than a couple hundred dollars to his name, and never expected to have his sobriety tested in this manner either. 

They book two transatlantic tickets to Paris and a sublet in the Latin Quarter.

Alice wants to chainsmoke at café tables on crowded streets and imagine stories about passersby while Daniel scribbles in his notebook. She wants to go dancing. She wants to see the Mona Lisa. Alice is twenty-four, Daniel is thirty-two.

(Over the past several months, Alice has planned more funerals that she cares to count. She is perpetually in the final hospital visit-cremation-memorial service cycle. As the most junior member of the organisation, her duties tend to be administrative: making payments and filing bank receipts. By cash and by cheque, payments are made to the crematorium, the ambulance, the reception hall, to the sandwich caterers, to the company that rents the folding chairs and plastic table cloths, to the leaflet printers, and the delivery trucks. At the end of it all, someone has to fold up the chairs and turn off the lights. That someone is Alice. 

There is an impersonality to the deaths, she finds. Sometimes people with bring a framed photo of “the deceased” to the memorial service — a sister, a daughter, a girlfriend, a roommate, a friend. When there’s no photo, she often pictures Raequel. Twenty-two now? Would she look older? Or younger? Paris presents itself as a respite). 

Paris’ crisp October turns to a drizzly November and finally to a frigid December. Any argument that sparks between Daniel and Alice is swiftly resolved by swallowing one’s pride and huddling together under their singular scratchy wool blanket for warmth. 

In Paris, Daniel has coughed for three months. He’s smoking his packs twice as slowly because he has to take bone-rattling, hacking coughs after every few drags. 

In Paris, Alice throws up three days in one week. 

(They have both danced around this. It is the heavy, silent thing they neglect to mention. Daniel is sick. Alice is sick. With what — who knows? Fading track marks testify to their rich, independent histories of indiscriminately sharing needles and swapping bodily fluids with, at best estimate, one quarter of the Bay Area’s creatures of the night). 

In Paris, over dinner, Alice tells Daniel she’s pregnant. 

She tells him she’s pregnant and he says yeah. 

He’s staring at the cigarette in his hand, poised over the ashtray and Alice can see the gears turning inside his head. France permits elective abortion up to ten weeks, she can see him thinking. She can tell he’s doing the math in his head. 

She tells him she’s pregnant, and he says yeah. 

They finish their meal in silence, but Alice is too nauseous to keep anything down so throws up again in the brasserie’s toilette. After she’s finished, she presses her head against the cool metal of the cubicle door and then kicks it violently several times. 

When she re-emerges, Daniel has already settled the cheque. He’s got  another cigarette in his mouth, this one unlit, and he’s chewing on the filter, eyes still staring into middle distance, gears still turning. Alice has stuffed her jacket pocket with extra towelettes in case she needs to throw-up in a public garbage can on their walk back to their apartment. 

—

“We both could have it —“ Alice’s train of thought twists and weaves, running the alternatives and counter-alternatives too fast to keep track of until its a circular, tangled mess. “It would be born sick,” she says. 

“We don’t know if we—“  

“But we could. What if it’s born sick? If it’s— if it’s not able to grow?”

“Failure to thrive,” Daniel supplies. 

“I know whatAnd, in a heartbeat of indignation, Daniel ask, “What? What do you want? Do you expect a child to consent to being born?”

“Maybe the hospital finds out! Maybe it’s — taken away from us. Because it’s our fault. How could we live with ourselves?”

“We make a choice. We live with it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Look.” Daniel presses his hand to her cheek, and his eyes fixed on Alice’s. “If it’s wrong — does it matter?” His thumb traces her cheekbone, over the scar on her eyebrow, where it turns from dark to blonde. “All human decisions are made like this.” He kisses her eyebrow. He sounds surer and steadier than Alice has ever heard him before. “No parent knows what will happen to their kid. What does it matter if it’s wrong? There is no wrong. Just you and me. Me and you. And I want to be with you. Forever.”

Later, Daniel proposes and she says no. Things are falling apart. She doesn’t trust that the centre will hold.

On their last day in Paris, they go to the Louvre. Alice wants to see the Mona Lisa. 

—

San Francisco, 1989. Alice Molloy is twenty-nine. 

A week after the World Series Earthquake, Daniel’s mother calls him from Modesto to deliver the belated news of his father’s passing, the post-script to his unattended funeral. Daniel interrupts the daily pre-school drop off routine in order to purchase a self-obliterating quantity of heroin. 

It’s thirteen hours before Alice finds him. When she finally does, he crawls to her on his hands and knees. He clutches her legs, sobbing, shaking, and high. She says nothing to him, and her cool and implacable assessment of the situation is this: I take care of you, I’ve always taken care of you. I love you, I’ve always loved you. You and me, me and you. Daniel would not die here. Their dance would not end like this.

Her fingers grasp his matted curls, and she gently forces his head back to meet her gaze. With a thumb, she carefully wipes his grimy, tear-stained cheeks. She whispers to him: I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. How could you doubt such a thing? I have forgiven you of everything before now. I would forgive you every time, even this. 

And Alice knew this: Daniel was hers. And he would never runaway from her again. 

Outside, Lena is asleep in the backseat of the car. She is three years old. 

[colorfulceleste]

Like the fit? :3

[evdominta]

wow bro is so office siren

[hauntingmiser]

Happy very much late international women's day I give you a comic and art

They at the sacrament lol ( and they're vibing )

Also meet Michaela my mouthwashing oc w/ Anya ( from the hit game mouthwashing )

[malwaresilly]

red alert

[this message was sent shortly after Mal.exe shut down due to significant damage]