#Andy x Technology | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winxanity-ii · 3 months ago

Text

MEMORY CARD [2/?]

ship: artist!andy x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 7.6k a/n: im in love with this fic lolo (part 3 will be up soon) parts: 1

★·.·´🇦‌🇱‌🇮‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The night had stretched on, the saloon slowly emptying as patrons trickled out into the cool darkness, heading back to their rooms or wherever else the night might take them. You had to eventually drag Kiro back to the inn, but sleep had been elusive.

Every time you closed your eyes, his face flashed before you—those dark, unreadable eyes.

You tossed and turned, the thin mattress creaking beneath you as you tried in vain to find a comfortable position.

You knew who he was, of course. How could you not? He was one of the many hosts set up at the park, his face one that had been meticulously designed and crafted to be both compelling and approachable, his narrative tailored to fit seamlessly into the world of Westworld.

But for some reason, seeing him last night had stirred something in you, something that kept you awake as the hours slipped by and the night deepened around you.

When the first rays of morning light began to creep through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold and pink, you gave up on sleep entirely.

The faint sound of roosters crowing in the distance mingled with the murmur of early risers beginning their day.

You lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and restlessness. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft, even breathing of Kiro still asleep in the bed next to yours.

You sighed, pushing yourself up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath your feet as you stood, the boards creaking softly under your weight.

You padded over to the window, pushing the curtains aside and squinting against the bright light of the rising sun.

The town below was beginning to wake up, the early morning air filled with the distant clatter of hooves and the low murmur of voices.

It should have been peaceful, calming even, but your mind was still racing, replaying the events of the night before.

The way he had looked, so out of place yet so perfectly at home in the saloon, the lines of his suit sharp and crisp against the rough backdrop of the old western town.

The way his eyes had stayed fixed on the stage, as if he were searching for something in the performance, something that eluded him.

The way his presence had felt like a pull, a magnet that you couldn't resist even from across the room.

You knew you shouldn't be this affected. After all, he was just a host, a product of the park's intricate storytelling and advanced technology. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart had jumped at the sight of him, the way your thoughts kept circling back to him no matter how much you tried to push them away.

And maybe it was because of who you were—because of your connection to this place, to the very technology that had made it possible.

You were the daughter of one of the richest men in the world, a man who had built his empire on innovation and vision. Lionel Hawthorne, a name that had become synonymous with brilliance and ambition.

He had risen to the top of the tech world with a groundbreaking line of AI and robotics that had revolutionized the industry, his brilliance encapsulated in a single, brilliant line of code.

That code had been his masterpiece, the key that unlocked the full potential of artificial intelligence. It was the foundation upon which his company, Hawthorne Industries, had been built.

A code so advanced, so ahead of its time, that it had caught the attention of Delos. They had bought the rights to it, integrating it into their own technology to create hosts that were more lifelike, more autonomous, more… human.

You had grown up surrounded by that brilliance, by the power and promise of technology that could change the world. But even then you knew, despite all the marvels and promises it held, there were lines that shouldn't be crossed, boundaries that shouldn't be blurred.

Your entire life, your father had spoken with a certain reverence about one of his so-called greatest partnerships, his eyes lighting up with a rare kind of enthusiasm whenever the topic came up.

Westworld.

He would talk for hours about the marvels of the park, the genius of its design, the limitless potential of its narratives.

To him, it was the pinnacle of human achievement, the ultimate playground where technology and imagination intertwined to create a world where anything was possible.

He would tell you about how the hosts—so lifelike they were indistinguishable from humans—could adapt and evolve within their stories, how guests could step into another life, another world, and experience things they'd only ever dreamed of.

The freedom, the possibility, the sheer brilliance of it all. He spoke of Westworld as if it were a living, breathing entity, something more than just a collection of code and machinery.

It was his legacy, a testament to the power of his creations.

But for you, it was never that simple.

Even as a child, the idea of it had made you uncomfortable. The thought of people coming here, stepping into this world, and doing whatever they pleased to the hosts—creatures who looked, spoke, and acted like real people—had never sat right with you.

It felt wrong, twisted somehow, this notion that someone could pay for the right to play God, to bend another being to their will, no matter how artificial that being might be.

You'd pushed back for years, your arguments falling on deaf ears as your father brushed aside your concerns with a wave of his hand and that charismatic smile of his. "You don't understand," he would say, his tone always patient, as if speaking to a child who didn't quite grasp the complexities of the world. "Westworld is more than just a place for people to indulge their basest desires. It's a place of discovery, of transformation. It's where people can find out who they truly are."

But you weren't convinced. The stories you'd heard, the rumors about what people did in the park, the violence, the debauchery—it was enough to make you want to stay as far away from it as possible.

That is, until your fifteenth birthday.

He had been relentless that year, insisting that it was time for you to see the park for yourself, to experience the wonder of it firsthand. He'd spoken of the other side of Westworld, the side that wasn't about violence or control.

There were family-friendly activities, he said, places to explore, things to learn.

He'd painted such a vivid picture of it, so different from the dark tales you'd heard, that you'd finally given in.

You'd gone, more out of a desire to please him than any real curiosity about the park.

You still remembered the excitement in his eyes as you'd boarded the train together, his hand on your shoulder as he'd told you about all the things he wanted to show you, all the places he thought you'd love.

Your mother had been there too, her smile warm but distant as always, more interested in the idea of being part of something so exclusive, so elite, than in the park itself.

But when you arrived, your parents had quickly been swept away, caught up in the allure of their own narratives, their own desires.

You'd found yourself left to your own devices, wandering aimlessly through the dusty streets of Sweetwater, feeling out of place and overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

You'd spent most of those first few days near the inn, avoiding the chaos and the crowds, watching from a distance as people laughed and shouted, their faces flushed with excitement.

It had felt surreal, like you were watching a play unfold around you, each person an actor in a story that you couldn't quite grasp.

Then, one day, you'd drifted further than usual, your feet carrying you down the winding streets until you found yourself standing outside the post office. It had been quiet there, a small, unassuming building at the edge of town, away from the main hustle and bustle.

You'd hesitated, unsure why you'd come this way, what you were looking for.

And that's when you saw him.

He'd had a telegram clutched in his hand, his gaze downcast as he stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him seem smaller, more vulnerable than the other hosts you'd seen.

When you'd walked by, he'd looked up, his eyes widening slightly as if he hadn't expected to see anyone there. "Excuse me," he'd said, his voice soft, a hint of a British accent coloring his words. "I—I hate to impose, but might I ask for your assistance?" He'd hesitated, his fingers twisting the telegram nervously. "You see, I've found myself in a bit of a predicament. I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but I seem to have boarded the wrong one."

His story, as it turned out, was one of misplaced directions and missed connections. After contacting his employers via telegram and explaining the situation, he'd been told to catch the correct train at a different station, but he was still unsure of how to get there.

So there he had sat, looking lost and out of place, his elegant attire—a dark waistcoat and crisp white shirt beneath a tailored coat, all of it dusted lightly with the grime of travel—setting him apart from the dusty, rugged townsfolk who milled around the post office.

You'd watched as he struggled to compose himself, his fingers trembling slightly as he'd folded and unfolded the telegram in his hands.

When you'd agreed to help, his relief had been palpable, his shoulders sagging as he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for ages. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere and grateful. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

The two of you had made your way to the Mariposa Saloon, Andy walking beside you with an air of cautious optimism. He'd explained as you walked that the guide he'd found in town wouldn't take him unless he had someone else with him—a strange, arbitrary rule that seemed designed more to frustrate him than anything else. He'd chuckled softly at that, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe his own misfortune.

"It's just my luck, really," he'd said with a rueful smile. "I was hired to document the progress of the railroad, and here I am, stuck in this town, unable to even find the right station. I suppose it makes for a rather amusing story, doesn't it?"

You'd found yourself smiling despite your best efforts, charmed by the gentle self-deprecation in his tone, the way he seemed so genuinely perplexed by the absurdity of his situation.

He was so unlike the other hosts, so unassuming and earnest, and you couldn't help but be drawn to him.

When you'd finally reached the saloon, you'd found the guide inside, a grizzled old man who'd squinted at Andy with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect. "About time ya' found someone," he'd muttered, his voice rough as gravel. "Come on, then. We've got a train to catch."

You'd watched as Andy's face lit up, his eyes bright with relief as he’d turned to you. "Thank you," he'd said again, his gratitude clear in every word. "Truly. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

And then, the three of you were off.

Since then, you'd been back and forth to the park so many times over the years that you'd practically memorized the storylines of most of the hosts that had been part of the park's core narrative for as long as you could remember—like Teddy Flood's tragic tale of love and loss, his unwavering devotion to Dolores Abernathy that always ended in heartbreak.

Each story was a carefully crafted puzzle, a web of interactions and possibilities designed to draw people in, to make them feel like they were part of something bigger, something real.

But by far, Andy's storyline was your favorite.

His narrative was simple, almost quaint compared to the others, but there was something about it that had always resonated with you.

He was a British artist who had been commissioned to come to the frontier and document the construction of the continental railroad through a series of sketches and paintings.

The idea of a refined gentleman artist finding himself thrust into the rough-and-tumble world of the Wild West was endearing in a way—a fish-out-of-water story that felt almost whimsical against the backdrop of the park's more violent, chaotic tales.

After you'd agreed to help him find the station that first time, it had become something you looked forward to, something that felt almost like a secret between the two of you.

The route itself was split into two paths, each leading to a vastly different experience.

The family-friendly one, the one you always took, wound its way through a serene landscape, leading you to a hidden waterfall nestled in a secluded glen. There, the air was cool and fresh, the gentle roar of the water mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of wildflowers. Berry bushes dotted the edges of the clearing, their fruit ripe and glistening under the sunlight.

It was like stepping into a fairytale, a place untouched by the harshness of the world outside.

You'd always found a strange peace there, standing by the water's edge, your hands stained red and purple from picking the berries. Andy would sit nearby, his sketchbook balanced on his knee, his brow furrowed in concentration as he captured the scene with deft, practiced strokes.

It was a simple routine, one you cherished more than you cared to admit.

The other path, the one you avoided, led to something much darker. You'd heard the stories, whispers of what awaited those who chose that route. A ghost town, long abandoned, where the ruins of a saloon stood as a grim reminder of the violence that had taken place there. Inside, there was a reenactment—a twisted, macabre show where guests could play out their darkest fantasies, indulging in acts that blurred the line between entertainment and depravity.

There were no boundaries here, no limits to what could be done.

It was the kind of thing Westworld was known for, the reason so many people flocked to the park in search of thrills they couldn't find anywhere else.

But that wasn't what drew you back to the park year after year.

No, it was the quiet moments, the ones that felt real in a way you couldn't quite explain, that kept you coming back.

It was the feeling of Andy's hand on yours as he helped you over the rocks by the river, his fingers warm and firm against your skin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

It was the way he would look at you, his eyes soft and thoughtful, his words gentle as he called you a rare beauty, his voice carrying an admiration that made your heart flutter in a way that left you breathless and confused.

You'd tried to dismiss it, to tell yourself it was all part of the narrative, that his affection, his kindness, were just another layer of the story he'd been programmed to tell. But the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you—it felt different.

It felt real.

And that was what scared you the most.

Each time you reached the station, having taken the gentler path, Andy would reach into his suitcase, his expression proud and almost shy as he handed you a drawing.

It was always a flower, a delicate rose or a wild bloom sketched with such care and precision that you could almost feel the softness of the petals under your fingertips.

You'd collected them all, carefully storing them in a leather-bound book you kept hidden away, a secret reminder of the time you'd spent together.

But then...reality became crashing down.

You were nineteen, on the cusp of adulthood, and the world outside Westworld had begun to press in on you, demanding your attention in ways you couldn't ignore.

You'd tried to put it all behind you, to focus on your life, your studies, your family. But the memories lingered, the feelings you'd tried so hard to bury still whispering in the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.

You'd found yourself at war with your emotions, torn between the rational part of your mind that told you he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuits, and the part of you that ached whenever you thought of him, that remembered the way your heart had skipped a beat when he smiled at you, the way your breath had caught in your throat when he'd call your name.

It had become too much—the confusion, the longing, the impossibility of it all.

So you'd stopped coming, stopped visiting the park, stopped putting yourself through the torment of seeing him and knowing that it could never be real.

And now, four years later, at twenty-three, you were back.

With a sigh, you turned away from the window, running a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off your muddled emotions.

You'd told yourself you had come here to enjoy yourself, to escape from the pressures of your life for a while, to lose yourself in the fantasy and the adventure of Westworld.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You'd come back for him, for the chance to see him again, to find out if those feelings, those sparks that had once threatened to consume you, were still there.

And as you stood in the saloon last night, your eyes drawn to his solitary figure in the corner, you'd felt it again—that familiar rush of emotions you'd thought you'd left behind.

The sight of him, looking so lost and alone, had brought it all flooding back—the memories, the feelings, the ache in your chest that had never really gone away.

You knew it was dangerous; you knew you were treading a fine line between fantasy and reality, between what was possible and what could never be. But as you stood there, your heart racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts, one thing was clear.

You weren't done with him.

Not yet.

And this time, you were determined to find out what it all meant, no matter where it led.

The sun had already settled high in the sky by the time you finally left the inn, the warmth of the day pressing gently against your skin as you stepped outside.

You'd chosen to stick with your green aesthetic, just like on the train, but this time you'd added a touch of softness with a dress adorned with delicate flower patterns on the sleeves, the fabric falling gently around your knees in a way that felt both comfortable and flattering.

You were a little embarrassed to admit how long it had taken you to get ready that morning, standing in front of the mirror, making sure every detail was perfect.

Kiro had been exasperated with you, of course.

She'd watched you fuss over your hair and straighten your dress with a mix of impatience and amusement. "You know, you're taking longer than I do to get ready, and that's saying something," she'd teased, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "I'm heading out. Meet me at the saloon tonight, okay? Don't get too lost in your head today." And with that, she'd left, eager to explore the park on her own terms.

Now, as you descended the stairs of the inn, your hand trailing along the polished wooden railing, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

You smoothed the front of your dress once more, the soft fabric cool under your fingertips, the vibrant green contrasting with the sun-washed browns and reds of the town outside.

As your feet touched the last step, you heard a low whistle, the sound drawing your attention to a small group of rough-looking cowboys lounging against the porch railing nearby.

They were the kind of men who looked like they belonged in this world, their faces tanned and weathered, their hats pulled low over their eyes as they eyed you with a lazy, predatory interest.

"Well, well, well. Now, ain't you a sight for sore eyes," one of them drawled, his eyes raking over you with a slow, deliberate gaze. "Look sweeter than a peach just waitin' to be plucked." His grin was wide, showing a row of yellowed teeth, his words met with a chorus of chuckles from the men around him.

Another leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked you up and down. "Mmm, I'd sure like to sink my teeth into somethin' else," he added, his tone dripping with innuendo as the rest of them cackled, their laughter harsh and grating in the stillness of the afternoon.

You glanced at them, a single, disinterested look that you hoped conveyed exactly how little you cared for their words.

They were either guests—in which case a host would step in if they tried anything due to the Good Samaritan Reflex code, or hosts themselves—which means their behavior is designed to be provocative but ultimately harmless.

Either way, you knew there was no real danger, not here, not like this.

So you straightened your shoulders, your gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead of you, and walked past them without a word, your chin held high as you ignored their lewd stares and crude comments.

They called after you, their voices fading into the background as you continued down the street, each step carrying you further away from their lingering gazes.

It wasn't long before you found yourself near the post office, the familiar sight of it bringing a rush of nostalgia that tightened in your chest.

You slowed your steps, your eyes scanning the area almost unconsciously.

And then you saw him.

Just like all those years ago, he sat on the bench outside the telegram office, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed over a piece of paper in his hands. The same air of frustration and sadness clung to him, a palpable sense of weariness in the way he held himself.

Your heart flipped in your chest, the familiar, almost painful ache spreading through you as you took him in. The sunlight casted a warm glow over his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the line of his brow as he stared down at the paper in his hands.

He looked just as he did the first time you'd encountered him—disheartened and frustrated.

You stood there for a moment, your breath caught in your throat, your feet rooted to the ground as you watched him.

It was as if you'd been transported back to that first day, the day you'd found him sitting here, lost and alone, a small, seemingly inconsequential part of this vast, complex world.

But to you, he'd been more than that.

He'd been the one thing that had made this place feel real, the one person who had made you feel like you belonged.

But you knew better.

You'd told yourself so many times that he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuitry, that whatever connection you felt, whatever emotions he stirred in you, weren't real.

And yet, standing here, watching him, you couldn't help but feel that familiar pull, that spark of something that had never really gone away.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you forced yourself to move, your steps slow and measured as you approached the bench where he sat.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the anticipation and fear swirling inside you like a storm, but you kept walking, kept moving toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't explain.

And as you drew closer, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours with that same startled, almost shy expression you remembered so well.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think of what to say, he spoke, his voice soft and uncertain, the words catching in his throat as he looked up at you with that familiar, heartbreaking mix of hope and hesitation.

"E-Excuse me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Could you… could you help me, please?"

You were taken aback by the slight change in his introduction.

Normally, he would launch into the full explanation right away, his voice carrying a rehearsed cadence that was both familiar and comforting. But now, he just stared up at you, his eyes wide and earnest, the plea in them so tangible it made your chest ache.

It was almost unsettling how real he seemed, how much more depth there was to his expression, to the subtle shift of emotions that played across his features.

Four years was a long time, long enough for all sorts of updates and changes to be made to the hosts. Who knew what modifications had been added to his programming in that time?

But even so, it was hard not to feel the weight of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if he were truly lost, as if the question he'd asked wasn't just part of a scripted narrative but something he genuinely needed answered.

Clearing your throat, you tried to steady yourself, your mind racing to catch up with the moment. "Ah, y-yes, I can help," you managed, your voice a little shaky as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, to hold that intense, almost pleading gaze. "Um, what exactly can I do?"

He exhaled softly, the breath escaping him in a way that felt almost too human, his shoulders sagging just a fraction as if the prospect of your help had lifted some great weight off his shoulders.

"You see," he began, his voice still low, the words coming slowly, as if he were choosing each one with care, "I've found myself in a bit of a predicament." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, his gaze dropping to the paper in his hands as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but…" He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with a kind of quiet desperation that took your breath away. "It seems I've boarded the wrong one."

His hand tightened slightly around the telegram, his fingers smoothing over the creased edges, the gesture almost absentminded. "I contacted my employers, and they told me I should catch the correct train at a different station. But, I'm afraid I'm still not entirely sure how to get there." He glanced around, his gaze sweeping the street, his eyes lingering on the distant shapes of the trains at the edge of town before coming back to you, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. "And I fear my sense of direction is not quite up to the task."

You watched him, your heart thudding in your chest as you took in the subtle nuances of his expression, the way his eyes never quite left yours, searching your face for a response, for some sign of reassurance.

There was something so disarmingly sincere in his mannerisms, the slight hitch in his voice, the way his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as if he were bracing himself for disappointment.

It was impossible not to be struck by how much he had changed since your last visit.

The Andy you remembered had been charming, yes, but there had always been a certain distance to his interactions, a formality that marked him as a creation of the park.

But this version of him felt different, more grounded, more real.

It was as if the boundaries between what he was and what he was supposed to be had blurred in your absence, as if he had somehow become more than just a collection of code and wires.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the way the sunlight played off his features, that you almost didn't notice when he leaned in slightly, waving a hand lightly in front of your face. "Ma'am?"

"Uh—uh, yes! I'll help!" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you snapped back to reality.

You nodded a bit too enthusiastically, trying to regain your composure. But then a sudden thought hit you like a splash of cold water.

You weren't alone on this trip. Kiro was here too, off doing who-knows-what, and you couldn't just disappear without her or at least letting her know.

You turned back to Andy, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, I forgot, I'm with a friend," you explained, your voice a little hesitant. "And I'm not sure if she'd want to tag along, and I just can't leave her..."

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw his expression shift, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. His shoulders drooped just a fraction, a fleeting look of disappointment passing over his face.

You were already scrambling to make up an excuse, your mind racing for a solution. "...But then again, she's kinda unpredictable, you know?" you added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Who knows? She might be up for a wild adventure."

He blinked, his gaze flickering back to yours, the hope in his eyes reigniting like a small flame. "Are you... are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," you said, smiling as you nodded. "Lead the way."

Andy seemed to relax at that, his posture straightening as he offered you a grateful smile.

But then he hesitated, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost bashful. "I should warn you, though," he murmured, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "The place I'll be taking you next… it might be a little unorthodox for a lady such as yourself."

He paused, shifting on his feet, his eyes darting away and then back to you. "I apologize in advance," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, "if it's not quite what you were agreeing to. I assure you, if there were another way to reach the station, I would take it."

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued by the mix of hesitance and sincerity in his tone. "What do you mean?" you asked, your heart beating a little faster as you tried to piece together what he was getting at.

Andy glanced around, almost as if checking to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in slightly. "We need to go through the Mariposa Saloon," he explained, his voice still soft, his gaze searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. "It's… well, it's not exactly the most respectable establishment, and I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

A soft laugh escaped you, the sound surprising you as much as it seemed to surprise him.

You couldn't help it—there was something endearing about the way he seemed so concerned for your comfort, the way he was trying so hard to be considerate, even in the midst of this fictional world. "It's fine, really," you assured him, your smile widening as you met his eyes. "I think I can handle it."

He looked relieved at that, his shoulders relaxing as he nodded. "Very well, then," he said, offering you his arm in a gesture that was both old-fashioned and utterly charming. "Shall we?"

You took his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jacket, the solidness of his presence beside you.

As the two of you made your way down the street, the Mariposa Saloon looming ahead, you couldn't help but marvel at how much this narrative had changed, how much more intricate and layered it felt.

The Andy you remembered would have already told you everything, laid out his entire predicament in a neat, tidy package, but this version… He was different.

The information was spread out, doled out in small, tantalizing pieces that made you want to know more, made you want to dig deeper into the story.

It felt more real, more alive, and you found yourself drawn in, caught up in the flow of it, in the way he glanced at you with that almost shy smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

There was a depth to his mannerisms, a subtlety to his expressions that made it feel less like a performance and more like a genuine interaction.

It was like he'd evolved, become something more complex and human in the years you'd been away.

When you both entered the saloon, a familiar scene unfolded before your eyes. The low murmur of voices, the lively music from the piano in the corner, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic symphony that filled the air.

The room was packed, just as it had been the night before, the atmosphere alive with the energy of a dozen different stories playing out around you.

Andy navigated through the throng of people with ease, his hand hovering close to yours as he led the way to the bar.

You took a moment to glance around, your eyes sweeping over the familiar sights. The same rough-and-tumble cowboys leaning against the bar, the saloon girls laughing softly as they coaxed coins from eager hands, the showgirl on stage captivating the audience with her sultry voice.

It was all so familiar, yet there was an added layer to it today, a sense of anticipation humming in the air that you couldn’t quite place.

The bartender from last night caught sight of you as you approached, his smirk widening as he tossed the towel over his shoulder, picking up a glass to polish as if he had all the time in the world. "What can I get for a fine filly such as yourself?" he drawled, his eyes sweeping over you appreciatively.

There was no hint of recognition in his gaze, just the easy charm of a man who was used to making small talk and selling drinks. His purpose here was simple, his role in the story limited to serving alcohol and providing bits of information for those who needed it.

Before you could answer, Andy cleared his throat, stepping a little closer to you as if to shield you from the bartender's gaze. "I'm afraid we're not here for drinks," he said, his voice polite but firm. "We're looking for Mr. Granger."

The bartender's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild annoyance as he jerked his head toward the back of the room. "Granger's over there, playin' cards," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Andy. "Good luck gettin' him to listen, though. That man's more interested in his women and his winnings than anything else."

Andy nodded, his grip tightening gently around your wrist as he turned to lead you toward the corner where the bartender had indicated. "Thank you."

You felt your heart skip a beat at the touch, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

It wasn't the first time he'd guided you like this, but something about the way he held your wrist now felt different, more intimate somehow, as if he were reluctant to let go.

You followed him through the crowd, the noise and chaos swirling around you like a living, breathing thing, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he maneuvered you both through the room.

The back of the saloon was dimly lit, the air thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer.

A large group of men were gathered around a table, their voices rising and falling in a raucous chorus as they shouted and cursed at one another, their hands slapping down cards and coins with equal fervor.

It was a raucous, chaotic scene, the players’ faces flushed with drink and excitement as they leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the game with a near-maniacal intensity.

In the middle of the chaos sat Granger, the man you'd been looking for.

He was a rough sight, a grizzled figure with a scruffy red beard that looked like it hadn't seen a razor in weeks and piercing dark green eyes that were sharp and watchful even amidst the drunken revelry around him. His clothes were worn and dusty, the kind of attire that had seen long days under the sun and cold nights by a campfire.

There was an air of danger about him, the kind of man who'd been through more than his fair share of trouble and come out the other side hardened and cynical.

But what stopped you in your tracks wasn't his appearance—it was the sight of Kiro perched on his lap, her legs crossed casually, looking for all the world like she belonged there.

She was wearing his wide-brimmed cowboy hat, the brim tilted jauntily to one side as she held a fan of cards in one hand, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "C'mon, mommy needs a new pair of snake boots," she muttered, the words drawing a burst of laughter from the men gathered around the table.

You watched, dumbstruck, as she threw down her cards with a flourish, the movement quick and precise.

The crowd around the table leaned in, their breath held in anticipation, and then the room erupted in a chorus of shouts and cheers as Kiro's hand cleared the table, sweeping up the pile of coins and bills in the center.

"Well, I'll be damned!" one of the men shouted, slapping his thigh as he laughed, his voice booming over the din. "She done cleaned us out!"

Granger chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he looked up at Kiro. "You're somethin' else, darlin'," he drawled, his voice a lazy rumble as he reached up to tip his hat back slightly, revealing more of his weathered face. "Didn't think a city girl like you had it in her."

Kiro just grinned, flashing him a cheeky smile as she scooped up the winnings and shoved them into her pockets. "Guess you underestimated me, cowboy," she teased, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she lifted one of the shot glasses from the table and downed it in one go, the liquor burning a path down her throat.

You exchanged a glance with Andy, your eyes wide with disbelief as you took in the scene.

This was Kiro—your Kiro—sitting on the lap of a man who looked like he could chew her up and spit her out without a second thought, and she was acting like she’d just won a round of poker at a fancy hotel rather than in the back of a lawless saloon.

Without thinking, you pulled Andy a little closer, your fingers brushing against his as you moved to stand directly in front of Kiro, your heart pounding in your chest. "Kiro, what the hell?"

She paused mid-swig, the glass hovering just in front of her lips as her eyes widened in surprise.

Slowly, she turned to look at you, blinking as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "Uh… hey?" she said, the word dragging out in a way that made it sound more like a question than a greeting.

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to express what you were feeling, but all you could manage was a strangled, "What are you doing?"

Kiro glanced around the table, as if suddenly remembering where she was, and then back at you, her lips curling into a sheepish smile. "Just, uh, making friends?" she offered, her voice lilting up at the end, as if she were trying to gauge your reaction.

"Making friends?" you echoed, gesturing to the pile of winnings in front of her. "It looks more like you're robbing them blind!"

Kiro shrugged, the motion exaggerated as she tossed back the rest of her drink, the liquid disappearing in one quick gulp. "It's not my fault they suck at cards," she said, her grin widening as she leaned back, her elbow resting casually on Granger's shoulder. "Besides, what's the point of coming here if you're not gonna have a little fun?"

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something, anything, but then Andy's hand tightened slightly around yours, his fingers warm and reassuring against your skin.

You glanced up at him, his eyes meeting yours with a look of quiet support, and the knot of annoyance in your chest loosening just a fraction.

Taking a deep breath, you gave Kiro a pointed look, mouthing the word "Later," before turning your attention back to Granger. He was sipping on a cup of whiskey, his eyes sharp and calculating as he watched the two of you.

You cleared your throat, trying to summon as much authority as you could muster in the presence of this grizzled, intimidating man. "Mr. Granger, I need your assistance with getting Mr. Andy to the correct station," you began, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

Granger tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Andy, and for a moment, you weren't sure if he was going to take you seriously. But then his eyes lit up in recognition, and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. "Ah, pretty boy," he said, his voice a rough rumble of amusement as he leaned back in his chair. "I see you did what I told ya, yeah?"

Andy stepped forward, his posture straight and respectful as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Granger’s face. "I desperately need—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't care to hear all that," Granger interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Usually, I'd turn down a job like this, 'specially for someone like you." He paused, his gaze flicking over Andy with a kind of wary disdain. "You sound like one of those English uppity types, always comin' through here actin' like they're better than everyone else."

Andy's face tightened slightly at the words, but he held his ground, his jaw clenched as he nodded. "I understand, sir. But—"

"But," Granger cut in, his voice rising slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes locking on yours. "Since you got these two sweet little plums so willin' to get you there, I reckon I can make an exception." He winked at Kiro, who had slid off his lap to stand beside you, her cheeks still flushed from the whiskey.

She straightened her clothes, her hands smoothing down the fabric with quick, nervous movements as she muttered a quiet, "Sorry."

You gave her a small smile before glancing back at Andy. His shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction, his eyes softening as he turned to look at you, gratitude written plainly across his features.

Granger leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the two of you. "But I ain't doin' it for free," he continued, his tone turning serious as he met Andy's gaze head-on. "I'll get you to the station, but it's gonna cost ya. I need enough to cover my room and board for three nights when I get back, you hear?"

Andy nodded without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it."

Granger grunted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for any sign of deceit. But apparently satisfied, he pushed his chair back with a scrape of wood against wood, the legs catching on the uneven floorboards as he stood. He reached down, scooping up the pile of winnings from the table with one hand, the coins clinking softly as they fell into his palm.

He glanced at Kiro, his smile widening as he split the pile, holding out half of the coins to her. "Here you go, darlin'. You earned it."

Kiro looked at the pile of coins in his hand, her eyes widening slightly before she shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she reached up to pat his chest. "Keep it, big boy," she said with a grin, her tone light and teasing. "You need it more than me."

Granger raised an eyebrow at that, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he tucked the coins back into his pocket. "Suit yourself," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He nodded toward the door, his expression turning serious once more as he looked back at Andy. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

You felt Andy's hand brush against yours again, the brief contact sending a rush of warmth through you as he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You nodded, your heart still pounding as you turned to follow Granger, Kiro close at your side.

Whatever lay ahead, whatever challenges you were about to face, you knew you were ready.

A/N: i wanted to give it in 2 parts but my sis bullied me and said nobody wanna read that long ahh fic 😭💔 she right tho haha sry bout that lolol

#xani-writes: andy fics #andy x reader #N-D-255 #androids #romance #andy alien romulus x reader #westworld #west world #westworld crossover #xani-writes: andy-memory card #x reader

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holylulusworld · 2 years ago

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Two kings (10) - FIN of Arc 1

Summary: You have fallen in love with the king of Brooklyn. When your wedding day arrives, there is much more to discover about the man you fell in love with than you thought...

Pairing: King!Steven Grant Rogers x Queen!Reader, King!Andrew Stephen Rogers x Queen!Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Nick (Fowler) Barnes (for my story his surname is Barnes), Dean Winchester

Warnings: angst, modern royal au, dystopian world (kinda), fluff, light smut, p in v, voyeurism, Andy likes to watch, dirty talk, praise kink

A/N: We are living in modern times, but in a dystopian/post-war world. Almost every technology got destroyed.

We reached the end of this arc. But fear not, we will see our dear reader and the brothers again in the upcoming arc.

Stay tuned for more: Of Kings and Queens Arcs

Two kings masterlist

<< Part 9

“Doll, look at me. I want to watch you cum for me, Y/N,” Steve pants against your lips as his cock makes you sing for him. The noises you make sound like a symphony of lust to him.

You whine with every deep thrust. It’s too much. Steve pushing you toward another orgasm, the events of the day, and Andy watching you get fucked by his brother with darkened eyes.

“She’s so good for us, isn’t she, Steve,” Andy grips your chin to turn your head. He claims your lips as his brother pumps into you. “How does Stevie feel inside of you, Blossom?” He teasingly nips at your lips.

“G-ood,” you stutter. You feel your cheeks heat up. If your parents would see you now, naked and fucked out by two men. They believe you are a sweet angel.

“Always so good for us, aren’t you,” you turn your head to look at Steve. Sweat runs downs his forehead, and his face is red from the strength he uses to push into your spent body. A few droplets end up in his beard, and you can’t help but reach out for his chin to grip it to keep Steve from looking away.

“You’re so big and hard for me, Stevie,” you encourage your husband. “Show Andy how good you can make me feel.”

Andy throws his head back and laughs loudly. “Damn, we already ruined our sweet wife. She’s going to be the death of us.”

You gasp. “No…please no…”

“Baby doll, he was just joking,” Steve softly says. He stops his movement to sling one arm around your back to hold you close to his chest. He kisses your ear. A gesture only Steve and you know about. “We won’t die, okay. You’ve got us for the rest of your life.”

“Okay,” you nod against Steve. It takes you a few moments to calm. Steve’s cock twitches inside of you, and you grins as you say. “Uh—can you make me cum again now…”

The other royals, their wives, your husbands, and you are sitting around a large table at one of the many hidden rooms in the castle.

You need to hold back a sigh as it almost feels like you are one of the Knights of the Round Table you read about in a book.

“We all came here to talk about the future,” Steve gets up from his chair and raises his voice to silence the people in the room.

You shyly glance at your husband. He looks so strong, determined, and fearless while you are fighting with your tears.

“No worries, darling. Tony is here to save the day,” Tony flashes you a grin, earning a slap to his thigh from his wife. You don’t know her name yet, but you can see that she’s a fiery and strong-willed woman. She even carries a sword like a knight.

“Tony, leave the queen alone,” his wife tuts. “She has more important things to worry about than your wandering eyes.”

“My sweet petal, I would never—” Tony grumbles as his wife looks away. She crosses her arms over her chest and clicks her tongue.

You were right. She’s fiery and pissed. In other words, a woman your taste.

“Stark, are we ready?” Nick asks. “Stop this nonsense and talk to us. We risked our lives coming here. If anyone finds us here all together we are done for.”

“NICK!” Andy grunts. He doesn’t want you to worry even more, “we are safe here. No one will rat us out. You know that.”

“So…are you married too, Bucky?” you try to catch Steve’s best friend’s attention and stop the men from fighting. “Your Highness?”

“She’s at the chamber you offered to us,” Bucky replies. His features soften, and he gives you a soft smile. She’s…” he shakes his head.

“Our wife is not feeling well. I’m sorry. She would’ve loved meeting you today,” Nick jumps in. “You see, you’re not the only one married to two men. Twins to be precise.”

“OH! WOW!” you clasp one hand over your mouth. You’re not the only one married to two men. “Sorry. I meant I’d love to meet her one day.”

“Gentlemen, maybe we should get back to the topic we wanted to discuss,” Steve clears his throat, and points toward the map pinned to the wall.

“Right,” a man you never saw before agrees. His piercing green eyes flit toward you, and he gives you a cocky grin. He seems to be flirty, but there is a sadness in his eyes you understand too well. He’s as scared as you are. “As Nick said, we risked our lives coming here. If someone finds my brother alive…”

“We get it, Winchester,” Tony grunts. “You are all special because you are having a brother.”

“Tony,” Andy sighs deeply. “Please. Did you and your father make any progress?” Your husband gives Tony a sympathetic look. “We are all sorry for your loss, you know that.”

“Loss?” you whisper so only Steve can hear you. He shakes his head and pats your hand. Another secret unrevealed, then. “Sorry…”

“Later,” Steve mouths.

Tony gets up from his chair. His hand gently slides over his wife’s back as he walks toward the map. “My father and I tried to fix the mess the war brought upon us.”

“Did you succeed, Tony?” Andy gets impatient. He wants answers, not another Tony Stark monologue. “Fill us in.”

“It was a case of trial and error, Andy,” Tony tuts. “A little more patience would suit you much better.” He grins and turns his attention back toward the map. “What we did can only be described as magic.”

“Magic?” his wife rolls her eyes. She huffs and gets up from her chair to slap the back of Tony’s head. “We’ve got no time for this nonsense, Ton’s. Just get it over with.”

“Last night you told me I need to talk more,” he argues. “Before I silenced you with my…” he trails off. “Anyways. Back to your question, Andy.”

“Good,” Andy grumbles. “Please continue.”

“Could you all stop interrupting me?” Tony cocks a brow, and the room falls silent. “Father and I, we worked our asses off. If we want to survive this revolution, we need more than a good heart and bravery. We need an advantage.”

“What does this mean exactly?” you ask as there is a knock at the door. You stiffen. No one knows about this room. No one but the people in this room, and Steve’s most trusted knight.

“Who’s that?” Nick jumps up, hand grabbing his sword as the door slowly opens.

A woman steps inside. She shyly glances at Nick who immediately drops the sword to rush to her side.

“What’s the matter, flower?”

“You—we…it’s all over. They are here. King Rumlow, Pierce…they are coming for us. It’s an army, Nick. I think someone told them we are here…all of us,” she whimpers before passing out. Nick catches her fall to carry her toward the table.

While Nick gently cradles his wife in his arms, his brother jumps up, knocking the chair over to get a huge bag he brought with him. “Fuck, I guess times up already.”

“Steve,” Andy jumps up to close the door and lock it. “Friends, allies…the day we all feared and hoped for came earlier than expected. We all can only hope we can withstand their attack.”

Tony walks toward the window, he opens it to glance outside only to see an army slowly approaching the castle.

His heart somersaults, but he’s not afraid. He knew this day was coming.

“Tony…” his wife softly says.

“I know,” he closes the window and turns back around. “Well, I guess they want to test their strength. Luckily I’m not unprepared.”

“A battle was the last resort, Tony. What are we going to do now?” Steve questions. He worriedly watches you step toward your husbands with tears in your eyes. “Tony?”

“We won’t go down without fighting back. That’s what we are going to do, Steve,” Tony grins.

“No more riddles or meaningless speaches,” Bucky warns. “Time is running out on us and our plan just went down the drain.”

“Fear not,” Tony says. He gets a strange device out. One you only ever saw in history books. “If they want a war, I’ll bring it to them…”

___

This is it. The end of this arc. I know, I’m evil. You will have to read the other arcs to get to know what Tony has up his sleeve… 😈

>> Arc 2

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #andy barber #king!andy barber #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader x andy barber #Two kings (10) - FIN of Arc 1 #royal au #dystopian au

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justinspoliticalcorner · 6 months ago

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Andy Craig at The UnPopulist:

Elon Musk, the billionaire CEO of Tesla and Space X and owner of the social media platform formerly known as Twitter, styles himself as one of society’s great champions of free speech. He has explicitly framed X, his rebrand of Twitter, as a singular haven for the free flow of ideas. A self-professed “free speech absolutist,” Musk has a rather grandiose view of his role in the battle between free speech and censorship, at one point even suggesting that reforming Twitter from its allegedly left-favoring ways amounted to “a battle for the future of civilization.” As Musk sees it, he is on a crusade against woke censors tirelessly committed to stifling the free exchange of ideas. When asked why he bought Twitter on Joe Rogan’s podcast, Musk revealed that he did so to stop it from being used as an “information technology weapon” intended to spread the speech-restricting “woke mind virus” to the whole world. “In order for the virus to propagate, it must suppress opposing viewpoints,” he said. Musk claims he bought Twitter to stop the spread.

Genuine defense of free expression is a noble, worthwhile endeavor—which makes it all the more unfortunate that Musk, like many self-styled free speech crusaders, is anything but a friend of the right to speak freely. He is arbitrary about the kind of speech he allows on his platform, construing the word “cis” a slur and threatening to ban accounts who use it, and on occasion disallowing negative coverage of Tesla. That might be hypocritical but ultimately his prerogative and not a violation of speech rights. But what’s truly dumbfounding is that while claiming to oppose censorship, Musk has repeatedly attacked the First Amendment rights of those who have said things he doesn’t like. In court and elsewhere, Musk advocates censorship by the state, sometimes putting his effectively unlimited resources into undermining core legal protections for free expression. Musk is hardly alone in pretending to fight censorship while trying to expand it, though he’s the most glaring embodiment today of the inverted relationship between free speech rhetoric and actually living out free speech principles. That makes him a threat to free speech, not its greatest defender.

Defending Free Speech By … Silencing Critics?

Last year, progressive advocacy organization Media Matters reported that, on Musk’s X, major corporate advertisements were running next to overt white supremacist and neo-Nazi content. Given that such content had proliferated on the site since Musk’s takeover, this finding was hardly surprising. Overt bigotry is essentially the only thing more permitted (and encouraged) under Musk’s management than on pre-Musk Twitter.

[...]

There was no dispute that the screenshots Media Matters provided were real, not fakes. Musk’s only argument was that they were unrepresentative, which was hardly the point given that major American companies reasonably expect their ads to appear next to posts praising Adolf Hitler exactly zero times. Despite lacking a serious legal claim, Musk promptly threatened a “thermonuclear lawsuit,” later following that up with even more absurd threats against not just Media Matters but anybody who donated to the non-profit. Musk’s legal case against Media Matters actually managed to validate the watchdog’s reporting, since his argument tacitly confirmed that the ads in fact appeared next to the hateful content in question; his only claim was the ads weren’t juxtaposed next to offensive posts as frequently as some believed. Most audaciously of all, Musk characterized his lawsuit as a defense of free speech—all the while he was literally asking the government to punish true, constitutionally protected speech he didn’t like.

Worse, in a flagrant bit of judge-shopping, Musk filed his lawsuit in the Northern District of Texas—infamous for being the most MAGA-friendly federal court in the nation—despite the fact that neither he nor Media Matters have any real connection to the district. But he wasn’t content to leave it at that. Musk also proudly cheered on the attorneys general of both Texas and Missouri who opened criminal investigations into Media Matters, ostensibly for some kind of fraud. The real purpose, however, was plain: to use state power to punish core First Amendment protected speech.

[...] Musk has, on occasion, wound up on the correct side of a free speech fight against foreign governments seeking to coerce him, such as when he stood up to Brazil’s Supreme Court justice who tried to arrest election deniers and those who allegedly undermine electoral institutions. But at other times he’s caved to government demands in craven and non-transparent ways, including succumbing to the demand of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi to suppress an unflattering BBC documentary about Modi’s role in a Muslim pogrom. Such fights are common for social media giants, which are global platforms with international reach. In fact, pre-Musk Twitter was known for being one of the most aggressive and reliable resisters, through both litigation and outright non-compliance. Musk’s acquisition took one of the tech world’s staunchest and most effective defenders of free speech and made it a weakened pushover.

Andy Craig writes in The UnPopulist that right-wing X owner Elon Musk’s claims to be a “free speech absolutist” are a sham, as he has censored speech that he doesn’t approve of.

#Elon Musk #X #Freedom of Speech #Media Matters For America #SLAPP

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talenlee · 9 months ago

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Game Pile: The Beginner's Guide, Midjourney, and Praying to Coda

The Beginner's Guide, Midjourney, and Praying to Coda

Watch this video on YouTube

This is a rebuild and expansion of my article on The Beginner’s Guide from back in 2018, with a newly developed thesis about authenticity and access to artists.

And below is the script I worked from!

The Beginner’s Guide

The Beginner’s Guide is an interactive storytelling video game created by Davey Wreden under the studio name Everything Unlimited Ltd. The game was released for Linux, OS X, and Windows on October 1, 2015. The game is Wreden’s follow-up to the critically praised The Stanley Parable, his previous interactive storytelling title that was initially released in 2013.

The game is narrated by Wreden and takes the user through a number of incomplete and abstract game creations made by a developer named Coda. Wreden challenges the player to try to come to understand the type of person Coda is from exploring these spaces in a first-person perspective. Wreden has stated the game is open to interpretation: some have seen the game as general commentary on the nature of the relationship between game developers and players, while others have taken it as an allegory to Wreden’s own personal struggles with success resulting from The Stanley Parable. When the game sold, a reviewer – at least one, but I can’t find records of more than that – made a bit of a stir by suggesting that the fiction presented in the game is true, and that therefore, the game was built out of stolen material, and gamers buying it could hypothetically, get it refunded if they felt that were in any kind of moral quandrary.

This is, as best I understand it, the ‘story’ of The Beginner’s Guide, the entity in media, the confluence of reporting and reactions to a game. And now, in that same disjointed way of The Beginner’s Guide, I want to tell you about s1m0ne.

S1M0NE, stylised however you wanna, is a 2002 Al Pacino movie about a dude who creates a virtual actress. That’s not even how the movie goes in full, it’s way more involved than that and it includes bestiality, and it has this nasty kind of undercurrent about the fundamentally exploitable nature of women in media spaces. It’s an interesting film.

I didn’t say good.

Anyway, the thing is S1M0NE’s central premise is the virtual actress, Simone. In-movie, she doesn’t exist. To reinforce this, she isn’t credited as having an actress. The movie does do an extensive cgi sequence, showing Simone being constructed digitally, but it was… let’s say it’s very 2002, and leave it at that. Anyway, a bunch of people including representatives from the Screen Actors Guild believed it and they started a fuss about it. I think. It’s hard to find sources about it now, but I remember a fuss.

I mean it stands to reason, if you’re a union you want to oppose things that hurt the interest of your members, and that’s a perfectly valid concern to be worried about around about now with things like deep learning technology allowing us to transplant faces and details across multiple media works and the complex relationship between motion capture and voice actor and fully integrated action – like, if you weren’t aware, motion captured faces are not a 1:1 acting thing, they’re a structure for animators to work from. Gollum is not ‘Andy Serkis is amazing,’ they’re Andy Serkis and the fifty people doing all the rest of the work are amazing, and yes, Andy’s ability to disappear into the role and do the physical acting element is impressive. That’s a real conversation.

But it’s not the conversation they were having in 2002.

There were some people, in late 2002, who genuinely thought that an Al Pacino movie with Winona Ryder and a budget of $10 Million had successfully replicated the human form with complete authenticity, and that the much cheaper and easier tack of using an actor wasn’t more likely. Then they thought it’d involve, y’know, pig-doinking.

Simone was played by a Canadian actress, and the movie otherwise glanced over its very interesting questions of identity and artificiality and technology to instead tell a story about a dude who was very, very anxious about his inability to control women. The real story of the movie, then, is less about what the movie wanted to talk about and much more about the fact some people couldn’t tell where the movie was fiction and where it was fact. The boundary of the diegesis confused people, and there were some critics who were genuinely unsure of how confident they could be about dismissing the fears of people who thought the end of actors had come.

This comparison is because, yeah, it’s kinda stupid that videogame criticism was duped into believing that maybe an author stole all their work and then recorded themselves having a nervous breakdown then edited that nervous breakdown and cleaned up the audio and packaged it up and sold it on Steam without at any point considering that the art was stolen, it’s not like videogames are unique in this regard. We have a history of people not knowing the boundary between art and real and sometimes, when people play with that, especially in areas of new technology, people make mistakes. But also, like, yeah, we are now living in a time when the idea of ‘someone tried to sell entirely stolen assets on steam for $15’ isn’t even a joke or punchline, it might just be a fact of a thing that happens regularly.

As a game experience, The Beginner’s Guide is fine. I like it as a game because it needs the medium of games to make sense, complete with the idea of incomplete games and the way games are made not from a coherent single point but a sort of constantly exploding set of interconnected steps. Like, you couldn’t make this as a book because this isn’t how a book would look when you’re exploring its dismantled bits. The Beginner’s Guide, if it were a book about books and making books, would look like collected pieces of paper in different hands, with a sort of formalising hand over it all.

Funnily enough it’d look a bit like the book of Genesis.

(There’s a long reach of an academic poke)

It’s a perfectly interesting work about imposter syndrome and emotional boundaries and creative processes and a lot of other things you can see in your own inkblots. It’s an artistic piece that tells you a narrative in a really blunt way, but it uses its framing to create a blurred diegesis. It uses real world markers to confuse you about the actuality of its narrative, or it did at the time.

There’s a forking challenge here; on the one hand, I want to berate videogames, as a culture, for being so woefully ill-equipped to deal with meta art as to be convinced that the narrative presented in The Beginner’s Guide was actually real and have at least one actual journalist be so unsure of the reality of the presented narrative as to hedge their bets and mention seemingly unironically that refunds for this game were an option. On the other hand, it’s not like we’re drowning in meta-aware fiction and a cultural discourse that can treat this kind of thing seriously. Since the Stanley Parable and then Beginner’s Guide, the most recent big ‘oh everyone talks about it’ meta-game in my space has been Undertale, and I hate that.

Since the Beginner’s Guide’s original appearance, things have moved on a bit, and particularly, the word ‘parasocial’ has fallen to the common voice. People with platforms use the term to describe the behaviour of people who don’t have platforms, and the people without platforms follow their word, and now ‘parasocial’ has a sort of loose use around it, the idea that it’s pretty much just anything that annoys you about other people on the internet, especially if they’re talking about media. Then we got ‘plagiarism,’ which is, I understand, ‘mostly vibes.’

I want to compare Davey Wreden to Fred Gallagher, the author of Megatokyo. Megatokyo if you’re not familiar with it, is a webcomic that started in August 2000 and has never officially stopped updating since. It’s updated twice this year, which puts it ahead of the same time last year. What Megatokyo is about is not important here, what is is that Megatokyo was enormously succesful, incredibly popular, and has never once had an update schedule its authors were happy with.

I wrote a lot about Megatokyo last year and I still think that article is worth restructuring and presenting in some kind of long form read way. In the end my conclusion about it is that I don’t think ill of Fred Gallagher as a creative, as much as I think that he got to suffer a unique kind of problem that only capitalism can cause, where you can be too successful to handle your own success. That is, both Wreden and Gallagher made something that led to people having assumptions and expectations that don’t make any sense, because the value of what they created was associated with capital, which is to say, money, and rent, and food.

There’s this idea we’re all circling around right now on a platform that is probably by now mostly procedurally generated – not just the stuff made in the past few years by tools like Chatgpt and the midjourney thumbnails and all, but rather that the algorithm of youtube made a lot of people make media in a way that shaved the non-formulaic parts off it, until there was nothing but hash tag con tent. The stuff you like is a small egg floating on a vast and turbulent sea of piss. It’s now that people care a lot about a kind of authenticity from work which separates it from what I’m going to call Generative Media, and which other people are going to insist on calling ‘AI.’

The conversation around generative art is a real struggle sometimes because it feels like sometimes when people are talking about ‘ai art bros’ they’re dealing with a small pool of obnoxious people, and sometimes I can even tell the specific dickhead they mean. It’s Shad, it’s Shad, so often they mean Shad, and yeah sure, Shad sucks. But the conversation around generative media is so often structured in these really weird ways that seems to imply low-quality images don’t exist until generative media gets involved. That nobody cranks out bullshit, or that art is a transferrable property of a human agent, or that in the great days of the internet, nobody’s using pictures they didn’t draw to illustrate articles they wrote. In this very video I’m using gameplay footage from a game I don’t own, and the reason you’re not seeing the footage from S1m0ne to reinforce that point is because a robot would get mad at me and block the video if I did.

I’m even in defensive crouch saying this stuff here. Look: I think generative media tools have applications, particularly in zero-value situations. Nobody in the world is having their pocket picked if I copy art of Rin Matsuoka and use that for my D&D character. Similarly, someone with less image editing skill than mine using generative media to generate pictures of things they weren’t going to pay for in the first place are not hurting anyone unless you believe in a literal cosmic value of these things. In that case, you’re basically just like the generative media people who are functionally, praying to chat gpt. If you’re rapid prototyping, if you’re making a game and need temporary assets to give yourself tools to build around, if you need a powerpoint presentation for class, all of this stuff represents no lost value. This is a perfect place to put generative media. I’m sure purists will disagree, and I just do not care. But there’s my stance: Generative media is an interesting toy that should be used as such, and if it can replace your job, your job probably sucks and you should be doing something cooler and better that people value more. That’s a problem with jobs, and how we give people money to feed themselves, not the software that generates anime tiddy on demand.

Now, here is where things get tangled up.

It seems to me that generative media is being attacked right now by people I generally like and agree with on most things, because of very high concept, seemingly contradictory positions. People who dislike copyright law busting it out to attack midjourney, and people who hate Disney praying for them to fight Google. Ideas about the inherent nobility of art and stick figure illustrations being better than generative media on websites dedicated to sharing unsourced artworks of definitely not stick figures. People don’t have reasons that make a lot of sense for why these things should not be tolerated, but they are very real about their emotional hatred of them. Which, you know, given the people who defend generative media, makes sense, a lot of those people suck and are incredibly obnoxious. Particularly it seems a lot of them are the losers of the NFT wave who are trying to get in ground level as ‘prompt engineers’ as if the ecosystem they’re entering will value them at all.

One of the most sterling arguments against generative media, and one I personally like, is the idea that these tools represent potential precarity for artists who are already struggling to pay for things like, again, rent and food. Potential, in that, largely commission-based artistic survival under capitalism seems to be a bit of a dice roll as it is. My solution to this is not to shame people who weren’t going to pay for art for failing to be able to support a commission economy they weren’t partaking in in the first place, though, it’s things like massive overhauls of income inequality and universal basic income, but also I can understand how my idea is hard and yelling at strangers in hyperbolic language is really easy.

The pressure that created the Beginner’s Guide is also the pressure that meant someone talking about an artistic work of anxiety media couched it in terms of fucking refunds so people didn’t feel they’d ethically mis-stepped by buying fiction about exploitation, a thing that nobody otherwise does, and it’s the same pressure that means ‘someone is making cheap bad art with an exploitative method’ is a threat to the livelihood of a small number of people who have managed to make an extremely precarious living doing art in the first place. As if money is why artists make art, as if we aren’t all struggling in exploitative systems, as if the existence of bland corporate art pumped out in huge troves to pad resume drawers isn’t

Since these past few years, writing academically, a habit I’ve gotten into is always trying to attribute where I get ideas for. Sentences that are referring to someone else’s idea, with the little note of ‘hey, this is that person, at this date.’ It’s a thing that can create the habit of also starting sentences with ‘Wreden says this’ or ‘Gallagher’s work shows this,’ which creates in casual conversation an impression of a very specific kind of authorial access. Certainly here on Youtube, I don’t want to give you the impression because I’m pointing to their work that I can tell you what they think or feel. The idea that I can connect to these authors through a particularly big brained reading of their work is similar to how Christians think they can read god’s mind because they read the book of Daniel, and like, Fred Gallagher exists.

I don’t know what Davey Wreden was thinking about the Beginner’s Guide when he made it. Even if I asked him now, I won’t get an answer, I’ll get the answer of what he remembers of what he was thinking, which may be the same thing but can’t necessarily. I can try, and that’s a way to get at this authenticity, but it’s not a way to guarantee it.

The Beginner’s Guide is still an interesting game to me, because the conversation around it, and around ownership of work, and of unsourced material and exploiting artists hasn’t changed that much but all the people engaging in it have gotten new things to have to try and fit into their models. We are no closer to Coda.

Those opening paragraphs of this article are from from wikipedia.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Game Pile #Games

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kikithedreamerwriter · 1 year ago

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OC!Sayuri x Bayverse!Leonardo

Feat. @miss-andromeda’s Andi Grace 🎀✨

🗣️: @sharpwindow @pheradream-15 @m1dnyt3-w0lf @akesdraws-blog @fyreball66 @miss-andromeda @shinzowosasageyoooo

Sayuri Meets the Boys

“April… are you sure this is a good idea?” Sayuri sighed as she stood over the manhole side-by-side with April. “I feel like I should have received some sort of invitation, don’t you think?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She smiled. “They want to meet you as much as you want to meet them. Besides, I’ve already asked Master Splinter. It’ll be fine, Yuri. Now get in.”

Months since the kidnapping incident, Sayuri always kept her balcony door open for Leo who gladly visited her almost every night and joined her as she studied. On days he was unavailable, they would always keep in touch via message and phone calls. As time passed by, the extent of their attraction to one another became more apparent to not only April and Casey, but to Leo’s family as well. He would hum gleefully as he cleaned the dojo, was gradually less overbearing on his brothers (which Raph and Mikey did not mind one bit), and was constantly on his phone despite his slight aversion to technology (much to Donnie’s amusement). Above all, Leo found himself constantly talking about Sayuri to his father during tea. Wanting to meet the girl behind Leo’s recent elation, Master Splinter asked April if she could bring Sayuri to the Lair so that she can have dinner with the entire family.

Unbeknownst to Leo, he continued to engage in a heated spar against Raph as Mikey and Donnie observed from the sidelines.

“How much longer!” Mikey groaned slouching over.

“Well,” Donnie replied as one of his monitors chirped. “April’s here, so maybe not as long as you think.”

“April’s here all the time, what’re you talking about?”

“I mean April and her,” Donnie smirked. Mikey’s lips formed into an ‘o’ beginning to snicker at his blue-clad older brother drenched in sweat.

“Do you think he knows?” Mikey giggled.

“Are you kidding?” Donnie snorted. “In that state? Not in the slightest.”

Just as Leo was beginning to have the upper hand in the spar, April and Sayuri stepped into the Lair.

“Hey Angelcakes!” Mikey exclaimed. “Who’s your pretty friend?”

Leo suddenly averted his gaze towards the entryway and was met with a familiar stare.

“Everyone! This is Sayuri.”

At his moment of distraction, Raph quickly pinned down his brother to the ground, securing victory.

“Whooo!” Raph howled. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! How’s that Fearless?”

Sayuri giggled at Leo, whose defeated, sweaty form was splayed against the dojo floor in just utter embarressment. Mikey and Donnie snickered as Raph joined them towards April and Sayuri. Master Splinter then appeared from his quarters and Leo was trailed him shyly in his wake.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you Sayuri,” Splinter smiled as she took her hand in his. Sayuri wasn’t even fazed as she looked kindly upon the old rat and laughed at something he said. “These are my sons…”

“Raphael,”

Raph grunted and nodded at her in acknowledgement.

“Donatello,”

“Pleased to meet ya,” Donnie chirped.

“Michelangelo,”

“Hello~ babycakes,” Mikey winked.

“And I’m sure you’re quite acquainted with Leonardo,” Splinter smiled as he turned towards his eldest son at the back of the room.

“Hey,” Leo said to her shyly.

“Hi,” Sayuri grinned.

Just then April looked up from her phone, “Heads up guys, Andi’s coming. Casey’s picking her up.”

“Then we better get the table set,” Leo interjected suddenly, steering away Raph who threw him a funny look as they headed into the direction of the showers instead. Splinter chuckles as a retreats to his quarters to wash up before dinner. He excuses himself and leaves promptly.

“Alright!” Mikey cheered, slinging his arms across Sayuri and April’s. “Three of the hottest babes in New York are gonna be under this roof tonight!”

“Watch your hands, Mikey. Sayuri’s not exactly single.” April winked as Sayuri blushed profusely.

“My bad, my bad,” Mikey raised his hands. “Anyways Sayuri, may I have the pleasure of touring you around our humble abode?” Sayuri laughed at Mikey’s posh imitation as he offered his arm to her.

“Yes you may good sir,” Sayuri smiled as she looped her arm through his.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The household held such a chaotic and vibrant energy. Splinter with his wisdom, Mikey with his charms, Raphael with his quiet brooding, Donatello with his imagination, and well… Leo with what Sayuri calls his “adorable anxiety.” Everyone was settling down at the table, both their bottoms and the bottoms of plates of heaping food when Casey enters the Lair. Behind him a girl, just about Sayuri’s age and height follows. She was wearing a pink sweater tucked in white slacks. Her long, caramel hair was in a half-up hairstyle adorned with a pink bow. Sayuri thought two things, one: she looked like the softest thing on the planet and that she couldn’t possibly harm a fly, two: she’s rocking the pink Barbie aesthetic. At the sight of her, Donnie ran towards the young woman with such haste that he nearly knocked Mikey from his seat.

“Oh Enchantress!” He sighs as he lifts her into his arms. “How I’ve missed you!”

“Hello my professor,” her hand grazed his cheek lovingly.

“Well that’s excessive,” Raph remarked from the table.

“Your stupidity is excessive,” she shot back. Mikey snorted.

“Now,” she sighed as Donnie let her down. “Where’s this Sayuri that everyone’s been talking about?”

Sayuri waved from the table.

“Hey! The name’s Andi!”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Dinner was commencing and it was in full swing. Chinese and Italian is on the menu tonight and everyone was digging in. It was wasn’t an enormous round table where everyone sat at, so it was a quite a tight fit. Leo didn’t mind as long Sayuri’s smooth arm grazed against his on occasion, and sharing a glance afterwards.

“You all right?” He whispered to her. He smelled like his homemade soap and of green tea. Sayuri wished she could just bottle the scent of him and mist over all her cardigans.

“Yeah,” Sayuri whispered back. “Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Your family’s really cool.”

Leo smiled.

Sayuri chuckled.

“Donnie looks really happy,” she says as she watched Andi feed Donnie a dumpling from her plate. “They look so good together.”

“Yeah?” Leo says to her smiling. “So do we.”

Sayuri’s cheeks reddened as Leo held her hand under the table.

“You’re one of us now.”

#tmnt leonardo #tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt fandom #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt donatello #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph bayverse #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #tmnt oc #tmnt headcanons #tmnt oneshot

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dynamoe · 1 year ago

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Last month I uploaded the last chapter of Tomorrow's Just Another Day to AO3.

71,832 words, written between 5/2022 - 6/2023 → go to the Billy Quizboy & Pete White index

If you read any of this shit, thank you very much. I hope you got some entertainment out of it. I can now retire from my brief but intense career as fiction writer.

— THIS TUMBLR IS ALSO RETIRED —.

Tomorrow... follows Boy Genius: 54,414 words between 11/2021 - 2/2023

Boy Genius was meant to read like a (very long, unfocused) episode of the Billy & White spinoff show, had it existed. Tonally, it's in the sci-fi-through-mundanity Venture genre: a SuperScience convention paralleled with the culture of competitive boy geniusing. Billy's mother is the only other canon Venture Bros. character to appear.

Tomorrow is fan fiction in response to fan fiction. I never saw a Billy romance attempted so I wrote one. It's not slash or erotica— just '90s style indie film awkwardness. Not in the Venture Bros tone at all. There's no sci-fi element other than Billy's robot hand; no Venture content other than Billy's Rusty Venture memorabilia collection.

It's still a nostalgia wank. I go real deep on mid-1990s specifics.

Because the show came out so slowly over a long period of time (20 years!), the current generation of most-fired-up-fans are way younger than the creators or the characters. Each fan creates their own internal canon for the characters they love. They experience it through their own frame of references. Own it. Go on with your bad self. I GET IT! YOU DO YOU!

THAT SAID...

Seeing fan stuff saying like "Pete identifies as gamer ..something something playing Minecraft" "Billy buys import Vocaloid/Anime figurines" totally gives me whiplash. Because I'm an old. (Not as old as AstroBase Go and not as old as Conjectural Technologies but enough to know their references.)

My read on it— Venture Bros is a quintessentially a Gen X show and Gen X nerdery is a whole other animal. Being a weird dork manifested in a whole other way before widespread internet use and the current age of geek culture dominating pop culture. It was a shameful niche.

So, playing around in the '90s I got to define some of that old school dorkwad identity and I got to top-load it with every nostalgic element of the era I could think of (and research for even deeper cuts.) I was in high school then, so some of that shit is stamped on my brain.

I created an original character who I hoped would be interesting and flawed and believable for the era but most importantly funny playing off the characters fans would already know. (And then get rid of her when I was done, though I felt bad about it.)

Between the two stories, the only material I never found a use for was high school stories of 9-12 year old Billy meeting an inspirational (secretly alcoholic/crack-smoking) teacher, taking over the varsity Quizbowl Team, a battle of wills with his rival (the unctuous team captain with a McEnroe perm and temperment) and getting stood up by his prom date (Pretty in Pink situation where he is both Duckie and Andie).

if you've read all the way to the end of either story, please leave me a comment or send me an ask or DM or something. I wrote a hell of a lot of words (and drew way too many illustrations) on this fuckin' thing. Thanks.

all Billy Quizboy & Pete White material:→ FAILURES of SCIENCE index

off into the sunset (in a universe where I didn't blow her up)

→ go to the Billy Quizboy & Pete White index

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ghelgheli · 1 year ago

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The Stuff I Read in June/July 2023

Stuff I Extra Liked is Bold

I forgot to do it last month so you get a double feature

Books

Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee

Heteropessimism (Essay Cluster)

The Biological Mind, Justin Garson (2015) Ch. 5-7

Sacred and Terrible Air, Robert Kurvitz

Wage Labour and Capital, Karl Marx

Short Fiction

Beware the Bite of the Were-Lesbian (zine), H. C. Guinevere

Childhood Homes (and why we hate them) by qrowscant (itch.io)

piele by slugzuki (itch.io)

بچه‌ای که شکل گربه میکشید، لافکادیو هرن

بچه های که یخ نزدند، ماکسیم گورکی

پسرکی در تعقیب تبهکار، ویلیام آیریش

Küçük Kara Balık, Samed Behrengi

Phil Mind

The Hornswoggle Problem, Patricia Churchland, Journal of Consciousness Studies 3.5-6 (1996): 402-408

What is it Like to be a Bat? Thomas Nagel, (https://doi.org/10.4159/harvard.9780674594623.c15)

Epiphenomenal Qualia, Frank Jackson, Consciousness and emotion in cognitive science. Routledge, 1998. 197-206

Why You Can’t Make a Computer that Feels Pain, Daniel Dennett, Synthese, vol. 38, no. 3, 1978, pp. 415–56

Where Am I? Daniel Dennett

Can Machines Think? Daniel Dennett

Divided Minds and the Nature of Persons, Derek Parfit (https://doi.org/10.1002/9781118922590.ch8)

The Extended Mind, Andy Clark & David Chalmers, Analysis 58, no. 1 (1998): 7–19

Uploading: A Philosophical Analysis, David Chalmers (https://doi.org/10.1002/9781118736302.ch6)

If You Upload, Will You Survive? Joseph Corabi & Susan Schneider (https://doi.org/10.1002/9781118736302.ch8)

If You Can’t Make One, You Don’t Know How It Works, Fred Dretske (https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1475-4975.1994.tb00299.x)

Computing Machinery and Intelligence, Alan Turing

Minds, Brains, and Programs, John Searle (https://doi.org/10.1017/S0140525X00005756)

What is it Like to Have a Gender Identity? Florence Ashley (https://doi.org/10.1093/mind/fzac071)

Climbing towards NLU: On Meaning, Form, and Understanding in the Age of Data, Emily M. Bender & Alexander Koller (10.18653/v1/2020.acl-main.463)

On the Dangers of Stochastic Parrots: Can Language Models Be Too Big? 🦜 Emily M. Bender et al. (https://doi.org/10.1145/3442188.3445922)

The Great White Robot God, David Golumbia

Superintelligence: The Idea that Eats Smart People, Maciej Ceglowski

Misc. Articles

Ebb and Flow of Azeri and Persian in Iran: A Longitudinal Study in the City of Zanjan, Hamed Zandi (https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110694277-007)

WTF is Happening? An Overview – Watching the World Go Bye, Eliot Jacobson

Using loophole, Seward County seizes millions from motorists without convicting them of crimes, Natalia Alamdari

Punks, Bulldaggers, and Welfare Queens, Cathy J. Cohen, Feminist Theory Reader. Routledge, 2020. 311-323

Is the Rectum a Grave? Leo Bersani (https://doi.org/10.2307/3397574)

Why Petroleum Did Not Save the Whales, Richard York (https://doi.org/10.1177/2378023117739217)

‘Spider-Verse’ Animation: Four Artists on Making the Sequel, Chris Lee

Carbon dioxide removal is not a current climate solution, David T. Ho (https://doi.org/10.1038/d41586-023-00953-x)

Fights, beatings and a birth: Videos smuggled out of L.A. jails reveal violence, neglect, Keri Blakinger

Capitalism’s Court Jester: Slavoj Žižek, Gabriel Rockhill

The Tyranny of Structurelessness, Jo Freeman

Domenico Losurdo interviewed about Friedrich Nietzsche

Keeping Some of the Lights On: Redefining Energy Security, Kris De Decker

Gays, Crossdressers, and Emos: Nonormative Masculinities in Militarized Iraq, Achim Rohde

On the Concept of History, Walter Benjamin

Our Technology, Zeyad el Nabolsy

Towards a Historiography of Gundam’s One Year War, Ian Gregory

Imperialism and the Transformation of Values into Prices, Torkil Lauesen & Zak Cope

#reading prog #one day i will be able to read books well again #most of the things that aren't linked i can provide directly upon request #those dennett citations are hard to track down

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heliza24 · 1 year ago

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This was one of those lines and scenes that basically turns me inside out with envy as a writer. This exchange is working on so many levels. Like on a macro level it is summing up the themes of the show. Andy and the other inventors are fixated on creating technology that will protect them in the face of climate change but it's not enough to protect them from murder. In fact sometimes it's the technology itself that's being used to kill them. Andy is constantly talking technology in these big sweeping terms. He uses it to keep himself separate and apart from the rest of the world. But Darby uses it for connection. She fell in love with Bill on the internet. She uses technology to find the clues that lead her to answers. She uses Ray to keep herself grounded. She sees the humanity, the people-made hacks, threaded through every interface and every computer. The dead speak to her but so does code. And when the show touches on a generational divide I think that's what it's mainly saying. How do you view technology? Is it a tool to help you stay separate and apart from the rest of humanity or a way to speak to the dead? In reality there are people of every generation that have every possible relationship to technology. But there is something that feels very Gen x about Andy and very Gen Z about Darby in their relationship to computers.

Bill is kind of an in between. He meets Darby on the internet, but their courtship is analogue. He woos her using Morse code after they graduate off of Reddit. After he leaves Darby he starts making art that protests smart cities. Maybe he was murdered because he opposed some sort of tech that Andy is working on. We're not sure yet. And he's frustrated that Darby is so obsessed with the case she can't look up and see him, and for Darby the case lives on her phone. So it makes sense on a scene level that he would be railing against phones here. He's just been so vulnerable with her, listed the moments he knew he was in love with her, and she's too scared to be vulnerable in return. Instead she turns back to the phone. So it makes sense that he's displacing his frustration with Darby onto the object of her obsession. And her response just cuts through his defense mechanism. It's such a good rebuttal. It refutes his initial assumption, that her obsession with the case means she doesn't love him. It lets her be vulnerable and defend herself at the same time. It's such a good line.

Another thing I loved about this episode was the way that the Bill/Darby relationship shifted. In the beginning of the series Bill feels very dangerous. He's a stranger Darby met on the internet, he's hacking lights on abandoned train tracks to send her a message, he's sweeping her away on a cross country roadtrip to find a killer. He could easily be a killer himself. Those early scenes between them are shot in a way to emphasize the danger and the edginess that exists between them, and you’re supposed to be scared for Darby. But as we gradually get to know Bill we realize how caring and thoughtful he is. We see how much he cares about Darby and especially about her consent before anything sexual happens. And in this episode we realize that there was always a dangerous element in their relationship. But it was Darby, not Bill. It was Darby's obsession with the case, her comfort and dedication to the dead over the living, and her spiraling mental health that threatened their safety and their relationship.

By the time Darby is in Iceland, it seems like she's grown past this negative mental health space, at least to an extent. She's written about her experience finding the killer with Bill and put it behind her. But death finds her in Iceland and pulls her back in, and in this episode we see her resort to some of the same unhealthy coping mechanisms in order to solve the case.

The other perfect line from this episode was "sometimes I feel like I would have to die for you to love me", and I think it's so wonderful because it's both extremely true and totally wrong. Darby does have a connection to the dead, and she is bound to Bill more strongly in his death than she was during the years after he left her. She is intent on finding out what happened to him, but at the same time she is drowning in grief. She's unwilling to offer Bill's name when the other guests lists the other murder victims at the bonfire because that would mean he is really not coming back, he's really just the same as all the other serial killer victims they investigated together. And she loved him more than that. She loved him in life too.

This show is so good, the writing and the dialogue and the symbolism and sense of fate that runs through it is so good. I really hope they stick the landing of the mystery because I just love it. This episode in particular is just rattling around in my brain, I can't let it go.

#a murder at the end of the world #my meta #didn't mean to write a thing but here we are!#this show is so good PLEASE don't let them mess it up #I would love for tumblr to get into this show

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justforbooks · 2 years ago

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Ryuichi Sakamoto was not a man cut out to be a pop star. As a teenager, he liked the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, but his abiding passion was New York’s underground avant garde art scene – Joseph Beuys, Fluxus, Andy Warhol – and its accompanying experimental music: he was fond of pointing out to interviewers that he was born the year that John Cage composed 4’33. At university, he studied the work of modern composers Boulez, Stockhausen and Ligeti; he had a particular interest in the challenging electronic compositions of Iannis Xenakis. The first album to bear Sakamoto’s name, 1975’s Disappointment/Hateruma, was a collaboration with percussionist Toshiyuki Tsuchitori that consisted entirely of free improv. If he was going to have a role in the Japanese pop world at all, it was in the background, using his keyboard skills and interest in the fast-developing world of synthesizers to find employment as a session musician.

But a pop star was exactly what Sakamoto became, at least for a time. A 1978 session for singer Haruomi Hosono led to the suggestion that they should form a band with drummer Yukihiro Takahashi. Yellow Magic Orchestra went on to become both the biggest band in Japan – inspiring a degree of paparazzi attention and screaming fervour among fans that Sakamoto seems to have loathed every minute of – and the first Japanese artists to find more than novelty or cult status in the west.

Yellow Magic Orchestra were successful, but they were groundbreaking too. The convenient shorthand was that they were the Japanese Kraftwerk, although in truth, YMO didn’t really sound like Kraftwerk at all. Alongside the synthesizers, they used guitars, bass and acoustic drums. They were more straightforwardly aligned to disco: their debut album even featured an electronic version of the deathless “ooah ooah” whoop from the Michael Zager Band’s Let’s All Chant. You could detect the influence of jazz fusion and, later, the UK’s ongoing ska revival. Like Throbbing Gristle, they appeared fascinated by the kitschy 1950s exotica of Martin Denny and Arthur Lyman, which had featured traditional Japanese instruments and quasi-“oriental” melodies; Yellow Magic Orchestra’s biggest international hit was a version of Denny’s 1959 track Firecracker.

Equally, you could see why the Kraftwerk comparison stuck. Both bands shared an obsession with technology – Yellow Magic Orchestra were pioneering in their use of sequencers and samplers and they introduced the world to the sound of the Roland TR-808 drum machine – and a belief that being cutting-edge experimentalists didn’t preclude them from writing fantastic pop songs. The Sakamoto-penned Behind the Mask, from 1979’s Solid State Survivor, was covered by Michael Jackson, ostensibly for inclusion on Thriller, although it was dropped from the final tracklisting; it was eventually turned into a UK hit by, of all people, Eric Clapton.

Both YMO and Kraftwerk were interested in the detournement of Anglo-American pop: just as Kraftwerk borrowed from the Beach Boys on Autobahn, so YMO covered the Beatles’ Day Tripper and Archie Bell and the Drells’ Tighten Up, the latter in cartoonish Japanese accents. They also shared a dry sense of humour, which in Yellow Magic Orchestra’s case usually fixated on western prejudices and fears about east Asians. On the cover of Solid State Survivor, they dressed in red Mao suits, enjoying a drink with an effigy of the late dictator. While the US fretted about an influx of Japanese cars and technology damaging their economy, 1980’s X∞Multiplies featured a series of sketches, one featuring a sinister Japanese businessman signing a contract, another featuring an American who realises his Japanese host can’t understand English and lets rip with a torrent of racist abuse: “The Japanese are pigs, yellow monkeys, they have small cocks and short legs.” As a moral panic erupted over the deleterious and addictive effect of the Taito Corporation’s Space Invaders games, Yellow Magic Orchestra’s records literally sounded like arcade games: their eponymous debut album was packed with interludes featuring their bleeping noises and tinny Game Over death marches.

And, like Kraftwerk, Yellow Magic Orchestra proved vastly influential – or rather, it took the rest of the world a little while to catch up: there was something telling about the fact that Solid State Survivor wasn’t released in the UK until 1982, at the height of the synth-pop wave that YMO had presaged. By then, their music had found its way into the collections of DJs and producers in New York’s burgeoning hip-hop scene – they were apparently astonished when the audience on Soul Train began breakdancing when they performed Computer Games – although it was a track from one of the solo albums Sakamoto had begun releasing concurrent with his career in YMO that had the biggest long-term impact. Riot in Lagos, from 1980’s B-2 Unit, had been recorded in London with reggae producer Dennis Bovell, and was apparently inspired by the Afrobeat of Fela Kuti. It remains an astonishingly timeless and effervescent piece of electronica: if you didn’t know it and were told it was released last month, rather than 42 years ago, you’d believe it. Abstract but funky, it cast a considerable shadow over dance music: it was big club hit on release, helped shape the sound of electro and turned the head of hip-hop producers including Kurtis Mantronik. Drum n’ bass producers Foul Play sampled it, and you can hear its influence in the music of 90s electronic luminaries Aphex Twin and Autechre.

Yellow Magic Orchestra split in 1983. If Sakamoto had left it at that and returned to modern classical music, he would already have earned himself a place among the era’s greatest pop innovators. But with the release of Nagisa Ōshima’s film Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence, in which he also starred, he began a career as a soundtrack composer that clearly suited his temperament far better than the Beatlemania-like scenes Yellow Magic Orchestra had provoked at home. It would lead him to work with Bernardo Bertolucci, Pedro Almodóvar, Brian De Palma and Oliver Stone, among others, and be showered with awards, including an Oscar and a Golden Globe.

But the vocal version of Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence’s haunting main theme, retitled Forbidden Colours, also cemented a partnership with former Japan vocalist David Sylvian that had begun with the 1982 single Bamboo Houses/Bamboo Music. Along with Can’s Holger Czukay and experimental trumpeter Jon Hassell, he became part of Sylvian’s repertory company for a series of extraordinary albums that attempted to reimagine 80s pop in a more expansive, exploratory and pensive way.

They seemed to reflect Sakamoto’s own position within pop after Yellow Magic Orchestra. Sakamoto’s solo albums largely contained music that existed at one remove from whatever else was happening, in a space where he could follow his own path. On 1989’s Beauty and 1991’s Heartbeat, it sometimes seemed as if he was constructing his own brand of the exotica that had entranced YMO, blending eastern, western and African influences together, assembling eclectic and improbable guest lists that, on Beauty alone, included Youssou N’Dour, Robbie Robertson, Robert Wyatt, Brian Wilson and Prince protege Jill Jones.

It wasn’t as if Ryuichi Sakamoto needed to be at the centre of pop culture in person: thanks to sampling, the centre of pop culture was never that far from his music. In recent years, it’s been borrowed by the Weeknd, Justice, Burial, the Beastie Boys, Jennifer Lopez, Brandy and Freddie Gibbs.

In the late 70s, the other members of Yellow Magic Orchestra had called him the Professor, a jokey nickname that contrasted Sakamoto’s intellectual bearing with his unwanted role as the group’s main heart-throb. It was a title Sakamoto seemed to grow into more and more in his later years: recording minimalist albums with German artist Alva Noto, providing ambient scores for art installations, releasing live orchestral and solo piano recordings of his compositions. There are clips of Yellow Magic Orchestra in the 2017 documentary Coda, which showed Sakamoto returning to work following a diagnosis of throat cancer, but it’s still hard to square the young pop star who stares imperiously down from his apartment wall in a portrait by Andy Warhol with the man in his late 60s, learnedly discussing classical organ chorales, the purity of the sounds he recorded during a trip to the North Pole and whether a piano going out of tune represented “matter struggling to return to a natural state”.

The album Coda depicted him working on, async, was released in 2017. It combined Bach-inspired piano pieces with monumental drones, distorted synthesisers and ambient field recordings. The artists who lined up to remix its tracks came from the leftfield cutting-edge of electronic music: if you wanted evidence of how widespread Ryuichi Sakamoto’s influence was, the fact that his work was clearly an inspiration for the likes of Arca and Oneohtrix Point Never and had been sampled by Jennifer Lopez on a US No 1 single seems a reasonable place to start. Contemplating his mortality in 2017, Sakamoto said he wanted to make “music I won’t be ashamed to leave behind – meaningful work”. By any metric, he already had.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Ryuichi Sakamoto #in memoriam

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killergirlfuria · 2 years ago

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Anyway, hi, come meet the gremlin into whose save I’ve poured about 80 hours in the last 2 weeks.

Their name is Wren. They use female body frame and they/them pronouns, and they may or may not be a liiiittle bit not human. Just a bit of radiation, promise.

More stuff about them (mostly relationships) under the cut.

They’re in their early 20s, their birthday is 13 of Spring.

Their workshop is called Cait Sith because once upon a time they got a working copy of Final Fantasy VII and... Well, yanno, robot cat.

They’re a builder from Highwind from fancy Builder school. They love making stuff, ruin diving, technology, and people-watching. Due to their... Inhuman nature, they can come off as weird, but since they’re honest, genuine, and hard-working to a workaholic degree (also can’t keep out of other people’s business for shit) they do tend to make friends by osmosis, at least in adulthood. In childhood, they’ve been kind-of adopted by Nia, and they hold her in very high regard for it (as seen by them wearing the bunny accessory from her) as other children shied away from them.

Their relationship with townsfolk go as follows:

They’ve had a crush on Fang on sight, and it’s only rooted itself deeper as they’ve gotten to know him, though they are still working up the courage to give him the Heart Knot. Meanwhile, they keep reminding Fang to rest (especially when his health acts up), and Fang reminds them to slow the fuck down and go to sleep before midnight this time or else. Doctor’s orders.

Nia is their childhood/best friend, and they hold her in very high regard.

Their mother’s name is Maeve, their father’s name is Robyn, and they are the oldest of 4 siblings, with twin younger brothers, Jay and Qrow, and a younger sister, Dove.

They’re really good friends with Owen (all the part time work), Heidi (all the construction work), X (easier to get along with animals), and Justice (he actually seeks Wren’s company out sometimes + Civil Corp membership), and slightly less close with Unsuur (mostly working together), Mabel (jobs + dealing with Elsie and Cooper), and Qi (not-Gundams, but also Wren wants that ninja sword). They’re also friendly with Amirah (older sister of a gremlin son bonding time), Rocky (united in their hatred for Yan), and Ernest (who got attached due to Wren often answering his food requests).

They really respect Vivi, Mort, Zeke, and especially Trudy. Though they also (somewhat, begrudgingly) respect Cooper, they avoid him like the plague and wither through his rants only barely.

They’ve kinda... Accidentally (?) adopted Andy because they did not vibe with Miguel. Andy seems to like this arrangement better, even if he still has to go to school.

Due to their personalities, they’ve always been queasy with Pen and Miguel, and they’ve outright despised Yan due to his greed and whinging. They’re also been majorly put off by Arvio due to their first few interactions, and though he’s gotten better (with Wren and Amirah’s meddling), Wren still isn’t wholly comfortable with him.

They’ve adopted all the pets (their favorite is Nemo) and they have a spotted horse called Toffee.

Rosie/Magic Mirror is... Certainly A Lot for them. But it’s useful, so.

With everyone else, they’re friendly but ambivalent.

If you wanna know more about them, you can ask me. I might draw them soon.

#my time at sandrock #mtas #mtas builder #mtas oc

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jcmarchi · 1 year ago

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Record-Smashing Black Hole Born in Universe’s Infancy - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/record-smashing-black-hole-born-in-universes-infancy-technology-org/

Record-Smashing Black Hole Born in Universe’s Infancy - Technology Org

An international team of astrophysicists, including Princeton’s Andy Goulding has discovered the most distant supermassive black hole ever found, using two NASA space telescopes: the Chandra X-ray Observatory (Chandra) and the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST).

Astrophysicists combined data from JWST and the Chandra X-ray Observatory to identify the growing black hole at the center of this image. Image credit: X-ray: NASA/CXC/SAO/Ákos Bogdán et al.; Infrared: NASA/ESA/CSA/STScI; Image processing: NASA/CXC/SAO/L. Frattare, K. Arcand

The black hole, which is an estimated 10 to 100 million times more massive than our sun, is 13.2 billion light-years away in the galaxy UHZ-1, which means the telescopes are peering back in time to when the universe was “extremely young,” Goulding said — only about 450 million years old.

“This is one of the most dramatic discoveries to come out of the James Webb Space Telescope” and the discovery of the most distant growing supermassive black hole known, said Michael Strauss, professor and chair of astrophysical sciences at Princeton, who discussed the findings with the researchers but was not part of the research team. “Indeed, it completely smashes the old record.”

Precisely how the first black holes were formed in the universe’s infancy has been a long-standing debate among astronomers.

“Now, finally discovering a black hole that was so large, when the universe was so young, tells us that the black hole must have been very large when it was initially formed, probably from the direct collapse of a massive gas cloud,” said Goulding, who is a research scientist in Princeton’s Department of Astrophysical Sciences.

It also means that astronomers can rule out other formation models, like the death of the first massive stars, because those couldn’t produce a black hole large enough to explain UHZ-1, he added.

“The black hole has only a very short time to grow,” he said. “It either grew extraordinarily fast or the black hole was simply born larger.”

Goulding is one of the lead authors of the primary paper announcing the result and the lead author of a separate paper in The Astrophysical Journal Letters detailing the mass of the galaxy and its extraordinary distance, which was pivotal to the overall result.

Different telescopes have different tools to peer into the universe, and combining data from multiple instruments can yield more than a sum of their parts. “We needed Webb to find this remarkably distant galaxy and Chandra to find its supermassive black hole,” said Ákos Bogdán of the Center for Astrophysics-Harvard & Smithsonian in the press release. Bogdan is first author on the Nature Astronomy paper.

Written by Liz Fuller-Wright

Source: Princeton University

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 2 years ago

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I was tagged by @onmywaytonarnia so here's some stuff about me

Nickname: Florida Man or just Florida (god help me, I hate it down here...)

Sign: PEDESTRIAN X-ING, REST AREA - 3 MILES, or perhaps SPEEDING FINES DOUBLED WHEN WORKERS PRESENT (I do not believe in astrology)

Height: 6'1" or 6'2"

Last thing I googled: Perseverance rover

Song stuck in my head: for some reason I have a mashup of Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls and Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson stuck in my head. I don't know if I actually heard a mashup somewhere, or if they were both part of that 4-chords song by Axis of Awesome, but I can't stop thinking of the two choruses layered on top of each other (🎶and I don't want the world to see me cause I don't think that they'd understand/🎶I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly🎶)

Follower count: officially 3222, but I noticed when I was just starting out that tumblr inflated the actual count by like 20, 30, 40%. When it said I had 100 followers, I counted, and I actually had 85. When it said I had 1000, I only had like 700. I stopped counting after that, so I have no clue how many I actually have right now. Probably more than 1000, but probably not more than 2000. I have maybe 100 followers who regularly interact with my stuff, about 30 of whom are mutuals (maybe 10 or 15 close friends).

Amount of aleep: AHAHAHAHAHAHA (5, maybe 6 hours on a good night? Sometimes none, just endless tossing and turning because my brain won't shut off)

Lucky number: 13, and I'm not being ironic about that. I'm serious. 13 is my favorite number of a variety if personal reasons

Dream job: I want to be part of a creative team, I want to work with a bunch of people to make something for people to see! I want to make art, and I want to collaborate so I'm not alone. Writing scripts or making props or dressing sets, some manner of production design. I want to craft!

Wearing: Goodfellow t-shirt and cargo shorts

Movie/book that summarizes me: Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir feels like it was written for me personally. That is how my thought process works, that is how I deal with problems, that is who I want to be. I have a higher than average understanding of math and science but I always try to explain it in as simple terms as possible for people who find it all too daunting. This is the kind of book I want to write, sci-fi that explains the sci.

Favorite songs: Ramblin Man, the Gambler, Country Roads, the Devil Went Down to Georgia (I'm noticing a country pattern...), anything by Weird Al Yankovic (Hardware Store and Albuquerque are probably my top 2 of his),the Little Shop of Horrors movie soundtrack, White Squall and Northwest Passage by Stan Rogers (I went through a sea shanty phase when Wellerman was big), anything by Jonathan Coulton (Skullcrusher Mountain, Code Monkey, Blue Sunny Day, Big Wide World One, Shop Vac, Mandelbrot Set, to name a few), Climb Out Your Window, Addicted, and Here We Go by Walk off the Earth, and the Celtic Woman cover of Danny Boy (this is my go-to cry song; if I need a nice long cry, I put this on and it all comes flowing out of me)

Favorite instrument: I love brass, trumpet specifically, I could listen to Louis Armstrong all day

Aesthetic: analog technology, typewriters, instant photography, clockwork watches without quartz, sacrificing convenience for the sake of privacy, nostalgia for the early 2000s (but through the eyes of a child, so no George W. Bullshit)

Favorite author: per capita, Andy Weir. He's only written 3 books, but I love them all and want to emulate him. Max Brooks for World War Z. Cormac McCarthy for The Road (very depressing, but hopeful near the end; one of the only books to really tug at my heartstrings). John Steinbeck for Of Mice and Men (another heartstring tugger). Audrey Niffenegger for The Time Traveler's Wife.

Currently reading: Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Favorite colors: cyan, lime green, heliotrope purple

Favorite animal sounds: the scuttling of crabs on pavement, the sneef-snorfing of a curious dog, the bleat of a baby goat, the EHHH of a baby sloth, the MEHH of a baby deer, the chirping of bats, ethereal whale songs

Last song: either I'm Going to go Back There Someday from the Muppet Movie, or Hey I Don't Work Here by Tom Cardy

Last Series: Owl House (Lulu + Hootcifer 4ever!!! Oh yeah and lumity's pretty good too I guess)

Random: I once learned all the lyrics to Bobby Darin's Mack the Knife without ever actually listening to the lyrics of Mack the Knife. Like, I listened to the song all the time, but I never paid attention to what was being said. It was just gibberish to me, but I learned the gibberish, and I sang along to it in the car one day and my mom asked why I was so enthusiastic about murder. Turns out Mack the Knife is about an old londontown ripper named Macheath. Still a banger though.

@goldenmoldies @olivia-online @nsomniacsdream @schifty-al @richardjager @n-brio @orange-birdie

#tagged #tag game

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foreversecrets · 2 years ago

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Uncompromising

Chapter 3 Determination

Steve Rogers x OC (Emma Dotson)

Summary: His brother's had lost everything in his life he ever cared about, so Steve being the kind soul he is decides to take an extended vacation from the Avengers to help Andy get back on his feet. He didn't intend on finding his true mate in the process.

"Babydoll, there is no reason to be nervous,” Steve pulls Emma’s apart from where she’d been twisting and pulling at them in her lap. Bruce and Helen had taken samples early this morning from both of them and been running tests all day to give their thoughts on the possibility of them conceiving.

She hadn’t been able to sit still since Bruce called and asked them both to return. Doesn’t help that she’s been nervous about meeting the rest of his brothers tomorrow night for dinner. The pressure is on not only for the future of potential offspring but the future of themselves. When Steve explained why the rule was put in place requiring the brothers approval before he could give her his mating mark she was understanding but now she was beyond nervous. If he’s being honest, he is nervous too. The idea that his brothers could refuse him the opportunity to claim his mate nearly sends him into a fury but he keeps calm knowing he needs to focus on Emma right now. It's her emotions that are barely under control at the moment.

“Bruce said he’d met us here, what if-”

“Don’t do that,” he kisses her to silence her. In the past six months they have been dating he has learned the greatest enemy to their relationship is her getting in her own head and overthinking things. “Everything is going to be alright.”

“I just,” Emma sighs heavily before meeting his eyes. “I have wanted kids all my life and finding out how dangerous it would be, its something I never fully accepted and then you came along and-”

“Nothing is going to change between us, there are other ways we can have kids. But regardless you aren’t alone this time and you never will be again.”

“What if you brothers refused our bonding?”

“It won’t end our relationship, if anything I will go out of my way to advertise it until I whittle them down into giving their blessing.”

“You plan on annoying them into conceding?” she laughed. The sound was a nice balm for the anxiety he too was feeling. Both of them had the same dream but Steve couldn’t let his emotions dictate their day, it didn't matter if they received good or bad news he was going to make today one to be remembered for the happiness of it. Whether it be in celebration or as a distraction.

The door to Bruce’s office swung open and both him and Helen exited with fully masked emotions on their faces. Emma expected herself to be the impatient one jumping the doctors for an answer but her super soldier boyfriend was faster than herself. He stood approaching them quickly leaving Emma to trail a few steps behind.

“So?” Steve urged.

“We are 97% certain the DNA passed on from Steve will pass to the fetus.” Bruce started.

“And the other 3%?” Emma’s voice had been so quiet, almost fearful.

“The 3% chance his enhanced abilities are not passed on, you can still carry to term.” Helen gave her a comforting smile.

“But my OB said I couldn’t.” Emma remarked.

“Your OB doesn’t have state of the art technology to assist you during pregnancy. Now I’m not saying it would be easy, you would spend the entirety of the pregnancy under observation with strict restrictions to your diet and activity but I am equipped to help you bring a child into this world.”

Emma launched herself at the doctor hugging her tightly but Steve wasn’t convinced just yet. He looked to Bruce who tried to provide reassurance.

“Some things aren’t easy but that just makes them all the more precious when we obtain them.”

“Nothing is worth the life of my mate,” Steve growled, not meaning to be threatening but the idea of losing Emma was unbearable.

“We found no danger to Emma for either process and were able to calculate the best time to conceive would be in two weeks during your next heat.” Helen explained to Emma, completely ignoring Steve as if his opinion in this matter was irrelevant.

“Oh um,” Emma rubbed the back of her neck looking at Steve.

“We were going to use that time to exchange bond marks.” Steve’s checks flush pink as he explains.

“Two birds one stone,” Bruce tried to joke but when no one laughed he cleared his throat. “We can run more tests when you're ready to determine when it would be best.”

“Thank you for all your help, you have no idea what this means to me,” Emma sighed, moving over to Steve to take his hand. “what this means to us.”

The wide smile Steve gave Emma as they met each other's gaze left no doubt in Bruce or Helen’s mind that these two were true mates. Bruce as a Beta had never grasped the concept but now seeing it, he could only hope all his friends could find theirs. Helen looked on, hoping she’d find her Alpha one day and that he was at least half the man of the moral man before.

“We are extremely grateful and will be in touch as things develop.” Steve promised before the two were on their way.

🩹🩹🩹

Steve did not want to host dinner, he knew Emma’s nerves were going to be haywire all day but cooking seemed to ease the tension in her shoulders. Even more so when Steve put on some music and joined her in preparing the meal. They worked well together, maneuvering throughout his kitchen as if they’d been cooking together their whole lives. Though she kept pausing in her task to ask about dietary needs and allergies of his brothers; even though it was far too late to worry about that. He’d distract her by wrapping his arms around her waist, dragging her back to his chest and nuzzling on her gland in a playful way he knew tickled her. Not stopping until she was pleading nearly out of breath for him to stop. The doorbell rang just as she was pulling the pasta out of the oven, she almost dropped it as the noise and anxiety reminded her how important tonight was to their future.

“I’ll get it,” he placed a kiss to the top of her head and disappeared into the other room.

Emma placed the pasta on the dining room table in the open place setting and took a deep breath, gripping one of the chairs. “Everything is going to be alright,” she told herself. “Bucky adores you and Andy was the one who really pressed the relationship in the first place.” But Bucky wasn’t going to be here tonight, as close as him and Steve were, Bucky wasn’t part of the brothers therefore his blessing only mattered emotionally for her and Steve. “It's going to be okay.”

“It really will be, promise.” Andy surprised her, entering to give her a gentle hug. It only distracted her from the voices in the living room for a moment. “Everyone can already see the change in Steve. I gave the two of you my approval before this was even official, Ari will adore you as well. Ransom couldn’t care less, he’ll agree just to get us off his back. It's Lloyd you’ll have to worry about but I’ve had your cooking before and Lloyd’s a big foodie. The moment he takes a bite of dinner he’ll be asking you to go home with him instead.”

“Doubtful,” a man similar looking to the rest of the brothers but with an amusing mustache entered the room. “So you’re the sugar plum that’s got Stevie Boy so tame?” Lloyd reached over and grabbed a greenbean from the table, taking a bite as he studied her, taking in her scent and appearance before looking over to Andy. “Alright you might be onto something.”

Emma let out an exhausted but amused sigh, shaking her head playfully as Lloyd sat to the left of the head chair. Normally when it was just her and Steve that would be her chair but proper edidcate dedicated she would be across the table from him instead. Andy moved to the right of the head chair smiling widely at her before shoting Lloyd an amused glance. Emma watched as Lloyd reached for a breadroll but she reacted before thinking, slapping his hand gently to stop him.

“Wait for everyone else,” she scolded. The approval on Andy’s face and the amusement on Lloyd’s reassured her she hadn’t overstepped. Steve had told her this was her home as well, that it was important she acted like the women of the house especially in front of his pack. It would ease them into accepting her easier but part of her still felt guilty for having slapped Lloyd instead of using her voice.

“I see Lloyd’s already gotten in trouble.” another of the brothers entered, this one with shoulder length soft looking hair. Emma was entranced by a strong desire to run her fingers through it emerging. He moved to her and wrapped her in a hug before taking a step back and introducing himself. “I’m Ari.”

“Nice to meet you Ari.” she smiled, blushing a little and the attention.

“Don’t,” a growl from Steve at the doorway with the last brother she assumed to be Ransom. The scowl on his face was unlike any she’d previously seen. “She is mine , Ari.”

“Steven,” she snapped, all eyes turning to her. “I am not an object and I will not let you start a pissing contest during what you promised me would be a nice evening.”

“Well she’s got my approval,” Ransom smirked, entering to take a seat beside Lloyd at the table. Both men nodded, their amusement rising when Steve approached her like a kicked puppy and looked at her with sad eyes.

“Babydoll-”

“Don’t Steve.”

His pout deepened until she placed a quick kiss to his chin. His arms moved as if he was going to pull her in for more but she was quicker and sat in her seat without his assistance, further dropping his pout. She gave him a reassuring smile as he rounded the table to sit in his seat, Ari sitting besides Andy on Emma’s right. Emma looked over to Ransom with a nervous smile, Andy had told her she should be worried about Lloyd but all the stories Steve had told her, had her more worried about Ransom. It had been Ransom who had protested Andy and Laurie’s mating the most, though Steve confided that it was done in private between the two of them. The others didn’t know because Steve kept it a secret, worried that Ransom’s pride would be hurt if such care was revealed. Apparently Ransom was still learning to genuinely care about other people after the shit show that was his true biological family. With that care came distrust towards strangers and a bar too high for Emma to reach; at least that’s how she felt.

“I’m Emma,” she held her hand out to Ransom, the table falling silent as all eyes fell on Ransom who only stared at her hand.

“I already gave me a blessing princess, you don’t have to try so hard,” Ransom growled, reaching for the wine to fill his glass.

“Ransom!” Steve snapped.

“No Steve, it's alright. I can be a little much and I’ll be honest, I’ve been more bubbly and overbearing lately. I apologize for Ransom.”

Ransom only rolled his eyes but the table began loading up their plates.

“Steve’s been the same way lately.” Ari noted.

“We received some good news recently and it had a giddy effect on us,” Steve smiled like a little kid having just been giving everything he’d ever asked for. His brothers simply stared him down waiting for him to elaborate.

“Honey, don’t leave them hanging,” Emma laughed as she began digging into her plate.

“Emma and I are compatible for conceiving pups.”

Smiles and cheers erupted from the brothers, Emma knew they were aware of her failures and had worries that would be a source of contention for them. So learning that Steve and her could, she felt a little relieved that their problems wouldn’t be with her brokenness, which meant most any reason for them to reject her was something she would most likely work on to improve herself.

“Then you have my blessing as well.” Ari spoke up, the finally brother to give his blessing. While Emma’s worries and fears all melted away at that news, Steve’s temper flared.

“Were you really going to deny me my true mate if we couldn’t have a kid?” Steve growled, he shot Emma a look when he sensed her about to protest. She bowed her head in submission, her sadness seeping into her scent, he’d make it up to her later, for now he had to deal with Ari.

“Yes.”

“Seriously Ari?” Andy looked at his brother in bewilderment.

“All Steve has ever wanted was kids of his own, it's the one thing he wants most in this world. If she is unable to give that to him, I couldn’t participate in denying him his desires.” Ari explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Please don’t be upset with Ari,” the sad omega voice had all the alphas in the room turning to look at her, their base instincts telling them to comfort her. “His reasons are the same reason why I tried to reject our connection in the first place, Steve. I would never want to be the reason you couldn’t achieve the things you wanted.”

“Alright, we get it, you're perfect for each other! Can we please eat now?” Lloyd shouted, making Emma laugh, her amusement inflating his head slightly as the other alphas relaxed to resume their meals.

The rest of the evening passed ‘normally’ as Steve put it. Ari and Ransom get in a drinking competition spurred on by Lloyd’s pestering of both men, while Steve and Andy try to cut them off. But Emma was having a great time seeing the drunk versions of both men, Ransom was a cuddler who wouldn’t stop touching her much to Steve’s annoyance, while Ari was a cocky drunk coming up with dangerous tasks for himself to achieve that the sober men refused to let him accomplish. By the time everyone was ready to turn in for the night, Ransom was passed out in Emma’s lap and Ari was practically beind carried out to Andy’s car by Andy and Lloyd.

“Alright, get the hell out of my house Ransom,” Steve ordered, kicking Ransom gently.

“Why don’t you carry him up to the guest room?” Emma suggested.

“No, he is going to be an asshole in the morning,” Steve picked Ransom up off of her and passed him to Andy and Lloyd who’d reentered the house. “Besides, we have their blessings now, I plan on claiming you tonight that way,” he bent and began pressing kisses to her lips between words. “We. can. Use. you’re. Heat. to. Conceive.”

“Steven,” she giggled, wiggling out from under him and heading to the stairs. “Tell you what, you catch me before I get to our bathroom you can do that but if I get to the bathroom, no sex until my heat.” she laughed running up the stairs before he could protest.

She made the deal knowing he’d catch her, he was literally enhanced to be faster than her but she knew he loved the playful game of chase they played. He caught her just as she reached the top step, wrapped his arms under her legs and carried her the rest of the way to their bedroom bridal style. Not letting her get too far away when he plopped her down on their bed.

“You’re getting cocky omega, ordering me around, denying me my spoils.” his voice had dropped in a low seductive tone.

“I have to keep my alpha in line,” she giggled when her words earned her smack to her rear. Both their faces turned serious and she knew what he was going to ask even before he opened his mouth. “Yes Steve, I want you too.”

“Lay back omega, let me get you ready.” he smirked as his head moved lower. “I promise you the rest of my life.”

🩹🩹🩹

“Well the two of you wasted no time, huh?” Tony Stark smirked seeing the married Rogers pair back in Bruce’s lab. “Only been married a week or so and already back from your honeymoon with a bun in the oven.”

Steve ignored Tony as he focused on Helen and Bruce, “She wasn’t feeling well, took a test and it came back positive. We were worried about being so far away so we came back as quickly as we could.”

“You said if the baby didn’t inherit the serum abilities from Steve I would need to be monitored closely throughout the pregnancy.” Emma rubbed her unchanged stomach as she spoke.

“I’m glad you heeded my warning,” Helen smiled but her gaze was focused on the test result in front of her. “You're about a month along.”

“And I just got the results back on the bloodwork, it looks like the baby takes after dad.” Bruce sighed relieved as the parents felt.

Steve turned and picked his new wife up, spinning her around in his excitement. “We are going to have a healthy pup!”

“You did this for us Steve,” she whispered on his lips before kissing him deeply, not caring in the slightest about their audience.

“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet, doesn’t this mean she’s going to be miserable for the next nine months?” Tony asked.

“Given the properties of the serum, there is some concern the pup could do internal damage which is why we want to monitor the development.” Bruce explained.

“We also believe your symptoms are going to be more intense than typical pregnancies, but I suspect Steve is going to be an overprotective alpha. So I don’t imagine you’ll be suffering alone.” Helen joked but Mr and Mrs. Rogers found themseleves too overjoyed to care. They were going to have a pup. Bonded for six months, married for only a week and now they were expecting their first kid. All of their dreams are coming true in less than a year despite a stubborn, broken omega.

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