for a quick change of pace–i know we’ve all seen a thousand posts about voting, but what i haven’t seen (not yet) is one saying thank you.
thank you for those who made it out in the rain and the cold, who organized and canvassed and took on the onerous task of working with non-voting & conservative friends/family to change their stance if at least just this once. thank you for those who stood in line for hours, who had to travel because your voting place was moved, who had to jump through ridiculous fucking hoops to register, who weren’t inspired but showed up anyway for the disenfranchised and the greater good. thank you as well to everyone who voted early, absentee, and provisional.
I have projects to work on that aren’t femme gladiator Megatron but at the same time BOY I want her to storm into those other projects and start sweeping people off their feet.
you will be glad to know that i suffered. and that i have no self-control and no sense of scale. i just wrote an 8k hondo/dogma fic on 1.5 hours of sleep. why did i do this. why did i ask for this. this was supposed to be short. i hope you are pleased with yourself. full fic under the cut.
Months. Years, maybe. Dogma didn’t exactly have a calendar in the tiny white room where they kept him when they weren’t prodding or poking or cutting or testing. Trying to figure out what his defect was, he supposed. He was told nothing. He didn’t even know if we was slated for death, or reconditioning, after they were finished with their tests. When the doctors came into the room for him, he never knew if they were taking him to his death or not. It was, as Kix would have put it, a “relevant stress factor”.
There were no brothers in the medical facility. The guards were all droids. Dogma had no way of getting news from the front, from Captain Rex and the rest of his brothers. He didn’t know if they were alive, dead, if they were winning the war, if Tup was doing ok without him. Sometimes, Dogma would lie on the ground and stare at the ceiling, wondering what bits of it were real and what bits he had imagined. Had he really shot a Jedi? Or did he make that up? Was there a trooper named Jesse with a republic cog tattoo? Had Dogma been part of Captain Rex’s squad, as he sometimes thought, or was it just something he’d wanted for so long, ever since he’d been a cadet, that he’d just convinced himself it was true?
Time smeared together. Dogma didn’t know if he slept anymore or not. It was impossible to tell. When they came one day and put him on a guarded transport, all hush-hush and talking like everyone Dogma knew was dead, Dogma didn’t even notice until the ship was in hyperspace.
tl;dr this woman was hearing creepy phantom nursery rhymes every night and it turned out to be a local industrial building’s alarm system, being triggered by spiders on the motion detectors
which is all well and good but “we investigated the creepy nursery rhymes, and it turns out it’s spiders” is one hell of a true statement
You left out the best part!
The alarm was at some kind of industrial building, and is apparently SUPPOSED to play creepy nursery rhymes, to deter criminals from breaking in in the middle of the night! It was just turned up too loud, and too sensitive, so it was being triggered by spiders.
That’s some creative theft-deterrent there. If you’re breaking in to a place, you kind of expect to hear a burglar alarm. You’re prepared for that, and you’re prepared to grab and go once it goes off.
But if you hear a creepy kid’s voice singing nursery rhymes at a seemingly abandoned industrial building in the middle of the night, you’re going to shit your pants and get the fuck out, in that order.
Give the guy who thought that up a promotion.
holy shit thay video is terrifying i should not have watched that alone
@copperbadge This seems right up your alley. For the retelling anyway.
I have to admit I had seen the headline several times but figured it was some kind of clickbait because what kind of alarm system plays nursery rhymes, but now I understand THE BEST KIND 😀
why the fuck is no one naming their children after greek goddesses? Name your fucking child Persephone?????? Bitch???????!?
If that makes you happy, my name is Demeter
In my experience, people named after Greek goddesses are some of the most ethereal, chaotic forces I have ever encountered.
Our Art Department’s nude model, for example, is a woman named Hera. She’s stunningly beautiful, rides a motorcycle as apparently her only vehicle, grows all her own food, and keeps bees, turtles, and a dog named Argus, who she walks around town with a peacock feather attached to his leash.
I am thoroughly convinced she is not of this realm.
I just found out that razor blades are locked up sometimes at stores, not because the number of people stealing them to shave with is high, but because people steal them to use for drugs.
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