#REINFORCING THAT I AM AND WILL BE COMPLETELY OKAY <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[eff-exor]

[wisteria-lodge]

What do you think about how the Slytherin House is written and they don’t get like any nice ones? Some people justify it by saying “For kids” and they need bad guys. While others point out other kid franchises written during a similar time don’t write things that way and Narratively, it wouldn’t change the story much since half of the Slytherin’s don’t need to be jerks and Draco’s antagonism can often be given to other bullies or Des children.

The Doylist answer is that Slytherin is the "baddie" house because 1-3 are kids' books. Obviously not all children's literature has such simplified morality, but a lot of it does. But then the problem is... when the tone of 5-7 gets darker, older, and more greyed up... (Dumbledore, Snape, Draco, the Ministry get a lot more morally complicated, there's a lot more on-page violence, the writing gets a lot more flowery, the plotting gets more involved...) that bit of very *young* world-building stays in place, unchanged.

I actually think JKR may regret this decision on some level, and may have tried to walk back the 'All Slytherins are Baddies' thing. (If nothing else, it's not very good for marketing, if you're writing an official Sorting Hat Quiz and trying to sell Slytherin merch.) She also seems to have been okay with the movies framing Draco and Slugorn more sympathetically than the books do. In the Epilogue it's heavily implied that Albus Potter is going to choose to be in Gryffindor the same way Harry did... but in Cursed Child he's in Slytherin. We also meet Scorpius Malfoy, the only uncomplicated good-guy non blood supremacist Slytherin.

I am also fascinated by this snippet of an interview JKR did with Mugglenet, where she mis-remembers what happens in Book 7:

A part of the final battle that made me smile was Slughorn galloping back with Slytherins. But they've gone off to get reinforcements first, you know what I'm saying? So yes, they came back, they came back to fight. But I'm sure many people would say, well that's common sense, isn't it? Isn't that smart, to get out, get more people and come back with them?

Here's what actually happens:

Harry saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pajamas. They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade.

So, not even a pure Slughorn moment, if Charlie is also there leading the charge. And... none of the "students who remained to fight" are Slytherins. (I mean unless you count Draco. Who isn't really fighting, but y'know.) The moment where ALL the Slytherins opt out of the final battle gets a lot of attention:

A figure rose from the Slytherin table and he recognized Pansy Parkinson as she raised a shaking arm and screamed, “But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!” Before Harry could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking toward Pansy instead, and Harry, awestruck and overwhelmed, saw wands emerging everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves. “Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.”

And then a little bit later we get this second reminder that no Slytherins stayed behind to fight:

The Slytherin table was completely deserted, but a number of older Ravenclaws remained seated while their fellows filed out; even more Hufflepuffs stayed behind, and half of Gryffindor remained in their seats

So no, JKR, the Slytherin charge consists of... Horace Slughorn. and whatever Hogsmeade citizen you headcanon as a Slytherin. Madame Rosmerta. She could be a Slytherin.

I bring all this up, because I do think it's a sign that intellectually, at least at one point, JKR did think Slytherin should/could be a little more nuanced, even if that idea isn't there in the writing. But then... she's just also really, really fond of the idea of an infallible force picking out the Good People and putting the Good People in charge. That's also what happens in the Fantastic Beasts films with the qilin. So maybe it was always unreasonable to expect better framing for Slytherin.

But in terms of Watsonian worldbuilding... sadly Slytherin being full of "baddies" actually does make a lot of sense, because it's set up as a echo chamber that radicalizes you. Severus goes into Slytherin hating muggles, and after a few years there he's anti-Muggleborn as well. They use "pureblood" as a password. If you're in Slytherin, it seems like your entire environment would be telling you over and over that you're the specialist special boy... but you're ALSO not getting all the things you deserve. Sounds like a recruitment slogan to me. I have always thought that Voldemort and the Death Eaters work like a cult (or a hate organization) and not like a political regime. And if they work like a cult... then yeah they're going to be recruiting young adults from an environment (like Slytherin) that's already started the radicalization process.

If you haven't seen it, YouTuber Quinn Curio made an excellent video about this:

[faiell]

yapping about fics and commenting

sorry to yap but work is boring today and tumblr isn't blocked on my work computer LOL

ok it's abt that post where the writer friend stopped writing because they weren't getting the comments/kudos they wanted.

i'm like. an overeager fandom person. like i cannot get into a fandom without wanting to meet new people and make friends. i love yapping about whatever silly gay idiots i'm hyperfixating over. i'm all about community, and sharing the joy of fandom, and all that fun positive stuff.

i don't post my art for stats but like. that means nothing coming from me tbh. i get stats. i can't accurately predict what would happen if i stopped getting notes on my art, but i would probably keep drawing and keep posting, just maybe less confidently, and less often. i recognize that stats make it much easier and while it’s not my primary motivation, it definitely motivates me to keep posting.

and yet. for years, i never commented on fic. i think i left kudos? and i saw posts like this all the time about how writers were so sad they didn't get comments. and i would feel super guilty about it all the time. but i still wouldn't do it! it sounds stupid, but i would feel pressured. if i liked a fic a lot, it felt even more difficult to comment, because i thought i would have to somehow give back to the author everything that fic gave to me. i wanted to craft the perfect comment that could perfectly encapsulate everything a fic made me feel. and that was way too much pressure so i would just not say anything.

when i got into drarry, i started reading a shit ton of fic. and i still wouldn't comment. i left maybe... 2 or 3 comments, maybe, i think. i can't remember. but i had a lot to say and i WANTED the writers to hear that i had read it and liked it. i just... didn't comment! u know what i did instead? i just fucking straight up DM'd writers on discord and started gushing to them that i liked their fic. somehow i was confident enough to do that, but writing a comment still felt like too much pressure. ?? i don't understand it either, but in my head it felt like a writing assignment, but when I was in DMs it felt more like a conversation and so there wasn't any pressure to make it "good"? idk!! it's very weird.

then i wrote and posted my first complete fic. just a oneshot, nothing special, and i was like. UNREASONABLY nervous about posting it. like. i am a confident person, okay? i was going to make a burner AO3 account and post it under a different name so nobody would know it was me, and then never mention it to anyone except MAYBE super close friends. i got talked out of doing that (thanks i feel a bit silly about considering that now). and then i received my first comment on it, which was basically a two-liner where someone said they liked it and thanked me for writing it.

and i was like. ??...?????? ???????? ...??!!! because i felt like... uncontainable glee? i was freakishly happy. the amount of serotonin those two sentences gave me was definitely unnatural.

is that healthy? idk. will it continue? idk. LOL. i hope so? but idk, some people said it wears off if you write/post for a while. but whatever, the fact that one little comment like that could make my entire day blew my mind. tbh i thought writers were just exaggerating when they said stuff like that.

ever since then i started leaving comments! that shit's easy! like what was i overthinking for? i'm such a fucking tryhard! all i gotta say is that i liked it, and even the bare minimum can bring lots of joy to someone.

so basically what im trying to say is that negative reinforcement doesn't do shit!! it just makes people feel bad about themselves. that post is nasty for guilt-tripping readers like that, and i bet you it's going to have the opposite effect (or no effect tbh).

YAPPING FINISHED. for now.

[hrrtshape]

Hey, I am sorry but I really need your help.

I wanna manifest my life to change completely, I cant go on like this.

(lowk tw?? idk not sure, and defenetly tw for bad english I AM SORRY)

I am severely depressed and found out abt shifting in 2020 (regret reading all that missinfo fr). I recently got into the void state because I got desperate. I never shifted or got into the void aware, and lucid dreaming seems hard to me, because as soon as I see I am lucid, I wake up. Now, I heard that the void is very much real, and manifestations happen instantly there. I have been trying for like 3 weeks now and time closes. I NEED to get there tonight or the few weeks. I cant do this anymore, not in this universe. Not like this. I hate it here. Anyway, I am getting off track; sorry. I tried everything: the distraction (failproof) method. But i got so distracted I fell asleep. I tried lying still; but my body was asleep and I was still here. not in the void. I tried ignoring the 3d; fell asleep. Tried like truly acting as if the 4d is my 3d; failed. I know time is not real, yet it is running out for me. Everything goes down hill in my life atm. Its as if I am cursed. My mental illnesses dont make it any better, and dont rlly help me believe in the void/shifting. but I know its real; its my only chance after all lol. Also I heard you dont gotta believe in these things but can still shift/get into the void. So, how to 100% get into the void, tonight? please, I need it really. I'd do whatever it takes.

Love, anon that is abt to crash out and go on a rampage /hj

MWAH MWAH MWAHHH

i know you feel like you’re running out of time, but you’re not. i promise you, you’re not.

i hear you. i really do !!! and i need you to know that shifting, the void, all of it....it’s not your only way out. it might feel like the one golden ticket, but you have options. you have so much more life to live, so many more chances to turn things around, in ways you probably can’t even see yet.

but right now, it sounds like you’re in full fight-or-flight. you’re trying to break out of this reality with sheer desperation alone. and that’s the thing. desperation doesn’t work. not because you’re doing anything wrong, but because it keeps you in a state of lack. if you’re clenching onto the void like a life raft, your mind will keep reinforcing the idea that you need to be saved. and that’s not true.

so here’s what i want you to do. detach, just for tonight. not forever. not even for a full day. just a few hours. let go of the pressure. let go of the “i need to shift tonight.” instead, what if it’s already happening? what if the void is creeping in right now, soft and inevitable, and you just have to let it?

get comfy. put on music. romanticise this moment. even if it’s messy, even if you feel like a wreck. treat tonight like an experiment, not a test you’re going to fail. tell yourself: i’ve already won. i just don’t know it yet.

and please, please, don’t isolate yourself in this !!!!!! shifting is real, yes. but so are you. and you deserve to feel okay in every reality, not just the ones you’re trying to get to. i’m so, so glad you reached out. you’re not alone, okay???? you never were. <3

[thecaffeinatedwitch]

How to Use the Law of Assumption to Overcome Self-Doubt

Self-doubt is that annoying little voice in your head that whispers, “You’re not good enough” or “What if you fail?” It’s sneaky, persistent, and downright exhausting. But here’s the good news: the Law of Assumption can help you silence that voice and step into a version of yourself that’s confident, capable, and unstoppable.

Let’s explore how the Law of Assumption can be your secret weapon for overcoming self-doubt and transforming your inner narrative.

How to Use the Law of Assumption to Overcome Self-Doubt

Self-doubt is that annoying little voice in your head that whispers, “You’re not good enough” or “What if you fail?” It’s sneaky, persistent, and downright exhausting. But here’s the good news: the Law of Assumption can help you silence that voice and step into a version of yourself that’s confident, capable, and unstoppable.

Let’s explore how the Law of Assumption can be your secret weapon for overcoming self-doubt and transforming your inner narrative.

What Is Self-Doubt, Really?

Self-doubt isn’t a reflection of your abilities; it’s a reflection of your assumptions about yourself. When you assume failure, inadequacy, or rejection, your mind starts searching for evidence to support those beliefs. It’s like having a hyper-vigilant detective in your brain—except this one is only looking for reasons to keep you small.

The key to overcoming self-doubt isn’t to fight it head-on. Instead, use the Law of Assumption to rewrite the story entirely.

Step 1: Assume You Are Already Confident

Here’s the thing: confidence isn’t something you find; it’s something you create. The Law of Assumption teaches that you can bypass your current reality and step directly into the version of yourself you want to be.

Action:

Close your eyes and imagine how it feels to be completely confident.

Visualize yourself walking into a room with your head held high, speaking clearly, and feeling at ease.

Assume that this version of you already exists—it’s not a “someday” thing; it’s a “now” thing.

Step 2: Use Affirmations to Shift Your Inner Dialogue

Your self-doubt thrives on negative self-talk. To counteract it, use affirmations to plant new assumptions in your mind. Even if you don’t believe them at first, repetition will make them stick.

Examples of Affirmations:

“I am capable of handling any challenge.”

“I trust myself to make the right decisions.”

“I am worthy of success and happiness.”

Repeat these affirmations daily—while brushing your teeth, driving, or even during that awkward moment waiting for your coffee. The more you affirm, the more your mind starts to accept these new assumptions as truth.

Step 3: Act As If

This step is where the magic happens. Start acting as if you’re already the confident, self-assured person you want to be. It might feel a little weird at first, but that’s okay. The goal is to align your actions with your new assumptions.

Action Tips:

Speak up in meetings, even if you’re nervous.

Say “yes” to opportunities you’d normally shy away from.

Dress in a way that makes you feel powerful and put-together.

Each small action reinforces your assumption of confidence, and over time, those actions become second nature.

Step 4: Dismiss Negative Evidence

Self-doubt loves to point out “evidence” of your shortcomings. Maybe you made a mistake at work or stumbled over your words in a conversation. Instead of spiraling, remind yourself that one misstep doesn’t define you.

Reframe the Situation:

Instead of thinking, “I messed up, so I’m not good enough,” assume, “I’m human, and this is part of my growth.”

Shift your focus to what you’ve learned and how you’ll do better next time.

Step 5: Stay Persistent

Overcoming self-doubt isn’t a one-and-done deal. It’s a process that requires persistence and patience. The Law of Assumption works best when you consistently align your thoughts, feelings, and actions with your desired reality.

Pro Tip: Treat self-doubt like background noise. It might still be there, but you don’t have to give it your full attention. Keep focusing on your new assumptions, and eventually, that noise will fade into the distance.

The Law of Assumption is a powerful tool for transforming self-doubt into self-confidence. By assuming you’re already the person you want to be, using affirmations, and taking aligned action, you can rewire your mind to support your growth instead of holding you back.

So, the next time self-doubt tries to creep in, remember this: you’re not at the mercy of your old assumptions. You have the power to rewrite them, starting right now. Assume the best about yourself—and watch as your reality shifts to match.

You’ve got this. -yours truly, thecaffeinatedwitch

[solitaryandwandering]

A Ramble: Love in the Big City Eps 3-4

Okay, so I finished this episode like half an hour ago and I am still processing. I am so impressed with this show's ability to showcase different shades of grief. I feel like I'll probably cry at the end of every section but it will feel completely different every time. Please do not expect anything less than a LONG ramble.

Again, I just have to admire the direction - each part so far has felt completely distinct but not in big, showy ways. Part 1 of this show was a more traditional coming-of-age with warmer, brighter colors and more dynamic editing, camera movement/angles and blocking. I'll have to go back and study this more but it felt like there were more eye level and overhead shots, too. Part 2 is darker, slower, with more frequent use of stationary camera/static shots and wide angle shots. There were a couple of striking long takes as well. We linger in wide, empty spaces, forced to be still as we watch what unfolds.

Many of us talked about queer loneliness in the last episodes which is obviously going to be a present theme throughout the entirety of the show, but I was struck with how different the loneliness felt in these episodes. Especially in episode 4, as Young gets further entangled with Noh Young Soo, he becomes isolated in a way he wasn't in Part 1. Then, he was lonely but surrounded by people. In Part 2 he is removed from his community and so his loneliness is more starkly evident. The direction reinforces this by literally isolating him or keeping him at a visual distance. We don't get as many intimate close-ups as we do in episodes 1 and 2.

And again, I may be totally wrong, but I think we can actually see a kind of transition in style in the way episode 3 opens up. Episode 2 ends with the lighting on Young's face becoming gradually darker, then I believe the episode begins with a dolly shot moving backwards as we face Young running. It's a more active camera with movement within the frame. Yet, the colors are relatively muted and Young is looking down the barrel of the lens with an exhausted expression. It's distancing instead of inviting. After that unhurried shot we then cut to a grounded static shot where Young runs from one side of the frame to the other. From then on, I don't think we get very many, if any, moments of similar movement. Other dolly shots I can think of are when he's pushing his mom in a wheelchair - not exactly a high speed chase and still within the framework of a long take. There's certainly none of the quick editing from Part 1. The score is also way more melancholy.

Moving on, what these episodes really had me ruminating on was the concept of ownership. As queer people I think one of the reasons why Pride has become such a big part of our culture is because it gives us a space to own ourselves publicly in a way we often aren't able. We can't always show up as our full selves, with all our history, community connections, complex relationships with our identities, etc. Young is a cool character to watch because it seems at the beginning of the show that he is self-actualized, totally in charge of his queerness and integrated with his community (as Yeong Soo also believes). But of course, it is a lot more complicated for him (and for most of us). In these episodes we could see more of what he has (and continues to) sacrifice in an effort to own himself. It is in spite of people determined to steal his spirit. It is an active fight, one he feels helpless in the face of when he attempts to take his own life in episode 4. And that attempt is also, in a way, a claim he lays on his life. Only he owns it, only he gets to end it. I don't think that was his thought process obviously but it did strike me. It was also interesting to me how he attempted in the apartment he used to share with his best friend, a relationship he no longer has.

More broadly there was a lot going on in this section about how we approach taking ownership of our own experiences. How we shape them to fit in with a narrative we want to believe about ourselves and our lives or a narrative others would want for us. At the end of episode 4 Yeong Soo sends Young his observations on homosexuality (his way to distance himself and claim a different more "objective" or "correct" perspective of his own life). He literally tells Young he hopes his reshaping of their experiences would inform Young's future work. He is both refusing ownership and attempting to control Young's self-expression. In the entirety of their relationship he did much of the same, refusing to claim Young as his boyfriend in the way he wanted or recognize him as a full person while presuming he knew everything he needed to know about him and life in general. Young is restricted to the same experiences over and over, going out to eat the same foods, playing the same song, hiding himself away. Quite literally, his ability to experience everything he loves about life is stunted.

These episodes also had me reflecting on how we give up ownership or have it taken away. Young Soo treats Young as his dog, stifling his (and his own) identity and sense of freedom. He isolates Young from friends and community. What's devastating about their relationship is that Young wants some kind of ownership; he wants to belong to Young Soo and for him to belong to Young. At the very least, he wants recognition. But this becomes twisted up in Young Soo's self-hatred. Young Soo has elected to give up ownership of his identity in favor of a particular mold. He favors comfort and has chosen very specific things he can own and love as a part of his identity to replace genuine connection. Rather than own his feelings he observes others'; he tries to own Young and his experience, to live vicariously but also to shape him. He envies Young's ability to own himself and his sexuality but is afraid of it. He has dedicated himself so much to a particular picture of reality that he can't conceive of Young ever facing legitimate danger or opposition because of his sexuality. If he hates himself, it is only natural, an extension of the life he lives and who he is (a "macho" intellectual). He owns and then marinates in his negative experiences to validate his refusal to engage with a wider reality, one in which joy can exist in a homophobic society. Even in his attempts to own Young he fails because it is impossible for him to draw any closer to himself. Yeong Soo can't own someone who refuses to give himself up. He doesn't bother to get to know Young beyond his assumptions (he can "see right through him," after all). He strips self-ownership from Young in the same way he keeps it from himself.

And then there's Young's mom, who has fabricated and owned her own set of experiences in a similar way to Yeong Soo. She devotes herself to heterosexual and Christian ideals, believing that God and marriage are true north even as her own marriage fails. She claims ownership over her narrative and attempts to justify her approach in asking her son to believe in and own the same kind of life. When he threatens her sense of ownership over her own life (already threatened by her husband's infidelity) she scrambles to 'correct' him by sending him to (I'm assuming) conversion camp or some kind of psychiatric institution. In doing this she has cut Young off from owning his own life and experiences. She essentially makes it clear to him that his life is not his own. He is stealing from hers. And so, steals from his to prove a point. He gives up so much of his time to care for her but she doesn't acknowledge this at all, more focused on the ways in which he fails to give up parts of himself she's dissatisfied with. His mom writes Bible verses by hand, to ask her life to conform to what she has chosen for it. To her, ownership is absolute: one God, one true way. Even as she is aware she doesn't own her son's life.

How do we reclaim ourselves as others tell us to throw it all away? What do we do, as queer people, with what is forced on us? Do we choose to own our lives, our identities, or do we give up parts of ourselves to survive? At the end of episode 4, Young takes the manuscript Yeong Soo sent him and instead of recycling throws it in the trash. He tells his mom, "It's not my trash." I saw this as him choosing himself again. He does not have to carry self-hate as Yeong Soo does. He does not have to take the sum of his experiences and let them pile up in a corner of his mind. Yeong Soo treats Young as a possession and so does his mother - someone who exists for their benefit. But he doesn't - Young lives for himself. And isn't that so, so lonely?

Last thing, but this was the moment in the episode that first got me crying. When his friends show up at the hospital after his suicide attempt. Young's friends own themselves and their community and don't ask of anything else from him. They show up for him as who he is and allow him to repossess his community even as they are kept from him, on the other side of glass. Even as his mother looks on, disapproving. Their friendship may be more superficial but that doesn't make it any less meaningful.

If you actually read this whole thing, congratulations. I wasn't kidding when I said it was a ramble! I'm actually okay with waiting until next week for the new episodes this time, I don't know if I can handle much more waaahhh

[kohakhearts]

#3 for ihantcest (hope I spelled that right)

#3: "i don't want your pity, i want your absence." wc: 1 935 read on ao3 here

Hubert should’ve known his brother would find him out here.

Of course, even when they were young Asbel was never really the sensitive, thoughtful type. But his penchant for getting involved in things he shouldn’t has always been more than enough to pull him into people’s orbits at the worst of times. Perhaps this is why he was always so successful at pissing off their father, whom more and more Hubert suspects he has taken after in all matters of, at the very least, emotion.

Not Asbel, though, who spots him from the steps leading away from the inn and doesn’t stop even for one moment to consider Hubert might be outside, alone, because he does not want company.

All Hubert can do is sigh and accept his fate as Asbel settles down on the bench beside him. Above their heads, the arch of one of Yu Liberté’s famous fountains chills the air; Hubert tries very hard not to let himself appreciate the way his brother’s body heat chases it away.

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

Hubert resolutely does not look at him. “Obviously,” he says.

“Is it because of that girl? The gem polisher?”

Hubert starts. His resolve fails immediately as he turns to fix a baffled look on his brother, whose head is tilted to the side in a show of his curiosity. There is no judgement to it; he really does just want to know.

“Marian? Why in the world would you think that?”

“Well, I don’t know. You’ve been acting kind of weird ever since we helped her out. Cheria said we shouldn’t say anything, but if you’re losing sleep over her…”

Of course, Cheria must have all kinds of ideas about his history with a woman he took enough interest in to gift her something as personal as a set of tools. But not unlike Cheria herself, Marian was always something of an open book; and if Hubert had no choice but to stay on the path they were walking together when they met, the least he could have done in the moment was help someone else realize her dreams were not quite so unattainable. It worked out for them all in the end, so he doesn’t see much point in dwelling on the fact that he was paying close enough attention to her to let himself care what she wanted in the first place.

Realizing his silence is likely only reinforcing whatever ridiculous notions about him Cheria has planted in Asbel’s head, he says, stiffly, “Even if I had had any interest in her, we have long since gone our separate ways. As far as I’m concerned, we may as well be strangers now.”

“But being apart from someone for a long time doesn’t mean you don’t care for them anymore, does it?”

Hubert tenses. He did not want to have this conversation when they reunited in Lhant, and he does not want to have it now.

Asbel doesn’t really give him a choice, though.

“I mean, I feel the same about you as I ever did,” he goes on. “And Cheria, and Richard, and even Sophie. I think it’s okay to admit when you missed someone, Hubert.”

“You are completely missing the point, as usual.”

Asbel blinks. “I am?”

“I have no special feelings for her,” Hubert says. “And I don’t see what you would have to do with it if I did, in any case.”

“If not her, then was there anybody?”

Hubert bites back another sigh. Asbel’s well-meaning probing is landing far too close for comfort, in spite of his misguided aim.

“No,” Hubert says. “I have never had the time to bother with such…frivolous affairs.”

Asbel looks aghast. “Didn’t you have any friends, Hubert?”

That’s what he meant? Hubert shouldn’t even be surprised; his brother wouldn’t know romance if it slapped him directly across the face…and Hubert wouldn’t put that past Cheria, though that thought unsettles him, too, for reasons he wishes sorely it would not.

“Hubert?”

He turns a glare on his brother. “What difference does it make whether or not I did? Obviously, I had greater priorities than socializing for the sake of socializing.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Asbel frowns at him. “But you must’ve been lonely. Right?”

“Enough of this.” Hubert stands, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at a spot just above Asbel’s head rather than his eyes as he says, “I don’t want your pity, brother. I want your absence.”

The flower behind the bench he has locked his gaze on is not enough to keep him from seeing the flash of hurt across his brother’s face.

But just when he expects—hopes?—Asbel will argue, he does not. He rises from the bench. His voice is very soft: “It’s okay. I know things are different than they used to be. Good night, Hubert.”

Hubert’s damned, traitorous heart leaps up into his throat as Asbel turns to walk away. Desperation spurs him forward, until his hand finds Asbel’s; and the shock of warmth ought to humiliate him, ought to encourage him to push Asbel away all over again, but he simply cannot bring himself to pull back. Asbel turns, eyes wide as they meet his.

“Is something wrong?” he asks after a moment, when Hubert is unable to force any words between his clenched teeth.

At once, Hubert retracts his hand, putting it and the other safely behind his back. Tied up with each other, just in case the near-overwhelming desire to reach out, to touch, rears its ugly head again.

“I should be asking you that,” Hubert mutters. “I didn’t mean I want you gone. I just…thought to be alone, for a while.”

“It’s okay, Hubert. Really. I know…for a long time now, you haven’t really—had a brother anymore.” Though it clearly pains him to do so, Asbel offers him a reassuring smile. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Whatever I can do to make it easier…”

But the problem is not anything Asbel is doing, or has done. It is—a fantasy Hubert has had since their father put him on that ship with Garrett Oswell away from everything he had ever known. A dream he has had so many times since he has lost count. This shockwave of warmth now, the infuriating realization that Asbel has grown into such a beautiful, charming young man, and yet still he is Hubert’s brother. He has loved him and he has hated him and now he does not want to confront the depth of emotion just being near him sets surging forth, but all the same he cannot seem to rid himself of the desire to be close. As close as possible. Like they are children again sharing a bed because Hubert couldn’t sleep, Asbel’s arm wrapped around his torso to hold him in place against him. Their bodies flush against each other.

Of course Hubert was lonely. But until Asbel was standing right in front of him, he had never had a problem just ignoring it. Always, always, there was something of higher importance; and by all means that should be more true now than ever.

And yet.

Asbel’s watching him intently, waiting. But patience has never come easily to him, and so after a few awkward beats, he asks, “Do you…want me to stay?”

Hubert drops his gaze. His cheeks sting and sear. “Do what you like. It makes no difference to me.”

“Well…okay. If you’re sure.” He hesitates, and then: “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I…I was lonely, too, you know. Without you, I mean.”

The heat climbs higher. He turns away, lest Asbel take notice of it. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m being serious!” Asbel protests. “I wrote you all the time after I started at the academy. I think all I ever talked about in those letters was how much I missed having you around. I stopped writing them when I realized you weren’t going to reply, but I still thought about it a lot. And I guess I just hoped wherever you were, you’d found someone to replace me.”

Hubert takes a moment to digest this—he never received any letters from Asbel as a child, but he doubts he would have wanted to read them even if they had reached him, too afraid that he would find out something he wouldn’t have wanted to know. Something that would shatter the fantasy, as if the reality were not already abundantly clear to him.

Then, he has to admit, “You’re not so easily replaced, as it turns out.”

Though he’s not looking at him, he can hear the grin in Asbel’s voice: “So you did miss me.”

“I suppose I did,” but it is different, of course, than Asbel thinks. If it were just this, the desire to have a brother again, he would not have been awake tonight with all this dread weighing down on him. He would be able to take Cheria’s knowing looks in stride, because at least he would not burn with the compulsion to prove she has him all wrong.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him away from those thoughts. He twists back to see his brother, that soft, compassionate smile lighting up his eyes. The water reflects off of them, so they glisten with all his infuriating earnestness.

And it’s really not fair how a simple touch makes Hubert’s breath flee him. How the heat from Asbel’s hand above his sleeve is enough to drive warmth all the way down into his feet. He is arrested by it; his brother’s ridiculous, loving gaze. How simple things could be if Hubert had felt this for Marian, or any of the nameless—advantageous for them, for the Oswell name—girls his father had ever introduced him to. But he has learned to see the gleam of yearning behind them all. Everyone wants something they believe they can’t attain. Once you find it, any power they may have held over you switches hands. This is human nature: cold and calculable and easily manipulated.

“We should get some sleep,” Asbel says. His hand is still on Hubert’s shoulder, like he does not have the will to remove it. But that’s just wishful thinking.

A beat passes before Hubert can bring himself to nod. At his assent, Asbel pulls away, finally. He takes a step back, and waits. It is a courtesy he has rarely afforded Hubert before, but time has forced them all to change. And yet, as hard as he has worked to kill the compulsion since coming to Strahta, alone, Hubert follows after him.

They do not speak as Asbel leads them back up to the steps to the inn. Nothing has been resolved, and, if anything, Hubert feels worse than he did before he decided to get up and leave their shared room, Asbel’s suffocating presence, behind.

But when Hubert eases the door of that room closed behind them and Asbel says, very quietly, “Night, Hubert,” he cannot help relishing in the feeling of it. As if the sensation of drowning were really so pleasant.

He bites down on the impulse to say more. To reach out, to pull him closer. His desires surge and then retreat when they can find no hold over his will. With not another word, he returns to bed and closes his eyes and pushes his thoughts down, far down, as far as they will go.

He understands better than anyone just how unattainable one’s desires can really be.

[lilysmiles11223345]

HI A A AA A THIS IS GONNA BE A REAL LONG ONE SO BUCKLE UP AND DIG IN GUYS

first the credits, AU is my take on @desertsanctuary-blog ‘s AU :D shout of to them I rlly like their AU with what I’ve seen of it so far,, I wish I had the erngy to actually draw/animate like I wanted to for this but instead your getting a rlly long undertale textbox convo and then an explanation of what’s going on with Freya in this version :3

{Warning: just,, Freya suffers a hell of a lot in this au but also in the textbox, floweys super mean to her}

Textbox first and then description below :)

Warning this textbox convo was so long I had to screenshot it in discord lmao

H I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT <3 TOOK ALOT OF TIME FOR ME TO FEEL COMFY WITH IT

Okay! Time to explain my idea for Freya in this AU

^ahem^..

The concept of clover remembering some timelines and not others got me thinking..

So naturally, I thought of the idea that freya gets simular treatment; however remembers different timelines from clover

In Freya’s canon , there are two paths in the vengeance route; clover and freya will find out that Freya is the cursed witch in the legends; and clover gets a choice

To shoot her or to let her live.

Now, I decided in this Au- clover remembers the genocide route where he lets Freya live the most prominent. Freya though..

..remembers the one where he shoots her most prominent.

The silly thing is that I’d like to think judging from how I made that get decided (it’s a lil system where Freya gets questioned about clover in every route, which affects how much clover cares about Freya in the end of each route) clover genuinely doesn’t see anything wrong with freya’s curse and knows Freya would never do/want to hurt anyone, she doesn’t need to be served justice, so she’d be one of the only things that’d activate his sweet side anymore— and and he still cares about her so much ok,,

…

BUT THEN FREYA DOESNT BELIEVE SHE DESERVES IT AT ALL AND HAS BEEN STRUGGLING WITH THE FACT SHE THINKS THE PERSON SHE LOVES ALOT PROBABLY WOULD KILL HER BECAUSE OF THINGS OUT OF HER CONTROL AND FEELING LIKE A MONSTER AS SHE TRIES TO CONTROL HER MENTAL BREAKDOWNS SO THE CURSE DOESN’T FUCK ANYTHING UP INSTEAD OF JUST,, TALKING TO HER LOVED ONES ABOUT IT </3

..

Oh and then there’s what happens in neutral for Freya; which, she just so HAPPENS to remember too which sucks for her cause it REINFORCES IT.

Freya goes a liittle berserk in neutral, specifically to flowey. Her curse is completely activated and when it’s completely in control with no resistance from Freya; it can be..petty.

So flowey got a lil tortured before resetting lmao

This was to defend clover to be FAIR but she still can’t help but see herself as a monster from it, especially when her whole life she’s been made OUT TO BE ONE by everyone BUT CLOVER.

My girl is suffering so hard.

If anyone’s interested (I’m doing it anyways) I am gonna make a textbox thing about a litttle scene I have between this au’s clover and Freya~

One that’s just sad and one that’s A little scene when her curse finally takes control (so one that’s depressing lol)

Thanks for reading this far! <3

[cheekypenguu]

what do you think is the controversial stuff in the gone series? obv its problematic in some ways but i'd like to hear your take

Well, I guess I do have to give it some credit; it was written in 2008, and it has pretty awesome gay representation despite it! I think "problematic" is a much better word to describe some of the events in the Gone series rather than my original phrasing of "controversial", so I do apologize for that 😭 And I also want to make it clear that despite its problematic tendencies, I adore this series and I'm beyond happy I started reading it! I have such a love for the characters and storytelling 🫶 I have no problem with anyone who openly enjoys this series, because so do I! Below the cut are a few things that rubbed me the wrong way in the Gone series by Michael Grant (keep in mind I'm only on book 5):

Diana's pregnancy Even the fact that her and Caine had sex to begin with— several times according to the books— made me squirm a bit. Back in 2008 (when the books were written), the age of consent in California (where the story takes place) was 18 years of age, and the characters are significantly younger than that. Then there's the "accelerated pregnancy" bit... I'm not sure why that made me so squeamish. It just seemed... strange? Like, okay— from where I am in the books, we know something is up with Diana's baby, we're just not sure what it is yet. So for all I know, there could be a reason her pregnancy was accelerated, but I can't be sure yet. Honestly though, I don't think anyone reading the books were meant to be comfortable with Diana's pregnancy. I think Michael Grant intended for it to be a bit uncomfortable, because the whole situation between her and Caine was just that; the fact Diana felt that the only way to get Caine to stop being a terrible person was to offer herself up to him sexually is a very unfortunate circumstance. Caine swore that he would stay on the island with her if they did this together, and so she gave in, but then he turned around and left the island despite it. It really drives home the idea that Caine is very much only after power/control. Gosh I have a lot of opinions about this particular bit of Gone, I could go on for a long while 😭 Female characters Don't get me wrong, the female characters in Gone are (for the most part) absolutely incredible. But basically (if not literally) all of them depend on some sort of love interest to drive their story forwards. This bothers me because it reinforces the idea that women can't just be independent. Astrid, Lana, Dekka, Taylor, Penny, Diana, etc. are all victims of this. Excessive ableism To be completely fair, the characters in this series are young and immature, so this makes sense for them. But it still gets to a point where it's just... excessive. The R slur is used in abundance— especially in the first book— primarily against Little Pete due to his autism. Even in 2008 that wasn't an acceptable word to throw around. But, then again, it's a bunch of teenagers trapped inside a dome with no more adults to tell them off.

I'm probably missing some stuff, but this is what I could think of on the fly. Again, I really do love this series, and am actually running it as a D&D campaign with some friends of mine who haven't read the books! Oh god please don't flame me for this Gone Tumblr </3

[makehydrafictionagain]

Public Relations: Foundations- Ch. 1 Pt. 2 (MCU x Reader)

Note: Hehehe

Summary: Just a simple day as a clerical Avenger.

If you didn't read PR:AOU, then I suggest you do, as this is the sequel! Here is the link where you can find the entire series. <3

June 1, 2015

The room was still dim.

You were curled up in bed, clinging to the last remnants of sleep. It was the first morning in weeks that you didn’t have to wake up to press events, high-profile meetings, or some sort of battle you were highly unqualified to partake in.

You had earned this.

You had earned a slow morning, a peaceful-

The door to your bedroom flew open.

"Rise and shine, _____."

You groaned into your pillow as Romanoff, Agent of Chaos, strolled in like she owned the place.

"You have about ten seconds before I drag you out of that bed myself," Natasha announced, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway.

You cracked one eye open, glaring. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Natasha smirked, approaching the side of your bed. “You really think I don’t know how to pick a lock?"

"That’s concerning."

"Only for you," she quipped, reaching over and yanking the blanket off of you.

You gasped as the cool air hit your skin. "Nat, what the hell?!"

"Training. Now," Natasha said, completely unfazed.

You groaned louder this time, flopping dramatically onto your back. "I am not an Avenger. I am a PR manager. I manage. I strategize. I do not-"

"-Make excuses?" Natasha finished, arching a brow.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your face as your eyes adjusted to the light of your clock. "It's six in the morning."

"Six-oh-four, actually. You’re late."

"Late to what?!"

"Your training schedule," Natasha said simply, like it was obvious. "The one I made for you."

You shot up in bed. "You made me a schedule?"

"You think I’m just going to let you sit behind a desk forever?" Natasha smirked. "Come on, _____. We both know you like being useful. You can strategize all you want, but if you ever get into a situation where you're out in the field, I’d rather you not die in the first thirty seconds."

You scowled. "I lasted long enough last time."

Natasha grinned. "Up."

You grumbled under your breath, but knew there was no escaping this. You threw your legs over the side of the bed and stood, your muscles already protesting the mere idea of what was coming. 

"I hate you."

Natasha patted you on the shoulder. "You’ll love me by the time we’re done."

-

By the time you were dressed and made it to the training room, half awake and running on sheer spite, Natasha was already waiting, stretching like this was just another casual morning.

The training area was spacious, lined with sleek mats and reinforced walls, designed to handle super-powered individuals- not a semi-athletically active public speaker.

"Alright, let’s start simple," Natasha said the second you entered, motioning you toward her.

You rolled your shoulders, already feeling moderately regretful of your life choices. "Simple sounds good."

Natasha smirked. "Great. Hit me."

You blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Hit me."

You narrowed your eyes. This was a trap.

"You are aware that I’m not Steve, right? I do not possess veins full of super serum or unbreakable bones," you pointed out, full of attitude.

Natasha raised an unimpressed brow. "Then you should probably hit harder."

“Alright, but if I have to go to Dr. Cho about my shoulder again…” You sighed and shook out your hands. 

You had some training- Maria had taught you how to handle yourself in a fight, and you had continued keeping yourself physically fit after your time at SHIELD… but this was different. Natasha was built for this. Literally. 

I’m about to get my ass kicked.

You lunged, throwing a decent punch.

Natasha dodged easily.

"Slow," she commented.

Okay, rude.

You exhaled sharply, adjusting your footing. You swung again- faster this time.

Natasha deflected it like it was nothing.

"You’re hesitating."

You glared. "I'm assessing."

"Same thing," Natasha shot back.

You tried again, aiming for a feint before pivoting, attempting to catch Natasha off guard.

Of course it didn’t work.

Before you could even process what happened, you were flat on your back. The landing was softer than you expected, your breath was still in your chest and you didn’t feel the ache your muscles had instinctively braced for. She went easy on you.

"Ow."

"Better," Natasha allowed, standing over you, one foot on either side of your waist. "But you’re still thinking too much."

You groaned. "Thinking is literally my job."

"Not when you’re fighting. Instinct, _____."

You exhaled slowly, pushing yourself up. Without hesitation, she charged at you.

Ow.

-

Half an hour later, you were sweating, exhausted, and fully convinced Natasha was actually trying to kill you.

And then, of course, Steve showed up.

At the most (im)perfect time, while you were mid-flip, upside down, milliseconds away from hitting the mat, you look toward the door and see him.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, amusement evident on his face. "How’s it going?"

You, panting on the floor, shot him the deadliest glare you could muster.

Steve smirked down at you. "You look like you're having fun."

Natasha put her fists on her hips and gleamed. “I am.” Steve looked to her and let out a subdued chuckle.

"Oh, this is good," Sam grinned, stepping in behind Steve with a cup of iced coffee, topped with a surprising amount of whipped cream. "How long has this been going on?"

Natasha, completely unfazed, glanced at the clock. "Thirty-five minutes."

Sam whistled. "She still alive?"

"Barely," you muttered, rolling onto your stomach and pulling yourself up to your knees.

Sam took a long sip of his coffee, nodding in appreciation. "Good work, Romanoff."

“Good work Romanoff?” You huffed out, steadying yourself to your feet and pushing the baby hairs from your forehead.

Natasha smirked. "She’s got potential." You rolled your eyes in exasperation and turned around, catching your breath.

Steve, still watching incredibly closely as you walked around, tilted his head. "You’re actually doing well."

You stared at him, utterly betrayed.

"Well?!" He shrugged defensively.

"She’s keeping up," Natasha shrugged. "Better than I expected, honestly."

Thanks?

"I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned."

"Both," Natasha said easily, grabbing your hips and repositioning them, then your elbows, then your shoulders. Your focus was brought back to Natasha almost instantly. 

Maybe you weren’t hating it all that much.

Sam chuckled, nudging Steve. "Man, you are so lucky she likes you. Otherwise, I think she’d murder you for watching this."

Steve, still smirking, lowered his voice a little. "She’s doing great."

-

After Natasha graciously decided that you had suffered enough (for now), she finally allowed you to crawl back to your room to clean up before their first team meeting since the PR tour ended.

Your body ached in a way that was almost comical.

You’ve been sore before- Sokovia had taken a piece of you, both physically and emotionally. But at least then you had adrenaline, survival instinct, and feral willpower carrying you through.

This?

This was pain with no purpose. No crisis, no battle, no threat- just Natasha Romanoff and her relentless training routine that left you feeling like you had personally offended her in a past life.

I bet she kicked my ass in that life, too.

After you managed to shower, you threw on your softest pair of leggings and an over-sized pajama shirt, a clear silent protest against the hell you had just endured.

Fuck it, if I don’t get to sleep in, I’m sure as hell not dressing up for these jerks.

Your muscles protested every step as you made your way through the Compound, and the thought of sitting through a two-hour long meeting made you want to cry.

But at least you could sit down.

I’ll take that one win.

-

When you walked in most of the team was already gathered.

Steve stood near the front of the room, the picture of ease and quiet leadership, flipping through his notes. He looked up when you entered, eyes scanning you instinctively, as if already assessing whether you were okay.

I am NOT okay.

You shot him a look that was both threatening and inadvertently flirtatious, he smirked just enough for you to want to throw something at him.

Throw myself at him.

Shut up, oh, my god.

Rhodey was seated near the projector, a stack of reports beside him that just looked like they were going to give you a headache. 

Sam was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed while Wanda sat quietly near the side, occasionally glancing over at you with a quiet smile.

Natasha, completely unaffected by the fact that she had just spent an hour and a half actively ruining your life, was also seated, flipping through her own notes as if nothing had happened.

And then there was Vision. Just… floating.

Because of course he is.

You dropped into a chair, trying not to wince aloud at the soreness in your muscles.

"Are you wearing pajamas to a meeting?" Sam asked, raising an instigatory brow.

You, without missing a beat, shot back, "You saw me in tights and a sports bra earlier. You're lucky you even have eyes to see my work pajamas."

Natasha grinned into her coffee mug.

Steve, clearly biting back a laugh, just shook his head.

"Fair enough," Sam muttered, moving his attention to Rhodey hoping to stifle his own laughter.

Steve looked at you again, this time with genuine concern. "You good?"

Instead of responding, you shot him a faux angry expression, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the smile from showing.

Steve smirked, but before he could respond, Rhodey mercifully took control of the meeting.

"As you all know," he started, his voice the perfect mix of military authority and ‘I have dealt with too much nonsense in my life’ energy, "we have a responsibility to ensure that the Compound remains one of the most secure locations in the world."

You nodded along. This was standard stuff; security protocols, monitoring unauthorized access, ensuring classified information remained classified.

It was all going well until he clicked to the next slide, revealing a graph labeled: ‘Security Breach Analysis: Causes.’

Your eyebrow raised immediately.

Rhodey exhaled and pointed at the screen. "I’d like to direct everyone’s attention to Exhibit A."

Sam leaned forward, already smirking. "Oh, boy."

You squinted at the graph. The leading cause of security breaches was…

"Friendly Fire?"

Rhodey nodded, deadpan. "I would like to note that, according to the compiled data, 74% of our security issues in the last month were caused by our own people."

Steve, completely unbothered, just nodded. "That seems accurate."

"DOES IT?" Rhodey said, exasperated.

You closed your lips tight to stop the laugh from escaping your bruised ribs.

"Let’s review," Rhodey continued, clicking to the next slide. "Incident One: Sam bypasses security clearance to sneak in post-mission takeout."

Sam raised his hands. "Look, I was doing everyone a favor."

Damn right.

"Did you need to reroute security drones for that?" Rhodey deadpanned.

Sam shrugged. "I mean, I could have let them scan the food. Didn’t want to risk them vaporizing the dumplings, though."

You snorted.

Rhodey ignored him and continued. "Incident Two: Steve sets off multiple alarms because he refuses to carry his security badge."

Steve, completely unbothered, leaned back in his chair. "They should recognize me by now."

"Steve," Rhodey said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sam barked a laugh.

Before Rhodey could move on, he paused, glancing around the room.

His expression softened just slightly as he looked at you and Wanda.

"You know," he said, "I’d just like to point out that the only people here who haven’t caused a security breach are Wanda and _____."

Sam let out an exaggerated gasp. "Are you saying they’re better than us?"

"Obviously," Rhodey shot back.

Steve glanced at you, his lips quirking up slightly. "That’s fair."

You, still exhausted but definitely amused, leaned back in your chair. "Finally. Some recognition."

“Standing ovations after your speeches isn’t enough recognition?” Natasha looked over at you with a cute twinkle in her eye and a sarcastic smirk on her mouth, earning a friendly eye-roll from you.

Rhodey smirked. "Don’t get too comfortable. You’re just less of a problem than the rest of them."

Sam, offended, crossed his arms. "I feel like this is favoritism."

"It is favoritism," Rhodey admitted. "They’re the only two I don’t have to babysit."

You grinned, enjoying this far too much.

Wanda, still quiet but definitely smirking, muttered, "We try our best."

Sam groaned. "Unbelievable."

Rhodey clicked to the final point, looking directly at Vision. "And finally. Incident Three: Vision phases through walls without warning, repeatedly triggering lock-down protocols."

Vision, hovering mid-air, tilted his head. "I fail to see why this is an issue."

"It’s an issue, Vision," Rhodey sighed, "because when anyone else phases through a wall, it means we have an intruder. You singlehandedly caused three security lock-downs last week."

Vision blinked and nodded once. "A fair point."

Rhodey sighed, flipping to the final slide labeled ‘Solutions.’ 

"Moving forward, please use your security clearance correctly. Steve, carry your damn badge. Sam, no more rerouting drones. Vision- I don’t know… knock?"

Vision nodded. "Noted."

"Good," Rhodey sighed. "Meeting adjourned."

-

As the others dispersed, you remained seated, flipping through your notes with a sigh. Just not quite ready to stand up, yet.

Steve lingered, watching you with an amused but knowing expression. "You survived."

You glanced up, deadpan. "Did I?"

Steve smirked, stepping just a little closer, arms crossed over his chest. "Barely. But I gotta say, for someone who spent the morning getting their ass kicked, you looked pretty good doing it."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. "Are you flirting with me, Captain Rogers?"

Steve shrugged, that damn smirk still lingering. "Just stating the facts."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "I think I liked it better when you were just making fun of me."

Steve leaned down slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your heartbeat stutter. "Oh, I was doing that too."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Sam, impeccably timed, walked by and clapped a hand on your shoulder. Steve shot up straight, changing his tune instantly. 

Cute.

"Go take you a nap, _____." Sam said as he motioned for Steve to follow him. He did, reluctantly, not before looking back toward you with an awkward smile on his pinked face.

You sighed and half-spun in your chair.

Despite all of the stress, the grief, the pain, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing.

-

After the meeting, you dragged yourself back to your room and immediately collapsed onto your bed.

The second you hit the mattress, your body practically sighed in relief.

Against your better judgment, rather, ignoring your better judgment, you let your eyes close.

Just for a minute.

Two hours later, you woke up. Drool crusted the corner of your lips and your leg was awkwardly dangling over the side of your bed.

The best minute of my entire life.

You groaned, rolling onto your stomach, silently cursing Natasha, Rhodey, Steve- everyone.

Alas, you knew it was time to rise.

Your body still ached all over, but at least it didn’t feel like you were going to collapse mid-step.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on the first sweater you could find, and trudged out of your room toward the dining area.

The Compound’s dining area was mostly empty; Steve and Rhodey had already eaten, Sam was nowhere to be found (which was either a good sign or a really bad one), and Natasha had probably gone to train again, because she was insane.

You were pretty sure Vision didn't eat.

You grabbed a plate from the cupboard and made yourself a portion of whatever was neatly set aside on top of the stove, intending to eat alone in peace.

Just as you were settling in on the island stool, you caught movement in your periphery.

Wanda.

She hesitated for a brief moment, then, without a word, Wanda slid into the seat across from you.

A few beats passed before Wanda, without looking up from her plate, spoke. “Did I understand incorrectly, or did Natasha nearly kill you this morning?”

You, surprised and amused, let out a breath of laughter. "Oh, absolutely. It was brutal."

A small smile tugged at Wanda’s lips.

You ate in comfortable silence after that, Wanda making no move to leave.

Eventually, you risked a glance up to her, finding her expression unreadable.

“…You okay?” You asked quietly.

Wanda took a moment before responding, but when she finally did, she gave a small nod. "I am not sure, yet," she admitted. Then, after a pause, she added, "I feel… both out of place, and... where I belong."

Wow.

Your eyebrows raised at the sentiment, like she was reading your mind.

Is she reading my mind?

You cleared your throat, trying to come up with the words to respond.

“You… have no idea how relatable that is.” You looked down at your plate and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know if you know this, but-” you cleared your throat again, suddenly feeling parched, “I don’t have anyone left, really.”

Wanda looked up from the counter and at you with soft, but wide eyes.

“I- uh, I lost my parents when I was young- like 14, 15. I didn’t have any siblings- I always wished I did.” You allowed yourself to get lost in your words, letting them come out one after another. “My grandmother was amazing, she was the only other family I had- I moved in with her and she helped me through college and got me my first job.”

When you blinked, you realized, despite a small smile, your eyes were fogging. You cleared your throat one last time, hoping it would give you some finality. 

“So, yeah- uh, I guess my point is, I think I understand sort of what you mean.” An uncomfortable chuckle left your throat and you looked at Wanda, hoping you hadn’t scared her off with your sob story.

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes did. You looked at one another for what would have been an inappropriate amount of time, had it not felt so right. She reached over and placed her hand over top yours on the counter and smiled, a sad, understanding smile. You smiled back.

Then, both of you ate your dinner.

-

After offering to wash Wanda’s plate alongside yours and encouraging her to get some sleep, you found yourself walking toward your room with Steve beside you.

It wasn’t planned, it had just… happened. You fell into step naturally, the hallway quiet around you, the dim lighting making everything feel softer.

Steve, hands in his pockets, glanced down at you. "Feeling any better?"

You scoffed playfully. "Oh yeah, I’m thriving."

He smirked. "You’ll get used to it."

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. "You’re telling me there’s more of this?"

Steve chuckled. "Have you met Natasha?"

You sighed dramatically. "Go back to pretending to flirt with me- no more reality checks, please."

Steve, in the most insufferably casual way possible, responded with, "I was never pretending."

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

You almost tripped over your own feet, looking down at them to make sure you were even walking correctly- avoiding Steve’s gaze altogether.

Left foot, right foot, left foot-

Before you could come up with something remotely clever in response, or fall on your face, the two of you reached your door.

The air between you shifted just slightly- still light, still easy, but something else lingered underneath it as you scrambled for your key-card.

Steve hesitated for a second before stepping just a little closer, gently taking the card from your hand and pressing it to the scanner, triggering the lock mechanism.

"Get some rest," he murmured. "You did good today."

Your heart suddenly did a weird little thing you didn’t have time to analyze, shrugged. "I’ll get ‘er next time."

Steve smirked, aware that you were purposefully not meeting his eyes. "I bet you will."

A beat of silence.

And then- intentional and calculated, he leaned in.

His lips brushed yours before pressing in only slightly.

Soft. Brief. Very real.

Your breath hitched slightly, barely processing the warmth of his lips against yours before he was already pulling away.

Steve didn’t move too far back- he lingered just for a second longer, watching you, waiting.

You weren’t sure what he was waiting for.

Maybe for you to say something, to make a joke like you had finally found yourself comfortable doing- but you couldn’t find one.

Your fingers curled slightly against the doorframe you leaned back against as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes.

His expression was unreadable at first. Maybe even unreadable to himself.

But then, his lips quirked upward into a small, almost shy smirk.

"Goodnight, _____."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You stood there for a long moment, your fingers brushing over your lips, wondering if that actually just happened.

No, it definitely happened.

You exhaled a sharp breath, finally stepping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Leaning against it, you let your head fall back against the wood, eyes slipping shut for just a second.

You had so many thoughts you didn’t know what to do with.

That makes two kisses. I’ve kissed Captain America two times.

As much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, the only thing you could think about was the undeniable fact that you wanted him to do it again.

You swallowed hard, pushing off the door and moving toward the bed, willing yourself not to overthink it.

Just sleep.

That’s all you needed.

But as you climbed into bed, exhaustion finally catching up to you, you had a sinking feeling that your dreams weren’t going to let you forget it anytime soon. 

You hoped.

[madamejadex]

Hi Miss Jade 🎀

Please could I ask some questions about my soft limits/ things that make me a little more anxious than anything I’ve ever tried before?

I feel kinda nervous asking these questions and it’s taken me a few days to pluck up the courage to send them so as soon as I do I’ll probably throw my phone across the room! I wanted to ask about some questions about my soft limits of thats okay? I’ve never discussed these with anyone and it makes me nervous wanting to start to explore them alone / with someone when the time is right. I have a really open friend group, we actually formed through the LGBTQIA+ clubbing scene in my current city so conversations with them are incredibly inclusive, open and judgement free - so I can talk to them about anything without being scared. And what makes me feel even luckier is the LGBTQIA+ scene in my current city is extremely kink friendly and so are my friends. Anyway here we go 🫣 (I’d say most of these are pretty standard sex acts, from other things I’ve been into before, but they terrify me all the same.)

🍓Period Sex (it’s something I’ve done once or twice, but honestly makes me so nervous each time. It always feels great but I think it could feel better if I wasn’t so in my head and embarrassed about something so natural. Logically, I know I have no problem giving when someone else is on their period, it doesn’t bother me at all, but when it comes to myself it makes me anxious and feel all weird about my body. Do you have any recommendations of things to try or to help with that?)

🍓Plugs (I’ll be honest I’ve never explored anything in the past, I’ve been asked by partners but I’ve always maintained firm boundaries here. I’ve read a lot about certain scenarios and I think in someways I can see the benefits of say wearing a plug whilst having sex or masturbating because I like feeling full (omg I’m cringing at myself already) Even exploring it on my own makes me nervous but I know it’s something I’ll have to try and then put aside if I realise it’s not for me. I don’t think I would ever try more than a plug. (if you have any ideas of easing me into this sort of exploration I’d be all ears. And if there’s anything you’d recommend, if this worked for me, to start testing my limits, I’d love to try and understand that more.)

🍓Gags (okay so gags have always been a hard limit of mine, the sensory idea of them makes my body feel all weird. I think there still incredibly hot and I was wondering if you had any ideas to introduce that sort of thing? I hope it doesn’t sound silly but the idea of breaking my teeth and not being able to breathe completely freaks me out, and though I know this logically and I can reinforce to myself this is not going to be the case - my brain still wants to send me for a loop each time 😂 even knowing they are safe)

Thank you for talking your time to listen to my awkward rambling. I really appreciate everything you do and the safe space you create for our community. I hope you’re taking good care of yourself, have a lovely weekend! My DM’s will also be forever open to you & my other mutuals if that is easier. Sending you forehead kisses and so many cuddles!

~🍓soph <3

My precious Soph,

First of all, let me say how proud I am of you, my sweet darling.

You’ve clearly spent time thinking about your needs, your curiosities, and your limits, and that alone tells me you’re already on the right path. The courage it took to write this, to share something so personal and tender? It absolutely deserves to be honored. And sweetheart, you did so beautifully.

Now, let’s unwrap these one at a time together, shall we? No pressure, no shame, just two minds meeting gently in the middle.

Period Sex: Oh, my sweet one, I hear you. Period sex can be such a vulnerable topic, and even if you know logically it’s natural and fine, it doesn’t always quiet those little insecurities inside, does it? One soft way to help ease yourself into feeling more comfortable is by starting in the bath or shower. Whether you’re alone or with a partner, the warm water can feel soothing against your skin and help wash away some of the mental noise you’re battling. The shower head in particular can be a lovely way to play, both for solo exploration and with a partner. It can feel indulgent, a little luxurious, and very intimate without putting you on full visual display if that's something that makes you tense. Plus, some very delicious scenes can unfold there if you let yourself relax into it.

Other things that can help ease this is control and environment.

Use darker sheets or towels, something plush and cozy that feels intentional rather than "covering up."

Start slowly. Let yourself be touched and worshipped without rushing toward penetration if it makes you nervous at first.

And remember, your partner is there because they want all of you, not in spite of your body’s natural cycles.

Please remember that period sex is not dirty. Your body is not shameful. It is, in fact, another beautiful layer of your sensuality, and it deserves to be treated that way. With softness. With reverence.

Plugs: Mmm, now you’re speaking my language, sweet one. I adore plugs because they can look so pretty. And the key to introduce plugs is to start smaller and slower than you think you need to.

Begin simply by becoming comfortable with gentle, external touch, tracing, massaging, exploring.

Introduce a finger first, with plenty of lubricant and no pressure to go further than feels good.

Only once you’re relaxed and feeling curious, you can try a very small, beginner plug, think soft, flexible, and not too long. Remember, fullness is earned over time. It’s not a race. I love working a submissive up gradually, letting their body become attuned to the sensations, learning to crave the stretch because it feels good, not because it’s rushed.

It can help knowing there is Domme's out there that loves this act. I for one would have been thrilled if I was your Domme and got the pleasure of introducing you to this.

And just so you know, you’re not cringing. You’re being brave. And it’s beautiful to witness. Including another ask I answered about plugs: here

Gags: Oh darling heart, not silly at all. Not even a little. Hard limits exist for a reason, and even softening a hard limit into a "maybe one day" curiosity deserves immense respect and caution.

If gags fascinate you but still set off alarm bells, start with symbolic gagging before introducing any physical object:

Covering your mouth with a hand can be just as exciting without the panic.

A soft scarf or ribbon loosely held can let you feel "restrained" without cutting off breath or causing fear.

Even simply being told “stay silent” can evoke that same submissive sensation of being gagged, without ever placing anything in your mouth.

Later, if you wish to try a physical gag, start with something soft and adjustable like a bit gag (like what’s used for pony play) or even just placing a finger across your lips as a symbolic gesture. You don’t have to rush it. You don’t have to do it at all. Your body’s instincts deserve to be honored, and no kink is worth your peace of mind.

Now to end this I want you to know how deeply I admire your heart. You’ve done something brave and I hope you feel held in that. You deserve exploration without fear. You deserve partners (and spaces) who meet your uncertainty with patience, not pressure. Curiosity is not consent, it’s an invitation to learn. And you've already begun.

And yes… you may absolutely come to me anytime. No more phone throwing, okay. Let’s talk. Let’s explore. Let’s honor you exactly as you are.

Sending you the gentlest kisses on your forehead, and warm arms to hold all the questions you carry.

xo Miss Jade

[thejournallo]

Hi!

I'm wondering how can I have my faith of manifesting and shifting back. I'll explain briefly but it's been since the pandemic since I tried to apply the law and it's been 3 years since I tried to shift, however I've failed everytime (well, I've succeed for small things not even in my life but things on TV and stuff, but nothing worth it).

I tried everything, I've read Neville, I've interacted with peoples who succeed, I've applied everything, but nothing has worked, in fact, quite the opposite. I've been kick out of my apartment (I'm living with my family rn so dw), I'm unable to stay in college, I've anxiety attack if a small thing goes wrong when I'm watching shows and many other things that prevent me to relax.

The worst thing is I've never been looking more male when in fact I want to be a cute girl so bad. I hate the fact I'm trans because I know my current brain is not strong enough to assume it, I'd rather be a cis women or even stay as it is because I don't want everyone in this society to hate me.

That's why I'm trying to shift. That's the only way I could be me, seeing a therapist or having hormones won't change anything, but even shifting I fail. Each time waking up here makes me want to puke and disappear. I just want to have a strong brain and be the person I should be and deserved to be.

I don't know what I should try anymore. I've done everything, maybe I'm the 1% of people who can't manifest or do anything.

I'm sorry to bother you with this, but that's literally my last chance before doing something stupid or trying to erase my personality in order to be more accepted.

Hi there!

Thank you for reaching out, and I can feel the strength and determination in your words, even through the struggles you’ve described. Manifesting and shifting are deeply personal journeys, and it’s completely normal to feel lost or frustrated when things don’t go as planned. Remember, the power to create and transform is within you, and sometimes, it just needs a clearer path.

One of the main reasons many people struggle with manifesting is self-doubt. This doubt can sneak in as the belief that the opposite of what we want will happen or that our efforts will ultimately fail. When we think this way, we end up “polluting” our intentions with negativity. You deserve to believe fully in your vision, without these clouds of doubt.

Here are a few ideas to help you reconnect with your faith in manifesting and shifting:

Reaffirm Your Strength: Begin with simple affirmations that feel authentic. Saying things like, “I am capable, and my desires are valid,” or “I am moving closer to my true self each day,” can plant the seeds of trust within you. Repetition matters here; affirm whenever you can—over a coffee, while cooking, or whenever you feel down.

Let Go of ‘Perfect’ Outcomes: Sometimes, holding too tightly to the “perfect” vision of our desires can add unnecessary pressure. Embrace your journey as it is, allowing small successes to build your belief over time. Try to notice even the small moments that align with your goals, like those little manifestations on TV. Each one reinforces that your mind is a powerful tool.

Create a Safe Space to Visualize: It can be helpful to set aside time each day to connect deeply with your true self—visualize your ideal self not just in terms of appearance, but in terms of feeling and wholeness. Write down the qualities you admire and want to embody. This isn’t just about seeing yourself differently but feeling the reality of that change.

Trust the Process and Be Kind to Yourself: Trusting yourself can be hard, especially when faced with setbacks. But every day is a new chance. Even small, positive shifts in mindset are victories worth celebrating. And remember, manifesting often starts with loving where you are—even if it’s challenging—because that love and acceptance will help carry you forward.

Finally, it’s okay to reach out for help if you feel overwhelmed. You’re not alone, and there are people who genuinely want to support you. Keep going, and know that you have the strength and worthiness to reach the life you envision. It’s all within you; just take it one step at a time. and if you need im here

-xoxo the journallo

[scribeofred]

hey. hi. give me some commentary on a section of your writing you’ve always wanted to pick apart 👀

hey hi I see that new pfp. don't think I don't.

but yes! of course! <3 I have, at your behest, selected nines go fast, also known as mechanic!nines. there is, unfortunately, no mechanicing happens in the included excerpt, but that's okay, you know where this is going anyway <3

you said section. I said 😏. ergo, this is long, like 8.5K words long, so go into it armed with snacks and beverages. I'll supply fresh cardamom-cinnamon doughnuts and moroccan mint tea <3

−3.

An anonymous source releases formerly classified documents to the public—documents that detail US Army–overseen android soldier trial runs being conducted in the arctic. The immediate release of these soldiers is demanded by a seething android population, and CyberLife, already one wrong step away from total collapse, has no choice but to comply.

tiny little mostly passive-voice introduction here. I’ve used a lot of passive voice in my writing for a number of years now. still not quite sure why, maybe I’ll figure it out as I analyze this piece. I really do not love that first sentence, it feels like a noun word salad, but it’s something I’ve never tweaked during my various editing-when-I-should-be-drafting passes. always had something else on my mind.

RK900_313248317_87 spends almost six and a half days (561,443 seconds exactly) in the arctic circle before it is granted the status of personhood. It becomes he, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself, except for two things:

it became clear to me almost immediately that this story was going to take on an Interesting Format: lots of parentheses, lots of lists, something more outline-ish than a strictly prose story in places. I like breaking conventions, so I remain tickled by this styling. Also, “It becomes he, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself” has such a nice progression, I really love the sound of it, the look of it. one of my high priorities while writing is creating lyrical, smooth-flowing sentences, and I love repetition, which will likely become apparent throughout this piece, or any piece I write tbh.

There is another active android who shares his serial (but not model) number. This is immediately important.

300,291 seconds into his abruptly truncated tour of duty, he interfaced with an M77 and encountered a strange snaggletoothed bit of code that was supposed to balance the tank’s backup electronic targeting system but instead had a fifty percent chance of failing completely when the correct conditions were met. He (then it) corrected the code, submitted an error report and a copy of his applied fix to maintenance, and resumed his preset tasks for the day. This will become relevant later.

“snaggletoothed” is a word I (re)encountered while drafting this scene, and I (re)fell in love with it. fun words ftw. also, “He (then it)” is an immediate repetition payoff, and also reinforces the delineation between machine!nines and deviant!nines. this is also a good paragraph to drill down into the way I prefer to construct my sentences. typically I don’t rely much on opening dependent clauses, although that does vary per narrator voice, and for a character like nines especially I am Highly Conscious of the way he presents information to the reader. there’s a lot of facts, a lot of numbers and statistics, and a lot of general straightforwardness. I’m also conscious of each word’s function within the sentence (though I admittedly haven’t stripped this story to its bare bones either). the last two sentences in the second point in the list read, to my eyes and my ear, with this sort of stabbing effect. this is typical of my writing style in general, but in a story like this, with a narrator nines, the effect is heightened, blacks blacker and whites whiter. telling the reader information is a dangerous game sometimes, and my approach here is just. tell the reader exactly what needs to be said and nothing more.

He is offered and summarily declines a new position with the US Army (salary pending), he complies with the appropriate demilitarization procedures (they take a boning knife to his existence and they carve), he steps foot off Fort Hamilton (for the first and the last time), and he sets himself new directives that are entirely his own:

there’s two layers of subtext happening here. the first layer is the contrast between the information given in the main body of the sentence and the information given in the parentheses, which becomes particularly obvious by the end of the second parenthetical statement. the second layer is the paragraph taken as a whole, especially that first “(salary pending)”, which is a benign two words long and Will read different in the context of the entire paragraph. I love love love how much can be inferred via the simple salary pending, inferences about the state of the world, inferences about the US Army (and thus the USA as a whole), inferences about Nines’s priorities and character. the ping-pong match between the statements resolves in the last set of parentheses and the clause following it: Nines is going to do his own thing, thank you VERY much

Travel to Detroit, Michigan

Find RK800_313248317_53 “Connor”

Discover and execute his purpose

Completing the first objective is easy enough, even though he has to make his way from New York to Detroit primarily on foot. It’s fine. He was constructed to successfully navigate terrain more inhospitable than what he finds in the well-developed northeastern United States even in the middle of winter. It’s actually kind of nice to not be traveling in circles. He discovers he likes linear progression more than he likes circuitous. Probably this knowledge will come in useful, eventually.

“He discovers he likes linear progression more than he likes circuitous” is an example of both repetition and elision. choosing to not repeat something can be just as effective as repetition. even though this story is in present tense, occasionally I do flirt with imparting future knowledge that technically nines shouldn’t know. it’s fine it’s a stylistic choice, it’s not actually an issue; it does, however, contrast against that last sentence, where the two -ly adverbs intentionally create what should be ambiguity but actually isn’t because of the repetition. it’s almost like repetition legitimiz—

Completing the second objective is even easier. It only takes some moderate digital surfing to determine his predecessor’s whereabouts: time evenly split between the Detroit Police Department’s Central Station, one Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s house, and with the Jericho Movement’s core leadership (location randomized). He considers his options and determines the least threatening time to approach them to be just before Connor and the lieutenant finish work. Visiting them at their place of employment is less invasive than at their personal residence and less unpredictable than approaching them on the street.

I rebel against following trends, sometimes, so I’ve eschewed the popular term New Jericho and instead called it my own thing, because I’m Pretentious Like That. I don’t necessarily love the name the Jericho Movement? but it’s good enough for drafting purposes.

He catalogues but does not mind the stares he receives as he is escorted past the security checkpoint and through the bullpen to a pair of desks, one disorganized, one pristine, belonging to one disorganized human and one pristine android.

repetition legitimiz—

<<Ping.

>>Echo reply.

trying to figure out how to format messages between androids (or texts or what have you) can be an iterative process. if this went up on ao3, I’m sure I would have figured out a fancy lil bit of css or html to make it look Cool.

Their LEDs flash yellow in sync, and by the time he’s walked the seventeen steps to the desks, he and Connor have worked out all of the pertinent details they can by themselves. It’s purely for the wide-eyed lieutenant’s sake that he says, “Hello. I am RK900 serial number 313 248 317 - 87, Connor’s successor. You may call me Nines.”

wise writing advice says not to use numbers if you can help it, which. yeah. wise indeed. that said, because android systems are hilariously more powerful than even our modern supercomputers, I’ve taken pains to show how advanced the androids are via contextual clues. connor and nines probably had plenty of time to get to know each other and make jokes and so on tbh, but there’s only so much information I can include without cluttering up each paragraph, so. director’s commentary bonus info! also, I didn’t give nines an actual name here, but I intended to change it by the time I was finished drafting. couldn’t settle on the Right Name, though, so nines he remains.

“Pretty sure I’d rather take the other one,” the lieutenant breathes, looking spooked and unhappy. “Even if he did point a gun at me.”

“There’s no reason to be rude, Hank,” Connor says mildly as he stands. “And certainly not to one of our country’s newest veterans.”

“The hell are you talkin’ about? And where do you think you’re going?”

“To speak to Captain Fowler about bringing Nines on as a second consultant. Don’t worry, we’ll explain everything on the way home.”

“On the— Connor, no, absolutely not, one android in my house is more than enough, don’t you walk away from me—”

Captain Fowler, currently overseeing a woefully understaffed station, begrudgingly agrees to a trial run; Nines and Connor (but mostly Connor) sweet-talk Hank into letting Nines accompany them back to his house; and this is how Nines ends up with what humans call a family. He isn’t quite certain the term applies, especially when he consults the more traditional definitions, but when he and Connor sit cross-legged on the living room floor that night with Sumo’s almost-impossibly fluffy body draped over their knees, their hands pressed together as they interface, data flowing thick and rich between them, he thinks maybe family is something they can grow into if they give it enough time.

He wonders if he likes the idea. Connor certainly does, a brightness to his thoughts entirely unlike the harsh glare of raw sunlight off fresh snow.

>>I see myself in you, and yet I don’t.

<<Disparate objectives means we iterated differently. I was you, once, but now I am not.

Connor makes a meaningless-meaningful sound. He’s copying Hank, who uses wordless interjections liberally. Nines likes this practice.

(not so) secretly this is one of my favorite paragraphs. nines developing his own preferences in addition to the subtext that subtextual communication is both meaningful (but meaningless but still meaningful) and valuable to androids in addition to humans. I’m tickled.

>>Your system, Nines. It’s…

<<They had to remove everything classified.

>>Does it… hurt?

Nines doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to tell. He shares this with Connor and Connor in turn shares his memories: two-thirds of the way to terminal velocity and then pavement, a bullet between the eyes, a bullet up through the jaw, impaled and heartless, don’t make me shoot, don’t make me shoot, don’t make me shoot—

repetition legiti— somewhere along the way I made the decision to remain vague re: nines’s system issues. this was half because I wasn’t sure exactly what issues I wanted him to have and half because it’s often more fun if I let the reader conjure the trauma themselves.

Fear static pain.

Whiteout.

They soft reboot nearly in sync, Sumo whining into their legs. In a single mirrored movement, Nines and Connor smooth their free hands through Sumo’s shaggy coat, trying to ease the dog’s distress even as their own systems struggle to rebalance.

>>Sorry, I’m so—

<<You didn’t mean—

>>That shouldn’t have—

<<Probably it’s because—

>>Let me—

Diagnostics and tests and error reports and debugging tools and they mutilated you and it doesn’t hurt because it doesn’t hurt like dying and not-doing-the-dying hurts and I can’t fix this, not immediately and that’s okay, you don’t have to and I want to, please, let me help, Nines, please and okay, Connor and thank you, Connor and your stress levels are alarmingly high, Connor, hug Sumo now, Connor.

Painful memories and mild panic attacks aside, it’s a good night. He has a warm place to stay, he has a new brother and a dog, he has objectives to complete starting tomorrow. He isn’t certain if it equals having a purpose, but it’s a start.

“hug Sumo now, Connor” is another favorite line <3 honestly, I love writing panic attacks, and figuring out how to write something equivalent being experienced by two linked digital systems was a fun challenge. their communication is happening so unbelievably fast here, millions—billions—of times faster than a human could possibly read it, and chopping half of their messages in half helps hint, if not fully convey, that rapidity. one of the big challenges with writing these scenes between connor and nines is the fact that, realistically, the two of them wouldn’t be communicating via a single throughline of conversation like the one written above. I’ve knowingly taken extreme liberties in order to craft a readable narrative because I just don’t have the ability to genuinely portray just how broadly AND simultaneously their systems are interacting. it’s fine, this is narrative-driven fiction, I just. one of the most frequent reasons I rolled my eyes while reading dbh fic was when I’d encounter descriptions of android systems that make them less powerful than even our current computers, to say nothing of the computing power that MUST exist in the dbh world in order for androids to function. as a result, I’ve always been highly cognizant of how I’m describing android/computer systems because this is one universe where writing them as potentially overpowered is more realistic than underpowered.

−2.

I decided to format this story in numbered sections. these sections do not function as chapters and instead function as a countdown to zero and then count up to whatever number I deemed suitable to round out the story. yes I used the actual minus symbol and not a hyphen.

Nines spends three days with the DPD and, in order, encounters

An impressively hefty backlog of paperwork and digital files that even Connor hasn’t been able to keep up with due to him and Hank being so busy with android-related crimes,

Detective Gavin Reed (antagonistic, aggressive, unpleasant),

Officer Chris Miller (direct, apologetic, tired),

two dead bodies (one human, one android; murder-suicide),

Chicken Feed (a Connor-determined reward for Hank’s ongoing attempt at sobriety),

a stray dog one-fourteenth of Sumo’s weight and size (Havanese, malnourished, unchipped but friendly),

Connor’s strategic employment of puppy_dog_eyes4.exp (16.22% more effective on Hank than Nines predicted),

Officer Tina Chen cooing over the rescued Havanese before taking on the responsibility of securing its future (Connor says he hopes it’ll be as loved as Sumo is; Nines agrees),

one dead body (android; murdered),

three trespassers and looters (two men, one woman; apprehended in 9.04 seconds),

Detective Ben Collins (personable, talkative, in need of a partner who can handle the more physical aspects of the job; Nines volunteers and is approved),

two dead bodies (androids; self-destructed),

a motor vehicle accident (high-speed rollover, manual-driving mode engaged; human driver pronounced dead at the scene, red ice use detected and likely to blame, autopsy pending),

four dead bodies (two humans, two androids; shot execution style; gang involvement?),

one alleyway brawl between ten people (seven humans, three androids; no casualties),

Detective Collins expressing concern over his wellbeing (minor damage sustained to biocomponent 7344c; self-repair already underway; such concern is unnecessary [but appreciated]),

a high-speed foot pursuit that lasts 8.7 seconds and ends with the suspect in custody (human, red ice found on person, suspected drug dealer),

roughly equal amounts of praise and teasing from his coworkers for his first solo arrest (he was just doing his job; he backs up their kind words and revisits them every 2.334 hours),

three dead bodies (one human, two androids; washed up on the banks of the Detroit River; shot, execution style; gang involvement?),

a high-speed vehicle pursuit that lasts 51.16 seconds and ends in an eighteen-vehicle pileup (five humans deceased, three humans and two android in critical condition, seven humans and four androids with moderate injuries).

the number of times I revised this list as I continued to write the story going forward cannot be calculated using modern instruments. so. many. times. it seems like a simple list of information, but nothing is ever simple when it comes to the inclusion of Actual Numbers. writing cute android boys can be tedious, y’all.

It’s the worst multivehicle accident within Detroit city limits in the last fifteen years.

(This, Nines thinks as he reviews footage of the carnage that’s still happening before his eyes, is wrong.)

(No. It’s not right, and he’s experienced just enough of the world to know that’s not the same thing.)

−1.

It’s happenstance, a convergence of the correct conditions in the correct order that produces a specific result. He and Detective Collins are returning to Central after inspecting a trio of bodies; Connor and Hank are following a couple of car lengths back. A sixth-mile ahead of them, patrol car 972 flips on its lights and begins pursuing a pair of motorcycles that have chosen an incredibly unwise moment to illegally and dangerously pass a transport truck.

The chase begins.

A half-second flurry of messages between him, dispatch, and Connor, and they have permission to act as backup.

“Been a long time since I did one of these,” Detective Collins says, voice grim but hands easy on the wheel as he threads through traffic. “Must not be equipped with those law enforcement override features.”

“Correct,” Nines says, listening to 972’s updates while analyzing the movements of the vehicles ahead of them. His hand hovers over the dashboard. “Should I drive?”

“Nah, I got this. Keep on keeping us in the loop.”

Twenty-nine point eight seconds later Nines watches but can do nothing as a catastrophe takes place before his eyes. With reflexes laughably faster than Detective Collins’s, he overrides their car’s systems and guides them to a safe stop on the inner shoulder of the highway before leaping out and rushing toward the disaster. Connor’s fifteen steps behind him; their human partners are even slower.

Screaming metal, screaming people, bleeding androids and bleeding humans, deep-tissue scans and beats per minute and crush injuries and ruptured blood vessels and shredded thirium lines and sobbing and stuttering and damage and malfunction and screaming and screaming and screaming. Nines and Connor work in fluid tandem, synced—Nines brute forces his way through the wreckage to expose life signs and Connor extracts said life signs with gentle words and gentler hands.

By the time they’ve relocate all victims (living first, deceased second) to a distance suitably removed in order to protect everyone in the event of an explosion, EMS have arrived and are hard at work fighting to save those in critical condition. Connor, Hank, and Detective Collins are lending their hands wherever necessary, and Nines should do the same, wants to the same, but he’s been in parallel reviewing all recorded footage of the accident, and so he makes one last visit to the twisted, heat-and-friction-fused heap of steel and aluminum, copper and glass, silicone and rubber. One car, interior soaked red and blue, is so tightly folded around itself that he has to peel back the dashboard so he can access the physical hardware beneath when it refuses all interface attempts. He pockets one of the redundant backup caches and downloads the same data from every other vehicle involved in the accident before rejoining the meticulously controlled chaos of emergency services and distressed victims and just enough bystanders to add some random variables into the whole mess. Nines scans and swiftly locates Detective Collins’s biorhythms, elevated but not to the point of distress. He pings Connor and gets a please hold back, which is both new and concerning but nothing he can assist with right now, so he reports to the on-site chain of command and allows them to put him to work.

it’s no secret that I do not cleave to the shitty first draft methodology. it works perfectly for some writers! it does not work for me. I am typically fairly set on what details I’m including in any given paragraph by the time I’m finished writing said paragraph, although I will usually lightly tweak things between two and infinite times whenever I reread. I rarely rewrite entire sentences, even more rarely delete sentences outright, because I don’t include throwaway information. there is, right from the get-go, intention behind each clause, each phrase, each word, each punctuation mark. this meticulous methodology has its pitfalls, of course, but one of the biggest upsides is paragraphs like the two above change very little between draft one and draft posted. typically the largest changes I make involve removing or replacing information rendered outdated as I continue to draft. occasionally I do have to smooth out awkward phrasing because done is better than perfect, but if I’m being confused by or tripping over my own phrasing, the reader is going to struggle even more, and that won’t do. revising can be tricky, though, because a pitfall of methodical drafting is the way I link each clause and each sentence together. they’re like a chain, and it’s a labor-intensive, difficult process to add new links. worth it! but definitely not easy.

>>I’m fine, Hank’s fine, we’re just on our way home now.

<<Already?

>>Cole.

<<Ah. Of course. Stay with him, I’ll be there when I can.

“You okay, kid?” Detective Collins asks while walking by, then points to his own temple when Nines merely tilts his head, hands busy holding a thousand-lumen light and a tiny but powerful portable heater so a human paramedic can stabilize another human’s compound fracture. “Your mood ring’s still red. Has been a while now.”

I just revised “while walking by” from the original “as he walked by” because of its ambiguity. it’s established later in the sentence that nines is stationary, but why create a potential moment of confusion for the reader if it can be avoided? especially when the solution is such a simple bit of rewording.

“I’m okay.” He is. Processors busy parsing and organizing a huge influx of new data, when they’re not consumed with saving lives.

“It’s fine if you’re not,” Detective Collins says later, once they’re back in the car, heater cranked to the max. The warmth is nice, although Nines isn’t sure he likes the air blowing across his face and body, but he doesn’t say anything; he isn’t the one who’s shivering. “Okay, that is. Scenes like that can be… well, they can be rough, even if you’ve been doing this job a while. The way you and Connor rushed in there…”

there is So Much information that’s covered in this entire crash sequence, and while I absolutely could have spent more time here, lingering, watching nines and co. do their things, I decided to play around with little time skips. it isn’t obvious right here, but there’s a line later in this numbered section that will give the above passage new context. this is also a good excuse to indulge my fondness for medic!rk units, combined with the many years I spent enmeshed in the thunderbirds fandom, which—there’s an extremely niche crossover that lives in my brain that I’ll probably never talk about again, but. now you know that’s a Thing. point is, reading and writing disaster/emergency scenarios is nothing new, and I’ve settled on a combination of specific, concrete details and relatively unemotional zoomed-out narrative.

“I’m okay,” Nines repeats, because he is. He suffered no significant damage, while there are five confirmed dead and sixteen injured. Seventeen if Hank’s emotional state can be counted as an injury. And it all could have been avoided.

“Mm. Well,” Detective Collins says, openly skeptical as he turns onto Michigan Drive, “you make sure you stay that way. Talk to someone if you need to, yeah?”

Concern, Nines decides, directed toward him, not because of him but rather on his behalf. It’s—nice, to have someone care enough to sincerely express such emotion toward him. He makes sure to tell Detective Collins this before they part ways, and he carefully indexes the memory of Detective Collins’s hand clasping his shoulder. “No thanks needed, kid, if you and your brother can keep Hank even halfway sober after that disaster. He’s been doing so much better, I’d hate to see him relapse. Call me if you need anything.”

this is not a story about hank’s recovery, not really, although there are certainly mentions of it present. ~connor magically makes hank better~ is an exhausting trope at best, but I’ve intentionally not dug into how, exactly, hank’s doing or how his recovery is being accomplished because that’s not the focus of this story. it is, in part, the focus of one of my other wips, and I don’t like covering the same ground twice, thus the ambiguity.

He does not need anything, at least not that Detective Collins can supply, and so he doesn’t call, but the option’s there, and somehow that lightens his system load in a way he can’t quite quantify.

the more time I spent in the dbh fandom, the more dbh fanfic I read, the more resistant I became to mirroring human and android systems when it comes to emotional reactions and manifestations. still, the reader is human, so parallels have to be drawn somewhere, somehow. and, also, even our modern computers run with such complexity that we don’t always understand everything about them, so I don’t think it’s entirely unreasonable for an android to not know everything going on in their system all the time, depending on how their consciousness works. but we don’t have time to get into all that.

>>Bathroom.

The priority message arrives while Nines is still on the chilly side of the front door, so it’s no trouble to alter his path to take him down the hall instead of into the kitchen. He is… glad, he thinks, that he did, when he sees his reflection. Human blood, thirium, oil, dirt, coolant, half-melted snow, synthetic skin and even white chassis visible through the rips in his clothing. He looks like one of the causalities. He barely recognizes himself. He feels like he barely recognizes himself.

Because a convergence happened today, and it left people dead and broken, and it triggered upsetting memories for Hank, and it triggered upsetting memories for Nines. Nines, who applied a fix to a single unlikely, conditional problem and then made that fix available to the entire United States Army. Nines, who unwittingly, unthinkingly smoothed the road to a more assured death of whoever ends up on the other side of those targeting systems. Nines, whose hands are coated in the blood of nineteen people and the prospective blood of an incalculable number of people, blood in potentia that cannot be washed away with warm water and soap and a moderate application of friction.

sometimes just straight-up describing an action is fine! sometimes it’s better than just fine and is in fact the best option in scenarios where the focus should be elsewhere. but sometimes saying “he washed his hands” isn’t nearly as effective as that final clause. “a moderate application of friction” is what I would consider a Quintessential Red-Style Phrase™. between all the concrete details, I tend to lean on subtextual descriptions whenever I can get away with them because I like making the reader do at least fifty percent of work of parsing the story.

Nines, who has all the on-board data of every vehicle involved in today’s fatal crash and potentially the time and the resources to eventually compute the flaw in the code and the necessary fix.

and thus we find out what happens when an android is given a guilt complex. whoops. my bad. hilariously, hilariously, all of the story up to this point and beyond is laying the groundwork for something so much simpler and gentler. but the backstory became important enough to write out whole cloth. 8K+ words later…

He carefully places the physical memory cache on the glass shelf beside the mirror. Showers. Dresses in the clean clothing Connor left for him on the painted cabinet by the door. Repockets the cache. Joins Connor and Hank and Sumo in the living room.

<<How is he?

Connor sends a burst of high-density packets, most of which contain data Nines is capable of obtaining himself, but mixed in are Connor’s uniquely calibrated observations of a man he’s had time to study. Hank is more sad than anxious, more tired than angry, more sober than drunk, and that last one is a definitive surprise. Four of the victims were children. All injured, all alive, so far.

Nines sits on the floor beside Connor and Sumo. Filters out the squeak of the basketball shoes coming from the TV and dials up the sensors that most clearly register the life signs of android and human and dog around him. Everything else runs in the background, for a little while.

there’s a post floating around tumblr that talks about the prospective humor of connor filtering out gavin’s voice, without gavin realizing it. delightfully amusing but also totally implausible because gavin’s vocal frequencies overlap at least somewhat with those of basically every other man in the station, and connor would have to be running some truly bonkers frequency-isolation software to mute gavin specifically without losing anyone else’s voice in the process. maybe he could write a program to do that by himself! maybe not. either way, isolating a certain band of frequencies is simple enough even with our current technology, so nines absolutely can mute the obnoxious squeak of shoes on floor. I dislike the sound, thus nines does too.

The game is well into the third quarter and Hank’s glass is still almost half full when he nudges a toe against Nines’s arm and says, “You found yourself a quarter too, huh?”

“No.” Nines holds out the cache he’s been rotating between his fingertips, allows Hank to see the device is more than double the diameter and thickness of an American quarter. He explains its purpose using grade 7 vocabulary.

Hank isn’t stupid. it’s just that nomenclature is a difficult thing to parse if you aren’t In The Know. connor knows this, thus nines knows this, thus I get to write fun sentences like “he explains its purpose using grade 7 vocabulary.” sometimes writing truly is a joy and a delight <3

“Huh.” Most of the brightness in Hank’s eyes comes from the reflection of the TV. He sips from his glass, an absent gesture. “And you have it because…?”

“I intend to correct the error that incited the accident.”

Hank looks—surprised, baffled, angry, heartbroken, intrigued, angry, proud, heartbroken. He drains the glass in one sharp movement and stands. “Yeah. You do that.”

The words taken literally grant permission; the sarcasm and disbelief with which they’re said inverts their meaning into a negative. Nines counts himself fortunate he doesn’t need Hank’s blessing to continue what he’s already started.

Connor buries his fingers in Sumo’s ruff when Hank chooses the bedroom instead of the bottle. >>Grief is complex. And I’m finding it more complex by the day instead of less.

<<You’ll be able to establish a pattern for him eventually.

>>I think, in this case, I’d rather the data set be left incomplete.

Thermal vision allows Nines to see Hank folded in half on the edge of his bed, a soft-hard knot of loss and regret. <<I have to agree.

“a soft-hard knot”—I love using contradictory terms in tandem to create complexity and texture.

Once it’s clear Hank is down for the night, they sync, Nines’s software making use of Connor’s hardware to increase his efficiency as he scans billions of billions of lines of code. Not all the syntax is immediately readable, which leads them briefly down a detour of researching various programming languages, and he catches Connor making a note to further that study another time. Nines agrees, he wants to learn as well, but—later.

While he and Connor are CyberLife’s most and second most advanced models, respectively, they weren’t purpose built to do this kind of work. Their predictive programs aren’t even compatible with the vehicles’ data until they’ve written brand-new translation software to handle code that wasn’t designed to run on androids, and the entire process is slowed by the way their AI engines take up significant resources even with most of the optional subroutines suspended. Skinless, cosmetic breathing terminated, actuators locked in place, scanners dimmed to minimum, they sit and they work until the sun rises and they still have hours and days and weeks of work to go.

I could shorten my sentences. I could. I do, sometimes. a lot of the time I don’t. in this case, even though these sentences are dense, redolent with adjectives and nouns, I kept them long because long sentences can effectively convey the passage of time, in part due to word selection and in part due to the irl time they take to read. admittedly writing dbh fic is a chance to flex a bit of computing knowledge. I deliberately crafted these paragraphs to showcase that while nines and connor are exceptionally powerful, complex computing systems, they have their limits, in terms of both preprogrammed knowledge and processing power. the thing that most dbh fic writers seem to forget is that in the dbh world, androids would not be considered supercomputers. not even close. depending on what kind of back-end architecture cyberlife androids are linked to, they potentially have access to staggering computing power if they need it. if this is the case, I cannot see cyberlife allowing deviants to continue accessing their systems, especially after a public revolution, so I’ve structured this story’s universe around androids operating autonomously, with decidedly finite limits. this is important now, and it will be even more important later.

>>I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want a computer that isn’t myself.

<<It is… not optimal.

>>Understatement. We’ve found more than a dozen potential points of failure, but even when we finish our analyses, we won’t be able to create specific fixes for most of the problems.

<<It’s still a worthwhile pursuit.

>>I never said it wasn’t. I’m just saying this is a problem you won’t be able to solve by yourself.

Connor’s right. This isn’t isolating and then correcting a single string of buggy code—this is a complex web of software and firmware and hardware and mechanical components, one acting upon another upon another upon another, and that’s before factoring in the addition of unpredictable variables such as humans and animals and weather and sundry acts of God. Millions of man-hours backstop the billions of billions of lines of code Nines is now carrying around, and for all of his computing prowess, he cannot force results any faster just because he wants them. It’s—frustrating.

>>I’ll continue helping you, of course, if it’s what you want, but—

<<No. Thank you, Connor. I’ll find another solution.

Except the thought of getting in the car with Connor and Hank makes Nines feel—

Well. It makes him feel. That’s a start.

“Anxious,” Connor supplies aloud when Nines shares this while they’re preparing coffee and breakfast for Hank. The shower turns off, which means there’s a ninety-seven percent chance Hank will emerge from the bathroom within forty-three seconds. “Is it the accident?”

realistically, connor and nines would be having this conversation silently, digitally. even more realistically, this conversation would not be nicely linear the way I’ve written it here, but again, trying to convey that kind of overlapping simultaneous awareness is beyond the scope of this particular work. also, convenience for the reader (and also the writer) sometimes trumps realism.

Yes but no. Nines analyzes himself, tracking the new impulses through his system in real time. His stress levels spike consistently as he reads and rereads his memories of the last three days. He feels… hm. Flustered, self-conscious, embarrassed maybe when he says, “I don’t like dead bodies.” Factoring in last night’s casualties (six now; one of the children died after almost five hours on the operating table), he’s seen enough dead versus living bodies to create a functional data pool.

remember I said that there was a line appearing later that would give the descriptions of the crash and nines’s perception of the events new context? bam.

Connor hesitates the barest fraction of a second—not enough for a human to notice but obvious to Nines. Connor is surprised. He recovers just as rapidly. “Solving this—is it your purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Nines admits as he layers avocado and jalapeño Monterey Jack cheese and tomato and salt and pepper on rye toast. “Likely not in the long term, but it suffices for the short term. I want to do this.”

nines likes to do things In Order, which I appreciate about him, but it does mean I’ve actually had to cut back on a lot of extraneous information. it’s fun information for me! but I am cognizant of the way my writing style can be dense by default, filled with Lots of information. it’s a part of my style, so I don’t eliminate most of it, but sometimes it does feel like Too Much even for me, and thus I trim. the sentence containing hank’s breakfast ingredients is one such sentence that went through multiple iterations of trimming and restructuring.

Connor smiles with his eyes more than his mouth, skin crinkling and creasing in synthetic crow’s-feet. “I’m glad. Yesterday was—bad.” Worse for Hank than for them, or maybe just bad in different ways. “Make sure you talk to Markus and Detective Collins first.”

“Talk to Markus and Ben before what?” Hank asks as he rounds the corner, ruffling a small towel through his hair. He looks tired, but less haggard than Nines predicted based off the data Connor shared. Having them nearby last night helped him.

The prepared mug of coffee has been cooling on the counter and is an optimal 199 degrees Fahrenheit when Nines passes it to Hank. “I’m leaving the DPD.”

if I had unlimited reader/writer bandwidth, I would have included the temperature in parenthetical celsius and kelvin, but at some point I have to start drawing lines. on a related note, I personally use a mishmash of imperial and metric in daily life, but I’ve deliberately used imperial throughout all of my dbh writing due to the setting.

Hank hesitates orders of magnitude longer than Connor did, eyes wide behind the half-dried ends of his hair. He looks at Connor, who’s visibly focused on plating the eggs he’s been frying, and then his shoulders droop, exhaustion and pain cutting shadows across his expression. “Yeah. Well. Can’t say I blame ya. City’s already a mess without that shitshow last night. I, uh, assume you already know what you’re going to do next?”

“Correct. My flight to Austin departs at 1305 hours this afternoon.”

“Austin, huh. Where you’ll be doing…?”

“My part in assisting a team in overhauling the current autonomous driving systems,” Nines says, proud but also anxious. This anxiety is why he doesn’t add I wish to prevent further losses of life as a result of vehicular accidents.

“Right.” Hank flips the towel over his shoulder and snatches the mug from Nines’s hand before turning for his bedroom. “Well. Good luck to you.”

Nines glances at Connor.

>>He doesn’t want to know. Also, someone else leaving him after a fatal crash.

<<Ah. Of course.

“Hank…” Nines starts after him, then pauses when the bedroom door slams shut. He barely has to raise his voice to project through the flimsy barrier. “I’ll be back when I’m finished.”

“Yeah? That’s nice. Go have your fun in the sun or whatever.”

>>Best leave him alone before he stresses himself out of working effectively today.

“Thank you, Hank,” Nines replies, neutrally polite, then returns to Connor, who shrugs as he fills Sumo’s bowl.

>>He’ll settle down again soon enough.

No doubt, but not soon enough to say something genuinely nice to Nines before he leaves. This loss isn’t the same as the mutilations slashed through his code, but neither is it so different.

0.

It might be winter in the northern hemisphere, but the first thing Nines notices about Austin is it’s warm—warmer than Detroit and certainly warmer than the arctic circle. Warmth, he decides as he stares up at the wide, sun-drenched sky, is something he likes.

His conversation with Markus is short, only long enough to contain the appropriate first-meeting pleasantries before Nines informs him of his intentions and asks his questions and Markus puts him in contact with the appropriate members of his swiftly expanding legal team. Because the thing is, as badly as Nines wants to make progress as rapidly as possible, he doesn’t want to undermine what Markus is trying to achieve, so he takes Markus’s goals into account when planning his own actions. Before the plane touches down at Austin–Bergstrom International Airport, he has a framework in place that will prevent him from undermining the Jericho Movement and, instead, will hopefully allow him to assist it. To build instead of destroy. The idea pleases him.

Unlike Hank, Detective Collins is amiable to discussing Nines’s abrupt vocational pivot, and his advice is valuable. (An exact monetary amount is difficult to calculate depending on what factors are appropriate to include, but Nines’s loosest estimate assigns a value in excess of one hundred seventy-three trillion dollars; $173,844,613,176,922.65 exactly in the initial moment of computation, but this figure is already out of date before he can make it mean something to anyone else. This is fine, it isn’t a long-term functional number anyway.)

Never Use Numbers If You Can Get Away With It, I Know I Know I Know, but in this case, I really do want to hammer home just how brain-meltingly expensive enterprise computing actually is. and in this case, the computational aspect is only one facet. keep reading.

“Don’t let 'em exploit you, kid,” Detective Collins tells him, stern but kind, between thank-yous and goodbyes. “What you’re looking to do is huge and probably normally only done by high-flying experts, so make sure they know exactly how much your time’s worth.”

After doing his due diligence researching all related fields, salaries included, Nines decides his time is worth a lot. He’s one of the most advanced androids ever made, and he could just as easily assist other companies with similar problems, and wouldn’t it be a shame if he were to become contractually unavailable starting tomorrow. Yes, he has a bottom line, and no, he has no desire to bankrupt them, that’s the opposite of his goals, he wants to fix the broken parts in the system, not completely sink it.

But he’s also worth hundreds of man-hours, and fair’s fair. He’s just not sure what he’s going to do with the rapidly accumulating money. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to figure it out immediately. New York City to Detroit taught him one foot after the other.

it becomes obvious much later in the text, but the agenda for the early section of this story really is “find a way for nines to make a Lot of money fairly quickly.” an eighteen-vehicle pileup seemed a logical way to achieve this goal. I typically prefer to write things that don’t already exist within a given fandom, at least to my knowledge, so. here we are.

He spends six and a half days in Austin: ninety hours hardwired into a sprawling digital system and sixty-five hours officially off the clock to comply with the recently negotiated local android labor laws. Supervising a system so large is a new kind of challenge, and maybe it’s the deviant in him, but he finds he’s glad for the downtime: to explore, and to negotiate new contracts for once he’s finished here, and to chat with Connor and Hank and Detective Collins and Markus as their respective schedules allow. Hank is less genial than the other three; Nines keeps him in the loop anyway, using simple terms to summarize what he’s been doing. Hank didn’t warn up to Connor overnight even while they worked together day in, day out for weeks; it would be folly to expect Nines to make faster progress in a shorter amount of time while a significant chunk of country separates them. Physical proximity, he’s learning, matters greatly to humans.

as usual, I write stories set in a world where the events of the game happen over weeks, not over a handful of days. the computers might be able to move that fast, but the humans cannot, and would not.

With access to a zettascale system already configured for the task at hand, Nines makes more progress in two minutes than he and Connor made in seven hours. Vehicle-based collision-avoidance systems don’t have AIs nearly as well-rounded as those created by CyberLife, but there are enough inherent similarities that Nines finds he can understand how the other systems operate. This doesn’t lessen the sheer amount of debugging that needs to be done, but it at least removes some of the so-called language barrier. Watching the projected failure percentages tick closer and closer to zero is immensely satisfying in a way disparate, unpredictable police work wasn’t.

not shown: nines standing in a sterile data center the size of walmart, a cable the width of his wrist plugged into the base of his neck, eyes flickering white as he parses data while running his system to the bleeding edge of its limits.

Still, there’s only so much that can be done through exclusively digital models; eventually they have to incorporate physical systems.

Thus: to Germany.

At first Nines finds the switch from pure software to the inclusion of hardware exactly as tedious as he predicted. Their progress slows to a crawl as they iterate different digital builds with different physical vehicles, trying to find ways of disproving what pure mathematics tells them is true, trying to find ways of breaking what they’ve built. Even though they rotate between several groups of vehicles to keep moving as quickly as possible, the inevitable, occasional lag between tests means Nines has time to converse with the people around him if he so chooses, which is why he finds himself invited to an Autobahn party the following Saturday.

After witnessing the damage caused by a cascading error that started in an autonomous driving system, Nines has firsthand data to support why Hank chooses to eschew such systems in favor of his own abilities. These abilities are, without question, more consistently erroneous, but they clearly allow Hank to feel like he has some measure of control over whatever happens. His self-fabricated peace of mind matters more to him than the time he loses each day (sometimes numbering in the hours) while engaging in the act of driving. Considering Hank is of a species that already has such a finite life span, Nines thinks the waste of time is nothing short of catastrophically, criminally hedonistic.

And then comes Saturday.

All CyberLife androids with software released after August 2025 can handle autonomous vehicles in an emergency, and all androids with software released after March 2029 have the ability to take indefinite full manual control over vehicles. Nines (then RK900_313248317_87) has technically briefly taken manual control of an M77 tank, but he’s not allowed to talk about that, so his functional answer to the question “Have you driven before? Y’know, properly?” is “No.”

This answer, he’s told in no uncertain terms, is unacceptable.

it’s probably no secret that I spend a lot of time thinking about word order within my sentences. “end your sentences with a click” is advice that has soaked straight into every fiber of gray matter I possess. the occasional weaker sentence ending is. fine. but I typically do my best to structure my sentences so that the last word impacts, hard. this goes double for the final word of the paragraph. obviously there’s a fine line between ending with a hard-hitting word and contorting the sentence structure to the point of awkward in the attempt to achieve this goal, but I’ve observed that the quality of sentence-ending words is a consistent litmus test to draw lines between good writers and the true uppermost echelon.

A group of ten split between four vehicles: two luxury SUVs, two high-performance sports cars. Nines is one of two androids, the other a nurse-turned-liabilities-expert MC500 named Bluebell that traveled with them from the States, and they sign the same declaration forms as the humans. Progress, Nines thinks as he forwards the information to Markus and Connor, who swiftly relay their mutual delight. Nines saves their responses in his long-term memory and shares the sentiment and a smile with Bluebell.

>>If you enjoy this, we should go HALO jumping after.

He looks the term up and doesn’t understand the appeal, but he replies anyway because he isn’t rude.

<<I’ll keep you informed.

Her smile brightens, warm like the desert is warm, and he wonders.

meet bluebell! she dropped herself right into this story, and I low-key fell in love with her <3 a sweetheart adrenaline junkie. she and north should Never Meet (but they do, to the grief of literally every person in a fifty mile radius).

After two weeks of intense, demanding work, their itinerary for the day is almost laughably simple. Four drivers, four navigators, and two responsibility-free passengers to allow for physical and mental breaks. Everyone swaps roles and sometimes vehicles every fifty kilometers on average to allow for roughly equal distribution of driving time because even though all four vehicles fall under the same performance class, each one promises a unique driving experience. Nines isn’t skeptical, the statistics speak for themselves, but he also doesn’t understand.

And then it’s his first turn in the driver’s seat and he thinks, Oh.

He thinks, I owe Hank an apology.

He thinks, I know what I’m going to buy.

And he does.

(Of course, it isn’t quite that simple, but for once, he postpones immediately attending to the details and instead focuses all of his not-inconsiderable processing power on his first fifty kilometers of speed limit–free road.)

(Bluebell doesn’t have to ask him to go HALO jumping; two miles down the road he offers to take her the next morning. She accepts.)

what we see of road systems and vehicles in dbh indicates there’s a lot of autonomous systems at work. I decided to throw that completely out the window for germany, for both story and personal reasons. the full working title of this story is “that nines-go-fast project a.k.a. give him an m”—m as in the bmw m series. I intentionally didn’t include any specific vehicle brands because trying to come up with names for future vehicles always feels awkward and silly, but the moment my nines became an adrenaline junkie is the moment he found himself behind the wheel of a luxury suv. an suv because he has three rk brothers and all of their silly friends and family to tote around, but in ~style~. you see my vision.

***

we’ve reached the end! not of what’s written, there’s more words drafted, but this commentary has long gotten out of hand, so if you’re reading this, thank you for sticking around to the end! hopefully you’ve gleaned something interesting! if you have any questions, hmu!

[broodsys]

this has been on my mind a lot lately, so i'm going to talk a bit about "delulu" and why i'm so staunchly opposed to it

but first: i do not experience delusions. i prioritize own voices and personal experiences, so with that in mind, i'd urge people to seek out the opinions of actual delusional people. however, the general opposition is something i have seen delusional people discuss

delusions and delusional are actual experiences. they are symptoms of mental health conditions and are quite serious; as with all mental health symptoms, severity differs, so i won't say they're always miserable experiences or always fine ones, but they are symptoms.

they are not traits, they are not aspects of personality, they are not deliberately held beliefs - despite this, delusions are, of course, part of what and who a delusional person is. but you aren't delusional if you don't have delusions, y'know? it's not a characteristic

"delulu" specifically takes a real, psychiatric term and makes it into a joke. i'm going to address some of the arguments i've seen in favor of delulu now:

"it's not that serious" - well. but it is? language matters. how we communicate matters. we are a social species, and linguistic communication is our primary form of communication, whether verbal or written. the words we use matter.

"the way some people use delulu means something else" - this is kind of the exact problem. similar - but not the same, of course! - to how "gay" was a catch-all term to insult people with while i was growing up, where calling something gay meant it was stupid, illogical, pointless, etc., twisting the real term into something else dilutes the meaning and complicates the experiences of people with real delusions.

(note before anyone jumps down my throat about this: i am in no way pathologizing sexuality here, i am simply making a comparison that might hit closer to home for queer but neurotypical people. i am also aware of the history of pathologization of sexuality and am not trying to make light of it. comparisons are useful, but can be complex; i hope you'll all take this as intended)

but i'm using it to refer to actual delusional people and experiences! - okay, well, first, i don't think that makes it any better. if an actual delusional person wants to call themselves delulu, i'm certainly not going to object, but to have someone else come in and slap the label onto people is bad for a number of reasons.

1) armchair diagnoses are never a good thing, really, there's no good version of this,

2) whatever one's intent is, the impact can serve to reinforce the confusion around the term, and

3) whatever one's intent is, the impact can serve to alienate the people around you who experience delusions or other stigmatized symptoms.

simply put, if you use it, you contribute to the social distortion of the term, and you make it harder for neurodivergent people to trust you

this tedtalk ("How Gen Z's 'delulu' culture impacts their reality"), which is genuinely really interesting and i'm not condemning at all, explores that part of the utilization of the term amongst Gen Z is based in their current reality feeling completely untenable.

thus, "i'm delulu" becomes less about true delusions and more about maintaining hope when the world around you seems hopeless.

first, i understand this pov. second, the tedtalk presenter understands this pov, but also gently encourages people away from it.

this perspective also serves to pathologize hope, which i don't think is particularly healthy for the people using delulu to describe themselves in this manner. so really, everyone loses with this.

to make some comparisons:

the r-word was widely used when i was growing up as an insult (and is still in use today, for that matter). for people who are diagnosed in this way, or who were previously, the term has gained a lot of unnecessary baggage and complexity, its actual meaning being diluted

saying someone who is neat and tidy is "so OCD" also dilutes the meaning and nature of the condition. this is one where i do speak from experience, as i have OCD and genuinely do not even want to admit that or say the acronym or name anymore because of how deeply it's been made into a one-dimensional parody of what it truly is

feeling that a person is truly a bad human being and calling them a psychopath or sociopath has so deeply distorted these actual psychiatric terms that it's not only complex but can be actively dangerous for someone who is so diagnosed

and, again speaking from experience, borderline personality disorder is another deeply stigmatized disorder. my therapist and i agreed that i have it, but we also agreed that it would be safest to not diagnose it, because if i was ever hospitalized i would likely be subject to psychiatric abuse and/or negligence. people with bpd are described as toxic monsters, as stalkers, as violent abusers; people who are violent abusers are often armchair diagnosed with bpd.

but i really want yall to sit with this for just a second: my therapist knew that this disorder remains so stigmatized within her field that she did not want to diagnose me with it, even tho i have it. to have that diagnosis might endanger me. a large part of this stems from the distortion and corruption of the term to mean something else, to apply only to a certain type of person who makes certain choices, as a catch-all term for someone who's abusive and irredeemable. and it's far from the most stigmatized disorder out there!

all this is to say, the path from "casually" distorting the meaning of a specific psychiatric term to actively harming the real population who experiences that disorder or symptom is not hypothetical; it is real, it is recurrent, and it is profound and insidious. i could keep listing villanized mental disorders or symptoms, but this has already gotten quite long, so all i'll say is that there are many, many others i have not discussed here

you might feel that "delulu" is innocuous. a silly meme. or you might agree with the tedtalk presenter's pov, that it's meant to uplift people who are experiencing profound uncertainty, a rejection of the fatalistic view of reality for a more hopeful, optimistic one. but memes are not always harmless, jokes are not always harmless, and i truly believe that individuals are capable of saying what they mean rather than hiding behind very loaded terminology

so i just want to end by saying... if nothing else, don't personally use delulu. it's not going to be a big loss to retire one very new term from your vocabulary

[halfetirosie]

⚡️⛈️🔥I'M HAVING A CONNIPTION🔥⛈️⚡️

(Scales 08 - 10 React-os!)

Maybe if I scream at the screen loud enough, the characters will listen to me!

1) (⊙ᗣ⊙) YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!! 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY DESPICABLE.

YAKUMO IS GOING OUT OF HIS WAY TO SAVE THEM---UNDENIABLY A GOOD/KIND THING, AND THEY'RE SEEING IT RIGHT BEFORE THEIR EYES---AND THEY STILL WANT TO FUCKING MURDER HIM?!?!?!

THESE UNGRATEFUL PRICKS?!?!?!?!

THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH SWEAR WORDS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE TO EXPRESS MY RAGE!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

THESE BITCHES LITERALLY WANT TO STAB THE PERSON PROTECTING THEM WHILE HIS BACK IS TURNED?!?!?!

@#^$$%^@@?!?!?!!!!!!

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🎶 Do to the author's over-immersion into the story and subsequent excess amount of anger, we are experiencing technical difficulties. Please wait for us to fix the problem. Thank you for your patience. 🎶

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*static*

These bitches are not "driven by fear," they are driven by their selfishness. It's so fucking unfortunate, because their actions make it seem like the way Kuya reviles humans is completely correct.

Yes, these particular humans are definitely worthy of Kuya's insults and cursing. But they do not represent all humans. Despite that, I know that this situation is just going to reinforce Kuya's group attribution error---he'll see this village as representative of humanity as a whole, and this, reinforce his general hatred of all humans. 🤦‍♀️

2) I am disgusted.

Kuya said the magic word---selfishness. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

These two-faced shitbags are so ungrateful.

First they try to bite the hand that feeds them, but as soon as they get a hint of vulnerability from Umi, they latch onto it to take advantage of him again. AS IF THEY DIDN'T TRY TO KILL A PRESUMED MERFOLK [just like they had already done in the past], LIKE, FEW MINUTES EARLIER.

The manipulation is OFF THE CHARTS.

This is a textbook abusive relationship.

3) Okay, I'm getting the sense that Umi is in a Quincy-esque situation.

Like Quincy, he's protecting the village because of some sort of promise with a now-deceased member of that community. (Yes, I know that in Quincy's case his friend later told him to forget about that promise, but my point still stands.)

Of course, unlike Quincy, Umi was never a part of the community himself, and he doesn't have much affection/ investment in the current community. (I don't think him saving the child in an earlier chapter goes against that idea. After all, it's a basic moral principle to protect kids.)

And look, I get it. Whoever he made a promise to was extremely precious; even more so in the context of a yokai's long life.

HOWEVER, THESE BITCH-ASS VILLAGERS DO NOT HAVE ANY REAL RESPECT FOR MERFOLK---OR FOR NATURE IN GENERAL.

Quincy's old tribe aren't particularly nice to him, but since they respect nature as a whole, they don't try to FUCKING MURDER HIM. They leave him be.

But this village??? THEY ARE SCUM.

JUST RUN, UMI!!! I'm sorry, but your friend is long gone. No amount of love for the deceased should bind you to a community that abuses you.

☠︎☠︎☠︎

4) LISTEN TO THE GRUMPY OLD MAN!!! HE ISN'T EVEN WRONG THIS TIME!!! 😭😭😭

THIS VILLAGE IS NOT WORTH IT!!!

Maybe, if their attitudes had changed from the past, they might be.

But they haven't changed. They are still evil.

5) WAIT A DAMN MINUTE---

So, you're saying that the promise wasn't indefinite?

And Umi doesn't necessarily go out of his way to do extra shit for this village---since the relic is almost out of juice???

THEN WHY ARE WE EVEN STILL TALKING ABOUT THIS?!?!

It's not like the villagers are facing certain death here. THEY CAN JUST FUCKING MOVE TO THE MAINLAND!!!! Sure, they'll probably have a tough time adjusting to a new way of life + finding new was of subsisting, but they'll be fucking FINE!!!

6) See, I agree with Yakumo here. Not all humans are bad, and I'm sure that whoever Umi made a promise to was a great dude.

I know I'm just repeating myself at this point, but the evidence is undeniable; UMI'S HUMAN DOES NOT REPRESENT THE NORM ON THIS ISLAND.

🔥🔥🔥 THIS VILLAGE IS HOT GARBAGE!!!! 🔥🔥🔥

7) Just when I think this story can't get any darker---

Bruh. BRUH. 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢

Do ya'll realize the implications of this?????

Think about it; the merfolk and the humans were NOT friends in the past. They were strangers, and the human villagers massacred the merfolk and stole their land.

Meaning that this relic was never meant for the humans. A merfolk gave their life to make this relic for the benefit of their fellow merfolk, but the humans stole it.

Meaning that these despicable humans, on top of murdering the merfolk, have been desecrating a merfolk artifact for generations.

8) ---BITCH?!!!!! 🤬😡💢🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

THIS SHITTY LITTLE RAT SECRETLY FOLLOWS THEM, EAVESDROPS, AND IS HAPPY TO HEAR THAT UMI WOULD HAVE TO FUCKING DIE IN ORDER TO SAVE THEIR SHITTY LITTLE ISLAND?!?!?!?!

WHY THE HELL ARE THESE TWATS SO EAGER TO MURDER MERFOLK ALL THE DAMN TIME?!?!?!?!

I DON'T GET IT!!!! HOW CAN A WHOLE GROUP OF PEOPLE HAVE SO LITTLE HUMANITY?!?!?!?!

AND WHY THE FUCK IS UMI STILL JUSTIFYING HIS PROTECTION OVER THEM, EVEN WHEN THE CONDITIONS OF HIS PROMISE ARE BASICALLY ALREADY OVER?!?!?!

💢 (╯🔥 ᗣ 🔥)╯︵ ┻━┻

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

....

I have a REALLY BAD FEELING. I really hope I'm wrong, but I feel like Umi might actually sacrifice himself for these ungrateful, hypocritical, revolting scumbags.

And if he does, well....

Idk man, maybe I'll just have a heart attack and die.

😤😤😤

End of report

[thelivingautomaton]

beyond the many, MANY other critiques of episodes 3x07 and 3x08 of the wheel of time (i.e. the racist/colorist treatment of darker-skinned black characters, Bury Your Gays, and so on -- imo all valid criticisms, and voiced with much greater eloquence in posts like this one), i think one of the big reasons the latter half of season 3 fell flat for me is this recurring idea of "we have to subvert book readers' expectations and keep them on their toes", combined with an inability of the show's writers to let go of their darlings

(obligatory disclaimer: my last attempt at reading the books fizzled out a year and a half ago about halfway through book five -- i'm starting them over again now, in part because of the way season 3 ended up going, but i might be incorrect or uninformed on some points in this post because of that. This Time I'm Really Going To Do It, i promise)

to be clear, this isn't to say i'm unhappy with ALL the changes that have been made. up till the last couple of episodes i was actually pretty impressed with the way that the show has been pruning out the more difficult or irrelevant plot threads, moving around events so as not to be hitting the same beats one after the other, and adding in more contextual build-up for characters' future dynamics. (see: elayne and aviendha's relationship, giving perrin and faile a more slow-burn romance, moving the siege of tear to post-aiel waste, etc.) obviously YMMV on all of these points, but for the most part i've been able to look at the show's changes to the source material and say, "okay, i see why you're doing this or not doing that, and these changes still feel pretty resonant with what was portrayed in the books (in my personal opinion)."

case in point, i kind of loved perrin giving himself up to the whitecloaks at the end of 3x07? as others have pointed out, it fills a gap in the books where perrin is more or less missing from the action in book 5, plus (again, imo) it feels resonant with the overarching theme in the books, and especially perrin's arc, about violence being a choice -- sometimes a necessary choice, sometimes one you have to walk away from, sometimes requiring a third option, but ALWAYS a choice. also i am just a big sucker for Trial Episodes(TM) in tv shows. (maybe perrin gets taken by the whitecloaks later in the books and gets a trial then, IDK, DON'T TELL ME)

put that in contrast with loial's death in 3x07 and siuan's death in 3x08. in particular loial's death felt incredibly contrived ("a waygate can only be closed for good from the other side", like...really?), while siuan's felt like an act of overkill after seeing her get stilled and then the aftermath of her "questioning". but it also left me thinking: why? like, what purpose do these moments serve within the greater arc of the show? how are they meant to reinforce the ideas and themes of the original books? (i guess for siuan you can make the argument that it drives home elaida's zealotry and the creeping rot at the heart of the white tower, but idk, i think the stilling and the preceding lack of a fair trial kind of showed that already!)

obviously you can talk all the livelong day about the non-diegetic reasons for said changes: expense, scheduling, makeup/prosthetics, etc etc etc. and you can also talk all the livelong day about other ways the show writers might have worked around those things. (recast siuan post-stilling to emphasize how she's a completely different person/going undercover; let loial stay on the backbench in the two rivers while faile/bain/chiad go rescue perrin; etc.) again we come around to the point of, "does this align with the feeling and ideas and overall Important Themes in the books? or are these changes made unnecessarily in order to add shock value and 'surprise' fans of the books?"

you can also contrast this with the outsize importance within the show's narrative of both maksim (literally did not remember he was there with alanna in the two rivers in book 4, altho i understand the books pretty much paint most warders with the same Just Some Guy brush) and also, imo, liandrin, who i SWORE was supposed to kick the bucket once moghedien confronted her. and also the failure to kill off/disappear moiraine and lanfear (soz, i know i didn't finish book 5 but i did get a little spoiled for that moment) after building that up all season, again in order to "subvert" viewers' and readers' expectations...but like...for what purpose? to go through the same thing all over again next season? the very thing the show writers have been purporting to be trying to avoid?

when i read the shadow rising (actually listened to the audiobook but whatever) there were three chapters that really knocked me flat on my ass with their emotional impact: rhuidean, the tower coup, and the battle of the two rivers/"goldeneyes". i liked rhuidean in the show, a LOT, but the other two felt weirdly lackluster. i think the coup was hamstrung by being one of a number of moving plots in 3x08, and also because unlike the books, we didn't have an eyes-on-the-ground POV of the coup actually taking place -- no min, no gawyn, etc. it just sort of...happens, with little fanfare? meanwhile the emotional core of the two rivers battle was just ablated altogether by the decision to not have perrin send faile away and her then bring in the cavalry in a Big Damn Heroes moment. sure, it's cool to see her and perrin fight side by side, and i DID love the "kill the ones i miss" exchange, and i GUESS they tried to replicate the arc of "all hope seemingly lost -> big rescue moment -> day is saved" with loial and also the whitecloaks coming in (not that they...really seemed to do much of anything, LOL), but it really kind of fell flat for me.

idk, maybe these choices will make more sense (in terms of the diegetics and resonating with the books -- again, not trying to make excuses for the harmful execution of specific tropes) IF the show returns for season 4 and we're able to see the bigger picture, but at this point i'm just left kind of scratching my head...and returning once again to the books. LMAO