I demand an Arrowverse Geeksquad crossover- Felicity, Curtis, Cisco, Caitlin, Winn and at least one representative from Legends (Stein, Nate and/or Ray). Just them. No other characters get to come. And the emphasis is on using their intelligence to solve the problem, not whatever powers or fighting skills they have (even though there is actual a considerable amount between them).
i know it’s been like five years but having tony be the one to confront loki without his suit in the avengers is like me calling GeekSquad and asking them to come fight off the intruder in my house,,,,anyways au where tony isn’t the prodigal son or iron man but actually just the IT Guy™ and somehow keeps getting called in on super hero missions
I think this is my third attempt at this post, both Tumblr and a verra slow Windows 10 experience is making me cranky….Cortana2 may be going back to the GeekSquad, pronto.
So yes, this is one of those re-evaluating posts that come across your dash when things in the Fandom, or in this case a fandom “community” have reached a boiling point ( See Steven Cree’s line as Ian in EP 308 about something on the Stove, and you get my meaning).
I’m going dark, but (so far) I’m not de-activating. There’s still too much pretty out there with OL and Poldark to quit you all, and besides, I’m an addict.
#Cosplayer @lottiestarr with her own sexy take on #ScoobyDoo’s #Velma! #cosplay
@Regrann from @lottiestarr - This picture is already all over the #internet but not yet posted my me :) #latex #geeks #geeksquad #nerd #glasses #geekglasses #velmacosplay #latexcosplay #doyouevengeek #cosplaygirl #model #modellife #comiccon #nec #birmingham #fb #tb
Visit sharemycosplay.com for more cosplay! #regrann https://www.instagram.com/p/BN5TkSEg1e6/
because this is going to come to violence, and right now the people with all the guns and training are on the side of fascism. instead of fighting to be allowed to join them, help defend your own community. if you don’t have a community worth defending, find one. if you’re willing to uproot your life for the USM, you should be willing to uproot it in service of fascism’s targets
and for the record? if you’re not willing to stand with ALL marginalized people, if you’re not willing to fight with & for black folks, immigrants, american muslims, women, queer people, people with disabilities, everyone this regime wants to destroy, your willingness to resist fascism is utterly hollow.
let’s talk about some of the things you can do if you’re not willing to participate in actual bloodshed, or like me are physically disabled to the point that you’d be no use in combat. because we don’t talk about these things enough. and that’s fucked as hell because they’re so much more important than shooting people. only a minority of personnel ever see front-line duty; the majority are needed to keep the whole ugly machinery of war and survival running.
this is actually an advantage we have over right-wing paramilitaries. if the actual USM comes after us we don’t stand a chance of winning in outright conflict, but as the people we mainly have to worry about at this stage are the lone wolf nazis and fascist paramilitaries. and the cool thing about fascists is that they’re idiots. they’re obsessed with blood and guns and glory. they’re all about waving their dicks around and making a show of how powerful and masculine they are. they don’t operate on sound military strategy; they operate on what will make them personally feel good.
i can’t say that this tendency never arises on the left, but i think there’s still hope for us to get over it and exclude our egos from the military planning process.
so, without further ado, here are some absolutely vital non-combatant roles we need people for:
be a medic. people are going to get hurt and we need personnel capable of stitching them up when they do. take first aid classes, stockpile medical supplies. bandages, painkillers, antiseptics, antibiotics. the prescription-only shit you can find on the dark net and it’s not even illegal to possess most of the important ones; controlled substances are the only thing you need to worry about getting caught with. (just don’t fucking use antibiotics cavalierly, for the love of god.) even if you can’t learn battlefield medicine yourself, stockpiling resources for those who can is still valuable. which brings me to my next point:
run a safehouse. violent resistance movements need places to regroup. if nothing else, you can offer up your home and keep it well stocked for combatants who need to take refuge there. keep rations (MREs are good) and clean water stocked, as well as medical supplies and weapons, if possible. resistances need networks of safehouses to be able to operate effectively. note that operating a safehouse means getting good at opsec. the entire point of a safehouse is that the enemy doesn’t know it exists, and that can easily be compromised by spreading need-to-know info too widely. don’t advertise online. work with local cells, and only give out your address in person to personnel you know to be reliable and to have the same respect for operational security you do. also, be realistic about what information you need to know. make sure people who trust you don’t share intel with you that you don’t need to know. you don’t generally need to know where other safehouses are you. you sure as hell don’t need to know about troops movements that don’t affect how you’re running your safehouse. understand that as the person whose name is on the contract or property deed, you’re the first person the cops will grab if they find out people are operating out of your home. make sure you have covert signals in place to indicate whether it’s safe to crash at your place or if you’ve been compromised and allies need to stay away. this can be as simple as lighting a candle in a window every night that your home is safe to approach, but it needs to be something self-limiting, so you don’t need to personally intervene to shut off the signal. if you’ve been compromised, you won’t have the opportunity to.
be a mole. this is one of the hardest jobs in any resistance, arguably more than front-line combat, and extremely dangerous, and you genuinely should not even *try* if you’re not already in a position where you have access to government intel and materiel. being a mole means being extremely careful with the information you provide. don’t give out anything that could identify you - you don’t want to wind up like Reality Winner. even if you’re willing to take a bullet for the cause, remember that you’ll be able to do much more good alive than dead or in federal prison or a CIA black site. being a mole also means carefully respecting the need-to-know status of all intel. you should know as little about the people you’re helping as you need to know they’re trustworthy. remember that this is a fight, not a social club, and that knowing your place could mean the difference between life and death for the people you want to help.
and if you’re working with a mole, understand that they’re in the cold. you have a close network of fellow travelers to keep you steady and on course. they don’t, out of necessity. respect the enormous dedication it takes to work behind enemy lines, but don’t lose sight of the fact that they might turn, or just not be steady allies. lots of moles, very understandably, are conflicted about their allegiances. consider the provenance of all intel with care before you act on it. make sure you have covert signals in place by which your contact can indicate they’re compromised, because they can and will be used to feed you false intel if that happens.
do social engineering. like i said, our main enemies in this war are total dumbasses. this means a good bit of con artistry can go a long way if you’re good at manipulating people, consider using that to squeeze intel out of the enemy or lead them into traps. hell, you might even be able to get two different factions of fash (because the militia freaks aren’t quite as buddy-buddy as you might think) into a shooting war with each other, neutralizing two nests of vipers without firing a single shot. good conmen are crazy vital to any resistance.
run comms. the internet is great but it’s damn near impossible to use anonymously, and it’ll be the first thing to go in any urban warfare. get good at radio. establish encrypted radio links with other members of your cell. teach people voice procedure, because trying to run shit by radio is a mess without that. have backup codes and frequencies in place in case one is compromised. like i’m not gonna lie, being a radio operator is probably going to be like the most vital job when we start fighting back. coordinating operations citywide will give your cell the ability to respond rapidly and effectively to new intel. and speaking of intel:
just straight up fucking be a spy. this is not some extremely glamorous and dangerous position, and it’s actually one of the safest and easiest jobs for anyone to do. you don’t even need to do it full-time. all it involves is reporting intel (even *publicly available* intel like when you see a cop car heading down the street) to people who might find that intel actionable.
provide transportation. lots of the people who might be willing to fight on the front lines are not going to be able to mobilize easily. if you have a car, or better yet a van, then helping transport personnel is one of the most valuable things you can do. vehicles are also great places to set up comm centers because they’re harder to identify, cut off, and secure than buildings just by virtue of being able to move from place to place.
work as a specialist. the revolution is going to need tech support. they’re going to need counseling. they’re going to need lawyers. they’re going to have a million different civilian needs. but you can’t just hire a civilian plumber when you’ve got a couple of revolutionaries hiding out in your spare bedroom. you can’t just call geeksquad when your hard drive is full of sensitive compartmentalized intel. having trustworthy professionals to call on when disaster strikes can be the difference between success and capture.
support morale. fighting back is going to suck, and the people in the most stressful positions need to be reminded why they’re putting themselves on the line. art, songwriting, speeches, all the traditional propaganda forms are invaluable here. so are reporters, people who will follow up after actions your organization participates in and tell your people exactly how much they accomplished, present the stories of the lives you’ve altered for the better - and remind you to do better when you screw up. don’t let anybody forget what you’re fighting for - especially your leadership.
on a more personal note, something we all need to understand is that the psychology of war is ugly. you need to be prepared for depression, despair, breakdowns. it’s so important for people to feel like they’re making a difference, and to be able to retreat to civilian comforts when necessary.
and there is going to be drug use.
this is something you need to be prepared for. you can’t expect people to stay clean and sober when they’re sacrificing their comfort and potentially their lives for the cause. so a culture of harm reduction when it comes to drug use by the troops is absolutely vital. don’t kick people out of your safehouse for shooting up heroin. but also make sure you’re not letting people head into combat or other situations that require alertness and steady reflexes while high or drunk or otherwise chemically impaired, whether that’s infiltrating a precinct or just driving to the grocery store. and your medics need to be prepared to handle overdoses. and withdrawal.
the better you support the morale of your personnel, the less you’ll have to worry about this.
finally: if you yourself have military experience, particularly within the US military, your skills and knowledge are absolutely invaluable, even if you aren’t personally fighting on the front lines. we need people like you we can trust to be dedicated to the cause to train and lead others. we need people who have experienced the psychology of combat, people who know what they are and aren’t capable of, so we’re not just throwing a bunch of civilians into the meat grinder and hoping a few capable soldiers emerge.
please feel free to spread this document in any format you see fit. i’m also happy to add people’s suggestions or answer sincere questions.
I want to tell you a story. Its a story about a number, and there’s nothing scary about numbers.
It’s actually a story about a website really; not so much a number. 466453.com. Just a series of numbers, followed by a dot com. If you type that address into your browser, it will take you to google. Try it. Google is the most widely used search engine in the world. 466453 isn’t, but google is.
Let me back up a little first, and tell you how I heard about 466453.com. It’ll make more sense if I start at the beginning. I was in college; it was my freshman year. I was an art major, and yes, whatever jokes about not being able to find employment, I’m sure I’ve heard them. I was dating a girl, who in hindsight, was clearly a coke addict. But at the time, we were just having fun. And the friends we shared, were just having fun too.
Some of the guys we hung around, were weird, but it was cool. It really didn’t make a difference to me. A lot of the time I wouldn’t even know a lot of the people partying in my apartment late into the night. People would just come in and out, and I didn’t always catch their names. If they were there, it meant they knew one of my friends, and that meant they were cool. Of course I didn’t keep the best company back then, so it should’ve been no surprise to me, that neither did my company.
So one night some guy sits beside me, and looks over at me. I was thinking, he was going to ask me for some coke or something, but he just says “466453.” That’s it. And then he looked at me like I was supposed to reply to that. I just thought he was fucked up. Acid maybe.
He kept looking at me, his sunken eyes waiting for something from me.
"466453.com,“ he said to me. "It’s crazy.”
And he reached his arm out and handed me a little scrap of line paper, with 466453.COM, scribbled harshly in pen.
"Seriously,“ he went on, "try it out for yourself. It’s wild, man.”
I had no idea what this lunatic was talking about and I was tired and out of patience, so I just got up and went to bed. I woke up the next morning, and had a few hours before class, so I straightened up my place a little and sat down on my couch. I reached in my pocket to grab my phone to see what texts or calls I may have missed, but felt a small crumpled paper at the bottom of my pocket. I pulled it out and the memory of the night before, came back to me. I must’ve put the piece of paper in my pocket, after that weirdo handed it to me. After looking at it for a moment, curiosity got the best of me, and I pulled my laptop up, and I typed in 466453.com. It brought me to google’s homepage.
"Fucking idiot,“ I thought. I thought it was some incredibly stupid prank or joke or something. So I just surfed the internet for a while, before heading out to class. And that’s when it all started, I guess.
I got through my classes, and was going to enjoy a quieter night by myself. Most of my friends partied every night, but that just wasn’t for me. And I had to work on a paper that night, anyways.
After I finished what I thought was a decent essay, I went to sleep. I woke up and groggily looked around the room. The clock read 4am. My eyes glanced to my right, and landed on my laptop, when I noticed something. The light, signaling its camera was on, was lit.
I got up to grab my laptop. I closed it and I just went back to sleep. What can I say, I was barely awake, I didn’t think much of it at all. To be honest, I forgot it happened, after I woke up in the morning.
The next few weeks continued normally, for the most part. My computer had been acting up; applications would randomly open, or be open when I woke it up. The computer was getting old though, and I excused its performance issues. I started getting weird emails from spam accounts, as well. Not the "Hey let’s have casual sex” emails; the subjects in these new spam messages would be things like “Tom is dead now,” “You killed Tom,” or “Whore,” or some were just gibberish like “ueyoedranedxt.” It was definitely weird, but I made a new email account and they stopped. And other than that, life was normal. Class, friends, drugs. My girlfriend.
"Why is your laptop camera on?“ I remember her asking me one night. I shut it; she thought I was trying to secretly film us or something; I just thought my laptop was on the fritz.
I started noticing weird shit pulled up on the internet. Stuff I definitely didn’t search for. I mean at first it was harmless things. A realty website. A website about Stags - Yeah just male deer. I don’t know, it was definitely weird but there wasn’t any harm or anything. It was just strange.
Then it took a darker turn, and I’d find images of children saved on my computer, a website devoted to people who seriously hurt themselves and talk about it or post videos of it, a video of someone being hanged in a dimly lit forest. And I started finding weird homemade videos in my computer folders. In the first video, it was dark, the camera used a very poor quality night vision, and it appeared to film a person, but way too close to gather anything at all, and there was no sound. Another was just a shitty quality video of someone filming a dead deer on the side of the road. Or it was a stag, I guess.
Some of my files started disappearing. Some were replaced. I remember opening a paper I had been working on, only to see it had become two pages of gibberish. It was getting extremely unsettling for me, and I had planned to get a new laptop, as soon as I could afford one. But I had to stick with what I had begun to say was my haunted laptop, in the meantime. It was just too important to have a computer for school.
Until in the middle of the night, I woke up to a horrific, blood curdling scream. I jumped up in my bed, and looked around, but I saw nothing out of place in my dark room, and everything was quiet now. I sat there confused for a moment.
"Did I dream that?” I looked to my phone on the stand beside my bed. 5:26 am. I also had new emails. I lazily grabbed my phone. The emails were from me and had no subject; they were all video attachments. I downloaded the first one to see what this was. The video was of me sleeping. I felt my throat tighten up. I was having trouble swallowing. I downloaded the next one, moving in slow motion, and it was the same thing. Me asleep in my bed. I couldn’t breathe. My mind went into panic mode, and I dropped my phone.
The light to my laptop camera turned on. I could see it in my peripheral. I was frozen; too horrified to even look at it, too scared to even move. After what felt like an eternity, I forced my head up and saw Skype was pulled up on the screen. I was looking at a dark room, there were some boxes in the back, and possibly furniture, but they were covered with sheets as if someone were moving. And then, there in the middle of the screen, was a person. They were just standing there, in what appeared to be dirty robes, with their head tilted to the side a bit, their black hair hanging a bit past their ears. And it/he/she was just looking at me.
I couldn’t move; I couldn’t think. We were just watching each other. And then there was that scream again.
I jumped out of my bed, slammed the laptop down, threw some shorts and shoes on, and grabbed my laptop. The hairs on my neck stood up; the dark apartment that was normally a comfort to me, was foreign and hostile. Fuck this. I grabbed my keys, ran out the door, down the buildings dark hall, and started down the stairwell. I thought I heard something below me, and stopped for a second to see if I could hear it again. When nothing happened, I continued running down the stairs and out the building.
I got in my car, and dropped my keys as I tried to put them in the ignition. I managed to get them in the second try and as shaken up as I was, I made it into town without smashing into anything. I pulled into the lot of a grocery store, got out, picked up my laptop, and chucked it into the dumpster. I hurried back into my car and just sat there for a moment.
After I had calmed down a bit, I thought maybe that was a bit of an over reaction; I could’ve just turned it off, and taken it to geeksquad, or thrown it in my own dumpster, but honestly that incident scared the shit out of me, and I wanted my computer far, far away from me. I drove back home, thinking whatever that was, it was over.
A few days went by, and nothing particularly eventful happened, and I was putting that whole thing behind me. Until I started getting the packages. Unmarked boxes started arriving for me; a clay pot, a knife, there was no pattern, no sense to it. I needed to find out what the hell was going on, so I followed my only lead and started asking my friends about that guy at the party. The one who started all of this. Of course I didn’t have a name so a vague physical description was all I could give them. No surprise every time I asked someone about him, they didn’t know who I was talking about. Until I asked my friend Donnie.
Turns out the creeps name was Mark, and they go way back. And Mark hasn’t been heard from lately. But Donnie was able to give me Marks address. Turns out he only lived a couple blocks from me. I was going to go over there and ask him what the hell 466453 is, and what is going on.
“Tell Mark to call me sometime,” Donnie yelled back to me. “That guy’s hilarious.”
I plugged his address into my phone’s GPS, and started walking there. I had a few hours before class and I wanted some answers so I could actually focus on something besides this shit.
"You’ve arrived at your destination,“ a robotic voice called out from my phone.
The first thing I noticed about Mark’s house, was that it was a dump. The second thing I noticed was an eviction notice on the front door.
"Fucking great,” I let out, exasperatedly. I was going to go back to class, with no answers, and go back home to deal with god knows what there; I couldn’t take it. I was desperate. I walked over to the windows and cupped my hands around my face to look in. Maybe he hadn’t left yet, maybe he was home. It was dark inside, there was a lot of empty space, but as I peered through the dusty window I noticed some boxes against the back wall, and then to the corner furniture covered by cloths.
"Shit, Fuck!“ It was the room on my computer screen the other night. I nearly tripped backwards turning around, and I fucking ran. Either Mark has been the one doing this or… I didn’t even want to consider the other option. Either way I was calling the cops. Its funny, when this stuff is happening on the internet, you think it’s some sicko thousands of miles away. In some small town in Wisconsin probably. You never expect them to be local.
"Maybe he’s not really a local,” I thought to myself as I sprinted, a million scenarios racing through my mind. I ran into my apartment building, and started leaping up the stairway, two stairs at a time. I wanted to just get into my apartment, and gather my thoughts for a moment and call the police. This whole thing was way the fuck out of hand.
“Maybe he just gets people’s IP address and heads to their city.” Visions of some tech savvy, grifter popped, uninvited, into my mind. I ran down my hallway. “I mean he clearly got my address from my computer or - he knows where I live.” The thought made my stomach drop, my blood became icy, and I felt the life drain out of me. “How could I have forgotten he knows where I live?” I asked myself numbly, as I stood there at my door looking down at a new package that had arrived for me.
I just stood there looking at my door, time suspended. I could go in, and risk him possibly being in there waiting for me, or I could just leave. “Of course,” I began to rationalize to myself, “if he were in there waiting to kill me or something, it wouldn’t really make sense to leave a package I’d never open.” I can’t really explain why I wanted to go in. The more reasonable thing to do would’ve been to call the cops and run out the building. Maybe it’s because it was MY home and I had some primal need to defend it, or maybe I was desperate for an answer to all of this, I really don’t know.
But I felt my hand, slowly going for my keys. I bent down picked up the package - no return address - and slowly put the key into the door nob. It’s like I was someone else, watching me. The door opened slowly, and I peeked through the opening.
And it was just how I left it. Nothing disturbed, no one waiting to kill me. I jumped inside, shut my door, locked it, and put the package on the kitchen table. I grabbed a knife to open what I was determined to make the last creepy package I’d ever get. As I held the knife, a thought occurred to me that this was the knife I had received from either Mark, or the mysterious grifter. I almost laughed. I sliced through the tape that sealed my new gift, opened the box up, and looked down to see my laptop with a post it note stuck to the top. “Turn it on” was all that was written on the note.
I reached into my pocket, grabbed my phone, and dialed 911. I explained to the operator my situation, as best I could. I probably sounded like a crazy person, but she said an officer would be right over. Ten minutes or so went by, maybe it was more, maybe it was less, I don’t really know. I was sitting in my chair when I thought I heard something out my door. I jumped up and thinking of the police, whipped the door open.
And there, laying on the floor, was Mark’s severed head, bleeding out in front of my door. My phone beeped. Numbly and instinctively, I reached into my pocked and pulled it out. I looked at it to see I had a new email. From myself. “Marks dead now. You killed Mark.” I just stood there, looking at his dead unblinking eyes.
I’m writing this now, as a wait for the police to show up, because really I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. A man’s severed head is in front of my door.
I want you to go to 466453.com and look something up. I think if you’re tech savvy, maybe you can find out who this psycho is or where he’s at. If you’re not, you can still use the site and help me. If this happens to someone else it’ll prove I didn’t kill Mark, and that my story is legit. So type 466453.com into your browser, and let’s see what happens. Please help me.