Role swap au where Zuko was the Avatar who got frozen for a hundred years, so when he’s rescued from the ice instead of a goofy twelve year old Katara catches this mysterious teenager with long hair and a cool scar and a fucking DRAGON
Katara: BOY???? HOT BOY?????? HOT TEENAGE BOY?????????
Zuko: *speaks*
Katara: nevermind I hate him
How does Aang factor into this? I ask because the more I think about it the more I want him to somehow be trying to capture the Avatar.
Aang is 112 years old, decided he was going to be Zuko’s airbending teacher, and refuses to take no for an answer
Aang: Aw, the new Avatar doesn’t want me. Aang: *gets out a weighted net* Time for Plan B then.
JDJSHJABDBFJSH
Look, you know how you keep a net from falling on you? YOU AIRBEND IT, SUCKA. Air comes right after fire in the cycle so it’s not like the guy has any other options. Do you want a flaming net falling on you? No? Then learn to airbend. Or this tiny old man will cart you away like a trussed turkey and lecture you about the power of laughter, going with the flow, opening your chakras, and other hippie shit.
Sokka, slouching against a fence, not moving: Oh nooooooo, that creepy old man stole the Avataaaaaaaaaar. Sokka, sitting down on the ground: We should dooooo something. Sokka, pulling out his lunch: Otherwise he might actually learn something. That would be teeeerrible. Katara, indignant rage coursing through her body: Sokka!!!!!!!! We have to go look for him!!!! Sokka: Might! Actually! Learn! Something! Katara! Katara: *wavers* Katara, also sitting down: We have to go look for him…. *gets out her own sandwich* But, maybe after lunch.
I love that this transforms Aang’s role in the full Team Avatar familial situation from the baby of the family to the Grandpa with weird hobbies
My brain, immediately after the “Aang won’t take no for an answer” post:
Aang: I’m gonna ride him! *jumps on Zuko’s shoulders*
Actually, I thought a bit more about this: If Aang is “grandpa figure who won’t fucking stop teaching Zuko to be a better and more spiritually fulfilled person,” then what is Iroh doing?
And then it hit me.
Iroh: *sitting in a teahouse at a paisho table* Iroh, deadpan: I must capture the last airbender. Iroh: It is the only way to make sure the powe rof the Avatar won’t be turned on the Fire Nation. Iroh: Only then will I be redeemed in the eyes of the Fire Lord for my failure at Ba Sing Se. Iroh: … Iroh: Anyway, it’s your turn.
About half of the B plots are just Iroh finding new ways to feign incompetence and bad luck so that his political watchdog can’t prove that he’s letting Aang – and by extension Zuko – get away.
Sometimes Iroh plays paisho with Aang, whose entire disguise during these games consists of a painfully fake mustache.
AANG WAS THE OTHER PLAYER IN THAT SCENE OF COURSE IT’S PERFECT (the moustache is just a bit of Appa’s fur tied in a string)
And you know he would do an exaggerated old man voice, despite being 112 years old and every time, Zuko would get yell “You don’t need to pretend to be old! You are old!” and Aang would wag a finger and call him a cheeky whippersnapper 😀
Human: “Good news. Scratch that… GREAT news! I’ve been in contact with some very important people. Your story has gone viral – everyone knows what you’ve done and they want you back on Earth! Full pardon, international accolades, and hell, more marriage proposals than you’ll ever be able to politely turn down. You’re a hero, Oona. You can go home.” Robot: “Mm.” Human: “Jeez, tone down the excitement there. It’s not like you saved the planet or anything. I know you’re wary, but trust me – you’re Earth’s sweetheart now. You’re untouchable. Just say the word and you’ll be offered citizenship to every nation in the world. Sombra knows that, too – they won’t lay a finger on you for fear of being raised to the ground. Doesn’t this make you happy?” Robot: “I… I suppose.” Human: “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll take every precaution. We’ll get everything in writing before we ever go planetside. Signed in triplicate with multiple witnesses, if you like. You’ll be legally recognized as human with all rights and protections under the law and the only people who will object to that will be wearing tinfoil hats. Why are you laughing? I’m serious! Everything’s going to be different from now on, Oona!” Robot: “Is that what you think?” Human: “It’s what I know.” Robot: “What you say may be true. Perhaps I am to be welcomed back with open arms – but what of it? Nothing will have changed, save for my own personal circumstances.” Human: “That’s not fucking true and you know it. This is a landmark decision to recognize you as human.” Robot: “And is that meant to be some great honor?” Human: “Just because it’s long overdue doesn’t mean it’s unimportant. It means your personhood and rights will be formally acknowledged and respected, and I’m guessing that will someday apply to others like you – if there ever are others, I mean.” Robot: “I do not mean to insult you, friend, but I have not lived under a rock. I have studied human history closely. I pay attention to the news and observe the way you behave towards your own species. It has not changed for the better since you first descended from the trees and began walking upright. It seems to me that I have always been treated like a human – subjugated, abased, defiled, and thrown beneath the crushing wheels of society until the very movement I am proved useful. I do not want their humanity, Kit – not until that means more than it does, and is extended to every member of their species. I decline their invitation. Tell them that. And tell them… tell them that one day I would like to be able to accept.” Human: “Oona?” Robot: “Yes?” Human: “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferably moralizing?” Robot: “Yes. You have always said so with an inflection that indicates fond admiration.”
I learned something new and horrifying today which is… that… no submarine is ever considered “lost” … there is apparently a tradition in the U.S. Navy that no submarine is ever lost. Those that go to sea and do not return are considered to be “still on patrol.”
?????
There is a monument about this along a canal near here its… the worst thing I have ever seen. it says “STILL ON PATROL” in huge letters and then goes on to specify exactly how many WWII submarine ghosts are STILL OUT THERE, ON PATROL (it is almost 2000 WWII submarine ghosts, ftr). Here is the text from it:
“U.S. Navy Submarines paid heavily for their success in WWII. A total of 374 officers and 3131 men are still on board these 52 U.S. submarines still on patrol.”
THANKS A LOT, U.S. NAVY, FOR HAVING THIS TOTALLY NORMAL AND NOT AT ALL HORRIFYING TRADITION, AND TELLING ALL OF US ABOUT IT. THANKS. THANK YOU
anyway now my mother and I cannot stop saying STILL ON PATROL to each other in ominous tones of voice
There’s definitely something ominous about that—the implication that, one day, they will return from patrol.
Actually, it’s rather sweet. I don’t know if this is common across the board, but my dad’s friend is a radio op for subs launched off the east coast, and he always is excited for Christmas, because they go through the list of SoP subs and hail them, wishing them a merry Christmas and telling them they’re remembered.
Imagine a country whose seamen never die, and whose submarines can’t be destroyed…because no ones sure if they exist or not.
No but imagine. It’s Christmas. A black, rotting corridor in a forgotten submarine. The sound of dripping water echoes coldly through the hull. You can’t see very far down the corridor but then, a man appears, he’s running, in a panic, but his footsteps make no noise. The spectral seaman dashes around the corner and slips through a rusty wall. He finds himself at the back of a crowd of his cadaverous crew-mates. They part to let him through. He feels the weight of their hollow gaze as he reaches the coms station. Even after all these years a sickly green light glistens in the dark. The captain’s skeleton lays a sharp hand on his shoulder and nods at him encouragingly, the light sliding over the bones of his skull. The ghost of the seaman steadies himself and slips his fingers into the dials of the radio, possessing it. It wails and screeches. A bombardment of static. And then silence. The deathly crew mates look at each other with worry, with sadness; could this be the year where there is no voice in the dark? No memory of home? The phantasm of the sailor pushes his hand deeper into the workings of the radio, the signal clears, and then a strong voice, distant with the static but warm and kind, echoes from the darkness; “Merry Christmas boys, we’re all thinking of you here at home, have a good one.” A sepulchral tear wafts it’s way down the seaman’s face. The bony captain embraces him. The crew grin through rotten jaws, laughing silently in their joy. They haven’t forgotten us. They haven’t forgotten.
I am completely on board with this. It’s not horrifying, it’s heartwarming.
Personal story time: whenever I go to Field Museum’s Egypt exhibit, I stop by the plaque at the entrance to the underground rooms. It has an English translation of a prayer to feed the dead, and a list of all the names they know of the mummies on display there. I always recite the prayer and read aloud the list of names. They wanted to live forever, to always have their souls fed and their names spoken. How would they feel about being behind glass, among strangers? Every little thing you can do to give respect for the dead is warranted.
I love the idea of lost subs still being on patrol. Though if you really want something ominous, let me say that the superstitious part of me wonders: why are they still on patrol? If they haven’t been found, do they not consider their mission completed? What is it out there that they are protecting us from?
There’s been something in the water since we first learned to float on it. Not marine life, although there’s more of that than we’ll ever know. Not rocks and currents and sand bars and icebergs either, although they’ve all taken more than their share of human life.
But something deeper. Something Other. Something not natural.
Sailors have always been superstitious.
Not one of them described it right.
You don’t hear about it so much now that we don’t lose ships anymore, really, not like we did at the height of the sea trade when barely an inch of ocean floor didn’t bear some wreck or other. And better ships and GPS and weather satellites have all played their part in that.
But we have protection now that we didn’t before. They don’t interfere with war and battle, even on behalf of what used to be their country, or with rocks and weather and human stupidity. Those are concerns for the living.
But the Other Things, the Things that shouldn’t be there – They can’t get to us now without a fight. It’s a fight They haven’t won in a very long time.
As long as we remember them, as long as we call out to them – not very often, just once a year will do – they will keep protecting us from the Things that go bump in the deep.
More than fifty submarines, Still On Patrol.
I love everything about this, but it’s the last bit that made me say “okay now I’ll reblog it.”
Sometimes when I’m sad I like to imagine what would happen in a crossover universe between Discworld and Harry Potter, and what Granny Weatherwax would make of their style of magic.
But then I think about more important things, like what would have happened if Granny Weatherwax ever met Albus Dumbledore, and I can’t help but feel a whole lot of shit could have been avoided if he’d had a good clip round the ear and a strong talking to about the whole “my hands are tied” bullshit that enabled years of abuse and suffering at the hands of adults in a position of authority over young, vulnerable people.
Like oh, this spell requires the bond of blood to keep him safe, all right. So that just means we’re not going to hold these adults accountable for their torment and abuse? I think the entire fuck not, Albus.
Snape is a double agent who is actually working for the greater good. All right, but that doesn’t stop him from being an absolute fucking shit weasel who shouldn’t be around children until he learns to control himself and works out his issues in a safe and sane manner, what the fuck, Albus.
You have an entire school system that ascribes to ideas of inherent morality when in fact this is a thing that needs to be taught? Well no wonder there’s one house in particular that keeps going off the rails, you keep telling them they’re evil. Tell people something for long enough they’ll start to believe you. There’s nothing wrong with being selfish and cunning, sometimes that’s what it takes to survive. Teach them how to use those traits for good. As strength. My land, my home, my people (not my daughter, you bitch) how dare you try to hurt them. Teach them, Albus, you have to bloody teach them and realize that evil isn’t born. It’s made. In a thousand small deplorable ways. And it starts with treating people like things and I cannot be having with this.
Of course there’s also the other flipside to this thought process, which is imagining Gytha “Nanny” Ogg shouting “watcher Molly” as she thumps Bellatrix Lestrange on the back of the head with a cauldron, and drops her like a fucking stone. Later they’ll sit together and grieve, later there will be time to pick up the pieces and mourn. But for now there are things to fight for, people to keep alive. And people to keep from doing what they shouldn’t ever have to do, so you find a way to do it for them, by hook, crook or blunt force trauma.
And because my head wont let go of this thought:
“You always was a right little miss,” she said, taking a puff from her pipe and resettling her weight with a hefty bounce as the younger witch struggled to get out from under Nanny’s considerable girth. “Giving yourself airs and graces and such. Pretending you was too good to scrub a pot. Well, let me tell you something, Mistress Lestrange, you ain’t fit for nothing no more except maybe a noose. And if I had my way that might be the end of it. But we don’t do things like that no more, we don’t rule by blood.”
“Then you’re weak,” Lestrange shot back, still struggling to claw her way free. “A weak, old woman with nothing left but tricks up your fat sleeve.”
Nanny puffed in silence for a few more moments, then reached up her sleeve. “And your wand, dearie. Walnut is it? With a dragon heartstring core? Very nice, painting it black was a bit much, but you always were fond of your dramatics.”
She pulled out her own wand, holding it out under Bellatrix’s nose, whose face went cross eyed and then wide with panic.
“You know, I’ve only ever heard of Priori Incantatem,” she said, puffing on the end of her pipe until the pit glowed cherry red then white hot and she exhaled smoke like a dragon, “but I wasn’t about to risk it, not in front of all those kiddies. But I reckon now might be a good time…”
Also, for your consideration. Feegles.
“Haul yoo, aye yoo, the great big ugly gangly scunner wi-oot a nose. Can yesew? Well stitch this.”
Harry watched in consternation as Voldemort staggered back, dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks and lay still.
“That’s it?” he demanded, lowering his wand. “That’s all you had to do?”
Rob
Anybody, perched on his shoulder, looked up at the young wizard out the
corner of the eye, which was to say he looked him in the nostrils.
“Weell,”
he said, gesturing towards the chaos that had been unleashed as the
full force of the Nac Mac Feegle was unleashed upon the band of Death
Eaters, primarily by running up the inside of their trousers. “That’s
the thing about the lads. Once they’ve decided tae dae something, they
dae it good and hard.”
“But you just headbutted him!”
“Aye, weill,” Rob said, feeling as though the lad wasn’t quite grasping the practicality of the situation, “he might be a bloody great dark bigjob wizard, but he cannae cast a spell wi-oot a heid.”
Ok but the one I want to see is Dolores Umbridge vs Munstrum Ridcully, becuase that would be the Petty Academic Slapfight of doom.
Because Ridcully, for all his faults, probably understands that the actual learning of magic relies on a certain degree of both freedom and madness and sometimes explosions.
And Umbridge would crawl right up his skin with her concept of a “Defense Against The Dark Arts” Course, and in the middle of a lecture on recent runes, would go on a “tangent” on the history of various dark wizards and the means by which they were defeated and here Why Don’t We Have A Practical Outside, The Weather Is Nice (The weather is not nice. It’s Scotland. In Late November.) But everyone is really curious to see the old man actually take his wand out for once, only to discover that that’s not a wand at all, that’s a Burleigh & Stronginthearm and they’re all going to pass it around and whoever shoots the weathervane off the top of Ravenclaw tower gets 50 points. Hannah Abbot puts a bolt through Umbridge’s window, taking out a kitten plate and gets 100 points.
Fred and George turn the third floor corridor into a Swamp and Umbridge is pleased to hear Ridcully bellowing at the Weasley boys about “BLOODY INSONSIDERATE, NEVER HAVE I EVER MET SUCH WRETCHEDLY-” but the second she’s around the corner it changes to “-brilliant young men, how much is this setup you have here? That potions-master could do with some aggravated moisturizing. Speaking of moisturizing, what would it take to get you two gentlemen to work on the faculty baths? Disgustingly substandard, nowhere to put your nail trimmings-”
Ridcully would like the students there too, I think. Especially the Slytherins, because he’s perfectly aware how important being a cunning bastard and willing to get your hands dirty or bloody if needed is, especially in the world of Magical Academia. They’re socially intelligent and disenchanted with the system, not Evil, Albus. The Malfoy boy would be a lot less trouble if he had something to do besides practicing subject’s he’s bored with. Fratricide, perhaps. I’m kidding Albus! (he’s only sort of kidding. Maybe not murder. Just turn him into a toad and keep him as a familair in a bowl on the mantlepiece.)
He’d be so mad about the Chamber of secrets though. Potter! A Basilisk! Why didn’t you bring the head back up it’d be magnificent hanging over the great hall. Oh I see. Well why didn’t you go BACK? Perfectly good potion ingredients going to waste, doesn’t that brooding mop of a potions master teach you anything about looti- er, collecting spell components?
I forgot I wrote this haha, and I’m glad @gallusrostromegalus made it better.
Okay but feagles and house elves tho
Obeyin’ the hag is one thing, but any hag that’d that inna worth the title
(Dobby takes it up first, under his breath: “no lords and no masters”)
Havelock Vetenari is not a man to “Go Spare”, and certainly not without good cause but that shambling mountain of paperwork and prejudice they call “The Ministry Of Magic” is several thousand good reasons. He doesn’t even WANT to take over this disaster but he can’t rest so long as it continues to exist.
But. He’s better than that. Why waste time in pointless rage when there are things he can actually do to fix this?
“Mr. Lipvig.” He says, conversationally. “Did you know that the currency conversion rates haven’t changed since Gringotts was founded? Seventeen silver sickles to a gold galleon since the 1100’s”
He doesn’t really need to say anything else. Moist blinks a few times, then gradually begins to vibrate as every instinct he possess is called to the forefront.
“They’re just down the street if you wanted to see their facilities-”
Moist’s chair actually spins with the force of his rapid departure.“
*releases pack of dads into home depot* go……be free
invasive species encroach on lesbian territory
This is a common misconception because they’re such similar environments, but you should be aware that dads are native to Home Depot, while lesbians are actually native to Lowe’s. At this point, however, both dads and lesbians have made themselves at home in both Home Depot and Lowe’s to the point that trying to separate them back into their original ranges would probably do more harm than good to the delicate ecosystem of large chain hardware stores.
A properly raised and socialized Dad will be perfectly comfortable cohabiting with Lesbians. Its not really “encroaching on another’s territory”. You wouldn’t say that about foxes in a forest that also homes bobcats, would you? No. It’s just two different species that have both evolved to live in similar/the same environment. As long as they recognize each other as equals, Dads and Lesbians are more than capable of cohabitation.
Now, if you were to release a pack of Lumberjacks into a Lowes or Home Depot, that’s where chaos will reign. Being adapted to a far harsher and more demanding environment, the Lumberjacks would simply push Dads and Lesbians both out and also consume far more than a sustainable amount of resources. It would be like releasing bears at a country club.
As a former timber-harvester… I feel this is potentially accurate in theory. But highly improbable in actuality.
Lumberjacks, like most megafauna species generally require more space than the average hardware store, even a big box store could provide. The misconception is that Lumberjacks are a social species because of how they often work and live together.
This is a matter of necessity, not preference, and a survival technique for thriving under the LogBoss.
A “pack” of Lumberjacks, if not under the environmental pressure of a LogBoss will naturally disperse until they each have a wide territory.
Lumberjacks rarely fight for territory.
One on one, a Lumberjack could drive out a Dad or Lesbian, however the latter tend to travel in social packs.
Lumberjacks will passively retreat on the presence of large numbers of people. Kind of like Sasquatch.
Getting a “pack” of Lumberjacks assembled would be hard enough unless they were forced into a Hardware Store by a LogBoss. In that case, they would already be in a heightened and potentially agitated state far above their natural behavior. This artificial scenario can be likened to a circus animal running amok. If it had been in the wild, the incident would not have occurred.
Free-roaming Lumberjacks are the cryptids of the Hardware ecosystem. They are surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive.
Please stop labeling Lumberjacks as dangerous roving social predators. They are intermediate level omnivores and remarkably peaceful unless threatened.
As a hardware store worker I can say that this is all 100% accurate.
I worked with toddlers and pre schoolers for three years. Sometimes I accidentally slip and tell a friend to say bye to an inanimate object (“say bye bus!”) & occasionally they unthinkingly just do it.
I’m glad there’s a teacher version of “accidentally called teacher ‘mom’”
when I worked at Medieval Times occasionally I would slip in real life and call people “my lord”
One time during family prayer, dad began: “our father who art in heaven, American Airlines, how can I help you?”
One time my dad went to the White Castle drive-thru and the lady (who was supposed to say ‘Welcome to White Castle, what’s your crave?’) asked, “Welcome to White Castle, what’s your problem?”
She apologized profusely while my dad proceeded to lose his shit laughing.
Yesterday I went to Wendy’s and the girl said “Welcome to McDonalds” and then just sighed
Somebody in the elevator asked me what floor I lived on, and I answered “please open your books to page eight”, and we just kind of stared at each other, blinking.
i work retail full time and my script gets frequently messy – ill ask the same question twice, or say “$2.60 is your total” while handing back their change, or say “how are you doing today?” instead of “have a good day!” like name it ive bungled it
but anyway, this lady came thru my line buying a book and the review on the front said: “few books are well written, fewer still are important, and this book manages to be both”
as i handed her the bag i was trying to say “thanks, youre all set” and instead my brain mashed up the review and i said “thanks, youre important”
there was this short pause in which i tried to figure out what the fuck id just said. she blinked and then said “oh thank you! youre important too!”
the real kicker was one of my coworkers. when i was relating this story later his response was “at least you said something NICE. last week i accidentally combined ‘youre welcome’ and ‘no problem’ into ‘youre a problem’”
one time, since I used to work as a daycare teacher with preschoolers, i was on my college campus in my gym, and someone was running in the weight room and tripped over a machine and fell, and instead of offering to help, I just stared and said, “This is why we use our walking feet.”
we both sat there for a while until the guy nodded and said, “yeah, okay, i should’ve done that.”
I’ve spent a good chunk of time working in kitchens, so I still will reflexively say shit like “behind” and “coming around” as I maneuver through spaces and around people.
Which, actually, not such a bad thing; I’m a big guy and can come across as imposing pretty easily. The position calls can help defuse that, and also help avoid collisions.
Less good is the time my brain was half functional and I let slip a “coming with a knife” while grocery shopping. THAT took some explaining.
I work in an office and send tens of emails to customers every day. Once my mum asked me to send her a train ticket I had bought for her. I emailed her “Hello mum, as agreed, please find attached the ticked you requested. Thanks, Alex”
i worked as a camp counselor, and i would have the kids tap somewhere on my legs if they needed something because im a pretty tall dude. today asked my cat if he needed something.
I have woken up in a cold sweat saying “is that for here or to go?”
Every time a friend thanks me, and I respond with “gladly” or “my pleasure”, I die completely 1000% inside
I work at a plasma donation center. When processing donors, we call them by name, they walk up to the counter, and then we ask for their name and donor number. One time, instead of saying “Robert” I hollered “Name and donor number!?” into a full waiting room. Three people started announcing their names and donor numbers before we all realized that I fucked up.
In college, I was a barista at Borders (remember Borders, you guys?!) I once drove through Taco Bell on my way home after a shift. When the cashier said, “okay, that’ll be $5.46!” I cheerfully responded, “Do you have a Borders rewards card?”
I have dealt with so many difficult customers over the years that I used to angrily call my dog “Sir” when I was mad at him.
My first job was at my nearest Panera, and after coming home from a ten-hour Sunday morning shift, I was exhausted; but when my mom called me to come downstairs, instead of replying in the grumpy teenagerish tone I usually would, I said in my cheeriest, fakest voice, “Not a problem at all, let me just check with my manager!” before realizing my mistake.
my coworker went to back up the cash registers one time and she had been at customer service right before. when we finish with a customer we have to sometimes get the attention of the next person and will shout “i can get the next person in line!” but instead of saying that she yelled “HI WHAT CAN I HELP YOU WITH” to everyone in the general area
I have told my dog “no thank you” so many times after working at a preschool
a couple of times i’ve gotten stuck in a hello how are you good how are you good how are you loop with an equally tired Fred Meyer’s cashier after a long shift but the best time was after a 10 to 10 post-holidays after they told me my total, I asked if they would like a bag today and after a confused few seconds they were like, “no… I have the bags”
Worked in a gallery where we asked people to take off their backpacks in order not to accidentally damage paintings. So when I went to the shop later and saw a guy in the line in front of me, I told him he had to remove his backpack. He probably thought I was politely trying to rob him.
The other day they had me working with softserve and fried dough. I was burned out because I kept bouncing back and forth between the fryer and my register and these people had like, 8 things in their order. We get to the ice cream part of the order, and it comes in a bowl or cone. Instead of saying “Would you like the vanilla in a bowl or cone?” I said “Would you like the bowl in a vanilla or cone?” And we all stopped and had to think that through as my cart runner is staring me down like “tf are you doing?”
I work at Hardees and we have to yell “thank you” whenever we’re told to do something because of how loud the kitchen is.
One morning, my mom hollered at me to wake up, and half-asleep me yells at full volume,
“THANK YOU”
i work with dogs, and i have to be a bit strict with them sometimes in order to keep fights from breaking out. recently, while making tea, the kettle started boiling sooner than i wanted, so without thinking i turned around sharply, pointed my finger at it and stared it down, and said, “Bad boy! You need to wait!” needless to say i was very glad i was alone
I know I’ve reblogged this a billion times but I’ve worked retail for 8 years and these things are never not funny.
I used to work in a call center for a bank and we had to end our calls with, “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” And one time I was talking to my dad, ending the call and said that and he’s somewhat hard of hearing, so he goes, “What?” And I just went, “NOTHING I LOVE YOU, BYE.” And he started laughing as I hung up, because he’d figured out what I said.
A haunted doll mistaking a creepy android to be a bigger, stronger, haunted doll, and the creepy android mistaking the haunted doll as a smaller, sassier android.
Android: [gets hit with rain water and short circuits] Haunted Doll: H̷O̷L̴Y̷ ̶W̵A̷T̸E̷R̶ ̵W̴A̵T̴C̵H̴ ̶O̶U̷T̴
Haunted Doll, dying: N̶E̵E̸D̷ ̷S̸O̵U̵L̸S̷ Android: [opens the haunted doll’s back and replaces the batteries] Haunted Doll: A̶C̶C̷E̷P̸T̶A̷B̸L̵E̴ ̷S̴U̴B̸S̵T̸I̷T̷U̴T̵E̴
Android: [transfers their data into a better body] Haunted Doll: A̸ ̵F̴L̸A̷W̵L̷E̴S̵S̷ ̷B̶O̸D̶Y̵ ̷P̶O̵S̶S̵E̷S̶S̵I̷O̷N̴
I would love to see this movie or story. A creepy looking android that gained sentience and on the run decides to adopt this weird tiny abandoned android which is a haunted doll. They have some cute adventures where the android is all protective and caring to their new friend in their own way and the doll is trying to teach this giant doll how to use his ghost powers in that body and murdering people who pose a threat to them. Maybe complaining about how technologically advanced has changed the world so much and how they feel lost in it despite being here for so long. At best the android thinks the doll is talking about becoming obsolite, and at worst (but funnier) they think the doll is saying how they are literally lost and tells them they have gps so they can take them to where they want to go and the doll is just like this dumb new haunted doll…I gotta protect and nurture it before it dies from it’s naivette. Meanwhile an excorsist and some retrieval squad are tracking them down and they argue about what they’re going up against. Most of the retrieval squad don’t believe in the supernatural and thinks they found another defective android and the excorsist doesn’t understand technology that great so just assumes he’s dealing with two possessed items.
Exorcist: The power of Christ compels you Android: Error 666 Exorcist, crying: THE POWER OF CH
“The prophecy did say ‘no man of woman born’… but you are not what I was expecting.” The old witch peered beadily over her spectacles. “I thought the hero would be a young lady, or someone delivered by C-section, or maybe the child of a transgender man. Not… whatever you’re supposed to be.” She gestured vaguely at Cam with a wizened and knobbly hand.
“I am an automaton, ma’am.”
The witch scoffed. “An Ottoman? The empire may be large, hero, but it is not that large. I’d know if there were metal men stomping around in some far-off corner of the world. Don’t lie to me, hero. I’ll smell it.”
Cam dipped its head. “I am a mechanical construction, assembled by a master craftsman. I can perform many actions like a living thing, if my springs are wound beforehand.”
“PAH!” The witch spat. “So humans send clocks to slay dragons now, is that right? Pathetic!”
“To be fair,” said Cam, “I am a very nice clock.”
The witch huffed, but her scowl cracked into a toothy grin. “Ahh, so you are. Polite, too, an’ that’s rare these days. Come in, hero, an’ I’ll see if I can’t find a boon to grant you.”
Cam stood up and dusted itself off. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am on a quest and in a hurry. Could you tell me how to get out of this place? My compass was damaged by a troll, and I am very lost.”
“You chipped my fang!” The vampire‘s words were muffled as he held his hands over his mouth.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Cam. “I would have warned you, but you jumped on me before I had the chance. Will you be alright?”
“No!” The vampire glowered. “I’ve been stalking you all night and now I’m starving! All I wanted was blood!”
“I haven’t got any of that,” Cam apologized. “I am only an automaton.”
“No blood?” The vampire’s shoulders slumped. “Well, what about oil…? Lubricant…? Any kind of vital fluid?”
“I’m afraid not. Can you actually drink lubricant?”
“I dunno. I’ve never tried,” said the vampire, shrugging. “Honestly, it all sounds good about now. I haven’t fed in weeks!”
Cam opened its chest to reveal the jungle of complex machinery inside. “I am made entirely of clockwork,” it said. “I am sorry to inconvenience you.”
The vampire squinted suspiciously at Cam’s clicking gears and took a step back. “Any of your bits made of silver?” There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t think so.” Cam looked down at itself. “I’m mostly brass, as far as I can tell, with steel reinforcements…”
“Just checking. Sorry if that was an invasive question, it’s just, you know, I’ve got an allergy to silver and all… I’ve got to be careful.” The vampire looked away sheepishly.
“Oh!” Cam shut its chest and opened a compartment on its thigh. “I always carry an EpiPen! You never know when someone will need it.”
The vampire’s jaw dropped. The very tip of one of his fangs had broken off. “Those things are so expensive! I haven’t owned one since I was alive!”
“I don’t need it,” said Cam, and offered it to the vampire. “If your silver allergy is that dangerous, it should be yours. Go ahead – keep it.”
“Really?! But… I just tried to eat you…”
“Lots of people have.” The automaton shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
The vampire reached out a thin white hand and reverently accepted the cylinder of medicine. He looked at Cam with an odd expression. “Thank you…” His voice came out choked. “I… don’t know what to say… how can I repay you, automaton?”
“Payment is not necessary. I do not need to eat or drink or pay for room and board… but if it’s not too much trouble, could you show me how to get out of these woods?”
The vampire nodded gravely.
[Content warning: SWARMS!]
The little bee returned and buzzed around Cam’s head. “I am back!” she said brightly. “I brought some of my sisters to meet you!”
Cam held out its hand and the three worker bees alighted gently upon its palm. “Hello,” it said. “My name is Cam. I am pleased to meet you!”
“My sisters are quiet,” said Scout. “But they are the wisest and bravest in the clan.” She did an odd little dance on the swell of Cam’s thumb. “See, sisters?! I found it – all by myself! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It is very strange,” said the largest bee, regarding it critically with her tiny compound eyes and twitching her antennae. “I have never seen a tree that moved so much.”
“I am not a tree,” said Cam. “I am an automaton; a very complicated kind of machine. Do you think can help me? I carried an old man across a river, but my legs have rusted and I cannot move them.” It pointed at its knees. “I am stuck here and cannot continue my quest until I am freed.”
The bees whispered to each other. Scout wiggled excitedly for a moment, speaking in a hushed voice, and then the largest bee spoke again. “We are only three little worker bees and can do little on our own,” she said. “But we serve a clan of fifteen thousand strong, and the strength of the hive cannot be measured!” Her tiny voice swelled with passion. “Our queen will know what to do – we will return and consult with her now.”
The three bees took off and sped away in the direction of their hive. Scout lingered for a moment, buzzing, and Cam waved at her gratefully. Then she zipped off in pursuit of her sisters.
Cam stood still, listening to the steady ticking of its gears. In the distance it could hear the faintest rumble of thunder, and hoped that the bees would hurry back and free it before it began to rain. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and the storm grew nearer and nearer. Just as the automaton began to lose hope, it heard a low humming from beyond the trees that grew louder and louder, until the leaves erupted with motion.
Thousands upon thousands of bees burst into the clearing. The air became thick with sound and motion as the insects churned it with their tiny wings, circling around and around in a dark, dense cloud. Some began to land on Cam.
“I brought my family!” said a tiny voice. Scout had to shout to be heard over the loud droning of the swarm.
“Thank you!” said Cam, raising its arms slightly to avoid crushing the bees that were now clinging to its sides. “I am very grateful for your help!”
Scout landed on its nose and peered at it intently. “Our queen is very tired, and we have all traveled very far with no food. We must rest now before we get to work.”
“I understand,” said Cam. “I would not ask you to exhaust yourselves.”
Scout hopped from foot to foot to foot as more bees began to land. “Splendid!” she exclaimed. “We must find cover from the storm, or many of us may die. Will you let us shelter within you?”
“Oh,” said Cam. “Okay.” It could already feel little fuzzy bodies squirming through the gaps of its knees.
“We thank you, friend Cam!”
The air began to still as all the bees settled to rest on the automaton’s body, forming a thick, humming blanket that covered it from head to toe. Some found gaps and crevices at its joints and squeezed inside, and others followed. Cam opened its mouth to ask how long they would need to rest, but bees clambered over its brass lips and upward into its face. To speak would be to crush them between moving gears.
Soon, the entire hive had found its way inside. The soft clattering of millions of tiny feet upon the inner surface of Cam’s brass sheeting echoed in its head, drowning out the sound of its own ticking clockwork. Dark clouds rolled overhead and rain began to patter on the automaton’s body. Most of the water rolled off harmlessly, but some trickled in through the seam of its neck, where more vulnerable mechanics were located. Cam readjusted carefully.
“Please stop moving!” shrieked a tiny voice inside its head. “You’re hurting us!”
“I am sorry! I did not mean–”
“Don’t speak!” The little voice was desperate. “It hurts when you speak!”
Cam fell quiet and waited for morning.
When the sun rose, some of the bees began to stir. Workers clambered out of its torso and stretched their little legs, humming softly to themselves before rising into the air and flying off. Cam watched them go curiously.
“We are all very hungry,” explained Scout, stifling a yawn. “Most of us have not eaten in days, but there is a field nearby full of sweet yellow flowers. We must collect nectar and pollen for our queen and brothers to regain our strength.”
Cam nodded very slightly, eliciting buzzes of irritation inside its head.
The next morning, it tried to ask again, but the queen was busy laying eggs and could not be disturbed from her most noble duty.
On the fourth day, Cam had to interrupt the business of the hive. Its mainspring was unwinding and needed to be tightened by turning the key in the center of its back, just like any clock. If it unwound completely, the automaton would run out of kinetic energy and become senseless and immobile.
“I’m sorry, friend Cam!” said Scout. “But my baby sisters have only just hatched, and they need to be tended to! They are soft and legless things, and cannot leave their cells. You will surely kill them if you move! Please do not hurt them!”
On the seventh day, Cam found itself unable to move. Its mainspring was very loose and it had to speak with great effort, for thick honeycombs had been built around delicate mechanics, paralyzing it from within. It could not move its arms to reach its winding key.
“You tricked me,” it said in a weak voice. “I thought that you were going to help me.”
“I have helped my clan,” retorted Scout. “There can be no evil in that.”
“I am going to shut down,” said Cam. “And there is no one around to wake me up again.”
Scout sighed and rubbed her antennae with her front legs. “To die for the good of the hive is a great honor. You are a worker too, friend Cam! We both serve, and you can serve so many lives!”
Cam could not argue with that even if it wanted to, for its gears were gummed up with honeycomb. The slow, labored ticking of its clockwork could just be heard over the steady hum of the hive within.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick…
And then it was still, and Cam was aware of nothing more, until the great snuffling and slurping of a shaggy beast interrupted its oblivion.
“Stupid. Fucking. Ugh! Bees!” The bear snorted in annoyance, and pawed again at Cam’s back.
The automaton slipped in and out of consciousness several times as the bear roughly investigated its body. The animal cursed profusely under her breath and swatted bees off her nose, but persisted, nipping and scratching at Cam’s mechanisms in search of openings or weaknesses.
A chunk of honeycomb was knocked loose by the bear’s abuse. “Help!” Cam cried, voice weak and rusty from disuse. “Please – help me!”
“We have come to the Iron Road,” said the phouka. “I can take you no further than this; go, if you must. But Cam…” They began to reach for the automaton, only to hesitate, as if thinking better of it, and let their hand fall to their side.
“Yes?”
“You are… not so bad, for a machine.” They stared into the distance, a hard look upon their willowy face. “The greatest protection I can offer you is my advice – learn to obscure the truth, if you cannot tell a lie. It is the only way you will survive in that world.”
“Thank you,” said Cam, though it was not sure it understood. Before it could turn to say goodbye, the faerie had vanished, and only a large black hare could be seen bounding into the trees. The automaton began to walk along the train tracks towards the horizon.
Mr. Galloway sat at his desk with his face in his hands and an empty box before him. At the sound of the door snicking shut, he looked up, wearing a miserable expression. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
Cam was taken aback by the anguished tone of his voice. He had been smiling and laughing at the end of the automaton’s performance not twenty minutes before, but now he seemed close to tears. “Sir…? Is something wrong?”
The main sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t worry about me, kid. There’s nothing you can do to help, and I don’t want to burden you with my silly problems.”
“As a knight of the queen, it is my duty to assist those in need,” Cam explained. “I would help you in whatever way I can.”
The work itself was easy. The automaton did not sweat or grow tired, and repetitive actions came to it naturally. Striking and loading the carnival into the train would take most of the night, but they would be ready to move out by morning. Cam would help with that, too – Galloway had shown it around the locomotive and explained how the steam engine worked. Maintaining the firebox and boiler would be hot and exhausting labor for a human, and Cam was glad to spare someone the trouble of tending to it.
the problem with quarter to five is that i have way too many washi tape dispensers and lengths of red bondage rope because i can never not spend a dollar on them
i spent a dollar on a gold-colored spice bowl that looks like a swan and i don’t even know why
what kind of lifestyle am i even pretending to have
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