The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.
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We rolled out a significant change to how notes work on reblogs, and the reaction has been strong. We're not going to pretend otherwise.
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Part 3 of this little self-indulgent fic. I've been absent for a while.
This chapter is pretty personal. So I apologize if that's a turn off for anyone. But I think the stuff touched on in this chapter should've probably been looked at in the show, too, so...
AO3 post is here
He's a big brother now. Him and Twitch are older siblings. Which makes them both the middle child- middle children.
So much has happened in only a day or two. He'd nearly been sick a few times with how anxious and scared he'd been. Well, he's not sure he actually could be sick, but he's glad- whatever the case - that he hadn't thrown up. It hadn't helped that Mo and Robby and Twitch were just as scared as he'd been.
Dad had helped. So had Optimus and Bumblebee. And their new siblings. They found Mom, rescued her and Megatron, defeated Mandroid, they'd won.
None of the other Autobots had helped.
Thrash doesn't know why.
Elita-1, Arcee, Wheeljack - they'd been entirely absent. Maybe Optimus didn't have time to call them. Maybe he didn't want anyone else getting dragged into a fight and maybe getting hurt. But that meant they nearly got hurt instead. He can feel Twitch through their bond. And even though he can't read her mind, sometimes it comes close enough. Neither of them know how to feel about it. They aren't sure how to go about bringing it up to Optimus either. Every time Thrash gives his twin a look, all he gets is uncertainty, confusion, apprehension. He knows she's still struggling with wanting to protect them all. She feels it more deeply now than ever before. Especially since their family has grown. He feels it, too.
It's easier just to brush past it and move on. Whatever the reason, he's at least mostly sure it was a good one. And what matters is they did it, they managed just fine, everyone is alive. He's okay with that.
Rung is there when they all finally arrive home. He's standing just inside the tree line of the forest that makes up a part of their backyard. Optimus, Megatron, and Bumblebee all move right past, unaware. Even Mom, Dad, Robby and Mo don't seem to notice. Thrash smiles when he spots him. Twitch doesn't manage to smile- he can sense that she's relieved, though. He feels similar.
Rung has been... not exactly distant, emotionally speaking, but definitely, physically hard-to-find. It's been getting worse this past week or so. Like he's been trying to separate himself, somehow. And for no apparent reason at all.
But he's here now, smiling and waving gently like he'd never left.
Mild alarm and confusion blares through the emotional bond- it's coming from Jawbreaker and Hashtag.
"Who's that?" Jawbreaker asks. The uncertainty makes his voice go a touch higher than usual.
Thrash thinks it's the new feels that make Robby and Mo turn around- Jawbreaker's question got Dad, Mom, and the Autobots to turn around just a second after they both did. Nightshade doesn't feel the same alarmed-anxious-confused about the newcomer; they just feel curious.
"It's okay, this is Rung!" Despite the happier hop she's added to the end of her voice, Thrash notices that Twitch is still only walking towards the brush. She's been walking everywhere. Even now, she's walking, not running, not hovering. She's definitely as tired as he is, maybe even more. They're all tired, but at least now they're home.
Rung breaks through the green to meet Twitch halfway. His arms have raised and he embraces her easily. Thrash can almost feel the warmth of it on his own skin. He jogs a bit and, just like he hoped, it encourages his new siblings to follow- he's already an awesome older brother.
"Hello, Thrash," Rung says. One arm leaves Twitch to wrap comfortingly around Thrash's shoulders in a little half-hug. Thrash finds he doesn't mind.
"We're not the youngest anymore!" he crows.
"So I see." Rung laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. It's a smile that reaches all the way up.
"Rung is an Autobot, too," says Twitch. She's stayed right where she stopped, tucked against Rung's chassis, on the left. Thrash gets it. He doesn't feel like moving away from Rung anytime soon.
"He's a-" Thrash stalls on his explanation. "He's like a brain doctor?"
Rung doesn't laugh, but his smile grows a bit. "Hardly so auspicious. I was a psychiatrist. You may think of me as a friend."
Hashtag squeaks and her hands ball into fists before raising towards her mouth. "A friend, this is great! Okay, okay." She lowers her hands and shakes them out by her sides. "Hi, I'm Hashtag," she says, right before taking the last two steps forward and sweeping all three of them up into a hug that actually lifts them off the ground.
Once they're back down, with dirt firmly beneath their feet, Thrash notices that Jawbreaker has gotten over some (but not all) of his nerves. He's definitely closer.
"Uh, hi, um... My name's Jawbreaker." He sort of gives up on staying separate when Thrash gives him the mental equivalent of an encouraging push to the elbow. A press of comfort and beckoning joy. He surges forward into the embrace, one arm wrapping neatly behind Hashtag.
Nightshade is the last to introduce themself. They don't move to join in on the hug. But Thrash can tell they're curious and welcoming all the same. Rung doesn't seem to mind any.
Speaking of minding... Well, Thrash finds he doesn't, actually, mind the embrace. It's a bit awkward with so many Terrans and only one Rung. But it's still one of the best sensations he's had in a while. No heat, no sting, no pain, it's almost as good as Mom's hugs. Even though he's been jostled out of place from Rung's right side, he doesn't even mind being crushed between Hashtag and Twitch. For a moment, he's shielded from the world, without also having to bea shield for his family.
"It's good to finally meet you all," Rung says as he straightens up.
Rung looks like he's actually a bit shorter than Jawbreaker. Thrash feels better knowing him and Twitch aren't the only short ones here. Even Bumblebee looked to be a fair bit smaller than Hashtag. (That's not totally fair, though, Hashtag is pretty big.) And speaking of Hashtag... apparently the height difference isn't lost on her. Like with most things, she feels amused and interested.
She floats one hand just above Rung's head, then sweeps up to her own height. "Oh, man, you are so much smaller than you felt a few seconds ago. What's up with that?"
She's also feeling the same surprise he and Twitch had shared when they'd finally found Rung. It's a weird disconnect- Rung feels enormous, yet appears small, in a way neither Terran has been able to accurately explain.
Rung shrugs and says, "We're Transformers. Cybertronian, or Terran - there's more to each of us than meets the eye."
"How did you know of us?" We are, after all, still new to this world."
Thrash, along with the rest of his siblings, returns his gaze to Nightshade.
They continue, "Just before, you made it sound as though we were anticipated."
'Good to finally meet you,' that's right. Thrash hadn't even thought to question Rung's statement. But then, he's known Rung for a little bit longer. Sometimes the guy just says some weird stuff. He's learned that asking for explanation usually leads to more confusion than anything.
"I felt your arrival. Just like your elder siblings," Rung motions to Thrash and Twitch, "your presence is strong and healthy."
Nightshade hums and inclines their head. Thrash can tell they aren't entirely satisfied with the answer, like they think Rung is hiding something. He can sympathize. Adults keep all kinds of secrets. And Thrash can understand that (he has secrets, too, after all). Doesn't mean he has to like it.
Rung places a hand on Nightshade's shoulder. His expression is still warm as ever as he peers up at them. "I'm afraid, as it stands, you do not yet possess the context to fully understand what I mean. Though that won't last very long. You've been blessed with a love of knowledge. And time will grant you wisdom."
A pause, and Nightshade turns their gaze downward, considering. "Very well," their expression, and emotion, brightens, "I look forward to it."
Rung nods, then sweeps his gaze to all of them in turn. "Something similar is true for each of you. You're individuals, you have individual strengths and weaknesses. You'll find them with experience.
"You're also family. One's weakness is another's strength. Together, there is little you cannot overcome."
It sounds true enough. They were able to beat Mandroid by working as a family. Thrash just wishes... sometimes he wishes there weren't so many close calls involved in 'overcoming.'
Almost everyone's in the barn. Not the greatest, space-wise. Once they'd started trying to get the barn ready, and realized just how crowded it would be, Thrash has been secretly kind of dreading the nighttime. More so than usual. And now that it's here, some of his worst thoughts are proving true. Namely, the other three are just the same as him and Twitch. Which means five bots with the jitters instead of two.
Technically he's not supposed to be out here. But after the most recent scuffle broke out for a lack of space, he decided to take his chances. After squeezing out past the barn doors and running towards the woods a ways, Thrash had finally allowed himself to breathe.
He doesn't really have a direction. Because he doesn't have a goal in mind. He just needs a bit of space. And (though he feels guilty for thinking it) he needs to just... not be around everyone for a little bit.
So far, so good.
Wandering partly into the trees seems as good a pastime as any. He;ll be back before any of his siblings notice.He just hopes their bond-thing will be too busy with irritation to notice Thrash's sudden, small blip of calm.
Because it is calming out here. It's nice outside. The season hasn't really begun to change yet. Dad said it'll start getting colder around the same time the leaves start to change their colors. Mom mentioned how they might even see some new birds for a bit, before everything 'beds down for winter.' He's not entirely sure he understands what it means. Robby and Mo were filled with excitement when talking about the possibility of 'snow days.' He figures it can't be all that bad.
Thrash tries to get his mind to go blank for a bit. He's trying hard not to let the lasting feelings of frustration get to him. He cleared out so that he could (maybe) get a clearer head. And to get some space.
He has to be careful not to go too far out. If he does, Bumblebee will know. Their teacher seems to have a good grasp on when one of them attempts to wander too far from the house. He's not entirely sure how that works. Maybe some kind of sensor or something.
A small flash of further annoyance; it's made worse by the muted emotions he feels from his siblings. He silently, briefly, wonders how far he'd have to go to stop feeling the effects. He also wonders, for just a bit longer, what that might do to their relationship. Would he still care for them as deeply? Would they fight as often? Would it make them care more?
Thrash's coming down over a log when he comes to a stop abruptly. There's another flash of something, an emotion not his own. And it's not from his siblings.
He knows what- who it is. Rung's out here. Somewhere. Thrash thinks about going back to the barn. He'll probably get in trouble if he's caught. But Rung feels… really bad. Maybe not so much 'bad' as 'blank.' Empty. Hollow. It might've ached if it weren't so old. Now there's just an absence of… something.
He stays still for a time. He's not sure how long. But the feeling never changes. It never comes any closer, and it doesn't go away. It just rests, like its owner, somewhere deeper in the woods.
Thrash doesn't know what to do, if there's anything he can do. He should probably try and find him. Give him comfort like Thrash would want to be comforted. But Rung isn't like Thrash. Rung's different from everyone, even from the other Autobots. He doesn't know what, or how, or why. He just knows Rung isn't quite like anyone else he's ever known.
The night continues quietly all around. It's unaware of Thrash and his dilemma. Insects are buzzing. Something rustles mildly in the bushes a ways off. Moonlight fights its way down through the still-crowded branches above to dimly pepper the ground. Thrash stays still.
He counts himself wise when there's movement ahead. It's not Rung, it has to be someone else. The emotion changes suddenly. It's like a curtain shoved rapidly to one side or fabric balled up and tossed into a corner; there one second, discarded the next. Rung feels steady and calm.
Thrash pulls forward - he still has no idea if he's crossing some kind of unseen boundary-line. But he hears the tail-ends of voices now. And he wants to see who it is. Or at least get close enough to figure out the owner of the other voice.
Several minutes later Thrash has managed to sneak up thirty paces closer. He's actually using the stealthy scout stuff Bee taught him, the same stuff he thought he'd never bother to use. Sure, he's doing it to eavesdrop. And they're likely not bad guys that need spying-on. But if it works it works. And it gives him an excuse: he could use the practice (okay so it's a flimsy excuse, but something's better than nothing).
Thrash is concentrating really hard on not getting caught. He knows he can be a bit too… well, sometimes he's a bit too much himself to get proper spying done. He's a lot of things, but quiet isn't usually one of them. Once he identifies the owner of the other voice - and hears his name mentioned, he buckles down and makes an effort.
By the time he comes to a stop, near the minute break in the trees where Rung is being engaged by Optimus, Thrash has lowered himself nearly to the ground. It's as low as he can go, in fact, without crossing categories into 'kneeling.' He's keeping his plating tucked tight against his body (a relatively new discovery which had been shared immediately with all six siblings; only Twitch has managed to copy it so far). Both his hands and his mouth are occupied. His left is on the trunk of an aptly placed tree, helping keep him upright. His right hand is buried deep in the dirt so even if it starts tapping it (hopefully) won't be heard. And he's currently chewing on his tongue to remind himself not to talk or even hum.
So far as he can tell, Optimus is talking about the battle. It's clear the big bot kept the story short, he's already reached the bit with Mandroid's weird warehouse robot exploding. As Thrash dares to peek out from over a large shrub, he barely makes out both adults' expressions. Optimus is actually frowning. He's got an expression Thrash doesn't think he's ever seen him wear before. Like he's in pain and very tired all at once.
Optimus starts talking about Mandroid specifically. He sounds sad, maybe even lost, especially when he starts telling Rung all the things Megatron apparently heard straight from the weirdo himself.
"I was unable to reach him. I mourn the opportunity lost… Try as we might, it seems there will always be humans who view Cybertronians as little more than invaders. Would that we could leave." Optimus goes quiet. There's a few blinks of light- his eyes blinking in the dark, and another light, from somewhere inside his chest. Except for how dark it is in the woods at night, Thrash might've missed it.
"Is Cybertron still-"
Rung raises a hand, completely cutting him off. "I've told you and Megatron both. That's not how these things work. I do not know."
Awkward silence.
Thrash is surprised by how quickly the emotions changed. He's surprised Rung is feeling something close to irritation. He's usually pretty calm, professional- he didn't think Rung could be snappish or anything close to impolite.
Rung pulls his glasses off with a sigh. His fingers run the rims absently. The light coming from Rung's chest dims at the same time Optimus' light does. Thrash notices how tired Rung feels, how tired he looks. 'Tired' doesn't explain the blank-empty-hollow feeling from before. But Thrash can imagine feeling bad like that would also make you feel tired.
"Thank you, Optimus, for coming to find me out here. Thank you for informing me," Rung says quietly.
Optimus' expression becomes softer. He's trying a small smile. "Of course. We'll work to make repairs. Hopefully we'll strengthen our relations with our human allies, now that one threat has been properly dealt with.
"Bumblebee will continue to teach the children, of course. But I'd hoped that you might accompany myself and Megatron on our return to G.H.O.S.T. headquarters. I'm certain I can think of something convincing for your arrival."
Thrash feels his middle tighten into a knot. For a moment he clamps down harder on his tongue and struggles not to move an inch even though he really wants to. In his mind he's thinking of a million reasons why Rung should stay here. Most of them only loop back around to 'I want you to stay,' 'We need you here.'
It's only a moment, though, and it passes quickly. Because Rung shakes his head and replaces his glasses. Thrash feels warm-certain-determined from Rung. "I'll remain here. Perhaps not at the farm, but somewhere close by."
Optimus' mouth changes into a little frown. He glances around, then pointedly looks back in the direction of the farm. "It's not entirely safe in these woods."
Thrash pulls a face similar to the one he'd made not too long ago when overhearing Optimus talk sort-of-sad about Mandroid (of all people).
"We must apprehend them, we have to work with G.H.O.S.T. on some things," says Optimus.
More complicated feelings from Rung. They flash by so quickly, Thrash has no chance in interpreting them. Then he's silent for a bit.
"Yours is the burden of a leader. You make decisions no one else can…" A pause. Thrash watches Rung place a hand on Optimus' arm. The hollow feeling begins to creep back inside. "There's hardly ever a 'correct' choice to be made. Sometimes it's only bad or worse. Time will tell which is which. It's our responsibility to see it through, and reap all consequences. The good and bad."
Optimus' engine grumbles, and his vents puff air, like a sigh but not. "Let's hope our youngest friends will choose differently than us all."
Rung doesn't say anything more. He doesn't agree, but he doesn't disagree either. He's silent when Optimus bids him a good night and only just barely nods his head by way of goodbye.
Thrash shuffles around on the balls of his feet very, very slowly to watch Optimus leave. You'd think a guy that big couldn't be stealthy even if he wanted to. But the greenery rustles only mildly as the Autobot leader makes his way past. His face is still, expression thoughtful and a bit downcast.
He's feeling frustrated again. Why do they have to be the ones to do everything? Why didn’t they have more help? Why does Optimus care about what happened to Mandroid? The guy was horrible!
And the Decepticons are all terrible, too. Rung tried to defend them. They’ve all made some pretty bad choices.
He cares about them. Optimus, and Rung. They make choices he doesn’t understand. They feel so differently, so strongly, about people Thrash definitely does not like. But he still cares about them. What is he supposed to do?
This is more than frustrating. He’s not upset. He’s angry. At himself, at his friends, everything.
He doesn't care that he's supposed to be stealthy and spying. The last thing Thrash notices is some mild surprise and concern from Rung when he suddenly snaps to his feet and takes off back towards the barn.
It's no surprise Thrash still feels terrible when he reaches the outskirts of the farm. He's angry, and he doesn't know what to do about it. Everything's too much, it's all too much, all at once. His eyes start to feel hot and his throat is growing tighter with every heaving breath. The back of one arm scrubs furiously at his face. He doesn't want to cry right now! But he can't stop, and the tears are still there, rolling down his face and dripping towards the ground.
He doesn't want to go back to the barn. He doesn't want to go back out into the forest. But he doesn't exactly have anywhere else to go. He can't think of any other choice to make. And it makes him feel momentarily trapped.
Thrash begins to pace up and down the yard. He's pacing until he finds his way to a particularly stubborn knot of quackgrass. Another stab of frustration. No matter how many times he, Twitch, Robby, or Mo pull it up, the thing just keeps. Coming. Back. He kicks it, then digs his foot into the soil surrounding it. If it won't cooperate with lawn chores, maybe it can be good for something.
"'S just one thing after another."
Kick.
"It's never gonna end."
Dig.
"We're training so we can defend ourselves, yeah right."
Kick.
"We're training so when the next bad thing comes along, we might not get completely stomped!"
Kick, kick, kick.
Thrash isn't sure how much time passes. He doesn't care, honestly, even if he did know. Bit by bit his frustration wanes away. He just feels… tired.
An echoing feeling from somewhere a bit off to the right. Thrash doesn't bother looking over. He knows who he'll see. He doesn't want to look at Rung. Instead of the hurt Thrash'd been expecting to feel, he feels calm acceptance wash past. Thrash can't decide if that makes him feel better or worse.
Thrash doesn't trust himself not to say something biting, so he doesn't talk now. Rung walks up without a sound to continue standing silently beside him. Together, they consider the abused quackgrass. Dusty, lop-sided, and partially uprooted. But still here.
"Persistent, aren't they?"
Thrash scowls. "It's annoying," he grits through clenched teeth. Never mind that he'd just been noticing the same thing.
"I think it's admirable."
Thrash honestly isn't so sure what's admirable about a plant. "Mom says it's hard to get rid of because it's not just the one plant," he says. And it's true. He can recall, vaguely, how Mom would talk about these weird connections under the ground. (It's some word he can't remember, not a 'rhyme,' something else.) "If you don't get rid of all the plants, it just… y'know," Thrash finishes lamely as he gestures at the roughed up bit of green.
"Most times it grows back bigger, and stronger," Rung observes quietly.
Thrash continues to stare at the plant. "Do they have a choice? Do they ever wish they could've made a different one? Or do they just… do the best they can with what they've got?"
From the corner of one eye, Thrash watches Rung shift his gaze up. Thrash isn't really talking about plants anymore.
"You make a choice," says Rung, "and whatever consequences come as a result is what you have to work with. It gives you the ability to make another choice. Doing what you can with what you have is good; sometimes it's all you have the energy to do."
Rung kneels down slowly. Thrash actually does turn to face him now. He watches the older bot reach into the ground, at the base of the plant, and gently begin to tug up. Pinched between two fingers, deceptively delicate-looking, is one of the plant's little connections. He creeps slowly along a line by pulling steadily with his fingers. Without snapping, Rung manages to break a line of dirt four paces to the left; another plant.
"Connections are important. These ties can be a lifeline, especially when you make some not-so-good choices. Sometimes those connections will be tested. The ones you’re connected to make choices you do not understand, or you do not think are correct. Some may choose to sever that connection, and that is their choice to make. But, despite how the connections can sometimes strain and stress, things may turn out alright in the end, if you work together. And you may find you’re better for those hard times, and hard choices. Because, despite what some may think, or evidence may suggest, we are stronger together. One person's weakness is another's strength."
Rung lets out a soft sigh. The feeling from before comes back, though not quite so strong. It's not a pit so much as a shadowed slope. A downward hill, Thrash and Rung both at the top, peering carefully towards the bottom. Just enough to sense that there's something more.
"What happens when it's not enough?" Thrash asks. The fear and sadness makes his voice sound so small.
Rung bows his head towards his chest. The blue glow there, just behind the translucent window, dims vaguely. Thrash sits on the ground, uncaring for the dirt and dust. He ignored when a few blades of the currently-still-mangled plant manage to tickle themselves under his edge plating.
"Connections can be scary at times. You have people you care about. Loved ones you don't want to lose. Sometimes, that loss is not your choice, nor is it theirs to make. Loss is a part of love, part of making a connection, because they're each a part of life."
Thrash is silent for a bit. He thinks over the last few days. If things had gone different, and they'd lost someone... He knows what it means to be hurt, and he knows what death is. But he doesn't understand it for himself. He hopes he never will. He knows that, someday, eventually, he will. And it's terrifying.
A warm presence pierces through the collapse Thrash had nearly thrown himself into. Rung has removed his glasses; where they've gone, Thrash doesn't know. Rung takes one of Thrash's hands and holds it gently. With his other arm, Rung pulls Thrash close. Thrash fits his head into the crook of Rung's neck.
"I've known and lost many over my life. I am sad for missing them, but not for having known them. I think it's part of what makes life worth living- the opportunity for more choices, and more connections."
Thrash pulls away, and Rung lets him go. "I don't want to lose them."
"You have them," Rung says, his voice firm, warm, and certain. "You have them now. Your family, your friends. We will, each and every one of us, make choices and experience loss. But not one of us must face these things alone."
Thrash finds enough strength, through tears he hadn't known he'd shed, to stare fixedly into Rung's eyes. Sadness... and hope. He doesn't know what, or who, Rung is. He doesn't think anyone knows. But he understands, all the same, that he's a person. A person that makes mistakes, who makes choices that are nonsense to everyone but him. He loves and loses and connects with people just like Thrash.
"One day at a time," Thrash says, repeating what he'd heard Mom say, once. She had looked tired- like Optimus, like Rung. Thrash pulls himself to his feet. He gives Rung a hand and smiles impishly when they secure grip. A hearty, sudden tug and Rung is nearly toppling forwards.
Thrash laughs.
Rung laughs, too.
Thrash has returned to the barn. Rung has disappeared into the woods again. At least this time with the promise of returning for a visit by next week. ("You better, or we'll make a search party," Thrash had said; he'd only been half joking.) He feels better, lighter, than he has in a while. For a moment or two, facing into the barn, he feels calm.
The feeling stays with him even as he throws himself bodily into Twitch, causing the impromptu wrestling to begin anew.
So you can avoid them stealing things from you, the artist/writer, etc.
Pro GenAI websites/Programs:
Facebook
Instagram
X/Twitter (Remember, Grok gives people cancer)
Threads
Pro Writing Aid
Grammarly
Duolingo
Google Docs
Microsoft Word/all Microsoft products Takes from and will feed their machine.
Youtube (taking advantage of people who are hearing impaired. ==;;)
Adobe Products. All of them. If you HAVE to use them (Some businesses require it), save offline because there is a film of at least some privacy protections there, so if you have to sue, you can say it violates US privacy law. Remember, contracts do not circumvent US law.
Corel won't feed the machines, but still uses AI stolen from other artists. Which sucks since Corel Draw is the second best overall for vector programs. (Plus I love Painter, but I bought the offline version to avoid AI). (Canadian company)
Canva Takes and feeds their machine.
Deviant Art Not only supports AI, but put a tool in and said they are going to steal your work if you like it or not for their machine.
Sketchup went Pro-GenAI. The thing is that you can do the same thing in Blender these days with precise measurements.
Autodesk has stated they are Pro-Gen AI here. It is not clear if they will use your models to feed their machine. But be on guard. They make Maya and 3Dmax. You can replace it with Blender.
Neutral ground:
Tumblr (there is a way to opt out [Link] and they don't have an active AI machine.) https://www.tumblr.com/dookins/743519550598987776/heres-how-to-disable-third-parties-like-ai
Etsy allows GenAI, but still has some (minor) restrictions. I'd still be cautious. (Also be cautious of drop shippers). Complaints about too much AI and AI images+patterns made by Ai still exist on the website. They lean slightly more pro-AI, but still won't let it run completely amok, say like Facebook. They won't feed your work into a machine, but also don't ban it through robots.txt.
Bluesky They don't use an AI algorithm except for in the "Discover" section of their website, but while they are anti-GenAI strongly, they don't seem to block the Gen AI bots from entry, so you'd still have to use Nightshade or Glaze (links below). There is no opt-out because they don't need an opt out. (Leaning towards strong position on AI, but I wish they would block GenAI bots).
Searxng- If you super want to screw over Google, in general, and have some tech savvy, you can set up your own search engine through searxng. It's easier on Windows and Linux than it is on a Mac. (Mac you need Docker), but if you're determined on privacy, Searxng adds a layer of privacy. Some of it sometimes uses bits of AI, but most of it doesn't and you can fuss with the settings so it doesn't spit out AI results. At sheer minimum Google will stop spitting out weird videos on Youtube at you because in your private browsing, you searched for the origin of ball bearings while not logged in for a book and Google likes to break privacy laws.
Strong positions against AI:
Scrivener (Creator vowed against AI) Writing program. There is an active forum, and versions for Mac, Linux and PC. It is paid, but at ~60 USD, it's cheaper than most programs. There is usually a holiday sale around Christmas. It has a learning curve, but with an active forum with the programmer of it there to ask obscure questions it's not a dead zone. They often take suggestions and implement them over time. (Especially if you rank the importance, applications, etc) US company.
LibreOffice Open source and free Spreadsheet and Word processor program that can replace Microsoft Word. Some people might have seen older versions where it was called Neo Office (now extinct) and Open Office. LibreOffice is still populated, plus the forums are super helpful if you get stuck. The UX is pretty intuitive if you've used Microsoft Word. Scrivener, BTW, supports exporting to odt (the native file) as well as .doc, and this can open both. The slight thing is that sometimes it doesn't export to .doc smoothly. And I DO wish more magazines, and agent (big clue here) supported .odt files since it is free. Part of the reason .odt isn't as supported is because Microsoft and Adobe have a deal with the devil with each other, so Adobe's Book formatting program InDesign doesn't support ODT. (BTW, if you have a good open source replacement for InDesign that supports ODT, let me know.)
Dabble (as suggested by SF stories, see reblog) is a writing program. Similar to Scrivener. Has vowed against AI and to resist it. 108 dollars a year for Basic. It is almost twice the price of Scrivener who lets you update for fairly cheap. 29 dollars a month, v. 59 dollars for the whole program (Scrivener) for the same features of Premium. You choose.
yWriter is a free Writing program and like Scrivener, and has vowed against AI Last I looked it had some UX issues, but some people swear by it. The learning curve is higher than Scrivener which is saying something.
Ellipsus is an online writing program and vowed against AI. The main feature I like (which Scrivener doesn't have) is the ability to change spellcheck based on region/language. It is a requested feature of Scrivener, but lower priority. So if you have a Brit, you can get the spelling for the character. They are a British-based company.
Cara.app (The creator of the website sued GenAI there is no chance they'll convert) is an artist website. Cara is trying to institute an auto Glaze/Nightshade into the website if given enough funds. People see it as a soft replacement for deviant art. (which went fully AI) If you believe in human art, please donate if you can. Zhang Jingna, the Creator,is Chinese-Singporean. She lives in Singapore.
Clip Studio Paint added AI, but saw the light and decided to protect artists instead because of protest and removed it. There are tutorials and a good forum if you get super stuck. Based in Japan, so the UI and UX is really clean.
Davinci Resolve Pro is a film editing software that's super good. There is a free version and a paid version. The forums are responsive. The programmers aren't always present. There is a healthy group of tutorials. US company. Clean UX. It does take a little bit of time to remember the shortcuts.
Tahoma2D is anti-AI and open source animation program. Takes a little getting used to, but is good for animations and doesn't crash as often as Animate. Programmers are in the forums and some bugs are fixed within hours. The forums are super responsive and helpful.
Krita open source and free, no AI. I'd rank it secondary to Clip Studio Paint (which is paid) I haven't tried the forums, but it's pretty intuitive and can stand for a lower level replacement for Painter, and do a lot of the basics of Photoshop. It's usually ranked higher than the equally open source Gimp.
Writer P AKA Writer+ (app for when you're on the go) is a simple word processor app for your phone that doesn't use AI. The original programmer stopped updating, so Writer+ person took over and isn't out to make a profit since it's free in the spirit of the original app. It has subfolders you can use. Since it was programmed before GenAI it doesn't have AI. Intuitive, easy to use. Fairly easy to upload the files through three dots->share. The files can save to your card or phone with some settings fussing. Simple word processor.
Inkscape is a free vector program and no AI. It is harder to use than illustrator and has less features. But if you're doing smaller vectors for one-offs with less complexity, it'll do you after some learning curve. Best of the lot. I hate Affinity Designer which is the same thing, only paid. (Neither Affinity program was worth the money paid)
Affinity (Designer, etc) swore to be AI-free and does Vector and Photos. The UX is messy, I dislike the program and regret paying for it. Inkscape and Krita are better UX and do the same thing. The forums aren't as friendly since there has been an onslaught of people seeing it's supposed to be a replacement for Photoshop and Illustrator, but the programmers aren't present. The people on the forums are often on edge about this assertion. And the capabilities of the program don't outshine basically Krita or Inkscape capabilities (both free). What is usually intuitive is not. UK company. If you're going to pay for a program, go for Clip Studio Paint which rivals Corel Painter.
Blender is a 3D art program and does not use GenAI. It can do 2D animation, but Tahoma is easier to use in this regard. It's open source and free. Plus there are plenty of tutorials. The forums can be touch and go sometimes, but there are plenty of sub Blender communities that might be responsive. It can also do animation.
Handmade vowed against AI and promised to never sell itself for stock prices to prevent AI (as a replacement for Etsy.)
Discover a world of creativity and craftsmanship through Handmade, an innovative platform connecting passionate artisans with discerning buy
Proton (to replace Google Suite) as suggested by SF Stories (see reblog) Vowed against AI. They are missing a spreadsheet, but have online and offline capabilities, plus a built-in VPN.
But you need a pro website...
Look up robots.txt and AI bots: https://www.cyberciti.biz/web-developer/block-openai-bard-bing-ai-crawler-bots-using-robots-txt-file/
Use cloudflare:
Use Nightshade:
https://nightshade.cs.uchicago.edu/whatis.html
which will poison the algorithm
Use Glaze:
Take Away:
The thing is you think you doing it alone will do nothing, but the more AI feeds on itself, AI images, the worse they become, and the less detailed so, denying it the images, adding poison or not being able to read the human text is eventually going to lead to an AI collapse.
Analysis shows that indiscriminately training generative artificial intelligence on real and generated content, usually done by scrapi
And why not help that along?
I don't want to give cancer to poor people [Link] or make the planet burn faster [Link]. So GenAI collapse is everything I dream of. GenAI apocalypse is not.
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
ok I don’t know what it is about this post but I just found a job advert that perfectly matches my expertise and it’s paid very decently. aaand it’s 1h drive from where I live now! (rn my office is 2h by flight and I pay taxes in another country so if I want free medical help I have to take plane)
Continuing from my previous post. It takes me a while, but I eventually get to finish (most) of the things I start lol
This chapter is a bit dialogue heavy and has Bumblebee as the focus character. Bumblebee doesn't remember somebody called 'Rung.' Optimus and Megatron do. The Malto parents are just a *bit* confused/concerned/doubtful.
Found on AO3 here
He's waiting for the kids to come back.
He used to have a problem with calling them 'kids.' It's a foreign word, a foreign concept. Cybertronians don't have kids - they don't have offspring. New forge is the closest he'd had in his vocab. But they weren't new forged. They didn't come into the world knowing certain things (how to transform, how to use their subspace, how to fire onboard weapons). He'd never had to explain how it feels to transform. So the concept of a 'kid' was the only thing that fit.
Over the years and years spent here Bumblebee has found himself increasingly accepting - even embracing - the organic inhabitants' vocabulary. He's learned to play by their terms, too. 'When in Rome,' and all that. He's learned to be a bit more lenient and understanding with the kids than he might've been with a new forge.
For example, not immediately panicking and comming Optimus or Elita when neither Thrash nor Twitch show up as the sun starts lowering on the horizon.
Instead, Bumblebee (very calmly, very patiently) tries to get ahold of the kids directly. They'd gone over internal communication lines for such possibly-but-not-quite-yet-emergencies. This situation is not an emergency. It's just circling the 'emergency' bay doors.
He never used to panic.
Bumblebee doesn't panic. Panicking as a scout gets you nowhere. You have to be loose, open to improvisation, look at things from a new angle - every angle. Maybe they don't realize what time it is. It's hard to see, it's still sort of drizzling, but his chronometer tells him it's getting close to sundown. Their own would alert them of the same thing. It's more likely they're away on purpose, or distracted.
He knows the current history lessons aren't exactly the most entertaining. Even with help from Alex and Dot, it's possible the Terrans still don't quite understand the lessons' importance. But playing hooky hasn't happened yet. Neither have proclivity towards outright disrespect.
More than likely (hopefully) they're just talking the audials off some 'Bot. Wheeljack could be out testing something new. But he goes into the forest for less population, where there's less less chance of an impromptu explosion maiming someone, and he's therefore less likely to get an irate Ratchet throwing things at his helm. Hound practically lives in the woods of Witwicky. Bumblebee hasn't managed to get ahold of him for formal introductions; with that hologram trick of his, it's nigh impossible to find Hound when he doesn't want to be found. Jazz will sometimes practice somewhere near the mountains. He's taken a shine to the children, and is the one most likely to try and entertain them.
That last thought makes Bumblebee feel slightly better. If they're with Jazz, no one, no Con, no human, would come close to even scratching their paint.
Bumblebee tries Thrash one last time. If he doesn't pick up, he can try to get Jazz or Arcee to-
"Hi Bee!"
Bumblebee doesn't yell, and he tries not to sigh (in relief, or exasperation). "Where are you?"
"Uh, walking back from the cave? We've still got time. My clock says we got 20 minutes, you gotta give us at least 15!"
There's a snap of static as Twitch joins the line. "And we're bringing a new friend!"
"I thought it was gonna be a surprise!"
"I never agreed to that, we didn't shake on it!"
As the siblings continued their rapidly devolving 'argument,' Bumblebee tries to think of who they could've met. Hopefully not a Con play-pretending at being friendly. But after the whole fiasco with Swindle, he likes to think the kids are more wary of strangers than before. That only leaves Hound. But he doesn't imagine the mech breaking cover just to say hello. He's gentle, quiet, and good natured. But he's mostly content to observe. The only scenario he can clearly see Hound stepping in is if someone was in trouble…
The words are out before his processor can catch up. "Are you alright?"
Twitch and Thrash both make a humming noise. It's nothing to do with their engine, or a rasping together of cabling - it's purely vocal, like with humans. At the end, the pitch swoops higher, questioning. Either they hadn't heard him, or they were doing that 'I heard you, but I'm still processing what was said.' He gives them a second.
"We're okay!" comes Twitch's easy reassurance.
"Better than 'okay'!" Thrash agrees.
Neither one has lied to him about injuries, and he really hopes that hasn't suddenly changed.
The siblings arrive with four minutes to spare. Said arrival lacks the usual exclamations and running. It's obviously for the benefit of the stranger standing in between them. The mech's set an ambling pace and looks appropriately from Thrash to Twitch depending on who's speaking. His manner is the fond indulgence of a mentor. Bumblebee doesn't recognize him.
That fact in itself is alarming enough. It's made worse by the nagging notion that Bumblebee should recognize him. It feels as if he knows him from somewhere. But the small noncombatant frame, unobtrusive paintjob, and lack of alt mode kibble makes him hard to place.
The mech lifts his gaze, and, even through the glasses, Bumblebee knows the exact moment their optics meet. He's looking straight at him, into him, all the way down to his spark. Then the mech tilts his helm and he's smiling brightly. As quick as it came, the feeling is gone.
"Bumblebee, it's good to see you again!"
He's sent stumbling over himself, taking the last few steps to meet the new arrival. All the while he's trying desperately to remember the mech's designation. "Yeah! You too, uh…"
Twitch saves him - barely. "This is Rung!"
"Oh, right! Rung!" Bumblebee's laugh is distracted. He furtively enters the designation into a seldom-used database. It's supposed to have basic information on Autobot affiliated noncombatants. It's also rather hit or miss. What with a war going on, entries had been seldom updated, or contained gross exaggerations. Now that the war is over, it seems abandoned.
Entering 'Rung' pulls up nothing except 'No match found' and 'Did you mean: 'Ring'?'
Bumblebee selects the query correction. That search pulls up a singular word: 'Psychiatrist.'
That's not really something he can use. He's never seen a psychiatrist. There were times, he can barely recall, where he was meant to've met someone for a mental health evaluation or something. But he was always needed in the field. He assumed all the related paperwork either got tied up, or signed off without a second thought.
"How did you guys meet?" Thrash asks.
Bumblebee was about to lie. He'd use some generic chance encounter and hoped Rung's memory wasn't significantly better than his is. Cliff used to call it 'spray and pray,' something as equally effective in social situations as it was on the battlefield.
Rung beats him to the punch. "It's been a bit since last we spoke, a few hundred years at least."
Both of the kids look impressed. Bumblebee feels himself start to wilt. It may seem like a long time to the Terrans, but for a Cybertronian…
Rung speaks up again, gaze squarely on Bumblebee. "Don't fret, this happens quite often." His tone is not uncharitable, nor offended. Still, he can't help but feel embarrassed. Or perhaps it's guilt…?
The remainder of the Maltos, the human part, arrive home not long after the sun dips below the horizon. They'd been away all day, attending a ceremony for Alex's recent promotion. Honestly, Bumblebee hadn't been aware there were stations after 'full professor.' Twitch and Thrash's human siblings greet their new friend with equal squalling enthusiasm.
While the children are preoccupied - and simultaneously (hopefully) distracting Rung - Bumblebee sneaks his way to Alex's side. He needs info, as much as he might be kicking himself for it later. A scout without info is one not long for the world. It's no longer war-time, but it's hard to break the drive. Short of asking Optimus himself (and all the embarrassment that would definitely bring), this particular human historian is his best bet.
"Recognize him?" Bumblebee asks.
To his dismay, Alex's head begins to shake. "I don't recall a Bot named Rung."
"Neither do I," Bumblebee mutters, more to express frustration than anything else. In a moment of weakness - or maybe Alex's persistence is growing on him - Bumblebee admits to the earlier confusion.
Alex hums contemplatively. When he speaks, it's soft, slow, trying to lay out a problem for everyone to understand. "He insists you both have met before. Not only that, but you've spoken about something. Recently, too - eh, relatively speaking. But you don't recall meeting him."
Alex glances to his wife. Dot doesn't offer much beyond her own reflective noise. Bumblebee thinks she might not be fully listening, too keen-eyed, watching her offspring interact with someone who's still essentially a stranger.
He's proven wrong not a moment after, when she says, "He doesn't seem like he'd stand out. On the other hand, you're not what I'd call the forgetful type." Her brow is furrowed.
Looks like he's calling Optimus after all.
Optimus knows more than he's letting on. Bumblebee's sure of it. He's acting different. It's subtle, not enough for the humans to notice, nor the Terrans. It's something Bumblebee can spot only after spending a couple million years fighting by the big mech's side. Others might look at Optimus' finials - he knows to look at his chassis. Or, more specifically, the Matrix inside.
Bumblebee didn't know Orion Pax. He doesn't know how the Matrix changed him, if at all. And it might be callous, but he never quite cared to know. It didn't matter. The war had occupied every waking thought; Orion didn't matter so much as Optimus did.
Bumblebee knows Optimus. He knows how the Matrix's light will shine or wane depending on how the Prime is feeling. It can even give away inklings of what he's thinking. It makes him easy to know, easy to trust, even if you aren't consciously aware of it - most mechs aren't. The only reason he knows about the Prime's tell is because Jazz laid it all out after a particularly hard night of partying. With how much the mech is used to watching people, reading them, Bumblebee's learned to take his word as law when it comes to subconscious expressions.
Optimus has been exhausted recently. He's content, smiling easy, talking happily with their human allies and his mechs. Yet every interaction carried with it an edge of fatigue. He's got a lot on his plate, more so now it seems than during the war. The Matrix has been glowing dimly.
Today, ever since locking gaze with Rung, the Matrix is shining brighter than it has in several months. Optimus recognizes Rung. But now, Bumblebee can't say whether or not that recognition is a good thing - if Rung is a good thing. Because Optimus is behaving like some nervous recruit fresh off a transport.
He's stepping lightly, still smiling politely, watching what he says, what he does. Like he's seeking approval and doing everything he can to be inoffensive.
Rung doesn't notice. Or if he does, he's a very good actor.
Megatron is almost the complete opposite. When the silver mech arrived in vehicle mode, he transformed almost immediately and hit the ground with an earth-shaking boom. He's projecting power and confidence, but not for intimidation. The ex-warlord isn't looming (even by accident). Instead, Megatron seems to be trying to use his swagger to gain Rung's approval - of all things.
Short and long of it, Bumblebee is certain they both know who Rung is. And he's apparently a lot more than a psychiatrist.
Rung makes mentoring look easy.
Only an hour into Optimus and Megatron's arrival, he's convinced all four children to head to bed. Dot helpfully added that the grown-ups had grown-up things to discuss. The siblings understood what that meant in no uncertain terms. It's a bit easier to frame it that way, but the message is the same: foot down, time to leave, do as you're told.
After Dot came back from seeing them in, she planted her feet wide and folded her arms across her chest. "We're staying," she said. Alex came up beside his wife, put an arm around her shoulders, and nodded once.
"Of course," Rung gives with a nod of his own. He removes his glasses and fixes them all one by one with searching optics.
Optimus makes a noise not unlike a human clearing their throat - an engine cough - and says, "For the benefit of mixed company," a pause to look at both humans and Bumblebee, "would you allow me to explain?"
"You're confident in the facts?" Rung asks. His tone implies banter, and his optics shutter with mirth.
Despite this, Optimus stalls out, his lips press into a thin line, uncertain.
A sigh from Megatron, followed by an extension of one servo, indicating Rung. "This is Primus," he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Bumblebee feels his intake drop open slightly in processing several emotions at once - shock mostly. Of all the things Megatron has done, blasphemy might be a new one. Bumblebee doesn't believe in Primus, he never has and he doesn't think he ever will. The certainty Megatron voices in his assertion is unsettling.
Dot and Alex don't look especially convinced, either. Well, Dot looks skeptical. Alex mainly seems confused.
"That's not quite correct," Rung starts - Bumblebee feels brief relief - then he continues, "but closer than most have gotten."
"Wait, you're serious?" Bumblebee asks incredulously. He turns his gaze from Rung to Optimus. "He's serious?"
Optimus doesn't catch his look for a bit. He's too busy watching Rung with tired, worried optics. Worried for him, or about him? His finials twitch a bit and he's finally looking at Bumblebee, saying, "It's the truth, yes."
Bumblebee stares openly at Rung- Primus, apparently. The mech has taken to polishing his glasses. Without them, he looks so different. His optics glow bright with life, but their gaze, fixed upon nothing, speaks of fatigue. It's the same tired look Bumblebee's seen in so many of the old veterans.
Movement, and Bumblebee's turning his helm to find their human allies. Alex is moving forward gesturing with his arms. "Primus is Cybertron. How are you here? What happened?"
The words bring Rung out from whatever quiet rumination had brought on the world-weary expression. He finds both Alex and Dot, and his optics are once again gentle. "I am not quite Primus as you know him, that much should be obvious. How to explain… Primus, as a whole, is too large, too removed from mortality to experience things as any other life might. But Primus originally desired connection. He desired to know his creations, to live as they do. And so, a new being was forged."
Rung moves as he speaks, replacing his glasses before folding his spindly legs to kneel on the ground. In this manner, he is nearly eye-level with both the Maltos. "I am a splintered piece made into something wholly my own through disparate experience. I retain a connection to the whole, much of the knowledge, and some of the abilities. But ultimately, I am changed, a piece separate from the whole, one who can never go back to what it once was."
He remains where he's come to rest with both servos in his lap. Apparently he's content to turn this into a less-than-formal conversation, or at the least an awkward one. Are the rest of them meant to follow suit? Should they kneel, too? Or sit?
"I can tell you're a bit skeptical," Rung says as he continues to peer at their human company.
Dot raises one brow. "Just a bit."
Rung is smiling again. If not for the earlier flash of grief in his expression, Bumblebee might think he could do little else. "The thing about divinity… there is never any miracle to be wrought that might convince those who have already decided they do not believe." Rung raises an optical ridge- Bumblebee can tell when he's being watched - and one servo reaches into a compartment located beneath his spark window. "There's no harm in trying, however."
Rung produces from the small opening a simple, empty energon cube. There's a flash of light, energy being drawn in - or out - from somewhere, the air becomes momentarily heavy with charge. Then it's gone, and in Rung's servo sits the same cube now filled to its brim with rich, pink energon. He proffers the cube to Bumblebee; he takes it wordlessly.
All eyes are on Bumblebee now. Without fanfare he drinks it down; Bumblebee may not believe the guy's Primus, but he doesn't think someone trusted by both Optimus and Megatron would try to poison him. He's suddenly thinking back to Cybertron before the war, before even the rumors of unrest. As a rare treat Bumblebee had decided to request yttrium be added to his order. The bartender had gone a bit overboard and added… something else. He'd never been able to pry the answer from him (the mech was a red minibot with a motormouth, loved to talk, but never gave away his mixes).
He resets his optics once, then twice. He looks from the cube he's holding to Rung, and back again. "How…?"
"I'm fond of the mix as well - the extra bite to it comes from very small amounts of silver. The taste might be a bit off, yttrium here on earth has an oxide film to it. Without passivation yttrium's exposure to air can be a tad explosive!"
The rest of Rung's explanations fade out of comprehension. Bumblebee isn't listening. He's trying to think. Maybe Rung knew the same bartender. Maybe he frequented the establishment just as often as Bumblebee. Pit, maybe he was even there, in the bar that very same day when Bumblebee was served the drink.
Even if those coincidences somehow made sense, he didn't know how to possibly explain the energon synthesizing. Sure, some mechs could do it, but that's because their alt-mode had some kind of specialization. Rung certainly didn't look like a mech that transforms into an energy distillery. Bumblebee's processor is whirling away, trying to comprehend something his spark has been insisting all along. Rung might actually be what- who he claims to be.
By the time he tunes in again, the conversation seems to mostly be revolving around Alex's professional, historical curiosities. Rung's a bit dry, certainly compared to Kup (granted, most of Kup's stories are intrigue and frontline accounts). But it's an improvement over Bumblebee's halting, often half-baked memories. He may try, but he'll never pretend he can teach the Terrans things beyond bare-bones basics on Cybertron's multitude of cultures and political spheres.
When Dot asks what Rung did during the war, the atmosphere shifts a bit. It's awkward, and yet empty. Rung's expression becomes somewhat cloudy with what is most recognizable as regret.
"I was a psychiatrist… Not a very good one. Or, perhaps, I was too good at it."
At least Bumblebee knows part of his initial info had been correct.
Rung removes his glasses to make deliberate eye contact. It's a solemn gaze, but not unkind. "I cared a bit too much, I thought of many of my patients as friends. I put people in danger, signed off on the forms allowing emotionally compromised, mentally unstable mechs to return to battle because they were needed - because no one else could do what they could. Even after being disbarred, I continued to practice. It was a selfish, arrogant choice."
Every sentence is a confession, a sin laid bare. Rung, an embodiment of Primus, is confessing to being fallible. Bumblebee listens much the same as the rest of his company. Silent, somewhat stunned. With such a list of weighted mistakes it's clear Rung's given a lot of thought to this. He's not sure if that's better or worse.
Next to and above him, Bumblebee notices when the hulking blue and red frame that is Optimus raises his servos in a hovering uncertain motion.
"I'm sure it wasn't all as bad-"
"No, it certainly was," Rung counters, voice firm. Another sad, tired expression crossed the sharp features of the mech's faceplates. He seems for all the world to be yet another mech; regretful, pained, worn out. "What I said about Primus originally desiring connection? It holds true in me, too. I was lonely- I am lonely. I sought connection, I became involved. I was unable to keep the separation required of my profession. It is yet another distinction between myself and the whole. I am fallible."
Silence, heavy, whole, settles over them all. Rung gives them several moments to remain that way. Bumblebee finds the older mech's gaze and pushes everything he has to somehow say 'not yet, there must be more' and 'please, there has to be, this can't be it.'
Alex shifts his weight and Dot sighs - a breath that leaves in a solid 'whoosh' of air and puffed cheeks. Megatron also shifts in the way of groaning metal and creaking struts. In another moment, it might have seemed comical. Optimus appears lost. His servos are still hovering, wanting to touch, to offer comfort, but not knowing whether it would be accepted, or acceptable.
A sharp intake of air through squeezed vents. Rung's chassis heaves upwards for the effort. He's calm before continuing, "I am also capable of change in a way that Primus is not. It's true that I am fallible. But so are we all. Even the Primes were fallible. I think that makes our efforts all the more admirable. It takes strength to keep going, to strive to be better, do better… And, hopefully, we can teach the younger generations to avoid making our same mistakes."
The words of comfort don't quite make their mark. The atmosphere is still heavy. Bumblebee is surprised to feel himself move. He makes the connection that Optimus wouldn't, or couldn't make. One of his servos clasp gently to Rung's shoulder. The difference in size isn't as pronounced as with his Terran charges. He remembers, barely, a time when he felt small; a time when he was new to the world, new to the people around him. He's never felt lucky to've had the mentors he did.
"That's what I'm- what we're all trying to do." He nods once with certainty (to convince Rung? Or himself?). He's determined to do this. He knows that he can be the mentor the kids need. And he's not doing it alone.
Rung's servo slots in over Bumblebee's. For a mech with no engine, he's surprisingly, comfortingly warm. "I'm glad," another knowing smile, "I hope to help with that. If you'll let me."
Okay, this is a Transformers IDW/MTMTE comic and Transformers: Earthspark (light) crossover. Purely self-indulgent. I've been working on this thing off and on after work to try and unwind. Because I love the oddball Earth-forged Terrans and I love semi-eldritch/doting elder Rung and I want them to meet.
This may have other parts, depending on how I'm feeling.
Can also be found on AO3 (hopefully this link thing works)- Light Seeks Out Life
It began with a feeling.
Feelings are normal. Twitch came into the world knowing feelings. She is connected inseparably through feelings. She shares love, and sorrow, and joy, and fear with her siblings - human and Terran alike. In the months making up her life so far, she has felt so much.
She has been with herself long enough to identify when an emotion is coming from her, or from her siblings. But this isn't from any of them. The whole morning - even during lesson time when Bumblebee is talking about something training related and probably super important - she's distracted by the Feeling. She can't sit still, worse than usual.
It's a mix of excitement and something else, something not-quite sad. Just as she's leaning in to her brother, about to ask if he's feeling something, too, Bumblebee is looking at her. He's got a disappointed face and though it's not nearly as bad as Mom's, it's still pretty bad. Twitch tries to shrink into her plating.
Bumblebee sighs with his vents, and he shakes his head (helm?) a little. "Is something wrong Twitch?"
Is there something wrong?
She thinks about telling him, but decides not to. Despite their efforts, neither she nor Thrash could ever really explain their Thing in a way that Bee understood. She shakes her head, apologizes like she's been taught, and really tries to settle in.
Though not long after, Twitch starts… well, twitching. She fidgets with her plating. She pesters at Thrash's plating. That feeling is getting closer, and stronger, and she feels like she has so much energy she just can't possibly keep herself all the way still. The excitement part of the foreign emotion is really picking at her self-control.
The lesson winds up turning into 'reconnaissance' shortly after Thrash decides he's had enough and tackles her to the ground. Bumblebee scolds her a good bit, apparently decides he's not getting anywhere, and releases them both to get out some of their pent-up energy.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Twitch calls. "I promise to be back home before dark!"
Then she's off like a shot, charging into the forest without so much as challenging Thrash to a race. But then, she didn't need to. Thrash understands, and before long he's catching up, running through the woods at her side.
Together they clear fallen trees, duck through bushes, laughing and whooping all the while. They're running free with no real goal in mind. Twitch takes to the air easily. Thrash yells about cheating, even though there's been no game decided. It's all in good fun.
She doesn't think about the Feeling.
The barn is as much their 'home' as the house is.
Neither Twitch nor Thrash sleep. They don't feel the need, so they don't. She likes to think that Robby and Mo sleep enough for them both. It can get kind of… boring, though. Sometimes Twitch can get Robby to sneak out with her for some late-night exploration. Other times they can plead with Dad or Mom and they'll tell a story. Still, Thrash occasionally joins Twitch in wandering out to the fields to watch Fluffy Ears and her friends sleep (always worth it). But often it's just Twitch and Thrash in the barn. All night long.
Those nights can be the worst.
They've both learned that their place is in the barn at night, just like how Robby and Mo are supposed to stay in the house. They've also learned that making loud noises is very much unwelcome. Often they try to pass the time by reading books (comics especially), or playing board games. But those activities can only keep them occupied for so long. Twitch and her brother have had more than one do-nothing-night.
It usually starts out with rejected suggestions of games and books (sometimes Twitch offers and Thrash objects, sometimes Twitch is objecting). Then they devolve into 20 questions, what-if, or would-you-rather. They might even play pretend. And sometimes that's enough to get them through till morning.
But not tonight.
Tonight is worse than all of the do-nothing-nights that've ever come before. Twitch's lines are humming with energy. Her rotors are spinning up, then spinning down over and over again; she's touched the roof 42 times over the course of the night so far. What's worse is she can't do anything with the energy.
They could probably sneak out again. Feeling like this, though, she doesn't know if either can manage it quietly enough to avoid being caught. Because it's not just Twitch feeling antsy.
Thrash is similarly struggling. He's sitting on a crate, drumming out rhythms with his fingers (Bee called them digits at one point). She thinks he might have been trying to work out a song. It's been a nightly attempt for Thrash ever since Bumblebee introduced him to an Autobot called Jazz. And Jazz had subsequently introduced him to sheet music.
“Improv’s always best. But writing down your piece helps others hear it even without ya. ‘Sides, ‘s a great way to start learning music theory.”
But the poster-board-for-paper remains blank. The energy is getting to him, it's getting worse, because even as Twitch watches Thrash's left leg begins to bounce.
"You feel it too?" Twitch asks. It's a metaphorical question. Or is it 'rhetorical'?
Thrash doesn't have to answer - he knows, and she knows.
"What do you think it is?" he asks instead. "It's not me, and it's not you, and Robby and Mo are sleeping,"
"I dunno…" Twitch says helplessly.
It's not a bad feeling. There's lots of anticipation and joy - that's the part giving her and her brother a hard time sitting still. But there's still that wistful, not-quite-sad part. And it's not as if the Feeling is getting stronger, or going away. It's just there, barely present in the backdrop of her mind, on the edge of her thoughts. It's like something that's been forgotten, waiting patiently to become her focus. It's something lost that waits to be found again.
She and Thrash go through the incredibly, comparatively small (and well-used) book on emotions Dad had gifted them. They even go so far as to do something he called 'cross referencing,' looking at synonyms and their definitions in the (not-as-used) thesaurus & dictionary. The Feeling eludes them both.
It's late afternoon. Twitch and Thrash, along with Robby and Mo, are done with training and school, respectively. Both of Twitch's human siblings are relieved to be home. She of course can tell Robby's had a rough time with school recently. She asked him what was wrong yesterday and he replied something about social studies that she tangentially understood. Bumblebee has recently been trying to teach them something about Cybertron's history leading up to the war. Dad's been ecstatic - she and Thrash much, much less so.
But there's something about the coming-home feeling that catches Twitch's attention. She's always felt something similar, whether returning from a lesson in the fields close to home or one of the rare explorations through the woods. Coming home feels the same. There's the not-quite-sadness; running, playing, making friends, even learning is great (sometimes) and it never feels like she has enough time for any of those things. But she has always felt excited to reach home. She loves her family, how could she feel anything different? It's what Robby and Mo are feeling right now. And it's also remarkably similar to the Feeling.
"Like coming home," Twitch whispers out loud.
And the Feeling changes - no, transforms - as the excitement and anxiety become less overwhelming and are replaced by joy and anticipation. There's a deep part of her, maybe inside her chest (that spark Bumblebee's always referring to?) that feels at peace. It's a lost piece that has finally slotted into place, finally recognized and put back where it belongs.
Twitch's relief at finally having a name to put to that foreign Feeling is so sudden that both her human siblings turn to find her gaze. Dad, too, glances up while stepping out of the van.
Mo offers comfort through their bond, and says, "Aw, school's not that bad, Twitch. And we've already been gone and back, like, a million times."
Neither of them can feel it. Or, they can, and they think it's just their feeling, and not Something Else? Twitch shares what she hopes is a subtle questioning look with Thrash. He only shrugs, just as lost as she.
It's just after a rainstorm when Twitch manages to goad Thrash into an informal race. They've been given regular break times during Bumblebee's lessons (Dad's suggestion) in order to use up some energy. Thus far, today's lesson has mirrored the grey storm clouds: boring, dull, apparently lifeless. She doesn't really understand why learning about Cybertron's religious conflicts are important. Bumblebee even admitted to barely knowing the basics. But they'd been going over some more history on Cybertron's 'just before the war' stuff, and apparently religion was another thing some Decepticons and Autobots fought for. Or fought about?
It did bring to mind something Mom had explained three weeks before. That was back when Thrash groaned and asked why they needed to learn some of the politics and stuff a lot of Cybertronians had cared about. (Coincidentally, something Twitch had also been wondering, but never asked.) Mom had been the one to answer. She said people have a lot of reasons for fighting a war - resources, politics, religion and ideals being big ones.
She said learning what's important to different folks can help you work out what's important to you. And teach ways to negotiate between everyone's 'important things' without it turning into a war.
Regardless, out here, Twitch doesn't have to worry about religion or conflict, or the former's role within the latter. She's free to move, to jump, and run, and fly. They move together, along some unknown path, directly towards the cave (with its strange and special water). She doesn't need to 'refuel' as Bumblebee puts it. And she doesn't think Thrash does, either. Twitch doesn't think about it too hard. This just feels like the right way to go today.
They're part way to that unspoken finish line when suddenly the Feeling is back to the forefront of her mind. That mildly concerning development is followed by her internal systems picking up a new signature. That's never happened before.
Twitch stops abruptly, hovering in place. Thrash comes to a scraping halt below her.
Twitch doesn't know how to describe it. They still haven't gotten past the vague understanding of 'it just feels similar to coming home after a day out.' So she just asks, "You feel that?" The 'again' goes without saying.
The Feeling transforms once more. It's now present and pressing.
"The Big Thing somewhere up on the hill? Yeah." Thrash says.
Twitch is nodding absently. That's a good way of putting it. She's not sure how she knows, or why, but this signature is marking something big. She's slowly lowering to the ground until finally coming to land beside her brother. Her descent is so gentle, the bushes and their residual raindrops barely make a sound.
"Do you think we should go back? Try and find Bumblebee? Or Mom?" Thrash asks, obviously thinking back on their bad luck with strangers.
Twitch hums, considering, then says, "It doesn't feel dangerous or anything." And they're a lot better prepared than they had been with Swindle. Or… Mandroid.
Mandroid hadn't seemed all bad, either. But this is different. Somehow, she doesn't feel right trying to compare this Big Thing to Mandroid. That guy's crazy, mean… scary. She feels it confidently, in her spark, that they're both safe to wait and see - and feel. Because the Feeling is there, she feels it from the tips of her toes/pedes to the top of her head/helm. It's still comforting and hopeful and everything she loves about home.
That's why it's no small surprise when the mech that comes into view at the top of the bluff above just seems… strange. Their plating is orange and cream in color. The arms and legs are thin, so unlike all the other Cybertronians she's met. And they don't have wheels, or rotors, nothing to hint at what their alt-mode might be.
Slowly, the stranger begins their descent. Some rocks give way beneath the sudden weight, loosed by the storm and helped along by mud and leaf litter. Yet they navigate each potential fall with an otherworldly grace, always with one foot up to take the next step down.
"Ah, here we are," says the mech as their feet touch solid ground.
Twitch doesn't gawk (because Robby says staring is rude and she trusts her big bro), but it's a close thing. At her side, she can tell Thrash is having much the same reaction. The Feeling is still there, but it's more muted, somehow.
The stranger still faces both Twitch and Thrash, regarding them with a small, kind smile. She notices they've got glasses on - or are they goggles? They're very similar in color to the piece of blue-green 'sea glass' Mo keeps in her treasure box. What would a mech need glasses for? Bumblebee never went into much detail about the eyes ('optics,' apparently) during their brief anatomy lessons.
Their expression remains warm and welcoming. As something gently wipes across Twitch's sensors (another relatively foreign concept), Thrash goes ramrod straight. Twitch can't parse what it is she's supposed to do with the information that has just suddenly appeared in her mind. From the mirrored confusion she feels from Thrash, he's just as stumped.
"Um… Hi?" Is all she can manage.
The mech frowns a little. Then they jump, like Dad did when he'd realized he was nearly late for his 'class reunion.' "Oh, that's right, they don't use pings anymore, do they?"
Twitch doesn't know what a ping is, so she figures it's a rhetorical question (and it is 'rhetorical,' and not 'metaphorical,' she looked it up). She watches quietly as the mech begins to pat around their frame, obviously searching for something. One compartment after another pops open. Like a magician, the stranger pulls out an array of normally ill-fitting items; there's a string of crystals, a half-bolt of fabric, a stack of wooden cards…
"I wonder where I could have put them. I'd have sworn they were in one of the left-" the mech checks more pop-out drawers from their left arm.
Part of Twitch wants to see what else they can pull out, but she knows that probably wouldn't be polite. Just before she's made up her mind to try and introduce herself with a proper handshake, the mech straightens up again.
With a flourish and triumphant "Aha!", they now have a light green and yellow patterned box. "Here it is," they say, walking and fiddling with the box as they approach.
Twitch doesn't move when the stranger finally comes within touching distance. And neither does Thrash, though she can tell the urge to move is harder for him to fight down. Curiosity is a powerful motivation, though.
"These are rust-sticks. Not quite the traditional greeting, but close enough!" The mech shakes their tin in hand, and a few pink, softly glowing sticks pop out the cracked end. Then the box is gone - vanished away into some other compartment, Twitch is sure.
"You may call me Rung!"
The mystery mech, Rung, evidently, glances from Twitch to her brother and back again.
"Uh- I'm Twitch."
"And I'm Thrash."
A smile bigger than before lights up Rung's features and they nod enthusiastically. "It's very nice to meet the two of you!" At the same time, they slip three rust-sticks out between their fingers (digits - things - words) and gestures for each to take. "It's food, don't worry."
Twitch accepts one of the sticks with a quiet 'thank you' and turns it over in her hand. They've been told again and again not to accept things from strangers. She then notes that Rung has taken the end of one of the sticks in between their teeth. If they're eating it, then surely it can't be that bad.
"Your systems should be able to handle a small bit of energon at least, you're part Cybertronian as much as part Earth! Also," Rung leans towards Twitch and Thrash, and puts one hand to their mouth to whisper, "I promise you'll like them. I've never known a new-forge who could resist something sweet!"
Both Robby and Mo swear up and down by sweets; dessert time is a favorite with her human siblings. So Twitch takes the dive, popping one end into her mouth, and… It's the best thing she's ever tasted. It's all the way up there - even past the antifreeze Mom has never and will never find out about.
"This. Is. Amazing!" Twitch squeals before promptly gnashing down the rest of the stick.
"I wanna try!" Thrash yelps.
Rung chuckles as they hand over the last remaining rust-stick to Twitch's eager brother. That one is quick to disappear, too. After finishing, Thrash confirms Twitch's opinion: definitely the best they've ever had.
"I'm glad you both approve," Rung says, still smiling. "I hope that helps me make a good impression. I've travelled quite a ways to meet both of you properly."
"Wait, us?" Thrash asks, head tilting.
"You know about us?" Twitch asks at nearly the same time.
"It's been a long time since anyone has tried to make something new. Though I'm not the least bit surprised it was Quintus to do it."
That got a bigger reaction. Twitch gasps a bit, her eyes widening. Thrash beats her to the question.
"You know about Quintus Prime?"
Rung folds both arms neatly behind their back. "But of course! I know just about all there is to know about the Primes!"
Twitch feels elation surge through her mind, echoed and redoubled by her brother. She takes to hovering off the ground once again, flitting back and around their new friend excitedly. Rung is a good bit taller than either of them, but definitely still shorter than Bumblebee. She fires off questions, circling ever faster, still searching for any kind of alt-mode give-aways. The excitement she feels now isn't too unlike the Feeling they'd experienced before - for weeks, leading up to meeting Rung.
"Did you come here from Cybertron? Are you by yourself? Are you an Autobot?"
Not far below, Thrash is also energetic, rocking on his feet, swinging his arms, and asking questions of his own. "What can you tell us about Quintus? Do you know why he wanted to create us?"
Rung glances between them both, expression gentle and fond. It reminds Twitch somewhat of Dad and Mom.
Rung reveals they did in fact come to Earth all the way from Cybertron, and that they are completely alone. Rung confirms they're an Autobot (pulling out a ridiculously fitted badge that could in no way be comfortably displayed anywhere on their body/chassis). After listening to Twitch and Thrash's somewhat faltering explanation, Rung states that the pronouns that best suit them are likely he/him. He had commented something Twitch didn't quite understand, something about Earth's organic culture?
When pressed further about Quintus Prime, Rung gives them both a strange sad/happy not-quite-smile and says, "Quintus always was a Dreamer. He saw value in life - all life. He also saw value in allowing his creations a sense of self-determination; the ability to make your own choices. Like all sentient beings, you have the power and responsibility to decide for yourselves who you will be, and what you are for. No one else can say. That's the beauty of it."
Rung squints behind his glasses, and his expression becomes much less certain. "Of course, some of Quintus' creations are not so… congenial as yourselves. But it is ultimately the creations' choice which makes them so. You will always have a choice to behave as you feel proper. That is the true gift."
Rung takes a few steps past Twitch and Thrash, towards the woods in the direction they'd come running from. "Of course, you will have the benefit of loving guidance from your peers, human and Cybertronian alike. Not all will be so lucky as the fi- two of you."
Twitch feels her brows draw together. She feels confusion, and pressure. She knows Thrash is experiencing something similar. What if she makes the wrong choice? She glances up at their new friend. He's taken to polishing his glasses using a rag pulled from who-knows-where. She doesn't want to disappoint this mech. Almost as much as not wanting to disappoint Dad, or Mom, or Bee, or Megatron, or-
"It's no test, Twitch. There is really no 'right' or 'wrong,' only different paths made by different choices. And everyone, always, has the ability to make a different choice. Everyone can change." He's glancing back at Twitch, and his smile is back, too; small but so, so bright.
"How'd you do that?" Thrash asks abruptly.
Both Twitch and Rung make a questioning noise.
"How'd you know what Twitch was feeling? What I was feeling?"
Rung's eyebrows rise a bit in what Twitch thinks might be surprise. It's odd how much of a difference his glasses make. He's silent for a bit, before dipping his head and a puff of laughter escapes.
"One explanation is: when you've lived for as long as I have," he chuckles, "you learn to read others with decent accuracy. It's a good help."
"But what-" Thrash starts.
Twitch can't help it, and she's jumping in, "It's not just that! What about before? Like when we didn't know you were you, and we just felt it?"
Thrash is nodding so fast he's practically a blur. "Me an' Twitch felt weird for weeks. And it was you. We felt what you were feeling. And I was thinking maybe you can do the same as we- uh, like how we feel with each other?"
Rung watches, and waits, listening to their attempts at explanation become more convoluted by the sentence. Thankfully, before either she or Thrash can get too frustrated, he raises both hands in a calming gesture before speaking again.
"The bond you share is special. You're connected. You will be connected for life. We are also connected, though to a lesser extent. At one time, all of Cybertron was. But that time has long passed." His expression turns downward, a small frown. "I wish I could say I was surprised that feeling has been forgotten by so many. But that's somewhat unfair. You two are very new, and so many of us are very, very old."
"You mean this feeling could go away?" Twitch asks, voice small.
"No, no," Rung insists simply, "as I said, your bond is special. You will never forget where you've come from, nor will you forget the ones you'll grow alongside. You are all so very lucky."
And maybe it's the confidence felt in those words, or the sadness in Rung's eyes… Thrash and Twitch are satisfied to drop the subject (at least for right now). They chatter away, talking about family, training, everything they can think of that might entertain their new friend.
Twitch knows he's a friend, someone they can trust. She knows Rung; somehow, it feels like she always has. And someone she's known her whole life can't possibly be a stranger. She can't possibly forget the mech who smiles like the light, who feels like coming home.
Everyone deserves to have their own opinion. Just be aware that having certain opinions are more liable to get you punched. Whether or not that throat punch/kneecapping/rib break is deserved is also something to be considered.
Hey everyone, I know it's going to be a busy day for a lot of people, but Google enrolled everyone over 18 into their AI program automatically.
If you have a google account, first go to gemini.google.com/extensions and turn everything off.
Then you need to go to myactivity.google.com/product/gemini and turn off all Gemini activity tracking. You do have to do them in that order to make sure it works.
Honestly, I'm not sure how long this will last, but this should keep Gemini off your projects for a bit.
I saw this over on bluesky and figured it would be good to spread on here. It only takes a few minutes to do.
Because this isn't mentioned above, also go to google.com/drive/settings and turn off all the annoying bits that interface directly with docs there.
This is all in the "privacy" tab of your settings. How fun that everything is hidden two layers deep. 🙄 This DOESN'T get rid of the stupid little star constantly asking you to use it, unfortunately, but that's what the picker in ublock is for. 😉
More detail instructions for OP's post for those who are confused. This is done from the browser on my laptop, I don't know what they look like on phones.
When you click the first link gemini.google.com/extensions, you need to click on the setting icon at the bottom, then choose "Extension", like this:
Scroll down a bit, you will see the options, turn them all off.
Then, you click on the second link myactivity.google.com/product/gemini, you'll see it tells you that it's already "turn off". NO! IT'S NOT! You have to click on that "Turn off" option, it'll drop down a menu like this:
Turn that thing off. Until that button shows you have to click to turn it back on like this:
And then, click on the delete button down there too, even if it says there's nothing to delete, just do it as a caution.
After you's done with those two. You go to your Drive, find the Setting button.
Click on the "Privacy" tab, choose the button "Manage Workspace smart feature setting"
Tick both of those off, then click Save. Or if you still want to use Google AI assistant for some reasons, please read the fine lines very very carefully.
Only then, you can feel safe enough with this force AI assistant bullshit. FOR NOW 🤡 All these steps still can't get rid of that Gemini blinkblink icon though >:(((((
I was about to note that last-starry-sky shared doesn't work for me. The url I had to go to, which matches the settings listed toward the end of the last reblog, was drive.google.com/drive/settings
I think this is my first Tumblr post? Thought I’d check out this white hot new app
(It’s James Roberts — just realised that my username gives nothing away)
There may be some MTMTE fans on here who (wisely) avoid Twitter etc and so may not know about the MTMTE Notebooks and Scriptbooks that I make available once a year
These exclusive behind-the-scenes books are essentially creator journals chronicling the evolution of the series, containing pitches, concepts, character thumbnails etc that I worked on ahead of and during the comic’s run
If you’d like to find out more, email [email protected] and I’ll send you the details
Oh, and I have zero reach on here, so I’d be grateful if anyone who finds this and is a MTMTE fan could repost, or whatever the Tumblr term is
I am trying so hard not to hold hate in my heart. There is resentment, but I REFUSE to let it become hate. We will get through this. People will die, people will suffer and die. But we will get through this. We have to. The only way forward is through.
It's OK if you’re not OK right now. I’m certainly not. Mothman isn’t. We’re devastated. There’s a hollow crater in my chest where my heart ought to be. I’m sick with worry. But I can’t let it consume me. So we’re going to allow ourselves to grieve and then find actionable ways to counter what lies ahead.
That will look different for everyone, but one thing that will be universally required in the days and years ahead is compassion and an unshakable commitment to kindness.
We will help each other through this. We will find ways to help other people. We will protect the people we love and even those we don’t to the best of our abilities. Because that’s the only option we have.
We will do it angry, we will do it sad, we will do it terrified. But we will do it.
Please be gentle with yourself. Please don’t do anything to harm yourself. The world needs your light. It needs your anger and your hope. It needs you.
received a few asks about how i draw tf characters and so finally i sat down and started scratching out some notes :))
i'll add more later on if more people are interested and when i have some time,, but i hope these are somewhat informative ?? of at least my own thought processes when it comes to drawing the robot guys
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