What if your job required you to give up total control? What if the person controlling you had some very specific goals in mind?
When you get hired as a player avatar for a new immersive life sim, you expected to spend your days jet skiing, hang gliding and fucking hot babes. Instead, one player decides you're their favourite character, and they want to make a few lasting changes...
(ingredients: mind and body control, force feeding, stuffing, 2400 words)
Player #2256
Most of the people you mentioned it to didn't understand why you'd take a job where someone else could control your every action.
You quickly got tired of listing the benefits. The incredible pay. The fact you got to spend 10 hours a day in a luxury resort, with anything you - or your player - could want at your finger tips. From what you’ve seen in the marketing, most avatars are used to live out the player’s fantasies, enjoying high octane sports and adventures and acrobatic sex with other gorgeous avatars.
And after all, it’s not like they accept just anyone. You were - deservedly, you thought - proud of physique and good looks. You spent hours every week in the gym toning and sculpting your already broad shoulders and taut abs. You ate carefully, avoiding most of your favourite foods that you knew you had trouble controlling yourself around. Even on your cheat days you steered clear of the juicy burgers or cream filled pastries you knew would challenge your resolve. Your skin care routine was elaborate, with bottles lining your bathroom shelf for morning, evening and a weekly deep cleanse that took most of sunday night.
You were already in love with yourself, and it made sense that people would pay the enormous fees demanded by the game for a chance to take your body for a spin.
Your first day on the job dawns bright and breezy as you roll out of bed at 6am. You decide to pass on your usual morning workout - you weren’t sure how intense the day’s activities would be, so you plan to hit the gym after work to avoid any injuries. You still go through the rest of your routine though, stretching, moisturising, carefully ruffling your dark curly hair so it looked effortless.
You want to make a good first impression.
The drive to the resort where the game is based is a long one, about 100 miles down the coast and far out of the city where you lived. Understandably, the company wanted privacy for both its players and avatars, and there's a thorough security screening process as you drive your car through multiple check points, having your fingerprints and retina scans checked against the ones you filed when you accepted the job.
By the time you get to the welcome centre, you're eager to begin. Part of the screening process had involved testing you were compatible with the technology they would be using. In fact, you’d snuck a look at the doctor’s notes as she tapped them into the terminal she was using to run her tests. ‘Highly susceptible’ she had added to your form, which you supposed was what they were looking for.
Still, it feels more than a little uncomfortable to watch as the technician draws the cover off a long needle and positions it at the base of your skull.
‘As you previously consented to, I’m now going to implant our proprietary control device into your brain stem via injection. The chip receives commands from our server and translates them into neuro-muscular impulses. You’ll still be conscious and aware, but you’ll have no control over your body. Don’t worry too much - we have plenty of failsafes and automatic cut offs if your player tries to make you do anything that would actually harm you.’
You swallow, nervously. Even with the disclaimer, and all your preparation, this is starting to feel very real. Before you can object, you feel a sharp prick at the back of your neck.
‘Very good.’ The technician continues. ‘Now, to make the adjustment a little easier you’re going to briefly lose consciousness while you transport you into the resort and you get matched to a player. You might have different users each session, or if someone takes a liking to you they might request you again. The next thing you see will be your private apartment, where you’ll wake up every time you’re activated. Now just relax - things will start to go black in three, two…’
You don’t hear the one.
…
The first thing you see is sunlight against your closed eyelids, warming your face and turning them a deep, translucent red. Your eyes flick open, and you try to lift your head to look around you. There’s a moment of panic when you can’t, until you remember. Right - the player.
At the same moment you come to that realisation, text appears in the corner of your vision, super imposed against your view of the ceiling.
Player #2256 - Online
After a moment, you feel the disconcerting sensation of your body moving without your control. You lift your head, and as the player turns your neck from side to side you finally get a look at the apartment.
It’s nice - really nice. The bed you were lying in is huge with soft, white sheets, crisply laundered and faintly vanilla scented. The bedroom has tall windows overlooking the main square of the resort. You can see people a half dozen floors below sipping coffee in the square and splashing in the fountain.
On the wall across from the bed is a full length mirror, and your player takes a moment to position you in front of it, taking you in. They slowly turn you from side to side in front of the glass, and you imagine them admiring your physique, the way the flat plane of your stomach flows into the sharp v of your hips.
Once they’ve got a good look, your player turns you away from the window, crossing the thick carpet that muffles your footsteps and taking you into the apartment’s main room. This too is much nicer than your own place. A plush leather couch fills much of the space, with a huge flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. You can’t imagine why anyone would take control of another person just to make them watch TV, but maybe it’s just for appearances.
Across the room is a kitchenette with sleek, stainless steel appliances and padded bar stools lined up against the counter. With the tug in your body that you’re starting to get used to, your player takes control once again. They lead you into the kitchen and pull open the fridge, and you’re surprised by how well stocked it is. Fresh produce, cheese, deli meats, butter, gallons of milk and juice. You suppose the avatars still need to eat, but you can’t imagine it being a big concern for most players.
It does seem to be for your player, however. Before you can ponder too much they reach your hand into the fridge and grasp one of the cartons of milk, screwing the cap off in a single motion and letting it drop to the floor. Then, they raise the carton to your lips.
Your swallowing is smooth, almost mechanical, and you can picture the player holding down their mouse or touchscreen somewhere as they press the button to drink. You feel the creamy, full-fat dairy pour down your throat as you drink gulp after gulp, the heavy liquid settling in your stomach. You put away half the carton without stopping, then slam it down on the countertop as your player directs you back to fridge.
Now, you're pulling out food. Bacon, butter, eggs. You open the freezer and pull out hash browns, and with growing concern you notice the drawers are packed with ice-cream, frozen junk food and pastries. Is every apartment stocked like this, or did your player request it specifically?
You toss a fat knob of butter into a skillet and put it on the stove, adding strips of bacon and cracking two eggs once it's melted. You see yourself pull a bag of English muffins out of the cupboard - a worryingly well stocked cupboard - and watch yourself slide the bacon and eggs onto a plate and then toast the muffin halves in the butter and bacon grease.
You never cook like this - not even on a cheat day, not on your birthday. You think of the hundreds, maybe thousands of calories you're cramming into your carefully tuned digestive system as your player forces you to finish assembling the sandwich and take a seat on one of the plush bar stools.
It doesn't matter how horrified you are though - the first bite tastes like heaven. You try and relax as you are made to swallow mouthful after greasy but delectable mouthful. Okay, this is an unexpected cheat day, but you trust your self control to fast for the evening and hit an extra hard gym session. This could even be a good chance to dirty bulk and add a few inches to your biceps.
The breakfast sandwich finished, your player lets you catch your breath sat on the stool. Your arm moves upwards, and your hand presses against your belly, rubbing gentle circles. The milk and food has already bloated it to a tight dome, your carefully managed capacity being tested by the large meal.
Your stomach gurgles, the food shifting inside you, and you hope that the player is bored of making you eat, but it seems not. After a moment's reprieve they stand you up again and walk you back to the kitchen, opening cupboards as if hunting for something.
They find it quickly, a powerful-looking blender, all shiny steel and a huge glass jug. Concern knots in your already overstretched belly as your player starts assembling ingredients.
A carton of caramel ice-cream, more of the thick, full-fat milk, a packet of chocolate brownie mix (makes 12 decadent treats! Blares the label on the box), a can of whipped cream. Once they're all lined up on the counter your player puppets you to start mixing everything together in the blender jug.
The resulting shake is thick. So thick that, as you stand at the edge of the counter and lift the jug up to your mouth, not even bothering to pour it out into a glass, the rich mixture slowly pours down the side towards your mouth.
The controller lodged in your brain means you have no choice but to swallow, but even if it hadn't been there the mixture is so heavy and rich you would have had to gulp it down to avoid choking.
You can feel every drop of the ludicrously indulgent shake settling in your already taxed stomach, your breathing growing strained as you struggle to take gasps between mouthfuls.
Your hard ball of a stomach presses against the counter as you grow fuller and fuller. You didn't know you could eat like this, didn't think your body was capable of swallowing this volume of food.
Your mind feels like it's growing hazy as the chugging continues. Maybe it's not being in control of your actions for so long, maybe it's the buzz of so much sugar, so many calories forced into your system that's more used to brown rice and raw veggies. Whatever the cause, it feels good to let yourself fall into a stupor and surrender yourself.
There's nothing you can do but let the player do what they like with your body.
Eventually, long after you felt sure you couldn't possibly swallow another drop, the jug is empty. Or - almost empty. Your player makes you drag a finger around the inside of the blender jug, catching every drop of shake and sucking it off your own fingertips. Even as you're horrified at the sheer gluttony you're being compelled into, you have to admit that every bite you've devoured has been delicious.
You want to slump against the counter, or fall to the floor in a heap, but your player is still in control, and they lead you back to the bedroom with slow, ponderous footsteps. Your gut is so stuffed you feel off balance, like the sheer weight of all that food has shifted your center of gravity.
When you reach the bedroom, your player makes you sit on the edge of the bed, facing yourself in the mirror.
You weren't imaging it, your belly really is stretched taut, the skin shiny and sore looking from the overextension. Your hand comes up to cradle it again, rubbing slow circles, and you let out a moan of relief that didn't come from the player's instruction but was still involuntary, a sigh of pleasure at how good the firm but gentle pressure feels against your sensitive midsection.
Now, your other hand is moving. The player makes you reach between your own legs, and when you make contact you are more than a little embarrassed to find yourself hard.
Was that something the game gave your player control over? Or were you actually turned on by using controlled like this, forced to glut yourself on enough food and drink to satisfy someone four times your size.
Your hand moves steadily, stroking yourself, and you moan aloud again as the pleasure rises through you. God it feels good, the sensations heightened by the lack of control, and the sensitivity of the skin of your lower belly. You, your player, whichever, you're still watching yourself in the mirror, unable to tear your eyes from your swollen belly as your hand moves faster and faster.
When you come, it's hard and long, moaning deeply as the pleasure pulses. You gasp for air, struggling to breathe deeply enough around your overfull stomach, as the waves of pleasure fade slowly.
As you begin to recover, you feel a sudden change in your muscles, and you flop back on the bed like a discarded toy, spread eagled and still gasping.
A moment later, the text appears again in the corner of your vision.
Player #2256 - Offline
…
Hope you enjoyed 🩷
If you get off to my writing, you have to tell me - it fuels my horny inspiration.
If you'd like a part two, let me know, I feel like there's much more to explore with this setting.
And, as ever, if you want to encourage me to write more or have a specific request send me an ask or a DM, or donate to my Kofi - your encouragement keeps me motivated, just like my encouragement keeps you stuffing your chubby face.
Jet fuel has doubled in price since the start of the war on Iran. How bad will the disruption get and could this accelerate the route to jet
More exciting than a globalised belt-tightening would be if this accelerated what they call “the long haul to jet zero”: post-fossil-fuel aviation. “If money was not an issue, the technology exists,” Palacios says. “But because money is an issue, the technology doesn’t exist.”
Jet fuel isn’t taxed – at the Chicago Convention on civil aviation in 1944, they decided that tax was national and flying was not, and because that was complicated, it was impossible (there’s some tax on fuel for domestic flights in some jurisdictions). “One of the big impediments for those of us looking into alternatives to fossil-fuel based aviation is that it’s very hard to compete with something which really is effectively subsidised indirectly,” Palacios says.There are two alternatives to the kerosene that forms the basis of most jet fuel, both of them extraordinarily expensive. “The first is synthetic fuel,” Palacios says. “It’s a reverse process.” To recap, the normal process in combustion is that you burn hydrocarbons, and hydrogen goes one way, making water, and carbon goes the other, making CO2, which is the one we all worry about. “We can do it in reverse,” Palacios says. “Take carbon, hydrogen, mix them, build the fossil fuel; that is synthetic production. Nature works really nicely in one direction, and you’re fighting nature. It’s doable, but you need a huge amount of electricity. So it has to be out of renewables, otherwise you’re using kerosene to produce kerosene. It’s 10 times more expensive, but the knowledge exists.”
The alternative is that you burn hydrogen. “And we know how to do this,” Palacios continues. “Rolls-Royce was doing this a couple of years ago in a jet engine. The problem is, it’s a different fuel, and all the infrastructure of 100 years of aviation is built around a particular liquid, with a particular set of properties. Hydrogen has to be cryogenically treated [liquefied] to use as a jet fuel.”
Something aviation has to do anyway, more expensive than fuel innovation in some ways, cheaper in others, is to revolutionise the world’s fleet, so that planes are much more fuel-efficient. There are prototypes with incredibly long, thin wings, too long to land, that would fold as they came in. But hardware ideas – indeed, all these ideas – require the whole world’s buy-in, and entail a “quantum change in cost, so of course we’re not going to do any of it until we have basically no alternative”, Palacios says. “It’s a 50-year order of magnitude for this transition. I think crises can be catalysts if we are at the right technology level. I believe, before I die, I will see these things at scale.”
The obvious consequence is that flying becomes an elite activity but, as Palacios points out, 50% of Britons take fewer than one flight a year and 80% of humans have never been on a plane. So it’s already an elite activity – it might just become an elite that you’re not in.
Green is “very conscious”, he says, “of the many sorts of damage [from high oil prices] to people in lower-income countries who are depending on commodities in the Gulf. Some African planting seasons are being seriously disrupted because they can’t get fertiliser. You can look for a silver lining, but the cloud itself is extremely dark.”
Fic for prompt 'pearl' for MerMay 2026, in which everyone lives and nobody dies, for @letshareapapou
Fandom: The Bad Batch
Characters: Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Crosshair, Omega
Rating: G
Word Count: ~2500
Read Here on AO3
Synopsis:
“Cyst pearls are formed of a nacreous secretion in response to damage to the mantle in many common bivalve mollusc species,” he recited disdainfully. “The artificial instigation of the process has led to many planets cultivating these beads on an industrial scale, for trade as ornamentation, but they have little practical use or inherent rarity. Pabu is not unique in offering such goods.”
Tech finds out the origin of the natural pearls on Pabu
Critically injured as he had been, Tech had spent a long time in a coma – so long, that Hunter had begun to think he might never wake. Gone were the days of bacta-tank immersion to quickly heal catastrophic injuries so that clone troopers could be returned to the front lines. Though he trusted the medics of Pabu to care for his brother, they had no such technology to speed his recovery. They could only count on his genetically enhanced healing, and his body’s own stubbornness to pull him through.
By the time he woke, it felt like he had lived a lifetime over again. He and Wrecker crowded Tech’s bedside as the engineer came groggily to full consciousness, brown eyes watchful and wary in the hollow, pained lines of his face.
For a time, Tech cast about the room, seeming to struggle recognising his environment. Hunter cursed himself for not having brought a spare pair of goggles in all the time Tech had been unconscious.
There had been so many other things on his mind.
That was still no excuse.
Finally, Tech seemed to register Wrecker anxiously gripping his hand, and weakly patted his huge brother’s forearm in return.
“Crosshair?” he asked, voice thin and weak with exhaustion and disuse.
Wrecker’s face crumpled, unable to hold a lie. He glanced pleadingly at Hunter, though his broad, honest expression was all the answer Tech needed.
Hunter stilled his pacing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed tight and defensive over his chest – as though it was the only thing holding him together. For a moment his jaw worked soundlessly at an answer, teeth grit hard as his mouth struggled with the words.
The lack of reply was reply in itself. Tech closed his eyes, drawn and grey as his head sagged back to the pillow.
“I understand,” he murmured, a pained breath.
“We did everything we could.”
Hunter’s voice was rough, the words clipped with anguish. An admission of failure. A stubborn denial of responsibility.
Without looking, Tech waved a dismissive hand. Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He was gone as though the guilt was burning him.
For a handful of moments, Wrecker darted his head plaintively between the two of them, loyalty torn. Tech extricated his hand and pulled the covers up over his shoulders, rolling away, shrugging the protecting wall of blanket up over his head.
“I would like to be alone,” he murmured, and Wrecker left too.
*
His recovery was slow, awake for spans of time which were measured in minutes rather than hours. The medics counselled them to patience. His body was mending, but his mind was still exhausted. Waking drained him, and rest was the best thing for him.
It had been a month, with Tech sitting up in bed and remaining awake for longer and longer periods, when he finally said, “Where is Omega?”
Wrecker, who had been reading to him, stuttered over the line in his book and laid it down, gazing guiltily at his brother.
“She hasn’t been to see me,” said Tech slowly, as though testing the idea out loud. “Tell me what happened, Wrecker.”
“It…” Wrecker cringed, squirming under Tech’s intense stare. “It’s complicated. After you fell, Hemlock, he…”
The words choked off, clearly difficult to say. Tech’s expression remained motionless, gaze boring into his brother.
“You should ask Hunter,” said Wrecker at length, shoulders sagging in despondency. “He’ll prob’ly explain it better’n me.”
*
“Tell me what happened to Omega.”
The blunt opening to the conversation had Hunter flinching. His shoulders crept up to his ears, a scowl half-way between anger and heartbreak painting his features.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tech was still unsteady on his feet, walking with a cane, but his approach was inexorable.
“What happened after Hemlock captured her?” he asked, struggling to keep the accusation from his voice.
Hunter rounded on him with a snarl, shoving hard. Tech stumbled, staggered clumsily against the table which he clutched to hold himself upright.
“We were too late, alright?” said Hunter, and his low growl ached with bitterness. “Too late for her. Too late for Crosshair. Are you happy?”
For the first time, something stricken broke through Tech’s level expression. He shook as he pulled himself upright – he would have reached out, but he was not that man, and neither was Hunter.
“I… I understand,” he said curtly, locking down on the tremor of heartbreak which threatened his words. “I won’t ask again.”
*
Life on Pabu followed a slow, meandering pace, the days drifting lazily from one to the next with little to distinguish them. Phee visited him, as did Echo.
Tech didn’t ask about Omega again. He didn’t ask about Crosshair.
He carried that guilt, a hollow void in his chest, whenever he saw Hunter’s drawn features, the way his brother flinched and wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Omega would still be here, if he hadn’t insisted they try and reach Crosshair. She had been Hunter’s world, and now she was gone, because of him. In trying to get Crosshair back, he had cost them both, and nearly lost his own life in the bargain.
No wonder Hunter couldn’t speak about it; could barely look at him. Oh he was there every day, gruffly attending to Tech’s needs, making sure he wanted for nothing. But there was a distance between them that Tech didn’t know how to bridge.
He wondered if he ever would.
*
The afternoon sun beat down, too still and humid after weeks without wind. Pabu was stifling, and Tech was in a waspish mood.
“How about these, then?” asked Echo, his tone cajoling as he meandered between market stalls. The cyborg clone had stopped in front of a table festooned with strings of pearls, all sizes and colours, some natural, others gaudily dyed.
Tech frowned, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and leaning on his cane as he squinted grumpily at the array.
“Cyst pearls are formed of a nacreous secretion in response to damage to the mantle in many common bivalve mollusc species,” he recited disdainfully. “The artificial instigation of the process has led to many planets cultivating these beads on an industrial scale, for trade as ornamentation, but they have little practical use or inherent rarity. Pabu is not unique in offering such goods.”
Echo only chuckled at his assessment, pointing beyond the gaudy strings to a glass cabinet behind.
“What about these?” he asked, good mood not diminished. “These ones are natural, not cultured. Formed by nature, every one unique and brought back to the surface by skilled divers. Still unimpressed?”
With a sniff, Tech peered at the cabinet. The pearls within were certainly more appealing – less regular in shape, perhaps, and certainly far fewer in number than the abundant strings which loaded the table at the front of the stall. But they glowed with inner lustre, their soft, pearlescent shells reflecting the sunlight in a myriad colours, and he could not deny that they were objectively aesthetically pleasing to look at.
“You should ask Hunter to take you down to the docks, meet the divers,” said Echo blithely. “Evening’s the best time. You can go after dinner.”
*
Hunter had looked startled when Tech asked about the pearl divers. He immediately shot a suspicious look at Echo, who in turn suddenly became very busy with the contents of his dinner plate.
Tech’s wariness only increased when Wrecker bid them goodbye with a grin, and an enthusiastic, “Say hi from me!”
The long walk from their small house, winding down through the coiling streets of Pabu, only increased the awkwardness. Hunter was making senseless small talk, his thoughts scattered all over the place. Every time Tech tried to pull him back to the topic of the pearl divers, he just muttered, “You’ll see soon enough,” and increased his pace just enough that Tech felt winded keeping up, precluding further questions.
By the time they finally reached the docks the sun was low on the horizon, golden light streaming across the water’s surface. Hunter helped Tech into a small boat without comment, before guiding it out onto the open water.
When he finally cut the engine, letting the boat drift with the waves, he pulled out a familiar mirrored disk. Tech straightened, suddenly alert, as Hunter used the reflector puck to flash a signal out across the water.
“That is Crosshair’s,” he stated, and Hunter merely nodded.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”
No matter Tech’s burning curiosity, Hunter refused to be drawn with further questions. Tech found himself instead scanning the water’s surface intently, watching the way the sun glittered off of cresting waves to make him squint. The whole sea seemed to radiate inner light as it reflected the peach-glow tones of the setting sun.
A splash. A swimmer’s head bobbed above the surface of the water, and Tech startled. Surely they were too far out from shore for anyone to be swimming, and he hadn’t seen another watercraft about. Theirs was the only boat in sight.
Then, “Huntah!” a familiar voice cried.
Tech almost bolted from his seat, and it was only Hunter’s lightning-fast lunge that grabbed him and stopped him going over the edge. He clung on to his brother, craning to see out over the water.
“Omega?” he asked incredulously, and Hunter nodded.
The figure was swimming closer, cutting cleanly through the waves with the flick of a… Tech blinked, pushed his glasses up, rubbed at his eyes. Surely he wasn’t seeing right.
Omega pulled alongside their boat, lifting herself up over the side with strong, tanned arms and a beaming smile. “Tech! You came to see us!”
“I… I did,” Tech stammered in bemusement, letting Hunter guide him back down to the bench. He reached out for Omega who pulled him into a damp embrace, soaking saltwater into his clothes and skin, though he didn’t care. He held her tightly for a moment, chin hooked over her shoulder, feeling dazed. Then he pulled back, sending his gaze down the rest of her body.
“You are…”
His voice failed, mind stuttering to find the right word. Omega only grinned and pushed back from the boat a little, spinning a barrel-roll in the water which showed off the twisting length of a gold-and-brown scaled tail where her legs used to be.
“Do you like it?” she said cheerily, and he had no choice but to nod for the enthusiasm in her voice. “It took a while to get used to, but I’m good at it now.” She swam back up to the boat, clinging on to the side once more, and her smile turned soft. “I’m so happy to see you, Tech,” she said, her words earnest and aching with love. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Hunter gave a tired smile; there was still pain in his eyes, but he looked proud. “I told you he was getting stronger by the day,” he said, glancing at Tech with his own soft adoration. “He asked to meet the pearl divers.”
Omega gasped, excitement lighting her features. “Can I tell Crosshair?”
At Hunter’s nod she gave a squeal and then she was gone, diving back beneath the sun-scattered waves. Tech fixed Hunter with a piercing look, something stern attempting to vie with the awe in his face.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” he said, to which Hunter looked sheepish.
“I didn’t know… there was no easy way to explain. You would have asked questions I don’t have the answers to.” Hunter looked pained, looked away. “I’m sorry. That I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Whatever Tech might have said was cut short when an explosion of seawater rocked their boat, fountaining up as a streamlined silver figure torpedoed out of the water and into their ship.
“Crosshair?”
The sniper had always been tall, and his lean, lanky torso was almost unchanged except for the gills which now flared beneath his jaw, the fins which bladed his spine and arms and webbed between his fingers. But the lower two-thirds of his body was a powerful, aquiline tail, shimmering pearl-white, which thrashed about the boat as he did he best to drag himself upright and over to Tech who had been knocked to the floor in shock.
For a moment the brothers hung face to face, Tech blinking in stunned silence behind his glasses, Crosshair’s own penetrating gaze narrowed in suspicion. The eponymous ink around his orbit was salt-faded, but it was definitely him, the brother he had last seen on a receding platform as they left Kamino. The brother whose voice had called out a warning on a long-distance radio signal which he hadn’t known would reach its target–
“Plan 88. You were supposed to hide.”
Crosshair’s voice, a sibilant hiss, cracked with emotion. Heartbreak fractured across his features, quickly replaced by a scowl, as though challenging Tech to defy him.
Tech’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, before he pushed himself forwards. Instead of words, he flung his arms round his brother, clinging on to his neck and holding him close.
“I’m glad you’re alive.” The words were choked into the space beneath Crosshair’s gills, and the salt dampness of his skin hid any tears Tech did not want to admit to shedding.
Crosshair’s arms encircled him in response, crushing, and scales and skin chafed together as the brothers held each other. Then Tech became aware of the ragged rattling of his brother’s breath, the heaving of his chest, and he pulled back with concern.
Hunter was there, helping support Crosshair, guiding their reluctant brother back to the edge of the boat. With a stubborn snort Crosshair slithered over the edge, back into the water; after a moment beneath the waves he surfaced again, beside Omega, shooting a wounded look at the boat. At Hunter.
“You didn’t tell me he lived.” The accusation was snarled, and Tech looked in confusion between his twin and Hunter. “You told me–”
“The truth,” said Hunter shortly, though he looked ready to break under the attack. “He was hurt. Badly hurt, trying to rescue you.” Then, with some vehemence, “You’d have beached yourself and suffocated trying to get to him if I’d told you he was on Pabu. Of course I didn’t say anything.”
Crosshair turned his accusing stare on Omega. “You knew?”
His sister rolled her eyes, and shot an apologetic look at Tech. “Yes. And Hunter’s right. We really thought it was for the best.”
“Wrecker has been trying to bring you down here for weeks,” said Hunter softly, flashing a faint, guilty smile towards Tech. “You turned him down every time he asked you about going fishing.”
“I have no interest in fishing,” said Tech bluntly, still a little dazed. “However, now that I know what is out here…”
He trailed off, leaning over the edge of the boat and reaching one hand down towards the water. As one, Omega and Crosshair swam forwards, reaching up and capturing his hand in their own until all three of them were clasped, a single point of union and reunion.
Can you do more of x men reader (ex they find reader fighting a sentinel?) The first one is amazing, by the way 👏
I apologize i took like half a year to answer but here we are! I absolutely love the idea and thank you for requesting to make this happen :)
Intangibility : incapable of being touched : having no physical existence : not tangible or corporeal.
---------------------------------------
There's no way out for you now for sure. Well maybe there is but whatever. The sentinel just stood there waiting for you to move or try anything, but you were frozen in fear. You can't just stand there forever?! Trying to look for a way the sentinel makes it move to attack you, but it's hand goes right through you. You're glad your mutation is too rare for Trask to know about it, his unknowledge of it just saved your goddamn life!
"Prime, are you seeing this!? One of the decepticons has gone wild and attacking civilians!"
"We'll deal with it, agent fowler. Autobots, roll out!"
You heard a weird noise, but you don't have the time to process it when it's your life on the line. Tears of panic bubbling your eyes made it hard to see, you can't stay in this form for too long. You try to move and change form but the sentinel is still trying to kill you. No long after a loud noise and electric cracking was heard. "Killing humans is new for the decepticons... Are you okay, human?" Looking up you see a new robot with more colour and an actual face. "Scared but alive and unharmed." It's foolish for you to do this, but you change your existence back to normal. Now you just realized. There is big. Ass. Robots. In front of you, in panic your mutation went off. "You won't kill me right. Like the sentinels?" The robot raised a metal brow. "Sentinels? That's a new decepticon i've never heard off." Decepticons? The hell is that? "Sir, sentinels are human technology, made to destroy mutants..not whatever you just said."
Feeling safe enough you turn back to normal and glance at the robots in front of you. "You're not from earth, aren't you?" The bots look at you with almost worry in their optics. "The secrets safe with me. I'm hiding from the government as well. Go Team hiders, i guess."
Optimus Prime
He didn't even know mutants are a thing on earth.
He took you under his "wings" since you're hiding for your own life and treats you like one of his own.
Is actually amazed of your mutation and shares his thoughts on it to you.
He knows it's a big threat if the decepticons find out about you or your mutation, if that happens, you will be kept in base 24/7
Questions humanitys acts to kill every mutant possible. They're an unique thing among humans.
Doesn't like you showing off your mutation of asking anyone of the bots to try and kick you, but the concern he had vanished, the moment wheeljacks ped went through you.
If you find any other mutants they sadly can't stay at the base, but he's glad you understand.
Talks to Agent Fowler about the sentinels and killing of decent human beings, but is actually sad if nothing changes in the government
Ratchet
Is annoyed about a new human arriving to the base, but maybe you're not that bad he hopes.
Turns out you're his new favorite the moment he finds your presence calming and actually nice.
I hope you know when to be quiet. Ratchet likes his quite working time.
If you don't then you're getting treated like Miko for sure:)
You might get close to him like Raf! Father and Son right there :,)
He's glad he doesn't need to watch his step if you're the only "human" there.
You sad? Das not good, you get a first row view of ratchet working = You get to sit on his shoulder
Arcee
Wonders how in the hell you survived that sentinel until she sees your ability.
Doesn't worry about watching her step if you're the only 'human' there since you just vanish through her peds.
Her spark skips a beat if wheeljack tries to kick you more than once.
But does genuinely care about you so she watches her step atleast a little so you don't feel bad :)
Talks to you if you feel like an outcast since you're being hunted down by sentinels, because people think you're "dangerous"
Is actually a great listener and takes you for drives to thin about things.
NEW SIS!!!
Bumblebee
He would try and attack the sentinel just to protect you as a regural human, or so atleast he thought you were.
Was frightened how you thought the team was going to kill you :,)
If you feel sad he gives you comfort even if you don't understand him, he also gives great soft hugs <3
Mutation or not you're awesome!! He does want to learn about humans and mutants, but his voice box denies him from it. Raf is his translator and you're biggest helper then!
Still watches his steps no matter if you could dodge it
Bulkhead & Wheeljack
Bulkhead is confused as always, Wheeljack thinks it's pretty cool and ofc he wants proof. A little test of a kick won't hurt right? Of course it didn't, but gave everybot a spark attack <3
They wanted to wreck that sentinel so bad! Why kill other humans when they're devine?! Because humanity sucks
Bulkhead asks how do you live with it a lot of the times even if you have answered before. He's so confused that he doesn't even realize you can control it.
Won't stress about you tagging along to missions, but still follow optimus' command of not bringing humans to the battlefield (Rule is broken twice now!)
Wheeljack fights with Ultra Magnus about protocols just because he wanted to go for a drive with you and talk about both of your past
Smokescreen
Still thinks the sentinel is an decepticon, but no it is not :)
As always find your mutation cool and supports you through it all since he's so sweet and a lively young bot.
You're on duty to take you home or accompany you? ON IT SIR! Won't complain at all to be with a mutant. If he ever hears you've been laughed at he does wish to go and kick their asses! NOBODY BULLIES HIS COOLEST BESTIE EVER!!!
Hopes you like racing! He's a sports car ofc he goes fast!
Couldn't imagine being an outcast, but he doesn't think you are.
Almost screamed like a girl when wheeljack kicked you D:
Thought he fell in love when he saw you using your mutation, maybe he did, but we won't know?
Ultra Magnus
Stood next to Optimus looking at you with nothing, but a cold gaze. Stays in protocol, no soft talks or anything.
You know him, Protocol this protocol that so stay in line okay?
Might go soft on you JUST A LITTLE BIT!!Since you're situation is not that great. So you get to do few things more than Miko, Jack or Raf and get away with it.
Took all his frustration on Wheeljack when he tested you and tried to kick you D:
You feel sad? You will get a few supportive or couraging words nothing else.
He's not a good comforter, you know that right? But he does his best to help you. Tell Optimus about your situation if his help didn't do much.
AN: GOD THIS TOOK A WHILE!!! SORRY FOR THE WAIT AND I DO HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!! It's 0.37 and I'm tired okay so the end might be a little bit rushed :,) BUT EVERYTHING ELSE ASIDE!!! ENJOY
The EPA is prioritizing review of new chemicals to be used in data centers. Experts say this could lead to the fast approval of new types of
In recent months, the Trump administration has opened a deregulatory floodgate in the name of building more data centers. Among other things, this has involved ordering rollbacks of clean water regulations and opening up public lands to coal mining.
Now, it’s turning its eye to chemical regulation with a new policy that could, experts say, potentially fast-track the approval of new chemicals for use in the US—including new types of forever chemicals—with limited oversight.
In September, the EPA announced it would be prioritizing the regulatory review of new chemicals used in data centers or related projects. The announcement is part of a sweeping set of overhauls pushed by the Trump administration following several executive orders related to AI and a White House AI Action Plan, both rolled out in July. The Action Plan was formed after soliciting more than 10,000 public comments, which included hundreds from industry interests. These actions, the White House has said, will usher in a “golden age for American manufacturing and technological dominance.”
“I think they want to impose as few restrictions as possible on chemicals,” says Greg Schweer, who served as the EPA chief of the new chemicals management branch between 2008 and 2020. “In previous administrations, political people stayed out of [chemical regulation]—they tried to let science win. Here, the industry has a willing set of ears that wants to listen to their opinions.”
September’s announcement was part of a larger push to expedite new chemical reviews at the EPA. The new chemical review process underwent a significant reform in 2016; in the decade since, a backlog of chemical reviews has piled up at the agency, garnering complaints from industry and bipartisan criticism from lawmakers. Clearing out that backlog has been a priority of Trump’s second-term EPA. Helping to lead that charge at the agency are several former chemical industry executives, lobbyists, and lawyers.
“We inherited a massive backlog of new chemical reviews from the Biden Administration which is getting in the way of projects as it pertains to data center and artificial intelligence projects,” EPA administrator Lee Zeldin said in a statement. “The Trump EPA wants to get out of the way and help speed up progress on these critical developments, as opposed to gumming up the works.”
As part of September’s announcement, the EPA created instructions for companies to submit documentation showing that the chemical for which they are seeking expedited review is part of a “qualifying project.” Companies must prove that the substance they want reviewed more quickly will be used in data centers or “covered component projects.” That includes projects that add at least 100 megawatts to the electric grid or projects that “[protect] national security,” as well as any projects deemed applicable by the secretary of defense, the secretary of the interior, the secretary of commerce, or the secretary of energy.
In an email responding to questions about the new program, the EPA said that chemicals that meet the criteria would simply be fast-tracked to the front of the line.
“No part of the new chemicals review process will be skipped or bypassed for chemicals that meet the criteria for data center or covered component projects,” agency press secretary Brigit Hirsch said in an email. “The new chemical review process will be the same for these chemicals as it is for all other new chemical submissions, upholding the same high level of scientific integrity and maintaining the same thresholds for risk determinations.”
But Schweer fears that the new policy could be used by chemical manufacturers to drive through new or existing chemicals with little oversight.
“There are some really big loopholes in here to get chemicals through,” Schweer says. “If you’ve got some friend at the Department of Defense or the Department of Commerce, all you have to do is get that person to send a letter saying, ‘This is a qualifying project.’ There’s no proof involved.”
Political pressure to get a chemical approved, Schweer alleges, could also lead to sloppiness on the part of agency reviewers. “If you have to do things quickly, you look for shortcuts, and you don’t always have time to look at all the data very well.”
Experts tell WIRED that physical data centers themselves are unlikely to be a major source of chemical applications under this new policy. Walter Leclerc, an independent health and safety consultant to the data center industry, points out that many of the chemicals currently used in data centers are already used in a variety of other industries. Most of those chemicals, including lubricants, fire suppressants, and water treatment chemicals, are not specific to data centers—they “are no different from [what’s used in] Suzie and John’s industrial business.” he says.
But there is one area of data center development where newer chemicals might be game changers. Keeping the equipment inside data centers cool is a huge component of their operating costs. One technique that can help cut these costs, called immersion cooling, involves dunking server racks and other machinery in a special liquid that does not conduct electricity. A subtype of immersion cooling, known as two-phase immersion cooling, takes this one step further. The liquid boils off into gas that then hits a coil, turns back into a liquid, and drips back into the tank.
These cooling techniques can reduce the need for fans, pumps, and other equipment, and can save data centers a lot of money in the long run on their electricity bills. The market for specialty cooling liquids for data centers has skyrocketed in recent years, with big names like Exxon and Shell getting into the game.
“Immersion cooling is the best,” Leclerc says. “The problem is it’s got all the environmental effects.”
Some of the substances used in two-phase immersion cooling largely contain fluorine and carbon, which help create types of per- and polyfluoroalkyl chemicals (PFAS). Colloquially called “forever chemicals” because of how long they persist in the environment, some of these chemicals have been linked to a wide variety of human health problems, from increased risk of cancer and reproductive issues to suppressed immune response. They have also been subject to increased regulation in recent years, with the EU proposing working towards what could be a particularly strict ban on PFAS. Several US states are also moving to restrict or eliminate the chemicals. (While the Trump administration has said that PFAS regulation is a priority, it has begun to roll back some Biden-era rules on some of these chemicals.)
Some bigger companies seem well aware of the risks of using forever chemicals in their cooling systems—especially following legal battles and settlements that have hurt PFAS producers like 3M, which has pledged to discontinue manufacturing and using PFAS this year. A study released in April, coauthored by Microsoft researchers, on the environmental life cycles of data center cooling techniques noted that “emerging PFAS regulations in the European Union and the United States” could “restrict” the use of two-phase immersion cooling.
While Microsoft has touted its research into two-phase cooling in the past, including a hyped-up pilot project at a data center in Washington, Microsoft spokesperson Donna Whitehead told WIRED that the company “is not currently using immersion cooling technologies in [its] data center operations.” Companies like Exxon and Shell, meanwhile, take care to advertise their cooling liquids—which are not used in two-phase cooling—as “PFAS-free.”
But at least one chemical giant—Chemours—has introduced new products for use in two-phase immersion in recent years. After developing a line of products that uses fluids containing fluoride, hydrogen, and carbon, which can be types of PFAS, Chemours collaborated with Samsung to test one liquid’s performance earlier this year. In August the Delaware-based company said that “testing for subsequent generations will begin in the months ahead.” (While the chemical compounds being used in these products have not been linked to specific health effects, some scientists are concerned about forever chemicals as a larger class.) Chemours has emphasized in its sustainability reports that these fluids could help reduce the energy needed to cool data centers by up to 90 percent.
In public comments it submitted on the Trump administration’s AI Action Plan, Chemours encouraged reforms to the new chemicals program in order to allow the country to “swiftly adopt new technologies that can drive [the US’s] competitiveness globally.” According to a press release from 2023, the company’s two-phase cooling liquids were originally targeted to be introduced to the market this year, “pending appropriate regulatory approvals.”
Chemours, which spun off from multinational chemical company DuPont in 2015, has agreed to pay out hundreds of millions of dollars worth of settlements related to PFAS pollution in recent years. The company, along with DuPont and other chemical companies, still faces a number of multinational lawsuits from cities, counties, and states over pollution from PFAS production.
In response to questions on its two-phase cooling products from WIRED, including whether or not the company planned to submit chemicals for fast-tracked consideration under the administration’s new data center exemption, Chemours spokesperson Cassie Olszewski said the company is “in the process of commercializing our two-phase immersion cooling fluid, which will require relevant regulatory approvals.”
“Our work in this area has been focused on developing more sustainable and efficient cooling solutions that would allow data centers to consume less energy, water, and footprint while effectively managing the increasing amount of heat generated by the next generation of chips with higher processing power,” Olszewski said.
These chips could also be a significant source of new chemicals. Both Schweer and Jonathan Kalmuss-Katz, a lawyer at environmental nonprofit Earthjustice, say that the semiconductor industry, which produces the chips that provide the computing power in data centers, stands to gain significantly from the expedited review process. The semiconductor manufacturing process uses forever chemicals at multiple different points of production, including in the crucial photolithography process, which uses light to transfer patterns to the surface of silicon wafers.
Schweer says that in his last few years working at the EPA, this industry submitted a large number of applications for new chemicals. Kalmuss-Katz says that semiconductor manufacturers “are a main driver of new chemicals.”
“The administration has this kind of AI-at-all-costs mindset, where you’re rushing to build more and more data centers and chip fabs without any meaningful plan for dealing with their climate impacts, their natural resource impacts, and the toxic substances that are being used and released from these new facilities,” he says.
Lobbying documents show that the semiconductor industry has been asking for changes this year to the EPA’s new-chemicals program. In March, Nancy Beck, a former policy director for an industry lobbyist group who now leads the Office of Chemical Safety and Pollution Prevention, the office that oversees new chemical reviews, met with representatives from SEMI, a global advocacy organization for the industry. The meeting was initially organized to discuss the “EPA’s approach to regulations on PFAS and other chemicals that are essential to semiconductor manufacturing,” according to emails obtained by WIRED via a Freedom of Information Act request. Emails show that Beck suggested during the meeting that the lobbying group follow up with a public comment in support of changes to the new chemicals program, which the group sent over the next month in a letter. ("The Trump EPA encourages stakeholders to submit and document their comments on proposed rules so that we get a diverse array of perspectives," says Hirsch, the EPA spokesperson.)
“Making the United States the global capital of artificial intelligence (Al) … will depend on the country’s ability to significantly expand domestic production of semiconductors and reshore large portions of the semiconductor manufacturing supply chain,” the letter from SEMI to Beck reads. “This can only be realized through a regulatory approach that effectively balances risk-based controls with ensuring access to chemicals that are vital to the production of semiconductors.” (SEMI declined to comment for this article.)
Companies don’t have to develop data centers directly—or even components that go into data centers, like semiconductors—to benefit from the EPA’s new policy. Both this summer’s AI executive orders and the EPA’s new policy open the door to fast-track chemicals far beyond those used only, or even primarily, within data centers. This, experts tell WIRED, could enable a wide variety of companies to try and get approval for their new products by linking them to data center construction.
“If [a company has] planned a data center, they’re not gonna be waiting around for a new chemical to be approved by the agency,” Schweer says. “They should have everything they need ready to go. That doesn’t mean that somebody won’t use [the new policy] as an excuse to try to get some chemical through.”
Both Leclerc, the data center specialist, and Schweer support reforms to the new chemical review program and clearing the backlog of chemical reviews from the agency. But they both expressed concerns about the new data center policy.
Making it quicker and easier for chemicals to go through the EPA is “a pro-growth move,” Leclerc says. “But there’s definitely long-term safety implications.”
After reading about the queef comment anon sent, that means cybertronians have their own form of gynecologists right?
And since not all cybs can be carriers (I assume only a certain selected group is) Would birth hurt like humans? Do they tear when pushing out their sparklings? And could emergency “C-sections” be performed if the carrier is having issues pushing?
Sorry for the ramble I just love all this kinda stuff.
Why not?
Cybertronians do have specialists that focus on reproductive health and fertility. It's their version of a gynecologist, an andrologist, and an endocrinologist/cardiologist all rolled into one doctor since their methods of reproduction are centered on the spark.
When it comes to the question: who can carry? It depends on the story or verse I'm building, but-
I do like to think there are three primary methods to carry: budding (asexual), sparklet (sexual), and full gestation (sexual).
Sparklets are initially formed against a parent's and tethered by its rotation. In this method, any mech or femme, regardless of their reproductive hardware, can be a carrier as long as their spark can sustain and nurture a sparklet's density and pull. Their partner(s) help with the process via spark merges, which heavily influences the sparklet's coding. Once a sparklet is sufficiently strong enough to be on its own, it's medically 'sniped' away to be dropped into a batch of prepared cybermatter/sentio metallico to finish the rest of its growth and development. Think of it as an artificial womb and test tube baby.
Should a sparklet drop inside their carrier, it's now classified as a full-carriage. As long as a mech or femme has a fully functional gestational chamber, this method is available.
Carriage is its own specialty since it could encompass so many complications.
I'm boring with childbirth because I do like it when newsparks emerge from their carriers similar to a human: head first, soft and squishy, and very dependent on their parents. (Because I got an excuse for why Functionists went ewwww, it's too organic and/or collective trauma from the Quintesson occupation and try to outright ban it/manufacture it away.)
C-sections are an absolute last-ditch effort to save the carrier and/or the newspark. Medics would exhaust other interventions, such as an episiotomy, forceps, and accessing a medical port to code the valve calipers to widen to its maximum capacity and reach a hand inside. This is because, unlike nearly all other parts and systems of a Cybertronian, a gestational chamber is notoriously difficult to replace, nor is it meant to be opened by surgical means.
A C-section would be their equivalent of a hysterectomy since it's irrevocably damaged by surgical intervention. This system is so complex and finicky as it's not only entwined with both spark biosignature and valve systems, but the mechanisms on how it transforms external fluids into living metal of another being is not very understood. This part can not be replicated at their current technology. The only replacement is done by donation, but so many variables need to be lined up to get it operational and function decently that it's easier for a mecha to climb up the social caste or win the lottery back to back to back.
Imagine the Cybertronian medics screaming and hollering how a human uterus can heal after C-section. The medics will be pestering the nearby humans with this experience.
The Fine Line: Act II (masterlist)
Data Collection + Analysis
Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader
Warnings: angst (no comfort in this part)
Word Count: 2.6k
III. Data Collection
So perhaps, at this point, Al-Haitham believes he simply tolerates you. You’re notthat annoying, in fact, throughout this entire research process, you’ve been rather helpful and have filled in some of the gaps that he’d glossed over while analyzing works. The more time he spends with you, sitting close to one another in the confines of one of your offices, or walking through the streets of Sumeru City to take a break (and grab a drink), the more he realizes there’s much he isn’t aware of when it comes to you.
He quickly learns what your favourite drink is at Puspa Cafe and that you like to sit at the little table in the back corner that you’ve silently claimed as your own. To others, it’s mostly hidden but it offers a view of almost everyone in the cafe, something Al-Haitham thinks would be useful if he’s trailing anyone. But you remind him, time after time again, that there’s no reason for him to be so alert when it’s just the two of you.
“You need to learn to relax.” You hum, tracing the rim of your cup with your finger as you watch steam curl in front of your eyes, brushing against your cheek and offering you a wisp of warmth. “Take a vacation or something. You work too hard, it’s not healthy, you know.” You say it so nonchalantly but there’s still that lingering concern that Al-Haitham can’t help but hold on to. Do you really care that much?
He realizes that you do when you start showing up to his office on days when he doesn’t have meetings scheduled just to pop in to see if he’s had anything to eat yet. He likes to roll his eyes and bluntly state that he is well aware of his health and he has eaten already, but on the late nights when his candle is beginning to flicker away, your interruption to his work is welcomed, not that he’d tell you that.
“There’s this new stall I want to try, come on!” He knows you’re lying about not having tried it before when he saw you munching on a snack from said stall just a few days prior. But he finds that he appreciates your offer and as his candle finally flickers out for the night, you tug him out of the Akademiya to enjoy a quick meal before he’s left to deal with whatever nonsense Kaveh has waiting for him at home.
He won’t admit it, but it’s a bit refreshing to have someone else’s perspective on his work. So when you both venture to the desert, Al-Haitham finds that he’s looking forward to spending some time with you. You’re rather excited, rambling off random facts with a bounce to your step as you nudge him every now and then. He doesn’t think he’s seen you get this up and close with someone.
But the more time the two of you spend in the desert conducting these research expeditions, he quickly comes to the conclusion that the desert heat is getting to him. It’s why he’s become rather irritable now. Grains of sand stick to his skin as the sun beats down around the two of you. Aaru Village only provides some comfort, and though Candance has graciously allowed the two of you to stay, it’s not enough to calm the growing tension between the two of you. A day-long expedition gone wrong had forced both you and Al-Haitham to engage in a tiresome fight with the runic technology within the pyramids. Your Visions flicker weakly at your sides as you avoid one another in a small room of two beds. Exhaustion clings to your form, feet dragging against the floor as you try to steal subtle glances at Al-Haitham.
“Stop that, I can feel you staring.” His voice is sharp. You mumble an apology and hurry to gather the papers that have been spread out over the desk. Your findings for the day were scarce. Instead of looking over ruins and trying to translate the ancient languages, the both of you had spent most of the day running.
---------
It had been a minor slip up, one of your sleeves getting caught in stone as you were both already running from one of the primal constructs. A ripped sleeve led to your bracelet catching in the fabric and being tugged off your wrist. You hadn’t even thought twice about going back to grab it, accidentally stepping on a pressured piece of stone and activating one of the preset traps of the temple. Al-Haitham stared at you in shock, his eyes flickering between the grumbling stone and sand that fell around you both to the bracelet that hung off the stone. You couldn’t seriously be thinking about going back for it.
“Are you kidding me?!” He reached to grab your wrist but you had avoided his hand, darting out of the way to lunge towards the piece of jewelry. He yelled your name again yet you chose to ignore it, running back to grasp the small piece of jewelry. The familiar hum of the primal constructs appeared in front of you, causing a rush of fear to spark in your chest. Scrambling back, you could only cry out an apology as Al-Haitham cursed your name as you both ran from the temple.
---------
And now, as the two of you had returned to Aaru Village, the awkwardness between you and the Scribe was palpable. You roll your fingers along the bracelet, trying to focus on the smooth stone beneath your touch. Al-Haitham’s upset with you, there’s no doubt about it. With his sharp replies and exasperated looks in your direction, you’re not quite sure how to approach him. Seeing Al-Haitham upset with other people was one thing, you’ve seen how he can wield his words and act spiteful, yet it’s never been directed towards you. Until now.
“Can we talk about today?” You break through the silence. The room illuminated only by two candles on his side, he sits in bed, legs outstretched beneath the blanket as his eyes scan over the book in front of it. It’s a physics book, one you’ve seen him read multiple times now, and no matter how many times you’ve commented on it, you’ve come to learn that it’s somehow one of Al-Haitham’s favoured books. Honestly, you can’t imagine why.
“What could we possibly talk about right now?” He doesn’t even look up from his book. You swallow thickly. It’s one thing to be on the receiving end of his playful nonchalance that you’ve always known has never held any real hatred towards you (whether he realizes that or not), but it’s another thing to be faced withthis .
You sigh and stand up straighter from your place next to the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put us in that much of a compromisable position.” You’re greeted with silence. You wait, the silence starting to feel as if it’s closing in on you, wrapping around your body and whispering in your ear thatAl-Haitham hates you. Truly .
“Forget it.” He grumbles, snapping his book shut, “We’ll talk about it when we meet next week.” He doesn’t wait for you to say anything before he’s extinguishing the lights, bathing the room in darkness save for the sliver of light that streams from a window that stares up at the moon.
Al-Haitham pretends he doesn’t hear the shakiness in your breathing as you slip into bed.
IV. Analysis
The tension in his office is uncomfortably thick. He leans against his desk, arms crossed and beautiful eyes boring into you as if he could read your thoughts. There’s no hint of a smile or any sign of that hidden amusement he usually reserves for you. The project is finished now, the two of you had worked over the past week through correspondence until the final paper was complete, tucked in the folder in your hands. Standing in his bare office, it feels like it could slip from your hands with how sweaty your fingers are. The research papers holding together this precarious relationship could fall at any moment and spill across his pristine floors. And you know well enough he wouldn’t bother to help clean up the mess.
“I’m sorry.” You suck up your pride, gaze falling to the floor as you stand in front of him. The bracelet, the same one Kaveh had gifted you, the same one that Al-Haitham’s stared at more times than you can count, the same one that nearly cost your lives, feels heavy against your wrist. It peeks out from your sleeve, feeling as if it were burning against your skin.
Al-Haitham scoffs, “We— you could have died, and all you can say is sorry?” That familiar cruel smirk comes across his face. You can feel it coming, the words that are poised and ready to strike, meant to cut deep and send you running. But despite the mental preparation you try to build up, it doesn’t help when he begins speaking again.
“It’s a damn bracelet. Are you so prideful and attached to those stones that you decide to risk your life to get it back?” There’s no hint of sympathy in his tone, just spite and the knives that are woven into his words. “You were being irrational. Again.” Al-Haitham scoffs, brushing past you and ensuring his shoulder slams into yours. “You keep letting your emotions cloud your judgement, it’ll get you nowhere. Wake up from whatever ridiculous daydream you’ve caught yourself in.” There’s no kindness in his eyes, just anger and built up frustration.
“You call yourself a scholar and yet you pull this kind of stupid, life-risking stunt? You could have died, and then what would I be able to do? How do you think I would feel? Archons, I’m so disappointed in you. Time and time again you prove you’re not equipped for this sort of work.” You canfeel it. His carefully crafted words that he spits at you, his face still so calm it’s terrifying. And you know he relishes in the way you shrink into yourself. You whirl around, hands clenched and nails digging into your palms as you shout his name.
“You—! You’re so cruel!” You spit out the words, uncaring about the waver in your tone. “Do you ever care about what you say?! Don’t youever realize the impact of your words?!” Al-Haitham stares at you. He doesn’t know what to say, not when his eyes are locked on yours and he’s suddenly coming to the realization that maybe he should have been more careful. He watches you take a shuddering breath, the tremble of your bottom lip as tears pool in your eyes. But you don’t let them fall, hastily wiping them away before they spill down your cheeks. Losing your composure in front of the pretty, wonderful, egotistical scribe Al-Haitham was humiliating enough. Wiping away the tears before they could fall was a last attempt to preserve whatever dignity you had left. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you hold his gaze. Let him see. Let him see the impact of his words, the sharp sentences that you had let dig into your skin for Archons knows how long.Let him see. Let him see how long you’ve put up with his sarcasm and underhand comments you pretended to brush off. From your time as Akademiya students until now, it seems as if bad habits never die easy.
“You, the great, perfect, always-doing-good, Scribe Al-Haitham has no issue trampling over everyone else.” Your breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling as you let the words bubble up. “You only ever care about yourself. That’s how you’ve always been. Can’t you see how much it hurts other people, how much it hurts me? For once in your life, Al-Haitham, can’t you be more compassionate?!” You take a deep breath to steady yourself, trying to recollect yourself after crumbling in front of him. Al-Haitham remains silent, not that you particularly care anymore. If he wants to continue throwing this friendship back in your face, then honestly, is there a reason to maintain such a relationship? You’re well aware of how he’s perceived by others and your friends are still wary of his actions and words. You don’t blame them.
Dehya never fails to scowl in his direction. She admits that he’s incredibly smart and strong, but he still gets on her nerves.He’s not a friend of mine, that’s for sure. But, he seems to treat you nicer. Just stay alert. You wish you had listened to her more, it was as if she could see deeper into his character even if you had known him longer.
Cyno would always be skeptical and had no issue voicing his dislike of the Scribe.He’s too cocky for his own good. I respect him, but regardless, if he does something, you let me know . And seeing that you’ve both planned to meet with one another in the next coming weeks, he’ll be able to see through whatever facade you might try to put up. It’s what makes Cyno such a great friend.
Nilou was always the nicest, saying that she didn’t know him well enough for her to properly judge his character. Always open to possibilities, you’re thankful that she never outwardly expressed any serious dislike towards him, not that you think she would or could.He cares for you in a unique way, I think it’s rather endearing. Still, should problems arise, you know you can always come to me! Perhaps speaking with Nilou about this might be a good decision.
“Look I—”
“No.” You take another shuddering breath. “No, you’re done talking. I don’t want to hear from you.” Al-Haitham swallows thickly. It’s as if he can feel the weight of his own words now trying to crush him. For once, he doesn’t know what to say. He’s never seen you so frantic, your composure lost to the thick, tension filled air around you both. He sees the way your fingers trace over the bracelet. Thatdamn bracelet that you care for so much. Would it be the same if he had given you a gift like that? But his attention is redirected to your face as you sniffle and take deep breaths. Al-Haitham doesn’t know what to do. Ironically, he’s never been good with words of comfort. He’s always let rationality be his guide, let boredom and indifference lace his tone as he says things without a care, because in the end, things always work out, right?
“We finished the investigation. We’re done.” Your hands unclench, shoulders dropping and head turning away. You look down at the folder of papers in your hands, letting yourself trace over his handwriting of yours and his name at the top. Walking towards him, you meet his eyes for a brief second, allowing him to see a glimpse into the emotions swimming in your mind.
You shove the folder against his chest, “If there’s something wrong with the report, send a message to my office. You don’t have to see me again. So don’t come looking for me, for both of our sakes.” You leave him with scrambling hands, barely catching the folder and turning to stare at your quickly retreating figure. The door clicks shut behind you and his office is cast into silence. Suddenly it feels too big, too empty, too quiet without your mindless rambles and the smell of your faint perfume lingers around his desk. Your words replay in his head and the image of your teary eyes and trembling lips feels like it’s being branded into his memory. And suddenly, Al-Haitham realizes that he might have lost his closest friend, for good.
He misses you already.
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3
A/N: i hope the dialogue wasn't too heavy ahhhh
Taglist:
@thetwinkims@sk1nn1p3nn1s@alhaithamfanindenial@meowzurii@crazypriestess@reallypurplesuit @ittosoneandoniwife @strawberry1894
if your handle is striked-through, i can’t tag you so please check your settings so i can!
Alex Turner opens up about The Car, Arctic Monkeys' 20th anniversary album
The frontman of the British band that performs at Primavera Sound, in São Paulo, invests in more abstract lyrics in new album
Published October 16 2022, by Rodrigo Salem
Alex Turner is not satisfied with the lighting in the room chosen as the setting for our interview. It's a small, cozy hipster hotel in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles, one of those above a cafe with tables occupied by young people at the computer, and no lines at cash registers that don't accept cash.
The frontman of Arctic Monkeys, the biggest rock band to come out of the UK in the last 20 years, flips the switches until he finds the perfect balance of light. "Is this okay for you?" he asks, but doesn't seem to care too much about the answer.
Turner likes to have complete control over his environment. "Where do you want to sit? This will be the best place, right?" he asks, coffee in hand, already standing in front of a small beige table below the lamp that insisted on not emanating the adequate light.
Shy to the point of never completing a full sentence, as if his mouth didn't keep up with his fast brain, Turner is acutely aware of his obsession with control and attention to detail, something that has only grown bigger in the last few years at the helm of the band. But the singer, guitarist and songwriter lived something different in the creation of The Car, the group's seventh album, which will be released worldwide this week.
After composing the piano demos alone for much of the pandemic, he was reunited with the rest of the band over the summer of last year, in a secluded house that was part of a 12th-century monastery in Suffolk, on the east coast of England.
"We hadn't done that since the first album. I had extra film rolls and I took my 16mm camera to film everything and keep myself busy during the recording. At first, I just wanted to record the memory, but it seemed to help in the work environment, because I stepped out of the process a bit and gave everyone more space," he says.
"James [Ford, record producer] was delighted, because I wasn't looking over his shoulder all the time and being a twat."
The musician's hobby as a filmmaker was not the only novelty in the three weeks of work in the makeshift studio, complete with a piano borrowed from a resident there and the technological arsenal brought in from London. The period was essential for Arctic Monkeys to remember that they are still a rock group formed by friends.
"We had a lot of laughs and watched the Euro Cup together. It was important to have that band energy again," says Turner, revealing that Body Paint, The Car's latest single, only took its final form because of this camaraderie. "The distorted guitar at the end just came about because I wanted to do that solo with them. It sounds obvious, but being together changes the dynamics of how I play."
Ironically, the album's main theme seems to circle around characters that don't seem to fit the environment they're in. In Body Paint itself, which wouldn't be out of place in one of George Martin's orchestrated productions for The Beatles, Turner sings that he's "keeping on [his] costume and calling it a writing tool."
Jet Skis On The Moat, played on a sultry guitar and with a broken rhythm reminiscent of U2's The Playboy Mansion, brings a Hollywood psychedelic mood—"jet skis on the moat / they filmed everything in CinemaScope, but this is the last time you will ride them, though".
"I was imagining this perception of us living like rock stars in a fantasy castle on a mountain, riding jet skis, disconnected from everything," says Turner.
In I Ain't Quite Where I Think I Am, he seems to describe a strange trip on a luxury yacht off the coast of France, a country where he usually goes with his girlfriend, French singer Louise Verneuil, since he moved back to England from Los Angeles. "I spend less time here, but I love this city. It's where I have my friends," he says.
Extremely protective of his privacy, Alex Turner does not confirm any theories that could refer to his life beyond music. However, he admits that feeling like a fish out of water is one of the themes of the record. "I've definitely written this time about someone who doesn't fit in," he says as he pulls out of his green jacket two folded sheets of paper filled with his lyrics and assorted notes.
I question the reason for keeping this material around and the singer lets his guard down. "I think that this way I can have these conversations more easily, and stay on the same level as other people. You've read the lyrics, listened to the record, and I thought I should do the same to meet you in the middle," he says, soon bringing back up his good-humored defenses. "And it also serves to intimidate people."
Not that he seems to want to intimidate anyone. Turner can barely look up, more concerned with focusing on some object and finding the right words for his answers. Keeping the lyrics in your pocket serves to rediscover the words of the songs.
One of the most brilliant songwriters of modern British rock and someone who has managed to portray the yearnings and feelings of an entire millennial generation, he says his lyrics come out of the space between the conscious and the unconscious.
In The Car, they seem even more abstract. "I love leaving space for lyrics not to be fully understood and to become more interesting as the years go by. I like to explore things that are difficult to talk about."
Does that mean that Alex Turner, who, two decades ago, rehearsed in a garage with Jamie Cook on guitar, Andy Nicholson on bass, later replaced by Nick O'Malley, and Matt Helders on drums, in Sheffield, is finally noticing the inevitable passage of time?
"Funny, it's hard to accept that it's been 20 years," he says. "But we're alive and active. That happens a lot when I'm singing the old songs now. I remember something, not necessarily the lyrics, but the environment, a person and the sensations of the past."
A rich past, we must add. Arctic Monkeys have gone through several phases in these two decades. It began with the confessional hip-hop-enamored rock of the first two albums, a formula that propelled the group into the stratosphere of fame. It gained weight with the stoner rock of Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age on 2009's Humbug and the stadium hard rock of 2013's AM. And it culminated in the journey away from Earth in 2018's jazzy Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino.
The Car continues the sonic exploration of their previous work, but brings guitars back to the songs and a Turner interested in using his voice as an instrument. "I don't know if Alex from 20 years ago would like this sound," he wonders. "Secretly, I wanted something along those lines then, but it wasn't within my reach at the time. On second thought, I think he would like it. But if he wouldn't like it, then fuck it," he jokes.
He admits that he changed his way of looking at music and even composing. On previous albums, he wrote the lyrics and then thought of the melody. The music now comes first.
"I made an effort to put the lyrics in sync with a melody that gives me permission to use certain words," says the musician. "I didn't focus on that in the past, I think it started on AM, when I started to change the lyrics as I was influenced by the sound in the studio."
Back on stage since a few weeks ago, Turner believes the pandemic has changed the relationship between band and audience. "The first time we performed was powerful," he says. "There's a new energy that encourages me. I'm trying not to behave the same way on stage. I think some of that comes from the younger crowd."
Brazil is going to feel this in a few days. Arctic Monkeys closes the first day of Primavera Sound, in São Paulo, on November 5th, already oiling the show with a new repertoire. "When we arrive in Brazil, I want to test two new songs and leave some old ones behind," says the singer, who already says that the next album may come out faster than expected after the long gestation of The Car.
Unable to play shows, the group spent a year polishing up the album in post-production. "We had more time to work on the record and I like to think that this had a positive influence on the final result, as we had more space to hone, think and fight for certain ideas", says Turner. "I love the idea of doing something different, like writing, recording and releasing in a week. Maybe it's a fun idea for the next project."
