#nerve bomb comics
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the rude roommate
There’s a presence following us everywhere. Insinuating itself into our lives, as we enjoy movies, TV shows and music. This rude roommate not only lives with us, but follows us to school, to work and everywhere else that we go, constantly blathering to wear us down. Posing as an indulgent pal, it offers tasty treats, with “go on, you’re worth it!” encouragements. Then, morphing into the concerned friend, it chides us “you’re getting some love handles there, buddy!” and pushes snake oil for that too. Yes, I’m talking about the shifting personas of ADVERTISING.
You don’t truly notice the ever-present & manipulative jibber jabber of advertising till it’s not a part of your life. It’s like cigarette smoking in this. I was raised by on-again-off-again smokers, and for many years worked in offices permeated by ever present cigarette smoke. Soaking in it everywhere for my entire life, it was only upon moving to California (where it’d just been banned) that I truly became aware of smoking. After living smoke-free, I couldn’t believe the stench when visiting places that still allowed it in communal spaces. My own hair & clothes reeked of it, even though I didn’t smoke myself. Bleurgh!
Likewise, after soaking in advertising my entire life, I’ve only recently lived in a (relatively) ad-free bubble, enjoying media streaming services at home for the last few years. We just watched a movie in a cinema for the first time since 2019. Tickets were almost 20 dollars each for comfortable reserved seating in a beautiful theatre. Then we had to endure 30 minutes of constant advertising blather before the film. Not movie trailers mind you, but ads for clothes, soft drinks and so on. After living ad-free, this was excruciating, and eye-opening. Absence had not made my heart grow fonder. Quite the opposite.
The deal used to be that we tolerated the buzz of ads - like blowflies at a picnic - in exchange for free movies & music (on radio & TV). Nowadays, I pay extra for the ad-free option with entertainment media. Which is a blackmail shakedown - “Pay us, or you have to watch another incontinence commercial” - but at least I understand the terms of that arrangement. I don’t understand (or accept) any deal where I pay AND get ads too (which is why I didn’t have cable TV for very long). If theatres want us to come back en masse after the stay-at-home-years of covid, then making the experience special is key. For me, paying premium prices to watch Madison Avenue Punch & Judy shows is an absolute no no.
Advertising is RUDE. The constant interruptions are simply annoying, but the purpose of the messages is insidious. In our real lives we are wary of people who constantly broadcast their own PR, because they’re trying to manipulate our perceptions of them. We must be on extra high alert for those who tell us what we are, because they’re trying to manipulate our own perceptions of ourselves.These are the goals of advertising’s trillion dollar industry. It is a nonstop psyop, fanning our hopes and inflaming our insecurities for profit.
“The spectacle of advertising creates images of false beauty so suave and so impossible to attain that you will hurt inside and never even know where the hurt comes from.”
- Robert Montgomery
Ever since humans first gathered around fires and hearths, we’ve related to each other via stories. Stories are ‘lies’, in that many of them are 100% made up, but we know that and sharing them is fun. Besides, there may actually be a truth within the story. A parable. However, the human love of stories makes us vulnerable to manipulation by stories too. This is well known on Madison Avenue. Advertising subverts the parable, where the parable’s ‘moral’ has been substituted with a plug for Brand-X.
It used to be that everyone was served the exact same ads at the same time, but we now live in the era of micro-targeted advertising. After sneakily looking through our private data, the rude roommate can now identify & hammer on each of our specific ‘problem areas’. Despite my attempts at internet ad-blocking, the rude roommate has a fairly accurate demographic profile of me, and websites I visit now display ads of male middle aged losers, worried about their dicks, bald spots, love handles & baggy eyes. The rude roommate has custom-curated these parables just for moi. If advertising was indeed your roommate, an actual person, they’d be the worst person you know. A passive aggressive, gaslighting master manipulator, and the last person you’d want constantly whispering in your ear.
“People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. — They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.”
- Banksy
“Narrative” has become a buzz word, and Hollywood folk (including story artists) now give story seminars to big companies. Wall Street, Langley, & Silicon Valley understand the appeal of storytelling, and Washington & Whitehall both use Spin Doctors to “get ahead of the story" and "control the narrative". The NSA & CIA know a little about narrative manipulation too, and even they are wary of internet advertising propaganda, and use ad-blocking software. Takes one to know one, right? Speaking of that, my own growing allergy to advertising is surely punishment for years of participation in the mass hypnosis. Yes, at one time I enabled the rude roommate, by animating parables that enticed kids to eat sugar bombs for breakfast..
Mea culpa!
Given that advertising so often subverts artforms, artists have been known to return the favour. B.U.G.A.U.P. was a collective of Sydney graffiti artists active in the 1970s/80s who specifically targeted advertising, very active when I lived in that city. Their special brandalism defaced advertising billboards to subvert the intended message of the ad, revealing the hidden truth of the unhealthy product itself. These wittily-defaced billboards on commuter routes in Sydney were talking points at office coffee pots & tea urns each morning.
Their movement spread to other cities in Australia and even to other countries (I often wondered whether Banksy knew about them) and B.U.G.A.U.P. activism ultimately led to a ban on cigarette advertising in Australia in 1994. Advertising’s corrupted parables RE-made into truth telling parables again. Utterly brilliant.
PS: Full BANKSY QUOTE on advertising (as illustrated by Gavin Aung Than).
From www.James-Baker.com
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Take the damn shot
A/N: Ohhhhh I've spiraled. Going from Mandalorian fics to writing about a radioactive cowboy with no nose within a couple weeks of each other is totally healthy :)
Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader
WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence.
Summary: A single quiet day in the saloon is all you wanted. But somehow, your Ghoul partner is pulling his gun and you're covered in another person's blood. Honestly, it's just typical.
Word Count: 1.7k+
(GIF Credit to @djo)
The Ghoul hates to admit it, but he needs you.
In the same sick and twisted, goddamned way he needs the Vials to stay sane, he needs you next to him. When poison air grows thick and the scorching sun sinks beyond a brutalized horizon, you’re always at his side. Day in and day out, you stick around. Full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the fucked up world you’re all stuck in.
And Cooper’s not one for generosity anymore, but he gives you credit a lot of the time. He knows he can be nasty, and you don’t mind one bit. In spite of his callousness and general disregard for safety, you put on a chipper attitude and tug him (sometimes physically) along to the next town. Outwardly innocent but filled with a mutual hatred for Vault-Tec and what its influence had done to the world and yourself, you’d quickly become his diamond in the rough.
And you shine particularly bright in the shack of a building the Wasteland called a saloon. You’ve made careful friends with a couple of gray-haired biddies- presumably the owners- in the back of the room, and chat happily with them. Cooper sits off to the side behind you, a bottle of the local brew dangling between his fingers. He’s content for the first time in a while; ass in a creaky rocking chair and boots kicked up on an old milk crate. The brim of his hat is pulled down to hide the majority of his face, but eyes wander lazily from you to the front door.
Cooper didn’t think many things were nice any longer, but listening to you prattle on with the women warmed something in his dead heart.
“You’re awfully pretty for this place.” The older of the two women, sporting a single eye and an impressively neat beehive style, compliments you. “Gotta be out of the Vaults with that skin.”
The Ghoul tenses, knowing the mention of your 200-year prison would strike a nerve.
“Yeah. I’m from before the war, actually.” You say it plainly and chase it down with a swig of liquor. “Fuckin’ Vault-Tec.”
The Ghoul’s familiar with your story, from you finding out about the plan to drop homemade bombs on American citizens to your confrontation with the executive group in Vault 31. Little did you know, you’d be sneaking in with no chance for escape. Cooper tightens his fist at the thought of Hank MacLean shoving you carelessly into a cryopod and slamming the button to lock you in. You’d relayed the story to him with watery eyes, and that’s something he absolutely loathed. He had enough personal beef with Hank that your trauma added to his ever-growing list of things to be absolutely pissed-the-fuck-off about.
Finch and Sparrow, as they were so comically named, clutch their pearls in sadness as you tell your story. They fawn over you, and Cooper makes out a few ‘fuck them Vaulties’ and a ‘well as much as it sucks, we’re glad you made it this far’. You sniff just barely and wipe your eyes.
“Thanks, ladies. It means a lot.”
The conversation turns back pleasant for the most part, and you’re enthralled as the women pull you into the town gossip. Cooper begrudgingly gets up to piss, comfy as he was, but stops at your side to hand off his bag first. You take it with a nod, more interested in the rumor mill than his whereabouts for the moment. He swaggers to the back door of the saloon, where wind whips sand against his jeans and patters the leather of his boots with tiny rocks.
Voices drift out the door from inside as Cooper yanks his zipper back up.
“Is it true what they say ‘bout Vaulties?” It’s a man’s voice, gruff and demanding in comparison to the happy lilt of yours. “Heard your story and always been… curious.”
“If you listened, you would know I ain’t no Vaultie.” Your reply is instant, but the edge in your voice has Cooper stepping a little faster down the short hallway. He reemerges to the sight of a suspiciously dressed man leaning against the wood beam beside your table, a little too close for comfort.
“Sure you are, darlin’. I can tell by lookin’ at’chya.” The man’s face is half-covered by a bandanna, and a pair of sand goggles are pushed up on his forehead, “Like they say.. everything’s… softer.”
There’s suddenly a hand landing on your shoulder, and Cooper sees red. His gun is pulled before he knows it, leveling at the man’s forehead.
“Hands off the girl.” He growls.
On closer inspection the man is probably close to the age you appear. Above the bandanna, weatherbeaten skin turns into frizzy ginger hair. He’s wearing a typical duster type coat, and the goggles are leaving red marks in his forehead. Cooper decides he’s taken shits more attractive than him.
Probably smarter, too.
“Fuck off, Ghoul.” Is the reply Cooper receives, sending a flash of white-hot anger through his already irradiated body. “I wasn't talkin’ to you.”
It was all too common, being brushed off. At this point in his life, it actually brings a smirk to his face. Your mouth is even tipping up at the edges, having had many interactions with the can of worms this guy was prying open.
“Listen man, I think you should let it go.” You warn and try to stand from the broken chair you had been carefully perching on. The red-head doesn’t relent, and pushes you back down into the chair. It wobbles dangerously as Cooper stomps closer. The movement prompts your captor to pull his own gun. It’s a crudely made pipe pistol, but able to shoot flying projectiles into your brains nonetheless.
“Get your goddamn hands off her before I decorate that wall with your fuckin’ skull.” Cooper yanks the hammer back on his pistol, hesitating at your close proximity.
The redhead pulls his bandanna down and Cooper watches you lean away as you recognize the scent and characteristics of a Fiend. His teeth are hanging loosely at crooked angles, and the pock marks around his mouth from scratching his skin open drip blood and serous fluid. His gun is trained on Cooper, but he freezes when he sees the Ghoul shift forward.
“Ah ah ah. How’d you like me to put a bullet in her instead?” The Fiend tugs you to your feet and nuzzles at your hair as he presses the barrel of his gun to your ribs. “I’d love a taste myself.”
The suffocating need to keep you safe and at his side fills Cooper’s corroded veins as you scowl at the Fiend whose nose is pressed dangerously close to your cheek with rotten teeth bared. Rage ignites from the anger he’s already feeling.
BANG.
Cooper’s watching when the red spray of blood washes over half the saloon, but still doesn’t quite comprehend what’s happened. His gun didn’t fire, but the scent of ignited powder fills the air. You fall to the floor along with your captor, and the aforementioned rage boils over. He holsters his gun and scrambles to pull you away in the chaos.
Thankfully, a quick once-over shows you to have no injuries, but the same can’t be said for your attacker. A foot away the Fiend lies still, about five pounds lighter from the gaping hole in his chest. Gore from his wound is splattered thick across your face and neck. Your eyes are pinched closed to avoid anything unsightly entering them, and you lash out blindly when Cooper grasps your arms.
“Let me go, you rotten bastard!” The Ghoul catches your right hand before it can hook into his jaw, “I’ll kill you myself.”
“Quit squealin’ sunshine, it’s me.” Cooper growls
While he’s getting a handle on your flailing limbs, a shadow covers the both of you. Cooper glances up at the one-eyed old woman who’s sawed-off shotgun is still smoking in her left hand.
“I know your brain is shrunken and all, but next time take the shot sooner.” She bites. “And feel free to clean up my damn bar.”
Cooper is torn between staring at the older woman- Sparrow, he thinks- and trying to contain your squirming. He’s not too fragile to admit he really doesn’t want to take a punch from you right now, so he wipes the back of his hand across your eyes and tugs you to sit up beside him.
“Cooper?”
He huffs a laugh at your incredulous tone and flicks away the remnants of blood littering your skin “The one and only. Open your eyes.”
They flicker open slowly, and you pout at the blood congealing on your clothes. “I just got these pants.”
Cooper sets a hand on your thigh and squeezes gently. “I’ll buy you a new pair. S’Long as you promise not to get Fiend all over those ones too.”
You thrust an elbow into his ribs at the jab and climb to your feet. Cooper follows with a dramatic groan.
“Old man.” You tease over your shoulder, observing the carnage from Sparrow’s well-aimed shot. A kick to the corpses’ ribs follows, sending a splatter of blood across Cooper’s pants. You shoot him an insincerely apologetic look. “She’s right, you know.”
The Ghoul follows your gaze to Sparrow, who’s hollering at any remaining patrons that dare tread too close to the mess, damning them for tracking blood around the bar.
“‘Bout what?”
You lean into his space, the scent of blood thick in the air. “Take the damn shot sooner.”
Cooper grabs the back of your neck and yanks you forward in a hard kiss. The blood transfers easily onto his lips, and he licks it off while pulling away. “Fucker deserved more than one shot.”
Possessiveness floods his mind and he squeezes the soft flesh beneath his fingers.
“I’da strung him up by his balls if I got my hands on him.” He mutters, tracing another finger through the blood and popping it into his mouth. “After grabbin’ onto you like that.”
You lean into his chest and let a smile curl the corners of your lips up. “All for little ol’ me?”
The Ghoul pinches your bloody cheek. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
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thanks for reading, much love ❤
Read More: Fallout Masterlist
#fallout imagine#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard x f!reader#The Ghoul x Reader#the Ghoul x you#cooper howard x oc#fallout tv series#lucy maclean#walton goggins#fallout fiends#possessive!cooper howard#fallout#fallout 4#fallout new vegas#ghouls deserve love too#the ghoul
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NPMD!Steph: I asked Pete to Pasquali’s on the first date.
AC!Steph: I asked Pete to shower with me.
YJ!Steph: Who the fuck is Pete and why are we thirsty for him? Get a grip, ladies.
NPMD!Steph: Okay, okay, imagine the biggest nerd you can think of?
YJ!Steph: Oh the bow tie kid.
NPMD!Steph: That’s him.
AC!Steph: But then also like make him funny and sarcastic.
NPMD!Steph: Yeah! And sweet.
AC!Steph: And weirdly sexy and secretly jacked and you just kinda wanna break his brain so that the only thing he can think about is pinning you to the wall of the shower even though it’s nasty, so-
NPMD!Steph: Wait the other one is right. Get a grip. Please.
AC!Steph: *shaking* I’ve been stuck at Camp Idontwannabang for a month and he’s the only sane one here other than me. There’s only one thing I’m trying to ‘get a grip’ on around here, and it’s down the shorts that his ‘Virginity Rocks!’ camp tee is tucked into.
——
AC!Peter: I broke my leg trying to improvise a weapon to protect Steph and myself.
NPMD!Peter: I almost sacrificed my life for Steph!
TGWDLM!Peter: I STILL HAVEN’T GOTTEN MY HOT CHOCOLATE.
AC!Peter and NPMD!Peter: NEITHER HAVE WE!
TGWDLM!Peter: Also who is Steph and why are we willing to hurt ourselves for her?
AC!Peter and NPMD!Peter: *OFFENDED GASP*
AC!Peter: Imagine you have really low blood sugar and all you have to fix it is fuckin’ raisins… And Steph gives you a chocolate bar. Relief, finally, you can think straight for what feels like the first time in your life. That’s Stephanie.
NPMD!Peter: Imagine an eldritch god tells you that you have to give up what you treasure above all else and you suddenly realize in the worst way possible that your Pokémon cards and comic collection mean nothing to you in comparison, and as weirdly slimy and wiggly fingers brush the hair from your neck, you realize that the girl who’s suddenly become the most important person or thing in your life thinks of you the exact same way and that one of you has to die before you’ve even worked up the nerve to admit to the coolest girl you’ve ever met how you feel. That’s Stephanie.
AC!Peter: … Are you okay?
NPMD!Pete: Better than that guy’s doing.
BF!Pete: I watched a man get kicked in the head until he died… I can still see the bomb falling through the air as I spent my last moments alive with my big brother…
——
NPMD!Grace: I can explain!
AC!Grace: YOU HAD A SEXUAL FANTASY?!
PB!Grace: NASTY!! JAIL FOR YOU.
AC!Grace: HELL EVEN.
NPMD!Grace: Wait, no no no! It’s okay, I killed the guy it was about!
AC!Grace: You better have!
NPMD!Grace: But then he came back to life and I had to sacrifice my chastity to send him back, so we had sex in the middle of a football field and five evil gods dragged him to Hell! Also by the way, Jesus isn’t real and it’s up to us to cleanse the earth of all perverts for our new gods, the Lords in Black!
AC!Grace and PB!Grace: …………… WHAT THE FU-
#starkid#hatchetfield#npmd#abstinence camp#yellow jacket#tgwdlm#black friday#perkys buds#stephanie lauter#peter spankoffski#grace chasity#lautski#starkid incorrect quotes
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Oh my gosh... if Ghost was THAT interdependent with his brothers, it must have HURT when he got ripped away. His emotions must have been a MESS; he's used to a four person emotional system and now it's just him alone? No wonder he isolated himself for so long. And no wonder the SAINW boys fell apart!! There's an essential piece missing, the system is broken. Did they feel it when he disappeared? Did they know he was gone? Did they know they were broken?
Leonardo woke in the middle of the day. He was a light sleeper, it wasn’t unheard of, but instead of the usual rustling of Mikey out for a midday snack or the sound of Donny still working on a project, it was eerily quiet. There was the regular creak of pipes, the distant rumble of the city far above their heads, but nothing unusual.
He got out of bed anyway to check on his brothers.
It had been a rough few months. Travelling all the way to the floating city of Beijing to set it back down safely into place (the wrong way around), the return of the Y’Lyntian people in the underground city, stopping a nuclear bombing by H.A.T.E., the… thing beneath Wall Street that had sent them spiraling into their worst nightmares.
All of that overlaid with whatever the Shredder was up to now. Leo’s nerves were at an all time high. Raph’s temper was shorter than ever. Donny was working later into the days and sleeping less and less. Mikey was doing his best to keep the mood light and joking.
It had been a rough few months, but they had stuck together, they’d supported each other through nightmares and flashbacks and aches and pains. They’d rested together when one of them felt too exhausted to continue doing this.
They would always have each other, no matter how bad things got.
But something felt wrong.
He found Mikey asleep in his room, up in his bed, curled up with a comic hanging from his hand over the ledge. Leo carefully extracted the comic and set it aside for Mikey to find when he woke.
Raph was twitching in his hammock, a frown on his face. Another nightmare. Leo carefully rubbed over his shell and Raph sucked in a breath, mumbling, “Leo? Whaddya doin’?”
“Just checking on everyone,” Leo murmured. “Go back to sleep.”
“Hmph. Make Don go to bed if he’s still up.”
“Got it.”
Leo walked out of the room and headed to Donny’s. As expected, he wasn’t there, so Leo hopped down to his lab.
Surprisingly, that was also empty.
Leo frowned as he stepped inside the old subway car, looking around. Some things had been knocked over. There was broken glass across the floor. The machine Donny had been working on was still humming faintly. A glass of water sat untouched. Donny’s shell cell was still on the table.
Something felt wrong.
“Don?” Leo said, stepping out of the lab.
He checked the kitchen next, but didn’t find his brother hunting through the cabinets. He didn’t find him in the storage room either, or the bathroom. He even went up to check the garage and didn’t find him.
When he stepped out of the elevator, Raph was waiting there for him, frowning.
“Somethin’ felt off,” Raph muttered before Leo could ask. “What’s Donny doin’ up in the garage?”
“He’s not,” Leo shook his head. “I’ve searched the whole place for him.”
Raph’s mouth twitched downwards. “He’s gotta be around here somewhere. Maybe he got a call from April?”
Leo took out his shell cell and called as Raph began searching the rooms. It was enough for Mikey to come ambling out yawning as April finally answered.
“Leo?” She asked, surprised. “Aren’t you guys usually asleep by now?”
“Is Donny with you?” Leo asked. “Or did you call him?”
“No.” Her frown could be heard through the phone. “Maybe he went to the junkyard? Or Casey asked him to help with something? He’ll turn back up, don’t worry so much.”
“It’s…” Leo paused. He didn’t know how to explain it. He knew something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut, in the way it was churning and twisting and tightening. His nerves felt frayed, raw, like an open wound. “I don’t know. Something feels off, April. We’ll check the junkyards and Casey’s. Thanks.”
“Sure, Leo… Are you guys alright?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
“Mikey told me about you guys seeing Bishop again. And Karai.”
Leo was quiet for a moment, before he took a breath to calm himself. “I’ll talk to you later, April. I wanna find Donny first.”
“Okay… Bye, Leo.”
“Bye.”
He took a breath and rubbed his hand over his face.
“Why would he go to the junkyard during the day?” Leo muttered. “Without his shell cell, too…”
“I can’t find him, Leo,” Raph scowled as he stalked up to him. “Where the shell did he go? Why is there broken glass in his lab?!”
“I don’t know, Raph,” Leo said quietly. “We’ll find him. Call Casey and see if he’s heard from Donny.”
“Want me to wake up Splinter?” Mikey asked.
“Not yet.” Leo frowned towards Donny’s lab. “He might’ve gone into the tunnels.”
“I’ll check the pond,” Mikey said, heading over to it. “The diving gear is still here so he can’t have gone far.”
There was a splash as Mikey dove in, and Raph dialed Casey.
Leo stood there, waiting with his breath held, watching Raph, who was looking more and more irritated by the second.
“Casey, you heard from Donny?” Raph blurted into the phone. He scowled quickly. “I dunno! I was hopin’ he’d gone over to your place or somethin’. He’s not with April, he’s not in the garage, he wouldn’t have gone out durin’ the day, he left his shell cell here–”
Raph was cut off by Casey saying something, and Leo realized how tense his shoulders were. He tried to force them to relax, to try and calm Raph as well, but he saw Mikey pop back up from the pond and shake his head as he climbed out.
Leo was becoming more and more aware that his frayed nerves felt like disconnection. Some part of him was missing that he hadn’t even noticed was there before. It made his stomach churn. He could feel it in his bones, in his throat.
Donatello wasn't there anymore.
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WHAT THE HELL EVEN ARE BOMBERMEN? (AN IN-DEPTH REIMAGINE AU LOOK INTO BOMBERMAN ANATOMY)
ridiculously long text dump incoming but i figured i'd finally go over some more technical stuff about the au. ive seen other people talk about their headcanons for how the bombermen work in-game and got a bit inspired since ive mostly been going over lore with my comics!
SO, WHAT ARE BOMBERMEN?
true to most of the games, they are still robots in the au! entirely mechanical with no organic components. the vast majority of them originate from the former planet earth, now called planet bomber, but some models have been integrated into different planets (planet scrapheap for example) for specific jobs.
all bombermen come from "the original", Shiro, who was built by evil forces lurking underground on planet earth before it was renamed planet bomber. during his tenure as a reluctant minion of evil, his purpose was to create bombs for their efforts of subjugating the remnants of humanity on earth.
prior to his escape from the clutches of the evil forces, he looked very much like how he is depicted in the games!
WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE HUMANS NOW?
in the original NES bomberman game, the plot revolves around bomberman's escape to the surface under the belief that he will become human. the AU follows this premise, but more literally: although Shiro doesn't actually become an organic human, he is rebuilt to resemble their appearance more faithfully! thus, all bombermen that come after him retain that human-like appearance.
this applies to the human experience as well. they can cry, taste food, live like humans even though they are artificial. they're aware of the fact that they aren't human, mind, but the line is very thin for some! Shiro goes so far as to say that he's just as human as any organic one because of his free will and his ability TO desire to be human. but most are pretty normal about it.
BASIC ANATOMY STRUCTURE
bombermen possess an internal structure intentionally designed similar to that of humans. their endoskeleton is practically 1:1 of a human skeleton, the only difference being that it's obviously metal. they possess significantly less "organs", with most of their computer components centralized in a single case located where a human heart would be. their central processing unit and memory cards are located inside of the skull, reinforced by pure steel to prevent any potential internalized damage. while ripping off the outer layer of skin takes about as much effort as it would to a human, you'll be hard-pressed to actually penetrate their head/skull. pain receptors are probably the most complex and delicate in terms of structure, essentially microscopic detectors found across the body like nerves. the part of the processing unit that recognizes the feeling of pain can be manually turned off if needed, but is usually left on so that the individual is aware of damage or something malfunctioning.
all bombermen have an antenna attached to their left ear. this is used for communication with others across distance, and is also used to monitor their surroundings! it can pick up movement, energy, and other various things. it's one of their trademark identifiers, and can also be used as a sort of ID for other bombermen, so its very important to them! to remove their atenna is like declawing a cat.
don't.
like most computers, their capability of information storage is limited. although usually equipped with multiple memory cards, many bombermen elect to move data/memories they don't need all of the time onto items like USB drives so they don't need to outright delete things. their sleeping routines are the most effective way for them to undergo defragmentation.
with resources on earth having been very scarce, bombermen are equipped to run on multiple kinds of energy. like most computers, electrical energy is the most common and widely used, but their synthetic skin is capable of taking in solar energy and a furnace "stomach" can transform eaten foods into chemical energy - think of the latter as burning coal to fuel a locomotive. the one thing they DON'T use however is oil. its seen as very volatile source of energy because it's not renewable. this means they don't bleed! there's no need for them to have any liquid circulation, so replacing parts is also easier in that regard since there's no fear of losing any potential lifeforce.
ASIMOV? WHO'S THAT??
they do not follow the three laws. they are completely independent. most bombermen lean towards being good-natured (if not with their own quirks), so murder of organics/destruction of their own kind is HIGHLY taboo. this doesn't mean they're incapable of making that decision, though.
WHO BUILDS THEM?
this answer is a little more complex. early in the timeline, the only way to make a bomberman was to build one yourself. this was especially apparent during earth's final years before being renamed, as most of humanity had abandoned the planet after the evil forces were reawakened decades prior. as such, bombermen were short in number because the few remaining humans that were technologically competent were the only ones capable of making them.
however, ALL bombermen are capable of recreating their own kind. this was information originally given to Shiro by the evil forces so that, for whatever reason, it would be instinct for him to prevent the extinction of his own existence. when more bombermen began to populate the planet, they started to do the creation themselves since they knew everything they needed in order to accomplish it. this is where familial relationships become possible! many bombermen who create their own kind view their creation as siblings or children, and this carries over further into the timeline even when a mother computer meant to mass produce models comes into existence.
WHAT'S IN A TITLE?
"Bomberman" is both a species and a title. while most common bots will refer to themselves as "a bomberman", very few have the privilege of being called Bomberman. this name is reserved for particularly outstanding individuals who are responsible for the protection of planet bomber, meaning only a few of them exist across the timeline.
so far these include Shiro (the original), Ivory (Shiro's brother and the protagonist for most of the games that take place on Planet Bomber), and White (the sbr iteration - his siblings get privileges by association but since he's the only cracker white bomberman of the group he gets the official title). depending on how development of the timeline goes there might be more...
WHAT THE HELL ARE PSEUDO BOMBERMEN?
I actually addressed this question on my twitter with a funny little comic but i'll go a little further in-depth with the discussion here.
as the name implies, these aren't considered to be "real" ones for various kinds of reasons. bombermen become very popular to imitate due to how (in)famous Shiro becomes across space, but building a robot might not exactly be conventional for some people. this is where pseudo bombermen come in. anything from bomber-cyborgs, organically made bombermen, etc are all considered pseudo bombermen. the general rule of thumb is if it isn't a robot, it's a pseudo.
notable pseudo-bombers would be Max (cyborg), Shirobon from Jetters (alien), and the Bomber Shittenou (made from elements).
ARE YOU GOING TO ADDRESS THAT LINE FROM YELLOW IN SBR2
sure they can have cock and balls why not. full human experience or something.
well that was long as fuck!! thanks for reading!!! if there are any questions feel free to leave them in my inbox and ill be sure to respond to them :)
#text#bomberman#bomberman au#good lordt this is massive#it was fun to write though!!#hopefully i dont come off as insane
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if you were to right a story about ursa and what happened to her after she left (was banished? i don't remember what exactly happened but she stays in the fire nation in the search comics sooo...??? idk lol) what would that look like? what would her reunion w/ zuko and/or azula look like? assuming you haven't already i mean. if you have i'd love to read it ftr!
If I'm just throwing out canon altogether, I say she stays as close as she can. The reason she doesn't go to Zuko immediately after hearing about his banishment is because she has several targets on her back because Ozai doesn't like loose ends. She makes several attempts to contact him through Iroh- who to be fair is eager to help- but something always thwarts her. Zuko doesn't talk to Iroh about his mom, and shuts Iroh down completely when he tries to bring her up. After the Avatar is rediscovered, things start changing. Ozai is distracted with this new development and the heat gets taken off of Ursa. Now she can go after her son. They finally find each other somewhere in the third season. Zuko is angry, but he does eventually get over it. Especially when his mom drops a bomb. She was pregnant when she left, and Zuko has four year old sister named Kiyi. Then she lets the second bomb drop; she's part of a resistance movement. They want to over throw Ozai and Zuko's reputation (bolstered by his defending of the troops Ozai wanted to sacrifice) makes him their choice to replace his father. She does try to help Azula, but Azula wants little to do with her mother. They may reconcile someday, but also maybe not.
If I'm sticking with canon, I've already wrote a three part fic about it (which you can read here), but things would be strained between Ursa and Zuko for years, maybe even forever. I'm not sure if this Ursa would have the nerve to even try to face Azula
#atla#zuko#ursa#where did ursa go?#maybe she becomes a pirate#that could be cool#THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!
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RESULTS ARE IN!!! :D
I took a long time to think about the awards everyone deserves & have decided on a compounding prize system. Each mom has earned their very own prize which will carry up to the next ranked mom culminating in the ultimate prize for our top winner
Here’s a quick list of prizes earned by who:
Bath bombs - @nerves-nebula’s tm(n)t Mikey
Music - tmnt 2012’s Leo
Basket - tmnt 03’s Mortu
Mug - tmnt 87’s Shredder/CharmyWizard’s Lenard
Flowers - IDW comic’s Tang Shen
Candles - tmnt 90s movie’s April O’Neil
Cake - tmnt 2012’s Ooze canister
Coupons - rottmnt’s Barron Draxum
Pjs - @0ddbugs & @coffinpal’s @tmntredline Splinter
Feast - @nerves-nebula’s tm(n)t Raph
I want to do special announcements for each winner & a better description of the prizes but am pretty busy irl so can’t say when/if I’ll get to that. I’d love to know what you all think tho!
Congratulations to Raph!!! Shout out to all the moms we missed <3 & thank you all for participating :)
Happy Mother’s Day
#tmnt mother’s day poll#rottmnt#tm(n)t#tmnt 2012#tmnt 1987#tmnt 03#tmnt idw#tmnt redline#CharmyWizard’s fantasy AU#tmnt 90s#happy mother's day#my polls#mother’s day
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it still pisses me off that oppenheimer is more beloved than the little mermaid. Like the little mermaid and halle bailey deserve better than having to deal with all the misogynoir towards its casting of ariel
So I know this is going to come as a shock... but I don't exactly agree with everything here. specifically the first part.
like granted I have a whole tag on this blog about oppenheimer
but its really a very complicated issue? mostly because I haven't seen the movie and I don't know know much about Oppenheimer (except now that he's Jewish and what I know from his wiki article). Like I went into the anti oppenheimer tag and found a lot of stuff including how antisemitic it is to blame Oppenheimer for the consequences of the bomb. like I'm not sure "beloved" is the right word.
To me its kinda creepy that a director like nolan who doesn't usually put sex scenes put a universally disliked one in this movie
specifically this scene
lets not forget this is a war propaganda film. and I don't know if you've noticed but hollywood is REALLY GOOD at those. (looking at you top gun and top gun maverick)
I think that's the danger with the publics fascination with war, death and true crime tbh. People have this sick fascination with death and destruction. I'm one to talk I love the mcu but to me that's like comic book stuff. I feel though that because the little mermaid is for young girls of color specifically and white girls are so used to being catered to... this struck a nerve. Its kinda like why Barbie is so big right now. white girls of all ages are being catered to AGAIN. But tlm was explicitly a caribbean kingdom filled with PoC and it didn't have sex or glorify white women. in fact that's one of the things that led to so many white girls saying that the actress who played vanessa should have been Ariel instead. (don't believe me? I'll get you receipts).
Like there's something I can't quite articulate about a Jewish man who got into the arms race to drop a war stopping bomb on nazis but then his bomb wasn't needed anymore and it was dropped on civilians on the other side of the world instead.
idk idk I'm just rambling don't look at me.
mod ali
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"Never say die": 2001 interview with Rhys Darby about his show 'Rhys Darby and the Supernova'
(pasted here very plainly because I had to download a PDF version through a library)
(this also is probably not the picture used with this article but was used to promote his previous show, Rhys Darby and the Time Machine)
If comedy is a confidence thing, Rhys Darby is a king. By Steve Rendle.
I AM the man who doesn't die!"
Rhys Darby could never be accused of lacking confidence.
Most comics will ruefully relay tales of terrible nights on stage, but not Darby.
"If you're a professional, you should never really bomb at all. You should be able to read any audience," he declares. "I do not die. It's just about having self confidence."
Typical cocky Aucklander, he reckons he's about due for his own TV show, and given the scale of his latest oneman epic he probably deserves a shot.
In Rhys Darby And The Supernova in the TV2 International Laugh Festival, he plays a dozen characters, does all the sound effects, and sings the theme tune.
And it's funny.
"When I do this play, when I've written the entire thing, if I'm happy with the it and . . . if I think this is hilarious, it's going to be hilarious . . . I chuck it on the stage and I give it to people, and they're gonna bloody laugh!"
A nominee for the Billy T Award, he's a regular on the stand-up comedy circuit - but this is something different.
The epic goes like this: An ancient device capable of destroying the Earth is buried beneath the pyramids and the world needs a dancing idiot to do the decent thing and retrieve it.
"I come out on stage and I do these characters and I do the show, and it's just like watching a cartoon. It's all happening at once and you're just so swept up in the adventure that you're not even realising that it's just one guy, just standing there doing it all.
"It's like watching a Bond movie."
The one-man play approach has grown out of his stand-up routine which has always included storytelling, embellished by his noise-making ability and physical contortions.
Darby says he's been used to people laughing at him since he was a nipper.
"Stand-up comedy's got to be the scariest thing in the world for your average Joe who thinks 'I'll give it a go', but for me, I've been laughed at since I was a kid.
"For me, people laughing is just a natural thing. So for me to write down some stuff and go up on stage, and do it, it's just like 'OK, this is going to get some laughs, I'll do it'. It's a confidence thing."
If pushed he will admit feeling a few nerves ahead of performing last year's Time Machine show for the first time.
A 45-minute epic tale, there was no safety net of simply changing the subject of the jokes, it was a scripted show.
"Of course, once the laughs started coming, no worries. This time, I thought, 'OK, I know I can do it, let's make it even more strenuous on me, and I've chucked in a few more characters, and I've got things like a car chase.
"And I do out-takes at the end."
Rhys Darby And The Supernova is at Bats till Saturday
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Today's eBay spotlight (Seller ID: RadioIndy)! Nerve Bomb Comix #0 comic from 2001! Super indie adventures of Rocket Rabbit by James S. Baker and Maverix! #comics #IndieComics #furrycomics #nervebombcomix #rocketrabbit #jamessbaker #2001 #maverix #ComicCollector #comicdealer #VintageComics #auctions #ebay #RadioIndy #DownsizingMyCollection #EverythingMustGo #BuyMyStuff #PandemicHustle
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From the Beginning
I don't remember the first time I performed. I just always have. Church choir, school plays, high school musicals, college, community. But one day, I went with some friends to an open mic and I thought, I want to do that. It took about a year to work up the nerve. I didn't take serious comedy classes. I have nothing against them, but I was confident in my transferable experience. I understood how to connect, I understood comedic timing. When I got the laughter and the applause, it was a familiar feeling. And a welcome one.
I didn't do well every time but I always had them. It would be over a year before my first real bomb. I was devastated. What went wrong? Sure, it wasn't my usual club with my friends and supportive regulars, but I'm supposed to be able to connect to anyone. In the past, even when I lost the crowd, there was always a way to get them back. Not this time.
But I did know where I had gone wrong. I wasn't that great at crowd work at the time. It's still my weakness but I'm much better at it now. But I did make an assumption about some members of the audience. A group of Ivy League Frat brothers had come in. They looked and smelled like more money than I've ever had. They had fun with every other (male) comic, but not me. I have to stress, it was not their fault. I put the space between us. I assumed that they would look down on me. And in turn, I looked down on them. I don't know if they did or not. My assumption had made me dislike them even though they hadn't said or done anything to me before our moments. I don't even remember the jokes I told. I just remember the silence. I used up all of my time, too. So, I can say that I will suffer the full suffer.
And I learned, despite the old saying, when you assume, you make and "ass" out of "u."
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil
From www.James-Baker.com
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Kate Bush's "Breathing" still gives me the chills
One of the best sensations in the world to me is frisson, the chills you get when a piece of music hits you just right. I experience frisson often, whenever a song is particularly beautiful, dramatic, or chilling, but the feeling often fades as I listen to the song over time. With every listen, I know the song more intimately, so I get immune to the frisson even if my enjoyment of the song otherwise stays the same. I never get immune to some songs, though. Kate Bush's "Breathing" (off her 1980 album Never for Ever) is one that never fails to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The lyrics are written from the perspective of an unborn baby living in a world where an atomic bomb has just gone off somewhere nearby. The baby tells us how the blast is taking away the ability to breathe from everyone – a bleak and chilling narrative of the aftermath. The song is impactful without being heavy-handed; the unique viewpoint of the unborn child keeps the lyrics rooted in beautiful details rather than recycled anti-war platitudes. In choosing the most vulnerable and innocent of perspectives, Bush bores the point straight into the listener's heart.
Choruses tell us that the unborn baby loves the security and protection of being inside their mother, breathing her in, "breathing her nicotine." The mother is a smoker, then – but where we'd typically think of the danger of smoking during pregnancy, here the nicotine represents comfort and safety. In the wake of an atomic bomb, every other threat is reduced to ash. The lyrics also imply that the baby has been reincarnated ("I've been out before but this time it's much safer in"), which perhaps explains the wisdom and awareness this narrator brings to the situation, the knowledge that "you and me knew life itself is breathing."
The middle section of the song is a spoken word description of the effects of an atomic bomb, written and narrated by Bush's brother, John Carder Bush. It takes the tone of an old-fashioned educational video; you can almost hear the TV static as the PSA plays into living rooms across the country. This middle section is layered with minimal instrumentals, soft whining sounds that leave room for reflection before asking the most important question – what are we going to do? How do we come back from a world, from a humanity that created this weapon?
In the music video for "Breathing", Bush is encapsulated in a womb-like plastic bubble, presumably slowly running out of air. The spoken word section plays over clips of Bush struggling to get out of her bubble, fighting against the confines before finally breaking free as the flash of an atomic bomb paints the screen white, revealing Bush and fellow dancers on the beach. Their dance is writhing, desperate, moving from the sand to the water where they wade in white jumpsuits.
As impactful as the single is, my favourite rendition of "Breathing" is the song's only live performance. Bush played the song for Comic Relief in 1986, a solo performance with just Kate, a piano, and her voice. In this rendition, the song goes in and out of time, speeding up then slowing down, almost feeling anxious, unsettled. Perhaps, in reality, it was Bush's own nerves kicking in as she grappled with her infamous stage fright, but the resulting effect is different. The changing tempo and uncertainty read not as stage fright, but as the anxiety of an innocent life unsure of whether the world they are about to be born into is a safe one.
Kate Bush is a songwriter who never fails to inspire me. Her ability to take on unique perspectives like the one in "Breathing" and write not only a sonically beautiful song, but such a deeply chilling and passionate one, is a skill that not many songwriters have. I still get goosebumps every time I listen to "Breathing" and I hope that never changes.
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Severed Rings
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/KAVIolh
by AaronCole0902
He is going to die here.
Jason is used to fucking up, feels like he spent his whole life doing it. But this, this isn’t one he’s going to be able to come back from. This isn’t one Batman will forgive, not even Bruce could.
The joker is gone, the seconds left on the bomb feel like an eternity in his mind.
Everything happens at once, every sound, emotion, agonizing memory and nerve in his body are on fire, and then there is nothing.
or
The one where Jason Todd is ghost for his 6 month death-vacation and Tim Drake happens to be a nosy meta who can see ghosts.
Words: 1137, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Death in the Family (Movie 2020), Batman (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Categories: Gen
Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Robin (DCU), Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Dead People - Character, ghosts - Character
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd
Additional Tags: Tim Drake Meta AU, Major Character Death is Canon Jason Death, Temporary Character Death, they are brothers officer, Loneliness, Depression, Anxiety, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Fuck the timeline and ages I make my own story, no beta we die like todd, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, its so sad and then gets better and then gets sad again and then gets better again, relatively happy ending bc im a sap, projecting onto fictional characters, Dissociation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, some light body horror, will put necessary trigger warning before content i swear, Tim can see ghosts, jason is a ghost for the 6 months he is dead, They become friends, Brotherly Bonding, Developing Friendships, Healing, jason is around 15, Tim is around 11/12, they are BROTHERS you creeps let them be, Tim Drake Sees Dead People
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/KAVIolh
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that Shaundi and Axel comic absolutely altered my brain chemistry like now i really wanna know what the result of that conversation was. the implications of the situation are insane and my angst loving self has to know what happens after he drops that bomb on how he feels about both her and viola
HANJHBDFHNASKJFN im so glad u liked it <3
What happens after I haven't fully thought out yet, but it probably goes something like Shaundi calling him out for breaking her heart then having the nerve to say he's still in love with her. She grows softer when she sees he's got a lot of pent up emotions and suggests they maybe stay away from each other, at least for now.
And so, they drift further apart. It hurts the both of them a lot, since they used to be extremely close, now it's like they don't even know each other.
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“IF YOU CALL ME EZEKIEL AGAIN, I’LL MURDER YOU.”
name. ezekiel “zeke” horowitz
age. twenty three
occupation. showtime employee
faceclaim. dylan o’brien
INTRO.
dylan o’brien, straight, male + he/him ― hey look, ezekiel horowitz! they’re twenty-three years old, they’ve lived in shrike heights for his whole life, and they’re currently working at showtime. i heard they’re pretty neurotic, but i think they’re so loyal at the same time. can they make it out alive? || fox, 33, he/him, est + none.
AESTHETICS.
old baseball caps, dirty converse, mint comic book collection, bedroom covered in horror movie memorabilia, chocolate milk, baseball, high scores at the arcade, sticker bombed skateboard, the inability to be serious without some form of sarcasm, unrequited crushes, a collection of camcorder tapes full of skateboard tricks, pranks, and getting on people’s nerves. [ pinterest ]
Bio under cut.
HISTORY.
— zeke’s father owned a small tech shop but it was closed down to make room for bigger stores. angry, he forbid his family from ever shopping at strike heights but kit went behind his father’s back and began working at the video store.
— zeke needs the money to help his parents out with bills and wants to save up for a car. he currently lives at home with his parents and two siblings, both younger. he wants to get out of living paycheck to paycheck and make something of himself, but every time he gets the opportunity he squanders it - aka college. he got accepted into UPenn but trashed his acceptance letter after he realized his family was in financial ruin.
— the strike heights attacks have left zeke a little shaken up but also very intrigued. who doesn’t enjoy a scooby doo murder mystery? it’s like living in a horror movie and he’s obsessed with horror movies and true crime. hence, why he decided to work at the video store. in the many aisles of film, he can lose himself in the magic of cinema.
— when zeke isn’t working at showtime, he can be found at the arcade or comic book store, obsessively tapping for high scores or thumbing through the latest issue of creepshow.
— he wants to make movies (specifically horror movies) recently he’s spent all the money he was saving on a camcorder. SO fn cool right?! (what? he’ll get a car later....)
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