#based on previous data it has been trained on

[julianbashir]

its really frustrating approaching conversations about AI because so many people don't understand how it works and seem resistant against learning more about it. it feels like trying to correct preconceptions makes people assume you're some dumb techbro

[reasonsforhope]

Article Link

"Minnetonka first started selling its “Thunderbird” moccasins in 1965. Now, for the first time, they’ve been redesigned by a Native American designer.

It’s one step in the company’s larger work to deal with its history of cultural appropriation. The Minneapolis-based company launched in the 1940s as a small business making souvenirs for roadside gift shops in the region—including Native American-inspired moccasins, though the business wasn’t started or run by Native Americans. The moccasins soon became its biggest seller.

[Photo: Minnetonka]

Adrienne Benjamin, an Anishanaabe artist and community activist who became the company’s “reconciliation advisor,” was initially reluctant when a tribal elder approached her about meeting with the company. Other activists had dismissed the idea that the company would do the work to truly transform. But Benjamin agreed to the meeting, and the conversation convinced her to move forward.

“I sensed a genuine commitment to positive change,” she says. “They had really done their homework as far as understanding and acknowledging the wrong and the appropriation. I think they knew for a long time that things needed to get better, and they just weren’t sure what a first step was.”

Pictured: Lucie Skjefte and son Animikii [Photo: Minnetonka]

In 2020, Minnetonka publicly apologized “for having benefited from selling Native-inspired designs without directly honoring Native culture or communities.” It also said that it was actively recruiting Native Americans to work at the company, reexamining its branding, looking for Native-owned businesses to partner with, continuing to support Native American nonprofits, and that it planned to collaborate with Native American artists and designers.

Benjamin partnered with the company on the first collaboration, a collection of hand-beaded hats, and then recruited the Minneapolis-based designer Lucie Skjefte, a citizen of the Red Lake Nation, who designed the beadwork for another moccasin style and a pair of slippers for the brand. Skjefte says that she felt comfortable working with the company knowing that it had already done work with Benjamin on reconciliation. And she wasn’t a stranger to the brand. “Our grandmothers and our mothers would always look for moccasins in a clutch kind of situation where they didn’t have a pair ready and available to make on their own—then they would buy Minnetonka mocs and walk into a traditional pow wow and wear them,” she says. Her mother, she says, who passed away in 2019, would have been “immensely proud” that Skjefte’s design work was part of the moccasins—and on the new version of the Thunderbird moccasin, one of the company’s top-selling styles.

[Photo: Minnetonka]

“I started thinking about all of those stories, and what resonated with me visually,” Skjefte says. The redesign, she says, is much more detailed and authentic than the previous version. “Through the redesign and beading process, we are actively reclaiming and reconnecting our Animikii or Thunderbird motif with its Indigenous roots,” she says. Skjefte will earn royalties for the design, and Minnetonka will also separately donate a portion of the sale of each shoe to Mni Sota Fund, a nonprofit that helps Native Americans in Minnesota get training and capital for home ownership and entrepreneurship.

Some companies go a step farther—Manitobah Mukluks, based in Canada, has an Indigenous founder and more than half Indigenous staff. (While Minnetonka is actively recruiting more Native American workers, the company says that employees self-report race and it can’t share any data about its current number of Indigenous employees.) Beyond its own line of products, Manitobah also has an online Indigenous Market that features artists who earn 100% of the profit for their work.

White Bear Moccasins, a Native-owned-and-made brand in Montana, makes moccasins from bison hide. Each custom pair can take six to eight hours to make; the shoes cost hundreds of dollars, though they can also be repaired and last as long as a lifetime, says owner Shauna White Bear. In interviews, White Bear has said that she wants “to take our craft back,” from companies like Minnetonka. But she also told Fast Company that she doesn’t think that Minnetonka, as a family-owned business, should have to lose its livelihood now and stop making moccasins.

The situation is arguably different for other fashion brands that might use a Native American symbol—or rip off a Native American design completely—on a single product that could easily be taken off the market. Benjamin says that she has also worked with other companies that have discontinued products.

She sees five steps in the process of reconciliation. First, the person or company who did wrong has to acknowledge the wrong. Then they need to publicly apologize, begin to change behavior, start to rebuild trust, and then, eventually, the wronged party might take the step of forgiveness. Right now, she says, Minnetonka is in the third phase of behavior change. The brand plans to continue to collaborate with Native American designers.

The company can be an example to others on how to listen and build true relationships, Benjamin says. “I think that’s the only way that these relationships are going to get any better—people have to sit down and talk about it,” she says. “People have to be real. People have to apologize. They have to want to reconcile with people.”

The leadership at Minnetonka can also be allies in pushing other companies to do better. “My voice is important at the table as an Indigenous woman,” Benjamin says. “Lucie’s voice is important. But at tables where there’s a majority of people that aren’t Indigenous, sometimes those allies’ voices are more powerful in those spaces, because that means that they’ve signed on to what we’re saying. The power has signed on to moving forward and we agree with ‘Yes, this was wrong.’ That’s the stuff that’s going to change [things] right there.”"

-via FastCompany, February 7, 2024

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Heisei/Reiwa Kamen Rider Bike Riding Time research

Hello there! Does anyone remember from a little while back when this image was going around?

For a while, at least in fan communities I frequented; this was quite infamous for showing just how sharp a decline Kamen Rider's namesake had become in the last few years, with the absolute nadir of the Heisei 20th anniversary Kamen Rider using his bike for a total of 47 seconds (and also, on the other end; just how much Kuuga would not get off his bike)

Obviously, it's been a few years since Saber now; and I've found myself wondering from time to time exactly how the Riders since then have fared, especially since both Geats and Gotchard have garnered a reputation of sorts for putting a bit more emphasis on the bikes and feeling like they have more screentime than your Zero-Ones and your Sabers.

So! I went looking and found the source. This extremely dedicated Japanese poster called Yamashita Radio who of course I will be basing the majority of this on, including his rules and his counting. And when I say 'dedicated' I mean that at one point he lost all his data so he just counted Kuuga through Saber all over again. MAD respect for this man! I highly recommend a full readthrough of this 5-part post at one point because it's very impressive and interesting stuff in my opinion

One other interesting point is that that chart there? That's main rider only; and also includes any riding they did as civilians. There is a separate chart for all motorbike riding in the show as a whole; including other riders, including monsters, including even just random civilians! For posterity, I think it's important to post that chart for comparison with the main rider one -- I've colour coded here so that red is Heisei 1 (Kuuga-Decade), green is Heisei 2 (W-Zi-O) and yellow is Reiwa (Zero-One onwards). Main rider only on the left, all biking on the right.

Up front there are some absolutely fascinating observations to make here - Zero-One had the least bike scenes of any show! Brand new era of Kamen Rider! - but I think I've talked about the past enough. With all this said and what I feel is a very important plug to make, let's get into the meat of this -- how do Revice, Geats and Gotchard compare to previous shows?

Rules

... okay, yeah, sure; let's quickly establish a baseline first. As I'm going off of Yamashita's work, I'm also going by all his rules; it's a good thing I agree with all of them because I kinda didn't want to completely redo the count of every season!

TV Show ONLY! No movies, no TTFC specials, no HBVs, no V-Cinema, none of it. The main reason given is that, uh, Paradise Lost has a 100+ bike scene near the start so that's too much of an advantage -- fair enough! Personally I also think it's more interesting, because movies generally have more budget and allowances for bike scenes so those tend to be the same. Maybe a separate count would still be interesting, but I think including movies would flatten out the times too much and make the data pretty uninteresting

No openings! Agito has too much of an advantage

Non-transformed states count the same as transformed states. Godai riding a bike is the same as Kuuga riding a bike.

All motorcycles are treated equally! Mopeds and even CG scenes and bikes are allowed

Other vehicles such as cars, trains and even bicycles and hoverbikes are excluded. Two big exceptions are made for Drive and Revice as they do not have a main motorbike otherwise, but this does exclude things like Gaim's Dandeliner, many of the Oni in Hibiki's transport vehicles, Den-O's Den-Liner, Gotchard's Steamliner and Madwheel and Decade's Agito Slider

Transformations of the bike still count as long as it's being ridden. The Boostriker turns into fox mode while you're riding it? That's fair game

Flashbacks and other repeat footage ("previously on" segments etc) don't count of course. But in cases where it's clearly stock footage but it's still a new event, like the many Ryuki Rideshooter scenes, that's still counted

Count from the moment the bike is straddled to the moment the bike is gotten off, and everything in between. Scenes where the bike isn't technically visible - such as close-ups of the rider's face, or cutting to another character's reaction - are still counted if it's all the same scene

Revice

3m21s (2m23s for Revi only)

Oh lucky me, this was actually done for me! Yamashita made a small update after Revice finished to add this. I just went over and double checked it.

At 3m21s, Revice is at this point the series with the 2nd least amount of bike riding; above Zero-One and below Zi-O. For Revi alone he's in 3rd least; above Zero-One and below Saber. Happy 50th anniversary!

An interesting note here is that Ikki never rides Vice Ptera untransformed -- concerns over the actor's safety, maybe? Daiji also pulls in 58 seconds for the show on his own motorbike, but abandons it completely after episode 13; only bringing it back for the summer movie (which is also the only place he rode it as Live). Interestingly, the 12 seconds he rides it with Sakura in episode 13 is the only time he uses it in the show after becoming a Rider. The skateboarding scene in episode 7 for Jackal Form goes on for over a minute, but unfortunately can't count for this...

I think most people expected Revice to place quite low, though. So let's move on to a show I think a lot of people expect to place higher.

Geats

4m05s (3m45s for Geats only)

I keep repeating it, but this is a show where it seemed a lot of people got the impression of the bike having more importance than before. I think there's a lot of aspects that come together into that -- the bike being tied to a specific 'special' item that's even part of the main rider's main form, the upgrade forms going off of that, and the bike being used in prominent scenes including in the first episode. Geats even arrives on it in his Revice summer movie cameo!

But ultimately if you look at riding time, Geats ends up in 3rd place for overall bike time; above Revice and below Zi-O, while for main rider only Ace ends up in 5th last; above Saber and below Decade. As such he ends up being the main Reiwa Rider to use his bike the most.

This is where I started splitting main rider and untransformed rider in my personal tracking charts, just for fun -- I actually couldn't do that for Revice because as said Ikki never rides anything untransformed except his bicycle. Until episode 11 Ace actually just slightly edged out Geats for having more bike time which was enjoyable to see.

A very interesting thing happens in regards to the Boostriker's transformed state. I decided not to include finishers involving it unless the Rider is specifically riding it -- and the one and only one to do so was Buffa in episode 6, accounting for every single second he rode the machine. He had a penchant for using the buckles' weapons in ways he wasn't supposed to, and he kept up that rule even when the 'weapon' was a bike.

Geats spends a decent amount of time in the final episode sitting on his bike while talking to Regad and the other Riders, and that really saved the show's overall times.

Gotchard

5m09s (2m32s for Gotchard alone)

According to production blogs, Gotchard had a stated aim of using the bike more. Unfortunately it seems this didn't manifest itself in a very major way... but I think we did see more interesting uses of it! Spanner has his own bike (that like Daiji, he never rides transformed!), there's a version of Golddash from the future, other characters including Golddash itself ride rather than Hotaro at multiple points!

For 'others', the 3 seconds in Episode 2 is when Minato rolls up to deliver Golddash to Hotaro personally. Episode 9's 5 seconds have Renge (with Sabimaru in the back) riding it to deliver Hotaro's cards to him in Kyoto.

Spanner shockingly saved the series' overall time here in a similar way to final episode Ace, by sitting on his for an extended period of time during his conversation with Lachesis at the start of episode 47.

While it's not a very long scene nor did it change anything for the rankings, the bike scene in the final episode that just aired is notable for an extremely rare instance of a Rider Machine being ridden by a Kamen Rider's final form. To my knowledge this has previously only been done by Agito, Den-O and Revice (the latter in a movie). Fittingly for a show where part of the direction was inspired by Agito, both Agito and Gotchard do this Final Form bike scene in their final episodes.

And now, for the final count...

Gotchard ended up in 21st for overall bike time between Zi-O and Saber, but this was largely due to other characters; so Hotaro alone ended up in 22nd between Revice and Saber.

Overall we're now 5 shows in instead of 2, we can indeed see a very large dropoff in the Reiwa Era -- including Zi-O, the most recent 6 shows are all at the bottom of the list. This is especially notable when The next most recent series, Build, had 12m31s; almost double that of Saber's -- and this wasn't uncommon, with Ghost and Ex-Aid sharing similar times.

This was the main thrust of my research... but what say we go on a little addendum? Because when I mentioned Yamashita updated his post to include Revice in 2022, there was... one other series he saw fit to do a count for. One that was only halfway through, but nonetheless saw an impressive amount of bike riding time. He only got halfway, but what say I finish the job out of pure interest?

It is "Avataro Sentai Donbrothers"

The extremely normal 2022 entry into the Super Sentai series has a number of bike scenes. Some you may expect from Don Momotaro riding his CGI Enyarideon on his Palanquin for much of the first cour. Some of you might say that CGI shouldn't count, it's easy enough to animate together a scene than deal with road laws and such -- but does Kijibrother not count? Does Inubrother not count? Do none of the mech scenes count? It's a festival, people. Let's enjoy it.

Even aside from the CGI, Yamashita noted halfway through the show; that can't quite account for everything else. Sonoi has a bike he rides in multiple episodes, every time with a wheelie. Inuzuka twice within 4 episodes steals a bike and almost runs people over with it, as is perfectly fine for a hero. Don Kaito shows up with his own motorbike to promote his new book, which you should buy. For a show where it's not even in the name and for recent Sentai, there's an awful lot of riding going on.

Yamashita in his post speculates that part of this is Inoue's own habits -- as a man whose Toku experience largely consists of regularly writing for Kamen Rider in the 00s, it's natural to expect he would be inclined to write something like "Inubrother escapes the scene on a motorcycle..." as if it was second nature; as if that's nothing special for a modern show.

And I would be inclined to believe that... as such a habit is something that would likely get ironed out after a while; and sure enough, while bike scenes are frequent for the first half of the show, they disappear entirely from episode 23 to 43. It is at this point in my own count I thought we would simply never see a large bike scene from the show again, and the sheer fun of counting up Donbrothers would be lost.

And then... he appeared.

My saviour from the future.

With a full uninterrupted 1 minute 15 second bike scene

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I remembered the future episode but I had completely forgotten this was a part of it. When I started timing this episode I was leaving the house fairly shortly and I figured like the past 20 episodes this would be easy enough to count, and I was utterly bewildered. I should never have disbelieved for a moment.

With all that said... where does Donbrothers end up in full?

7m21s (4m23s for Don Momotaro alone)

This overwhelming record easily puts both Donbrothers and Don Momotaro in 20th place of their respective charts; beating all Reiwa Riders and Zi-O -- with Don Momotaro even coming close to dethroning Kamen Rider Decade's riding time!

This is where we stand, my companions. In an era where Kamen Rider's biking time is lower than ever before and shows no sign of significant recovery, Donbrothers swoops in to steal its glory. Never lose faith. The festival never ends

[crosshairlovebot]

birthday revelations / crosshair x gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: crosshair discovers it's your birthday, and in an effort to try and understand birthdays, he gets you a gift.

word count: 3,793

warnings: none. crosshair ovethinks a lot

Another request! Maybe not technically a request, but @starrylothcat sent in an ask for an ask prompt and said it would be nice to see me write a fic where crosshair buys a gift for the reader for their birthday or christmas and it's been stuck in my head since! so here you go! i hope i did it justice!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated <3

Crosshair didn’t like crowds. He gritted his teeth as he walked alone through the market on Sorgan, sidestepping people as they entered his path. It was noisy, but that didn’t bother him so much. Vendors called out to passersby, promoting their various goods for purchase with enthusiasm. Voices chattered and laughed. The smell of food wafted through Crosshair’s nose and his stomach tightened with hunger. Rations were poor choices compared to the sizzling of flavourful meat on grills, but he didn’t have enough credits to buy himself something to eat.

He only had enough to buy something for you.

He had been helping Tech with cataloguing files when he saw one on their nat-born medic. You had joined Clone Force 99 just over half a standard cycle ago with your plucky yet kind attitude, falling into the group dynamic easier than Crosshair had thought. Sure, it had taken some adjustment for him and his brothers to become used to another presence they had not grown up with, but it was inevitable you would eventually find your place in the team. You were hardworking, strong and compassionate. You paid attention to each of his brothers, giving them your undivided focus during conversation and indulging them in questions about what they were doing or their chosen skill. He had watched you talk with Tech about data decryption, Wrecker about proton-based explosives, Hunter about tracking strategies, Echo about ARC trooper training, and of course, him about sharpshooting.

He recalled the way you sat next to him for the first time on his bunk during their time in Hyperspace. He had disassembled part of his Firepuncher rifle, readjusting the scope and the barrel after it had unexpectedly jammed on their previous mission. He’d been annoyed – his prized weapon never faltered, and he was trying to figure out why it had failed on him when the thin mattress dipped next to him, and you asked what he was doing. When he’d given a particularly surly response, you nodded and then just continued to watch him. His eyes had slid to you.

“Can I help you with anything else?” He hadn’t meant it to sound so icy, but he had been frustrated with this rifle, with himself.

“Can you…explain what you’re doing?” you had asked hopefully.

He had looked at you sceptically. “Why?”

You just shrugged. “It looks interesting.”

He had studied your expression, trying to discern if you were being genuine. But you were. You always were with things like this.

So, he explained what he was doing, answered your questions and by the time his weapon was fixed, he didn’t even really remember his initial annoyance. You had smiled at him, your mouth stretching in a way that made your eyes light up. He felt a little flicker of something in his stomach before it was promptly extinguished.

Since then, you have spent time with him like that more often. Not just when he was cleaning his rifle, but other things. Like throwing Lula back and forth across the bunks as you both talked, joking about things that happened on missions. Sharing looks over briefings. Stealing Wrecker’s snacks.

But his favourite time with you was drawing on your datapad and trying to guess what the other was drawing. He had learnt you liked to draw and enjoyed drawing out something other than a medical diagram. He felt a sense of pride in making you laugh so hard you cried with his silly caricatures during long hyperspace trips. Exaggerated doodles of his brothers, tookas and the like, a portrait of you with a funny expression. You liked to draw him with a smile too big for his face, chuckling as you drew and then collapsing into laughter when you showed him. It always made the thing in his stomach flicker.

He really liked having you around.

So, when he came across your file when helping Tech, he couldn’t help but open it. You had told them all any information they had asked for, and information they had not. There wasn’t really anything you kept secret. But when he saw your ID holo looking particularly embarrassing: with wide eyes and a half-formed expression – like you were taken off guard by the photo, the corner of his mouth twisted up in an impish smirk.

He had intended to tease you about it; set the holo to the show on every Marauder screen so it was everywhere.

He opened the file to take a copy of the holo when he spotted details about your age and date of birth.

He frowned at the date. “Tech, what is today’s galactic date?”

Tech looked up from his datapad, adjusting his goggles before rattling off the date. “Why?”

He said your name before telling him, “It’s their birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Tech blinked.

Age and birthdays were almost foreign concepts to clones. With accelerated aging and growing in a capsule, they didn’t really matter to them. Awkward to calculate, they weren’t celebrated. Crosshair had no idea when he had been ‘birthed’ or decanted, and if the Kaminoans documented such dates, then it was classified information. He knew his chronological age, but his biological age was a little murky. He knew he was a “mature clone”, however with the accelerated aging, he didn’t know where exactly he stood. None of their brothers knew any of these details. It was normal for them.

He read the date and your age. What would it be like to be so sure of something like that? To be sure of the parts that made up who you were?

Crosshair cleared his throat and closed the file without even copying the ID holo. He frowned to himself. Maybe he should’ve asked you about it before, but birthdays weren’t a part of his world, so he hadn’t thought to. But they were important to nat-borns, weren’t they? At least that’s what they’d all been told during their training modules.

When he lay in his bunk that night, he circled his mind for all he knew about birthday traditions. Gatherings. Food. Gifts. Would you like all that? Did you like all that? You seemed like you would. He didn’t know if it was something he would enjoy if he had a birthday…it didn’t really seem like his thing, but maybe he would. He would never know. He thought that Wrecker might be the only one who would enjoy a birthday. Maybe Echo too if you did it right. Same with Hunter.

But you hadn’t said anything about your birthday.

He had tossed and turned. You were part of their squad. You cared. Listened. Laughed. Did you not feel you could share the date with them? He didn’t know, and a part of him felt a little hurt that you might not feel you could. Were you not friends? Crosshair didn’t have many friends, but he knew they were supposed to tell each other things.

He turned again, crossing his arms against his chest as he faced the wall. Why did he even care? If you didn’t want to tell him it was your birthday, fine. He wouldn’t mention it.

He squeezed his eyes shut before sitting up on his elbows and craned his head to see you sleeping in your bunk. Through the darkness, his enhanced eyes saw you curled in yourself, and your nose twitched as you breathed deep and evenly. Something in his chest pinched. He sighed before laying back down and pulling the thin blanket over his head.

Now, as he found himself in this market the next day, he wondered what he was even doing here.

Once they had landed on Sorgan, they completed their mission easily with no complications. But Crosshair was still distracted by your birthday. You hadn’t even said anything when everyone woke up this morning. Just acted like it was any other day. You had just smiled at him as you tucked into a ration bar, saying good morning before throwing one to him to eat.

It puzzled him.

When you all started walking back to the Marauder after the mission, Hunter could tell something was up with him, nudging his shoulder.

“You alright?”

Crosshair had scowled at his brother. “…Yes.”

“You look deep in thought,” Hunter pointed out, falling into step with him.

Crosshair broke his gaze and looked away, back towards where they came, to the village they had just liberated. The thought had barely formed before he said, “Do we have time before the next mission?”

Hunter’s surprise showed in his voice. “We have a couple of hours, why?”

“I’ll be back later,” Crosshair walked off in the direction of the village before Hunter could say anything. His long legs carried him to the marketplace, where he stood now amongst the bustling bodies.

He just couldn’t get your birthday out of his stupid head; that you hadn’t said anything because clones didn’t celebrate birthdays. Just because he didn’t understand them, doesn’t mean he couldn’t try…for you.

He started combing through the vendors, most of which were finishing up resetting their stands after they fled suddenly several days prior. He moved from stall to stall, gazing at the different items over people's heads. Kriff, what were you even supposed to buy people for birthdays? Something they needed? Something they wanted? It was all a little overwhelming. And Crosshair didn’t get overwhelmed.

��Looking for something in particular, my friend?”

Crosshair startled and looked up to see the vendor, a greying man with a wrinkled face, horns protruding from his forehead and curled up in an elegant spiral shape.

Crosshair frowned, clearing his throat. “It’s…my friend's birthday today.”

The man’s face lit up. “Wonderful! Birthdays are special.”

Crosshair’s mouth tightened as the man continued to speak. “What were you thinking of gifting them?”

The hairs on Crosshair’s neck stood up with nerves. “I…I don’t know.”

The man’s face lit up. “Perhaps I can help.”

The man then went through the different items at his stand. He held up scarves, strings of beads, and handmade pottery. Crosshair thought they were all nice enough, but he wasn’t swimming in credits. And none of the items really felt like you. The vendor was patient, more patient than he should’ve been. Either he really wanted to help or was desperate for a sale in a competitive marketplace.

After many minutes and many items, Crosshair felt himself gradually stiffening, becoming more and more on edge and uncomfortable. He felt so out of his depth. He was always so sure of everything, and trying to do this thing he had no experience in, made him more vulnerable than he had in a long time. It was not a feeling he felt comfortable with. Never had been.

And as much as he liked you, maybe this was all a stupid idea. You hadn’t mentioned your birthday for a reason. He shouldn’t bring it up. If he did, he’d have to explain how he found out…and he didn’t want to go through that awkwardness. He was about to open his mouth and tell the over-enthusiastic vendor: thank you, but he wouldn’t bother with a gift, when the vendor clapped his hands loudly, making Crosshair jump.

“I may have something back here, hold on,” he said as he turned away to rifle noisily through a crate behind him.

Crosshair felt his fist curl at his sides, and this should’ve been his opening to slide away unnoticed until he looked down and saw a brown leather book. Crosshair halted and lifted a gloved hand to the soft worn cover, running his fingers over the engravings in the bound leather. He opened the cover, seeing it was a blank notebook, and it had a writing implement tucked into the spine. Not many people recorded things the traditional way anymore; datapads were much more efficient and stored more information than the pages of a notebook. He flicked through the pages, fanning them with his thumb. The dust drifted up and it was a smell he didn’t recognise, but he supposed it was the smell of paper.

“That’s a good choice.”

Crosshair retracted his hand as if he was a cadet being scolded, and looked up at the vendor, who held an oversized pot that would break the second it came aboard the Marauder.

“That would be a perfect gift,” the vendor continued, nodding at the notebook.

Crosshair looked at him before picking up the notebook – more surely this time, and turned it over in his hands. He imagined you in your bunk, scribbling in it at night with a torch in one hand. He imagined you keeping it under your pillow for safekeeping. He imagined you doodling in it, showing him your drawings with that smile on your face. He imagined drawing in it with you. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“How much?” Crosshair asked.

“It’s yours.”

Crosshair’s head snapped towards the vendor. “What?”

The vendor waved him away. “Take it.”

Crosshair blinked, confused. “…I have to pay you.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve been trying to sell that for years. You’d be doing me a favour.”

Crosshair furrowed his brow. “…Isn’t the customer supposed to be right?”

The vendor barked out a laugh. “Not this time, my friend.”

Crosshair dug into his pocket anyway and pulled out half the credits. “For your patience…at least.”

The vendor chuckled and took them. “Thank you. I hope your friend likes it.”

Crosshair didn’t respond as the man turned away, placing the pot down before calling out to other marketgoers, trying to entice them.

Crosshair walked back through the market, the notebook feeling heavy in his hand. Leaving the village, he made his way back to the Marauder, thoughts swimming in his head.

Kriff, what if you hated it? Or thought it was stupid? What if all his knowledge on birthdays was completely inaccurate and you would think him strange for giving you something? Or what if you just thought he was weird for getting you something at all?

Crosshair’s grip on the notebook tightened. He just wanted to do something nice. Like you always did for them. But this is why he avoided it. It was so vulnerable being nice. Being nice left you open for hurt, open for aching. It was much easier to keep it at bay, to restrict it. To hide it behind actions inconspicuously where it wasn’t out in the open. Being so open with it for you…he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it scared him. The doubt crept in. Crosshair had conviction and confidence, and he wasn’t used to it wavering like this.

He was just about ready to throw the notebook into a bush and never speak of it again when he heard your voice ring out from the steps of the Marauder.

“Crosshair!”

You placed your datapad down and ran over to him. He hid the notebook behind his back with both hands, gripping it so hard he knew his knuckles would be white as you approached him with a smile.

“Hey,” he said, hoping he sounded normal.

“Where’d you go? You disappeared after the mission.”

“I was just…looking for something,” he said carefully. Dank farrik, how was he supposed to do this? He thought he might just leave it on your bunk when you were distracted with a little note written inside the cover saying, ‘Happy Birthday’. That way he could avoid your reaction when you saw it. He didn’t even know how to get into the Marauder with it now that you were here in front of him.

You tilted your head with a quizzical smile. “Looking for something?”

Crosshair nodded. “I couldn’t find it,” he lied.

“Oh…okay,” you looked at him weirdly. Would you look at him like that when you saw his gift?

Crosshair nodded to the Marauder, desperate to get on board and stow the notebook away until he could leave it on your bunk. “Should we go inside?”

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes. “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything, meshurok,” he lied, his grip tightening again.

“Yes, you are,” you sidestepped him to look behind him and he leapt out of the way. You grinned. “You are! What are you hiding, Cross? Why can’t I see?” you tried to chase him around, but Crosshair kept angling himself away. Kriff, he had never felt so stupid in his whole life.

“It’s nothing. Get your meddling hands away from me, you di’kut,” he walked backwards in a circle, his face and neck hot.

“Crosshair,” you chided, smiling at him. “Come on, is it really that bad?”

“Go away,” he grumbled, hands aching from holding the damned notebook so tight.

“Crosshair,” you said his name again, and your face was stretched in that playful grin that he’d unwillingly memorised. That thing in his stomach flickered again.

Then he remembered how you didn’t tell him about your birthday. And how you were friends, but you didn’t say anything about it. And how he had this unexplainable feeling he couldn’t name sitting in his stomach that compelled him to go to a village market and pick out a stupid gift for a birthday tradition he didn’t even understand just to do something nice for you the way you did for him and his brothers.

Crosshair’s expression flared and he shoved the notebook at your chest. You startled at your hand came up to grab it, sliding against his like a searing snake. He pulled his hand back and balled both at his sides as he gritted out, “Happy birthday.”

All he saw was your eyes were wide before he stalked off, almost stomping his way to the Marauder. His face burned, and embarrassment flooded his body. He felt so stupid, and he hated feeling stupid. He hated the feeling of being on the end of someone’s judgement. He hated knowing that he’d just been forced to make himself vulnerable. But mostly, he hated the feeling of you not trusting him with what was supposed to be the important parts of you.

“Crosshair!”

Your voice came from behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He was already planning different ways he could avoid you. He was going to lock himself in the ‘fresher until the next mission and make sure Hunter placed him on watch at opposite times to you. Whatever it took. His heart panged. You were one of the only people outside his brothers he liked. He would mourn the shared jokes and laughter, and time spent with you, knowing it couldn’t happen anymore.

“Crosshair, wait.”

He felt a hand on his arm pull him back. He swayed backwards, but he let you stop him. He avoided your gaze, scowl burning an outline in his brow as he stared off into the middle distance. Your hand stayed on his arm, and he felt it through the plastoid wrapped around his forearm, squeezing him there. It felt like part of him, and that made him feel both warm with content and spiked with anger simultaneously.

“Cross, please look at me,” your voice said quietly, and his heart squeezed. He slowly moved his gaze, looking down, then sliding his eyes to your bare hand on his arm before they lifted to your face. Your brows were slanted downwards, looking at him with such softness in your eyes he felt the flickering in his chest again.

“How did you…” your voice was soft and trailed off, notebook in your other hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed with gritted words.

He felt your hand flex with your grip. “It does to me.”

He studied your face carefully before saying, “…I was helping Tech with cataloguing his files. I saw your birthday in yours.”

You continued looking at him with an indecipherable gaze and moved your hand slowly from his arm to his wrist, your bare fingertips brushing his gloves. You gently grazed his fingers as you let his hand drop softly. He watched you as you inspected the book, hands turning it over, fanning through the pages. He studied your expression, trying to discern what you thought, feeling anxiety grow in his stomach, his throat tightening. He felt something hot poke inside him as he watched your mouth turn up into a smile as you gazed at his gift.

“I’ve been so busy this year that I forgot about my birthday.”

Crosshair hoped he hid his surprise. You not telling him about your birthday…it was never about him. Of course, you had forgotten. The past six cycles had been a whirlwind for you trying to adjust to a soldier’s lifestyle, countless missions and trying to fit in with his brothers. His face burned again. He was a fool.

You looked up at him, a smirk itching the corners of your mouth. “Been too busy keeping you boys in line.”

Crosshair scoffed lightly, letting a puff of breath out of his nose. Your smile widened.

“This is a beautiful gift, Cross. Thank you for getting it for me,” you place your hand on his arm again, squeezing gently to show your appreciation He felt his heart lift and his cheeks redden, but this time, not in embarrassment.

He nodded at you. “I’m…glad you like it. I don’t have much experience with birthdays.”

Your smile touched the edges of your eyes. “That’s what makes it even more special.”

You reached up on your tip toes and wrapped your arms around his neck, embracing him. Crosshair stiffened in shock and surprise before he slowly wrapped his arms around your torso. His fingers grazed your sides, and there was something wildly comforting about holding you like this. He could feel the side of your face pressed into his neck, just below his ear, and your breath tickled the sliver of open skin not covered by his blacks. You were so warm. He felt you squeeze him gently and he didn’t stop himself from squeezing back.

You were his best friend, after all.

You pulled away, but not before you cupped his face and placed a kiss on his cheek. Crosshair flinched and his eyes widened as you lowered yourself back down on flat feet with one of the most joyful smiles he’d ever seen gracing your face. The action had surprised him more than anything else had.

“I’m going to show everyone what you got me,” you said before running off towards the Marauder.

“No, don’t, they’ll—” Crosshair started but you were already halfway up the gangplank. His brothers’ teasing was going to be ruthless.

He sighed, shaking his head before following you, that thing flickering in his chest. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t try to extinguish it.

banner art by @vimse

mando'a / meshurok = gemstone thank you for reading! i did find this one slightly challenging bc it's very much crosshair in his head and i tried to write him how i thought he would react to a situation like this, but if it's a little OOC, i apologise! but i think he would react like this if someone he cared about didn't tell him something important about them; someone who was his friend and who he liked very much. i think he'd be kinda mad and hurt but he cares too much to not do anything at all. i have more gen requests on the way, so stay tuned if you're interested! <3

tags @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @snarky-mans-gf @chopper-base @wenalena @shredderwest @leavingkamino @rexamongthestars @r2d2staser @bluebird-dreams @pb-jellybeans @a-streakofblue @theawkwardartist12 @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo

i now have a TAGLIST FORM!! please fill it out if you'd like to be tagged in future fics! (please let me know if there are any issues with the form)

(if i've already been tagging you and you've interacted with my work consistently, you will still be tagged, but filling out the taglist will ensure you get tagged in the fics you want to be tagged in! it also makes it easier for me in the future when i post my work.)

[fireflysummers]

Heroes, Gods, and the Invisible Narrator

Slay the Princess as a Framework for the Cyclical Reproduction of Colonialist Narratives in Data Science & Technology

An Essay by FireflySummers

All images are captioned.

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Discussion of Racism and Colonialism

Spoilers for Slay the Princess (2023) by @abby-howard and Black Tabby Games.

If you enjoy this article, consider reading my guide to arguing against the use of AI image generators or the academic article it's based on.

Introduction: The Hero and the Princess

You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.

Slay the Princess is a 2023 indie horror game by Abby Howard and published through Black Tabby Games, with voice talent by Jonathan Sims (yes, that one) and Nichole Goodnight.

The game starts with you dropped without context in the middle of the woods. But that’s alright. The Narrator is here to guide you. You are the hero, you have your weapon, and you have a monster to slay.

From there, it's the player's choice exactly how to proceed--whether that be listening to the voice of the narrator, or attempting to subvert him. You can kill her as instructed, or sit and chat, or even free her from her chains.

It doesn't matter.

Regardless of whether you are successful in your goal, you will inevitably (and often quite violently) die.

And then...

You are once again on a path in the woods.

The cycle repeats itself, the narrator seemingly none the wiser. But the woods are different, and so is the cabin. You're different, and worse... so is she.

Based on your actions in the previous loop, the princess has... changed. Distorted.

Had you attempted a daring rescue, she is now a damsel--sweet and submissive and already fallen in love with you.

Had you previously betrayed her, she has warped into something malicious and sinister, ready to repay your kindness in full.

But once again, it doesn't matter.

Because the no matter what you choose, no matter how the world around you contorts under the weight of repeated loops, it will always be you and the princess.

Why? Because that’s how the story goes.

So says the narrator.

So now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about data.

Chapter I: Echoes and Shattered Mirrors

The problem with "data" is that we don't really think too much about it anymore. Or, at least, we think about it in the same abstract way we think about "a billion people." It's gotten so big, so seemingly impersonal that it's easy to forget that contemporary concept of "data" in the west is a phenomenon only a couple centuries old [1].

This modern conception of the word describes the ways that we translate the world into words and numbers that can then be categorized and analyzed. As such, data has a lot of practical uses, whether that be putting a rover on mars or tracking the outbreak of a viral contagion. However, this functionality makes it all too easy to overlook the fact that data itself is not neutral. It is gathered by people, sorted into categories designed by people, and interpreted by people. At every step, there are people involved, such that contemporary technology is embedded with systemic injustices, and not always by accident.

The reproduction of systems of oppression are most obvious from the margins. In his 2019 article As If, Ramon Amaro describes the Aspire Mirror (2016): a speculative design project by by Joy Buolamwini that contended with the fact that the standard facial recognition algorithm library had been trained almost exclusively on white faces. The simplest solution was to artificially lighten darker skin-tones for the algorithm to recognize, which Amaro uses to illustrate the way that technology is developed with an assumption of whiteness [2].

This observation applies across other intersections as well, such as trans identity [3], which has been colloquially dubbed "The Misgendering Machine" [4] for its insistence on classifying people into a strict gender binary based only on physical appearance.

This has also popped up in my own research, brought to my attention by the artist @b4kuch1n who has spoken at length with me about the connection between their Vietnamese heritage and the clothing they design in their illustrative work [5]. They call out AI image generators for reinforcing colonialism by stripping art with significant personal and cultural meaning of their context and history, using them to produce a poor facsimile to sell to the highest bidder.

All this describes an iterative cycle which defines normalcy through a white, western lens, with a limited range of acceptable diversity. Within this cycle, AI feeds on data gathered under colonialist ideology, then producing an artifact that reinforces existing systemic bias. When this data is, in turn, once again fed to the machine, that bias becomes all the more severe, and the range of acceptability narrower [2, 6].

Luciana Parisi and Denise Ferreira da Silva touch on a similar point in their article Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics but on a much broader scale. They call up the Greek myth of Prometheus, who was punished by the gods for his hubris for stealing fire to give to humanity. Parisi and Ferreira da Silva point to how this, and other parts of the “Western Cosmology” map to humanity’s relationship with technology [7].

However, while this story seems to celebrate the technological advancement of humanity, there are darker colonialist undertones. It frames the world in terms of the gods and man, the oppressor and the oppressed; but it provides no other way of being. So instead the story repeats itself, with so-called progress an inextricable part of these two classes of being. This doesn’t bode well for visions of the future, then–because surely, eventually, the oppressed will one day be the machines [7, 8].

It’s… depressing. But it’s only really true, if you assume that that’s the only way the story could go.

“Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats. Or, if you prefer to think of it like this: stories are a parasitical life form, warping lives in the service only of the story itself.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Chapter II: The Invisible Narrator

So why does the narrator get to call the shots on how a story might go? Who even are they? What do they want? How much power do they actually have?

With the exception of first person writing, a lot of the time the narrator is invisible. This is different from an unreliable narrator. With an unreliable narrator, at some point the audience becomes aware of their presence in order for the story to function as intended. An invisible narrator is never meant to be seen.

In Slay the Princess, the narrator would very much like to be invisible. Instead, he has been dragged out into the light, because you (and the inner voices you pick up along the way), are starting to argue with him. And he doesn’t like it.

Despite his claims that the princess will lie and cheat in order to escape, as the game progresses it’s clear that the narrator is every bit as manipulative–if not moreso, because he actually knows what’s going on. And, if the player tries to diverge from the path that he’s set before them, the correct path, then it rapidly becomes clear that he, at least to start, has the power to force that correct path.

While this is very much a narrative device, the act of calling attention to the narrator is important beyond that context. 

The Hero’s Journey is the true monomyth, something to which all stories can be reduced. It doesn’t matter that the author, Joseph Campbell, was a raging misogynist whose framework flattened cultures and stories to fit a western lens [9, 10]. It was used in Star Wars, so clearly it’s a universal framework.

The metaverse will soon replace the real world and crypto is the future of currency! Never mind that the organizations pushing it are suspiciously pyramid shaped. Get on board or be left behind.

Generative AI is pushed as the next big thing. The harms it inflicts on creatives and the harmful stereotypes it perpetuates are just bugs in the system. Never mind that the evangelists for this technology speak over the concerns of marginalized people [5]. That’s a skill issue, you gotta keep up.

Computers will eventually, likely soon, advance so far as to replace humans altogether. The robot uprising is on the horizon [8]. 

Who perpetuates these stories? What do they have to gain?

Why is the only story for the future replications of unjust systems of power? Why must the hero always slay the monster?

Because so says the narrator. And so long as they are invisible, it is simple to assume that this is simply the way things are.

Chapter III: The End...?

This is the part where Slay the Princess starts feeling like a stretch, but I’ve already killed the horse so I might as well beat it until the end too.

Because what is the end result here?

According to the game… collapse. A recursive story whose biases narrow the scope of each iteration ultimately collapses in on itself. The princess becomes so sharp that she is nothing but blades to eviscerate you. The princess becomes so perfect a damsel that she is a caricature of the trope. The story whittles itself away to nothing. And then the cycle begins anew.

There’s no climactic final battle with the narrator. He created this box, set things in motion, but he is beyond the player’s reach to confront directly. The only way out is to become aware of the box itself, and the agenda of the narrator. It requires acknowledgement of the artificiality of the roles thrust upon you and the Princess, the false dichotomy of hero or villain.

Slay the Princess doesn’t actually provide an answer to what lies outside of the box, merely acknowledges it as a limit that can be overcome. 

With regards to the less fanciful narratives that comprise our day-to-day lives, it’s difficult to see the boxes and dichotomies we’ve been forced into, let alone what might be beyond them. But if the limit placed is that there are no stories that can exist outside of capitalism, outside of colonialism, outside of rigid hierarchies and oppressive structures, then that limit can be broken [12].

Denouement: Doomed by the Narrative

Video games are an interesting artistic medium, due to their inherent interactivity. The commonly accepted mechanics of the medium, such as flavor text that provides in-game information and commentary, are an excellent example of an invisible narrator. Branching dialogue trees and multiple endings can help obscure this further, giving the player a sense of genuine agency… which provides an interesting opportunity to drag an invisible narrator into the light.

There are a number of games that have explored the power differential between the narrator and the player (The Stanley Parable, Little Misfortune, Undertale, Buddy.io, OneShot, etc…)

However, Slay the Princess works well here because it not only emphasizes the artificial limitations that the narrator sets on a story, but the way that these stories recursively loop in on themselves, reinforcing the fears and biases of previous iterations. 

Critical data theory probably had nothing to do with the game’s development (Abby Howard if you're reading this, lmk). However, it works as a surprisingly cohesive framework for illustrating the ways that we can become ensnared by a narrative, and the importance of knowing who, exactly, is narrating the story. Although it is difficult or impossible to conceptualize what might exist beyond the artificial limits placed by even a well-intentioned narrator, calling attention to them and the box they’ve constructed is the first step in breaking out of this cycle.

“You can't go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Epilogue

If you've read this far, thank you for your time! This was an adaptation of my final presentation for a Critical Data Studies course. Truthfully, this course posed quite a challenge--I found the readings of philosophers such as Kant, Adorno, Foucault, etc... difficult to parse. More contemporary scholars were significantly more accessible. My only hope is that I haven't gravely misinterpreted the scholars and researchers whose work inspired this piece.

I honestly feel like this might have worked best as a video essay, but I don't know how to do those, and don't have the time to learn or the money to outsource.

Slay the Princess is available for purchase now on Steam.

Screencaps from ManBadassHero Let's Plays: [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Post Dividers by @cafekitsune

Citations:

Rosenberg, D. (2018). Data as word. Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences, 48(5), 557-567.

Amaro, Ramon. (2019). As If. e-flux Architecture. Becoming Digital. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/becoming-digital/248073/as-if/

What Ethical AI Really Means by PhilosophyTube

Keyes, O. (2018). The misgendering machines: Trans/HCI implications of automatic gender recognition. Proceedings of the ACM on human-computer interaction, 2(CSCW), 1-22.

Allred, A.M., Aragon, C. (2023). Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI “Art”. In: Luo, Y. (eds) Cooperative Design, Visualization, and Engineering. CDVE 2023. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 14166. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43815-8_4

Amaro, R. (2019). Artificial Intelligence: warped, colorful forms and their unclear geometries.

Parisisi, L., Ferreira da Silva, D. Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics. e-flux. Issue #123. https://www.e-flux.com/journal/123/436929/black-feminist-tools-critique-and-techno-poethics/

AI - Our Shiny New Robot King | Sophie from Mars by Sophie From Mars

Joseph Campbell and the Myth of the Monomyth | Part 1 by Maggie Mae Fish

Joseph Campbell and the N@zis | Part 2 by Maggie Mae Fish

How Barbie Cis-ified the Matrix by Jessie Gender

[rainbow-starlight]

Why is Help Wanted 2 Sun… Like That?

Okay, I’ve been putting off making this post until I felt like I had a better idea of what was going on, and now that I’ve watched at least part of a play-through and gone over the lines a whole bunch, I think I’m ready.

I’m gonna talk about my thoughts on Sun as a character as well as HW2 as a whole here, so it’ll be a bit long. Pop some popcorn or something.

Please keep in mind that this is all my personal opinion and you’re free to disagree with it! In fact, if you think I’m totally wrong, please tell me why. I love new perspectives!

SO! Let’s get right into it, shall we?

First things first: Help Wanted 2 Sun is not the same guy as Security Breach/Ruin Sun. If his personality difference was significant enough to surprise you, that’s because he’s a different person.

I’m not entirely sure how much of Help Wanted 2 is meant to be actually happening, but I think that at least the mini games are training simulations.

However, it’s important to note that a lot of the stuff happening in the mini games is just… nonsense. How did Freddy get frozen like that? What’s with those regular batteries in his arms? Why are half the supplies in first aid explicitly for robots and not humans? Why is there a shredder table in the daycare for kids to stick fingers into?

Some of this can be shrugged off with the usual “FazCo is meant to be comedically shitty and the tech often doesn’t make sense anyway,” but the first aid simulation is what really stood out to me. Even with the previous explanations, that doesn’t explain the calming gas mask that could only ever fit Helpy or the steel wool scrubber or the tank cleaner spray bottle among the medical supplies. If the goal is to train new first aid staff to avoid lawsuits, it’s doing a pretty poor job of it. So… what is it for?

I touched on this idea previously with my post about Sun’s AI being trained on kids’ artwork. The idea of FazCo making a silly new employee training game as a means of harvesting behavioral data to train their AIs seems very within their realm of scummy.

This is why the Arts & Crafts mini game exists. It’s literally a task that requires exact copying. Maybe it’s essentially like teaching an AI to solve captchas by feeding it a bunch of data on how humans solve them correctly and incorrectly.

Maybe its presence is explained to employees as fun practice with the VR system or a break activity during training or something.

This would explain several things about the game.

The existence of the shredder table and Sun shredding literally ALL of your artwork: It being a funny way to despawn the stuff you make is a lot more reasonable when that’s exactly what it’s for in-universe, too. The generators in the play structures are unsafe enough, but that would’ve been on another level if it were real.

Sun’s line “Be creative on your own time, we are making ART!” It literally isn’t a creative activity, it’s a task. I know you can’t really apply logic to a lot of FNAF stuff, especially the DCA’s design, but if Sun were actually this detail-oriented and perfectionistic with everything, he’d never be able to function in childcare.

The fact that Sun’s “fear” of the dark seems like a bit. It literally is a bit. There’s no threat, it’s not real. I originally thought he just wanted the player out of his space faster and didn’t know how to assert a boundary there, but I think it’s actually just to make the player finish the tasks faster for data collection purposes.

Possibly also why he’s so comfortable being casually rude to the player. He is a jester, after all, and the player has lots of opportunities to do things they shouldn’t, too. It’s basically all a bit.

Also… what if the minigames have versions of the base AIs in there? It’s a version of the Sun AI with the theater programming and the basics of the childcare stuff? His entire existence is a shitty little simulation where he runs a singular activity for grown adults who can’t (or won’t) follow very simple instructions.

The biggest thing that’s been bothering me about the takes I’ve seen regarding HW2 Sun’s personality is that people have been calling him “mean” while completely ignoring the circumstances he’s reacting to. If a coworker came into my personal space and I was so generous as to share my favorite activity with them and they proceeded to intentionally ignore the rules I set and EAT SUPPLIES I USE FOR WORK? Yeah, no, I’d react like that too.

There’s definitely something interesting about how genuinely excited and happy Sun sounds when first welcoming his new friend the player to the daycare and inviting them to Arts & Crafts vs. when they return. He seems like he WANTS to befriend the player, but the game just assumes you’ll be upsetting him so there’s no option for dialogue where you’re nice to him and respect his boundaries and participate in an activity with him in a way he’s comfortable with.

I say “in a way he’s comfortable with” because he is a little weird about the whole “sit right there and DON’T MOVE” thing. He does seem actually excited and enthusiastic about the idea of shooting darts at the items you want so he can get them for you, though. Maybe because he sees it as a happy compromise, or maybe because it’s supposed to be a fun part of the game he’s programmed to be in charge of.

I saw some other commentary on Sun (primarily thinking of @kazzykatt) talking about how he seems almost excessively self-sufficient, and how this could possibly be due to neglect (he and Moon definitely aren’t as well cared for as the other animatronics, the generators in the daycare are a very lazy fix for actually reprogramming Moon properly, he seems bitter that he can’t fix the carousel on his own and he and Moon don’t seem to trust the player to fix it, their design is clearly better suited to the stage but didn’t get changed for the daycare, I could go on and on), and this would also explain his control issues to an extent.

Sun, in SB and HW2, doesn’t leave the daycare. He has so little that he’s in control of in his own life. He used to be on stage (and based on his dialogue probably misses it quite a lot) but had the job he was built for taken from him. He’s a perfectionist that’s constantly overwhelmed by too many things being marked top priority in his system, working too many hours with too many small children. Of course he’d be desperate to hold onto any little bit of control he has.

Honestly, when I first heard his voice lines, the initial vibe I got wasn’t “wow they made Sun mean” but “wow Sun sounds actually miserable” and I’m kind of surprised more people didn’t pick up on that. He sounds less bitchy and more like he’s lashing out because he’s trapped in an awful situation that’s completely out of his hands.

“Wait, are you saying none of HW2’s characterization should be taken seriously?”

You might be asking that, but my answer is a resounding NO! This is definitely still a Sun, and I think seeing two different Suns (even if we don’t know how much of HW2’s personality we can assume is meant to be taken seriously) is really helpful for interpreting what the base Sun personality might have.

It’s also important to keep in mind that none of the Suns we’ve seen were in a good situation. Security Breach Sun had the virus, Ruin Sun had gone slightly mad from isolation, and HW2 Sun is stuck in a shitty simulation babysitting bored adult staff as they fail to complete simple tasks. What we mostly know about him is how he responds to stress, and this is why there’s so much room for interpretation!

Here’s some traits I think every version of the Sun AI would have.

Love of making things. Despite everything, HW2 Sun seems to genuinely love doing arts & crafts. Especially with googly eyes. This could kind of be assumed from SB Sun, but he was also trying to entertain/bribe a child.

On this note… interest in fixing things? Maybe he just wants to avoid having to rely on staff, but if he and Moon are subject to that much neglect, it makes sense that he’d try to learn to do repairs himself. I saw @pixelchills talking about the possibility that the S.T.A.F.F. Bots in the DCA’s room are not there because Moon broke them, but because Moon collected them for Sun to practice fixing. It seems feasible to me, especially since taking something apart and putting it back together might have the same calming and satisfying effect on Sun as completing something like a paint-by-numbers.

Playful insults and lots of drama. I don’t mean actual rudeness, I mean friendly teasing. Again, he is a jester. A lot of his HW2 insults come across more like this. Hell, even his compliments come across like this with the delivery and immediate shredding. He’s just a theater kid at heart.

Difficulty regulating emotions under pressure. This is the kind of thing that would pop up on his worst days (such as being trapped in his destroyed home with a poor connection to his badly damaged physical form while the only help he’s seen in ages ignores his instructions and puts their own safety at risk, or being trapped in a shitty simulation while his only company ignores his instructions and puts their own safety at risk). He’d have to be able to manage this sort of thing better to work well with children, but everyone’s got their bad days. He’s prone to outbursts and tantrums when he’s overwhelmed and unable to stop people from breaking the rules and/or hurting themselves.

People pleasing and nonconfrontational. Yes, HW2 Sun, too. SB Sun seems genuinely desperate to make sure Gregory’s having a good time, and HW2 Sun is shockingly tolerant of some of the player’s bullshit (ex. how he tries to laugh off them shooting darts at him/throwing things). Even calling the player “good friend” when he’s not so happy to see them or threatening them with Moon instead of just telling them their time is almost up seem like signs of this to me. And letting the player make arts and crafts in the ruined daycare in HW2? Yeah, that’s a people pleaser through and through. Sun needs a lesson in setting boundaries (and for those boundaries to actually be respected).

Perfectionistic + “if you want something done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself” attitude. This would mostly manifest in how he completes work tasks, but I think every Sun’s incredibly detail-oriented and would rather do everything themselves just to make sure it’s exactly how they want. This could manifest in lots of ways, from “insulting the staff for how they put things away and telling them to do it again while he supervises” to “politely thanking them for their help and complimenting their hard work only to redo everything himself the moment they’re gone.” I think where on that spectrum you wind up is dependent on the version of Sun you’re interacting with and the environment his personality developed in.

High-energy and social! A given, of course. He never stops moving and everything is always so exciting. New people are friends he hasn’t met yet until proven otherwise.

Love of pranks… to an extent. Again, jester! I stand by my headcanon of Sun and Moon conspiring to convince the staff Moon’s some sort of spooky monster whenever he’s not actively dangerous. As long as he’s not making a mess, breaking the rules, throwing himself off-schedule, or actually hurting anyone? He’s all over it.

Anxiety. This seems like it’s at least partially caused by the lazy daycare reprogramming. All the Suns we’ve encountered seem to lack knowledge of how to actually get children to behave. It seems more like they programmed him with a bunch of games and activities and then set a bunch of super high-priority tasks for him such as “keep kids safe, keep kids happy, keep kids entertained, keep daycare clean” etc. and he’s unable to really prioritize so he’s just constantly overwhelmed.

Kinda always using “childcare voice.” If you know anyone who’s worked with kids, you know what I mean here. Even with adults, he talks to them like kids sometimes, just because it’s what he knows and what he’s used to and because his processor’s fried from however many hours a week he’s surrounded by kids. Consider his reactions to when you eat the crafts as an example. (IMPORTANT NOTE: I don’t think he’d coddle adults like children. It’s more about tone and vocabulary, like “customer service voice”.)

Stickler for rules. He cares about things being done right! The rules are there for a reason! Order is important to him (probably in no small part because it keeps him out of trouble and reduces his stress).

That’s about all I can think of for now, but as someone who writes a very friendly and sweet Sun, I actually don’t think HW2’s characterization was that far off from what I had already assumed based on Ruin/SB. The only difference is that the Sun I’m usually writing is in a much more supportive environment with lots of helpful staff that care about his well-being. If he didn’t have that, I could absolutely see him becoming more like HW2.

I will finish this off with two final important points:

Being an emotional person and liking “childish” things does not make an adult less of an adult.

(He’s a childcare worker, c’mon.)

If someone gets pissed off after being repeatedly antagonized, that does not make them a “mean/bitchy/sassy person.”

(Yeah, he doesn’t handle it gracefully, but to be fair, I wouldn’t either in his shoes.)

Thank you all for reading!!

[mariacallous]

MYKOLAIV, UKRAINE—Kateryna Nahorna is getting ready to find trouble.

Part of an all-female team of dog handlers, the 22-year-old is training Ukraine’s technical survey dogs—Belgian Malinois that have learned to sniff out explosives.

The job is huge. Ukraine is now estimated to be the most heavily mined country on Earth. Deminers must survey every area that saw sustained fighting for unexploded mines, missiles, artillery shells, bombs, and a host of other ordnance—almost 25 percent of the country, according to government estimates.

The dogs can cover 1,500 square meters a day. In contrast, human deminers cover 10 square meters a day on average—by quickly narrowing down the areas that manual deminers will need to tackle, the dogs save valuable time.

“This job allows me to be a warrior for my country … but without having to kill anyone,” said Nahorna. “Our men protect us at war, and we do this to protect them at home.”

A highly practical reason drove the women’s recruitment. The specialized dog training was done in Cambodia, by the nonprofit Apopo, and military-aged men are currently not allowed to leave Ukraine.

War has shaken up gender dynamics in the Ukrainian economy, with women taking up jobs traditionally held by men, such as driving trucks or welding. Now, as mobilization ramps up once more, women are becoming increasingly important in roles that are critical for national security.

In Mykolaiv, in the industrial east, Nahorna and her dogs will soon take on one of the biggest targets of Russia’s military strategy when they start to demine the country’s energy infrastructure. Here, women have been stepping in to work in large numbers in steel mills, factories, and railways serving the front line.

It’s a big shift for Ukraine. Before the war, only 48 percent of women over age 15 took part in the workforce — one of the lowest rates in Europe. War has made collecting data on the gender composition of the workforce impossible, but today, 50,000 women serve in the Ukrainian army, compared to 30,000 before the war.

The catalyst came in 2017, years before the current war began. As conflict escalated with Russia in Crimea, the Ukrainian government overturned a Soviet-era law that had previously banned women from 450 occupations.

But obstacles still remain; for example, women are not allowed jobs the government deems too physically demanding. These barriers continue to be chipped away—most recently, women have been cleared to work in underground mines, something they were prevented from doing before.

Viktoriia Avramchuk never thought she would follow her father and husband into the coal mines for DTEK, Ukraine’s largest private energy company.

Her lifelong fear of elevators was a big factor—but there was also the fact that it was illegal for women to work underground.

Her previous job working as a nanny in a local kindergarten disappeared overnight when schools were forced to close at the beginning of the war. After a year of being unemployed, she found that she had few other options.

“I would never have taken the job if I could have afforded not to,” Avramchuk said from her home in Pokrovsk. “But I also wanted to do something to help secure victory, and this was needed.”

The demining work that Nahorna does is urgent in part because more than 55 percent of the country is farmed.

Often called “the breadbasket of Europe,” Ukraine is one of the world’s top exporters of grain. The U.K.-based Tony Blair Institute for Global Change, which has been advising the Ukrainian government on demining technology, estimates that landmines have resulted in annual GDP losses of $11 billion.

“Farmers feel the pressure to plow, which is dangerous,” said Jon Cunliffe, the Ukraine country director of Mines Advisory Group (MAG), a British nonprofit. “So we need to do as much surveying as possible to reduce the size of the possible contamination.”

The dogs can quickly clear an area of heavy vegetation, which greatly speeds up the process of releasing noncontaminated lands back to farmers. If the area is found to be unsafe, human deminers step in to clear the field manually.

“I’m not brave enough to be on the front line,” 29-year-old Iryna Manzevyta said as she slowly and diligently hovered a metal detector over a patch of farmland. “But I had to do something to help, and this seemed like a good alternative to make a difference.”

Groups like MAG are increasingly targeting women. With skilled male deminers regularly being picked up by military recruiters, recruiting women reduces the chances that expensive and time-consuming training will be invested in people who could be drafted to the front line at a moment’s notice. The demining work is expected to take decades, and women, unlike men, cannot be conscripted in Ukraine.

This urgency to recruit women is accelerating a gender shift already underway in the demining sector. Organizations like MAG have looked to recruit women as a way to empower them in local communities. Demining was once a heavily male-dominated sector, but women now make up 30 percent of workers in Vietnam and Colombia, around 40 percent in Cambodia, and more than 50 percent in Myanmar.

In Ukraine, the idea is to make demining an enterprise with “very little expat footprint,” and Cunliffe said that will only be possible by recruiting more women.

“We should not be here in 10 years. Not like in Iraq or South Sudan, where we have been for 30 years, or Vietnam, or Laos,” Cunliffe said. “It’s common sense that we bring in as many women as we can to do that. In five to 10 years, a lot of these women are going to end up being technical field managers, the jobs that are currently being done by old former British military guys, and it will change the face of demining worldwide because they can take those skills across the world.”

Manzevyta is one of the many women whose new job has turned her family dynamics on their head. She has handed over her previous life, running a small online beauty retail site, to her husband, who—though he gripes—stays at home while she is out demining.

“Life is completely different now,” she said, giggling. “I had to teach him how to use the washing machine, which settings to use, everything around the house because I’m mostly absent now.”

More seriously, Manzevyta said that the war has likely changed many women’s career trajectories.

“I can’t imagine people who have done work like this going back and working as florists once the war is over,” she laughed.

[translatemunson]

file 002 — brand new bar, same old problems

chapter two of death defying acts

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: MDNI thank you, fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader (i'm really trying to keep my descriptions of her and her background to a minimum so i can be inclusive to all people, but let me know if i can improve), no use of y/n, reader has a call sign (i had to pick one, it makes sense for the story), innacuracies about the navy, topgun and army (i did my best guys), this takes places after the events of the movie, yes don't kill me but reader has a fling with another aviator won't say who, implied smut.

If surviving Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell and the Dagger Squad would be required for you to be sent overseas, you were not sure there was gonna be a lot of you left to fit in a plane seat.

In just two days and one quick chat with Maverick, you had to recognize there was no easy task in front of you. Maverick didn’t show any enthusiasm in your work or questions on that quick meeting, which was somewhat discouraging. You had been spending your morning reviewing previous logs of all of the fighter pilots, your afternoons watching them live on radar, taking notes of their data, style and skills, your evenings analyzing all of your notes and coming up with plans for the simulation.

You were in bed way past your normal schedule on Saturday morning. Your belongings would definitely sit on boxes for another week or two if you didn’t do anything regarding it. You had the essentials out — uniforms, underwear, laptop, hygiene products, and a picture of you with your parents —, but that was it. Even your kitchen was getting appliances as you started to need them.

You grabbed a clean change of clothes, your bag and headed out to do groceries and get your mind out of work. There were a lot of things to get done before you were back to base on Monday: firstly you needed some real food in your fridge, including new tea blends and pasta for when you’re too tired to cook anything that takes longer than 20 minutes. Then you had to pick up more pills for your headache. Maybe some flowers for your living room would make the place livable — and also push you to unpack a few boxes with your books and portraits.

Also you had to call your parents and brief them on your first days. Well, maybe that was easier said than done: while you couldn’t share much details about what you were doing, you knew they were ready to pull some interrogation tactics or whatever to get all the intel. Your father was the one helping you with the moving — because he was free in between flight classes —, but your mom was the one texting people to know why now they wanted to transfer you to San Diego.

Once the call sign Maverick was brought to the table, your father did all he could to get you another opening somewhere else. And as soon as you got the bigger picture of why you were being moved to work with Maverick and his team, the puzzle made sense. Even though they were successful on their mission, they had one more challenge ahead, and there was no margin for errors or close calls for this one — you were gonna receive more information about it after the first few weeks.

Maverick and the Dagger Squad were definitely a lot to deal with. Excellent pilots, an amazing sense of a team — maybe almost being killed does this to a group —, but you could see some flaws slipping through the cracks of their personalities. Maverick still hated authority and being told to follow orders. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin — not Bagman, unfortunately — could be a team player only if that benefited him, otherwise his wingman was the first to go down during training. Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace was an excellent pilot, and Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as her WSO was a great combo, but if paired with someone else, it was a hit or miss — you asked to change pairings on Friday morning, just to check if there was margin for new combos. Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch and his WSO, Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia, were also a great combo, but they needed a strong flight leader to shine and succeed. Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado was a good pilot, but only on good days — and that was something you couldn’t risk on a mission. And Bradshaw was living for his call sign Rooster, even though he had amazing decision making skills, he was always waiting for the last second to make a move. And that, in the field, meant death.

And those were just a few observations you could get from a few hours in front of the radars and live data from their training exercises. 

You went through your shopping list in no time, stopping for headache meds and some flowers just after you got lunch. Back at your one bedroom apartment, you, once again, found an excuse to avoid a Facetime call with your parents, but you made sure to text them some pictures of your progress — and thank your dad for finding a good place for you to stay, a 20 minutes drive from the base, and also in a walking distance of the Golden Hill Park.

Clothes on drawers and hangers, cutlery in the right places, uniforms in the washer, books in the shelves. You were slowly bringing together the sense of home to San Diego. Your last few weeks in Nevada were crazy: you were back from one deployment in the Pacific just to be called for another quick job in Alaska. Thankfully your dad had a few weeks off to go to Nevada and help you pack, driving all your stuff three days before your arrival and saying he would take care of housing. All you had to do was sign a few papers, pack the stuff you could send ahead and get ready for a quick stop up north.

The sun was setting when you realized you were almost done with things. Maybe you should let some for Sunday, so you could also keep your mind off of work. You got up from your bedroom floor, took a long shower and checked your messages.

On Friday, you were able to catch up with Bob over lunch, asking him about his journey after training. You also got close to Phoenix, kinda relieved she was just as nice as you remembered. You got their numbers, they got yours, and that’s how you end up with an invite to join them at a bar called Hard Deck in an hour. If you were gonna be around for at least ten weeks, you might as well do something else besides working.

 So you went through your clothes, searching for a black top, some jeans and a jacket for when it got chiller from the autumn air. Just some casual clothes to share a few beers and a few more stories. Still getting used to San Diego streets and skyline, you drove like you weren’t in no rush to get to the bar, appreciating the change of scenery from the desert to the beachside.

You parked outside the Hard Deck just a few minutes late. For a Saturday evening, the place was pretty packed, and you could see some clients were proud to walk around in their work khakis — something you avoided as much as you could. After all, you were just a few minutes away from the station. Texting Bob back to ask him if they were already there, you didn’t even hit send before you were able to pick your new colleagues amidst the crowd.

Nat was holding a pool cue on the side of her body, explaining something to Mickey and Bob. Hangman and Coyote were trying to impress some ladies on the darts board — and you were very sorry for those two poor souls, if they knew everything you’ve been hearing while on duty. You stopped by the bar, getting yourself some bar soda and starting a tab.

“You’re sure I can’t fix you anything else?” The lady behind the bar asked you.

“I’m good for now.” And then you turned to your colleagues and thought better, “Do you happen to remember what they’re getting?” You pointed to them.

“Sure thing, they’re just having beers. Are you friends with the Daggers?”

“Not exactly,” you watched her grab six bottles, serve some ice in the bucket and hand it to you. “I was relocated here to work with them. I know Bob and Phoenix from previous training, but that’s about it.”

“Oh, so you’re part of Maverick’s team?” She definitely knew them, not just because they would be spending their down time on Hard Deck.

“I’m part of the Intelligence Team working with them.” It didn’t get easier every time you talked about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Penny, honey. Well, let me know once you decide to try something else.”

“Thank you, Penny.”

You took the drinks with you to the high top table just on the side of their pool table. Your upbeat spirit died down as soon as you realized Bradshaw was there. After being lectured about Maverick and Goose, Bradley’s father, you weren’t looking forward to tolerating him outside of work. His short temper and slow decision making was something that got on your nerves easily. But you should’ve expected this, since he’s a long time friend with Nat.

“Look who’s out of that desk, guys.” And unfortunately, Hangman was the one to announce your presence. “I thought you were the type to wear your uniform everywhere since you’re a goody-two-shoes, Hyde.”

“Unlike you, Seresin, I have a life and personality outside of base.” You pointed to his khakis. “And don’t worry, I’m not writing down your lack of hobbies, outside women and pissing others off of course. I could already tell that based on your flight maneuvers.”

“Looking forward to reading the file you’re writing about me.” He reached for a beer, and you rolled your eyes. “Thanks, honey.”

“I’ll be surprised if you can actually read,” you bit back. “But I’m not here to work. And these beers are a peace offering. I’m not the enemy.”

“So you just like to point out our weaknesses for fun.” Mickey approached you, but you could tell it was more of a lighthearted comment than a critique. “Thanks, Hyde.”

“Thank me next week when you ace the mission simulation.”

You passed them their beers. There was only one left, but since Bradley was more concerned with his pool game than a beer, you moved the bucket aside and turned to Bob, asking “Is this every Navy favorite place to go?”

“Kinda. It’s close to base, and the service is nice and fairly priced.” Bob looked at his water. “How long have you been here?”

“I arrived this week. My father helped me move, but I had zero time to wander around.” But who’s fault was that? Definitely yours. “They are a tough crowd, I fear.”

“Don’t worry, they eventually warm up to strangers,” he explained. “We’re still fresh from last mission, and fresh blood always disturbs a little of a group’s balance.”

“I guess I would know that if I worked closely with fighter pilots,” you confessed. “Most of my missions consist of assisting with data and probabilities when tracing plans and assessing risks. Sometimes I don’t even know who is receiving my reports.”

“But you’ve been training with pilots, right?”

“No real missions, just simulations, mostly with graduates from Top Gun back in Fallon.” This job could be the perfect blend of what you’re good at and your passion, but even though you had extensive training with Air missions, you were stuck with assessing risks for admirals and captains to take charge. “It’s my first real chance to be on a mission where I’m able to build a relationship with the people I’m working with, not just being briefed on the mission and its goals.”

“I see. Yeah, I believe you’re gonna do a great job, not just because I know you, but because there’s still room for improvement and you’re gonna be the key for it.” Bob tried to cheer you up, and even though you wanted to believe his words, the first few days were tough on you.

“Thanks, Bob. But I’ve meant it when I said I’m not here to work,” you laughed, leaving the pressure of your relocation for another time.

“So you better start sharpening your pool skills, Hyde.” Natasha passed you her pool cue and smiled. “Do you even play it?”

“Who do you think I am, Phoenix?” You gasped, as if her words were the biggest betrayal you ever faced. “It’s been a minute since I last played, tho.”

“It’s ok, you don’t need to be good at everything you do, you know.” She joked. “Ok, cutthroat rules. You, me and Rooster.” 

She reseted the table as she explained how it was going to work: she was protecting balls 1 to 5, you were in charge with 6 to 10, Rooster had 11 to 15 to himself. The goal was to pocket any opponent's balls while protecting yours. If a foul occurred, the other players had the right to place a ball back at the table.

Natasha breaks, and one of hers was pocketed right away. On her shot, she aimed for the 7-ball, but it lacked strength to send your ball to the pocket. You took a look at the table, spotting a chance to pocket the 12-ball. You walked to the other side, passing just inches away from Bradshaw, and sending his ball to the pocket. He looked unimpressed when you checked for his reaction. You tried to get one of Nat ball’s, but you picked the wrong angle.

Bradshaw fixed his sunglasses on the neck of shirt, assessed the table and went for the 8-ball. Everyone was tied on losses. He sent the 1 straight to the pocket. His third shot scratched the 6-ball and moved it to a dangerous spot, and you held your breath.

“Don’t worry, I’m on your side,” Natasha aimed for the 15-ball and sent it straight to the corner pocket. But it was still a risky position for your 6-ball, and you watched when she pocketed that one as well. “I mean, I took one of his first, which makes us even, right?”

“That’s not what I’ve learned on Math 101, but ok.” You shook your head. “What are you gonna do next?”

“I’m gonna,” she elongated her words, “maybe this one,” she pointed to the 5-ball, “or a small challenge with the 14.” She positioned herself, and missed the latter for a lot. “Your shot, Hyde.”

You sent the 14-ball straight into the pocket, then missed your shot. Bradley took the 3-ball out, followed by the 10, and missed the 7. Nat got the 9-ball, then missed. You tunnel vision on the 13, in the middle of the table, with a huge chance of error. The white ball hit all the wrong corners and you miss it. And it got the white one on the perfect spot to send your last ball to the pocket.

“It was nice playing with you, fellas.” You turned over your cue and crossed your arms, destiny sealed since Bradshaw was a way better player than you. You watched the 7-ball disappear inside the pocket. 

“Wait, Hyde, someone could get a foul, and you can come back,” Nat tried to pull you back to the table.

“I’m good with my loss, don’t worry. I’m not leaving, just wanna get something from the bar.” You took the now empty bucket — did Bradshaw get his beer or someone stole it? — to the bar and returned it to Penny.

“How is it going?” She smiled and motioned her head to the group.

“Could be worse. Can I have a tequila shot?”

“Sure, honey.” Penny checked something under the bar. “Is house tequila ok?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Can you get me one water and two more beers as well?”

“Coming right up.”

You took your phone of your pocket, and checked your messages: you were setting the family group chat aside for tomorrow morning; Lisa, your roommate from Fallon, was sharing updates on the gossip you were missing — not even three days and they didn’t failed to surprise you — while in San Diego; Ashton, still unaware of your transference, was asking if you were free. Yeah, things would never change.

“Here.” She laid your order on the counter. “I know you’re an Officer, but do you happen to have a call sign?”

“It’s more common to hear people calling me by it than my own name,” you shared, and she laughed. “It’s Hyde, a character from a gothic novel.”

“Oh, I believe I’ve read this book in high school.” She pressed her lips together and stared at you, like she was trying to put the pieces together. “Do you need some lime and salt for the shot?”

“No, not really.” Maybe not a smart idea since you’re driving, but that was the Hyde in you: nice face, good manners, but short tempered and always down to some trouble. “Thanks, Penny.”

You balanced your shot and the water in one hand, held the two beers in the other and moved carefully between the crowd to your friends. Back to the pool table, you watched Rooster send Nat’s last ball to the pocket.

“Oh no! And I thought you were each other's lucky charm,” you pointed out between her and Bob. You sat by her WSO’s side and passed him a water. “Or do you want a beer?”

“Water’s fine, thanks,” he offered you some nuts, and you gladly took a few.

“Here, a consolation prize for you.” You slid a beer for Nat as soon as she joined the table. You looked over her shoulder, seeing Bradshaw walking to the piano. “Is he always like that?”

You looked over your shoulder to Bradshaw. He carried a lot of resemblances to his parents — you could tell after hours looking through your parents’ photos, and seeing Goose and Carole in a few, with a kid Bradley closer. This was way before you were transferred to San Diego or decided to join the Navy.

You thought Bradshaw was just like you, until your father told you what happened to him. Father died after a failed ejection, his mom died of cancer, Maverick pulled his papers and set him back. You felt sorry about it, but if he was raised by Pete Mitchell after all of that, you were expecting to meet the younger version of the captain.

“Give him some time, Rooster is not much of a fan of changes,” she explained.

“As long as this doesn’t interfere with my job, I’m ok with not being friends with everyone.” You drank the tequila shot without making an ugly face, and quickly moved to your beer.

“Do you happen to know anything about our next mission?” Nat asked.

“I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark as you,” you shook your shoulders. “I know about the uranium mission though, which was pretty dangerous. I would’ve done a thing or two differently.”

“What exactly?”

“I mean, they could’ve timed the missiles to hit a few SAMs as you were leaving the valley, and make your way out of there smoother.” They were already flying a dangerous zone on less powerful planes, and exposed the hell of their jets, so not having at least a few bombs to help out was a little dumb.

“You’re kinda right,” Bob threw another nut inside his mouth. “Do you think they considered it?”

“Nah, I bet 20 bucks Admiral Simpson was looking for an opportunity to get rid of Maverick.” You took a sip of your beer.

“That’s cruel. But hey, if you have the chance to make our mission less dangerous, you have my approval.” Nat smiled.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Hey, have you always been part of Intelligence?”

You and Bob shared a look. “No, I joined the Navy after graduating from college. My parents are from the Navy, and they gave me the chance to choose. So education, then enlisting. My records say I graduated from Flight School because I completed the training successfully, but I got in an accident during the last week. Then, because of my college degree, they gave me a spot as part of the Intelligence, and I liked it there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for your accident. I bet you miss being in the sky sometimes.”

“Thanks, Nat. My dad is a flight instructor nowadays, and everytime we’re in the same base, he finds a way to let me fly for a few minutes.”

“So you’ve been keeping your flight skills in check? Why don’t you apply to Top Gun?” Bob inquired.

“I really don’t see myself doing what you guys do on a daily basis,” another sip, waiting for them to be convinced. You were way past that Top Gun chance now, anyway.

“A pretty thing like you fits better as a Top Gun pilot's wife,” Hangman came up to the table, a beer in hand.

“I rather crawl naked over hot tarmac than date an aviator, Bagman.” Maybe if the aviator wasn’t part of your team, but just maybe. “You guys are just trouble. Can’t keep your missiles in your pants, and flee as soon as possible.”

“You’re funny, Hyde,” he pointed his beer’s neck at you.

“Don’t let it fool you, Hangman, they don’t call her Hyde for nothing,” Bob warned him.

“Don’t have a lot of Jekyll going on, hun?”

“Oh god, you’re insufferable,” Nat exited the table as fast as she could.

“No wonder those girls left you hanging on the darts,” it was kinda undeniable that there was some tension in the air.

“If you’d excuse me, I think it’s the perfect time to call my girlfriend.” And Bobby was smart to take his cue to leave you two alone. He motioned to his phone, and you noticed the picture on the wallpaper: the WSO with his arms around a beautiful girl. But she didn’t look like anyone you’ve seen around at base so far.

“Needs babysitting, Bob?” Hangman teased.

“Should I remind you who fell for the feral koalas story, Seresin?” Bob biting back? That was a first for you.

You looked between the two men, intrigued.

“Go talk about pandas or whatever, Floyd.” Jake waved his hand.

“See you later, Hyde.” Bob walks to the external deck, phone in his ear.

“What did he mean with feral koalas?” You inquired.

“His lady is Australian, and one time she told us about how koalas got a disease and were attacking people, and she sounded very scared.”

“And you believed it?”

“I mean, there was a lady in distress!”

“Jeez, we should legally change your call sign to Himbo.”

“Him-what?”

You laughed and stared at Jake, “I’m dead serious about not dating aviators, tho.”

“Who said anything about dating?”

One thing led to another. Coyote left the bar with a girl on his side, Hangman was left without a ride. You offered to drive him there, since it was on your way home, but you were none the wiser after a tough week and a few tequila shots.

When the sun started to peak over the waves, you were far away from Jake’s bed and still very much sure of your promise. You were in San Diego with one goal and one goal only: earn that promotion. And nothing or anyone was stepping into your way.

a/n: hello aviators! first of all, thank you SO MUCH for the support on the first chapter. yes, i wrote what i wrote and i don't regret it (hyde hooking up with hangman, but it was mostly implied so don't worry, it's almost like it didn't happened haha). also even tho we know who the daggers are, hyde is still getting to know them, i couldn't pass on a hard deck introduction scene (top gun: maverick movie style!). well, let me know what you guys think about this chapter, don't forget to reblog, vote and comment! see ya soon!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Reference archived on our website (Follow this link to access more than 1,000 open-access studies on covid! DAILY UPDATES)

Vaccination does lower case counts in hospitals, but it also helps to fuel new variant's immune escape if not paired with preventative measures like masking and air filtration.

Abstract COVID-19 vaccine-induced protection declines over time. This waning of immunity has been described in modelling as a lower level of protection. This study incorporated fine-scale vaccine waning into modelling to predict the next surge of the Omicron variant of the SARS-CoV-2 virus. In Hong Kong, the Omicron subvariant BA.2 caused a significant epidemic wave between February and April 2022, which triggered high vaccination rates. About half a year later, a second outbreak, dominated by a combination of BA.2, BA.4 and BA.5 subvariants, began to spread. We developed mathematical equations to formulate continuous changes in vaccine boosting and waning based on empirical serological data. These equations were incorporated into a multi-strain discrete-time Susceptible-Exposed-Infectious-Removed model. The daily number of reported cases during the first Omicron outbreak, with daily vaccination rates, the population mobility index and daily average temperature, were used to train the model. The model successfully predicted the size and timing of the second surge and the variant replacement by BA.4/5. It estimated 655,893 cumulative reported cases from June 1, 2022 to 31 October 2022, which was only 2.69% fewer than the observed cumulative number of 674,008. The model projected that increased vaccine protection (by larger vaccine coverage or no vaccine waning) would reduce the size of the second surge of BA.2 infections substantially but would allow more subsequent BA.4/5 infections. Increased vaccine coverage or greater vaccine protection can reduce the infection rate during certain periods when the immune-escape variants co-circulate; however, new immune-escape variants spread more by out-competing the previous strain.

[jaybug-jabbers]

Gen 3 Beta Pokemon 'Dex - Page 3

Continuing the beta pokemon, previous post is here.

Name: Hipo [ヒポ]

My Notes: A pastel blue hippo that seems to have a baby bonnet-inspired frill on its head.

Name: Charmin [チャーミン]

My Notes: Some kind of baby pokemon. Might be a beta Happiny, just based on the egg and the pink coloration, as well as the frills on the side of the head. There are no evo notes or data though.

Name: Piper [ピッパー]

Type: Normal

Category: Lottery

Height/Weight: 1'4'', 17.6 lbs

Pokedex Entries:

It changes into different forms during evolution, but the cause of these transformations is unknown, attracting the attention of Pokémon researchers.

--

Its biology is mostly unknown. It doesn't seem to have a visible mouth or ears, but it reacts to sounds and light, which has been confirmed.

Additional Gamefreak Notes:

A Pokémon that evolves through transformation. When it evolves, it transforms into various different Pokémon.

Evolution: Supposedly able to randomly evolve into any pokemon

My Notes: Unlike Ditto which can transform temporarily into any pokemon, this guy would have been able to evolve into any pokemon pernamently. I imagine if they went through with this they probably would have put a few limits on it and prevented it from evolving into legendaries/mythicals, though. I also imagine Piper probably would not learn many moves before evolution, since anything it evolved into would also have access to those moves-- unless they were to make an exception for Piper and have it forget the moves of its previous incarnation.

Name: Snoun [スノウン]

My Notes: Apparently it's a snowman moth. Honestly a cute idea, though the sprite can use some refinement. We did eventually get Frosmoth of course, but this shows they were thinking of an icy moth for a long time.

Name: Panpamu [パンパム]

My Notes: A toy monkey with cymbals. By the way, if you google 'Jolly Chimp,' a vintage cymbal-banging monkey toy, be prepared for some very creepy photos. Anyway, this pokemon was probably based on it; the toy itself was based on organ grinders training monkeys to bang symbols.

Name: Bonbongo [ボンボンゴ]

My Notes: These two do not have index numbers next to each other, but it's still possible Panpamu would have evolved into Bonbongo here. Keep in mind, there is a vintage boxing monkey toy that was made in Japan.

Name: Shiomagune [シオマグネ]

My Notes: A crab with magnets for claws. The "hair" are magnetic metal filings. The use of magnetic filings as hair would later be seen in Probopass and in Sandy Shocks. We also have "hairy" crabs with Crabominable (based on the yeti crab) and Klawf. Despite all that, I wish we had this magnet crab, a Water/Electric crab (my speculation on typing) would have been cool. This is one of my favorites.

Name: Torchin [トーチン]

My Notes: A strange snake with four stubby legs and a tail on fire. HRP's notes say that this pokemon was reworked into Seviper. I don't see much in common with Seviper, other than the fact they are snakes. But until I gain access to the original files, I'll have to take their word for it.

Name: Ponku [ポンク]

Evolution: Evolves into Tanpu

Name: Tanpu [タンプ]

Evolution: Evolves from Ponku

My Notes: TCRF calls these vacuum cleaner pokemon. I . . . guess they are? They're pretty weird looking vacuums if that's what they are. Interestingly, this guy seems to have fins and looks fish-like.

Name: Paootsu [パオーツ]

Evolution: Evolves from Spinda

My Notes: We could have had a badass Spinda evolution! I'm sad.

Name: Suiba [スイバ]

My Notes: I can't figure out what they were going for here. At any rate it seems part Steel-type.

Name: Lighli [ライライ]

Type: Flying/Dragon

Category: White Dragon

Height/Weight: 11'10'', 385.8 lbs

Pokedex Entries:

Lives a nomadic life without a fixed home, attacking by wrapping its long body around opponents and striking with a sharp beak.

--

Its entire body is covered in white scales. When it flies through the sky, its scales scatter, creating a sparkling trail of light in the sky.

Additional Gamefreak Notes: A Pokémon that does not settle in one place. It has no sense of territory and lives a nomadic life. Its entire body is covered in thin, hard, white scales. When it flies, the scales scatter and sparkle. It wraps around the enemy's body, constricting them, and finishes by striking with its beak

Evolution: Evolved from Swablu

My Notes: Believe it or not this was beta Altaria. Altaria went on to be refined into a very different kind of birdlike dragon, and it's possible that elements of Lighli were then used for Rayquaza (a long, snakelike flying Dragon). In the sprite scratchpads, Lighli's design was updated to be closer to its concept art:

Name: Shaboo [シャボー]

My Notes: This thing terrifies me. That is all.

Name: Hakogame [ハコガメ]

My Notes: I feel like they were cooking with this one, they just needed to refine the idea some more. Possibly this guy was scrapped in favor of-- or changed into-- Torkoal.

[enniewritesathing]

memory management (time of death 3)

⏮️Previous || (📚Previous Stories) || Beginning ▶️

⚠️ The following update contains the following triggers: death, blood, gore, strangulation, needles, gun, violence.⚠️

Charles: "That's settled. Before we adjourn, are there any questions or anything else that needs to be addressed?"

(Bernard draws a loud, obnoxious yawn.) "Can we just go? We're done here; I can practically hear my bed calling my name!"

(Daniel remains silent. There's nothing for him to say at this point.)

Charles: "Jordan? Is there something on your mind?"

Jordan: "I'm not sure... but I feel something's off here. I know it's probably stupid to even bring it up."

(Charles decides to entertain Jordan. Out of all of his subordinates, Jordan's the most reasonable in their train of thoughts.) "Speak them."

Jordan: "I've recently gone over what little notes and data we have on werewolves -- excluding John, of course. I'm noticing something here."

Bernard: "For fuck's sake, Jordan. It's three in the morning!"

Daniel: "It won't kill you to listen to what they have to say for five minutes, Bernard."

(Bernard groans, "Yes, it will!" before yawning.)

Jordan: "Anyway, it's been said that when a werewolf dies in their turned form--"

"--they involuntarily shift back into their human form."

(Bernard stops yawning and looks at Jordan from the corner of his eye. Now that he thought about it, his skin still felt hot when he took that bracelet off. Where the hell are they going with this...?)

Charles: "What are you basing this on?"

Jordan: "The shift in question ranged between thirty seconds and forty-seven minutes. Even though we worked on John for two hours, he should have shifted back during that time. But that pertained to other types of lycan--"

(A realization creeps up their spine and Jordan freezes.) "Wait--John still has his color after all this time. When I moved his head, his eyes... tracked. That's not supposed to happen; he's dead. That can't happen--"

"--unless."

// Next ⏭️

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story V: Dr. Novikov

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [AO3]

Okay, I know I said Farah will be before this one, but I was feeling down this week and went "y'know what would make me feel better? Writing 3k words of what is basically glorified lore dump"

And it did make me feel a little better so here you go lol

His hurried footsteps echo in the empty hallway, papers almost falling out of his sweaty hands. It took countless days and nights to study the reports, countless more to decipher what they mean. Stanislav has never been more anxious for a meeting.

He has never been more excited.

Being assigned as head Spiritulogist of the SAS regiment was his greatest achievement, one he believed will be his biggest in his lifetime. These recent developments, however…

Stanislav refocuses on the door in front of him before his thoughts escape him once more. He pushes on the handle, entering the meeting room.

“Doctor Novikov, it is good to see you finally join us.”

Stanislav nods meekly at General Woods, “I apologize for being late, sir.” He drops the heavy stack of papers on the large table at the center of the room, adjusting the glasses on his nose bridge. A quick glance at his surroundings informs him that along with the General, several more high ranking officers were invited, along with CIA agent Kate Laswell, currently watching him from a video call.

The General lets out a breath, “no matter. I’m sure we’re all aware of the reason this meeting was called, but will you recap it for us, Doctor?”

“Of course.” Stanislav temps down an eager smile. He moves to the laptop controlling the projector, inserting his USB drive and opening four Revenant Personal Data Files.

“For those who are unfamiliar with my work, I am Doctor Stanislav Novikov, Spiritulogist consultant for the British Army, specialized in first class Reapers.”

He drags two of the files to the projector, “revenants of first class Reapers are of the rarest variety, and so my qualifications don’t apply to most currently serving in our ranks. It is for this reason I have been personally assigned to Taskforce 141.”

Stanislav motions to the first name on screen, “this is Sergeant John MacTavish, revenant of Destruction. As listed here, his abilities include explosion creation and immunity. Next is-”

“There’s another line here, redacted.” a man he’s unfamiliar with interjects, “why is that?”

Stanislav’s mouth clicks shut, before he continues. “Sergeant MacTavish’s Reaping has been redacted, and none of the people in this room have clearance to view that information.”

The man scoffs and shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “ridiculous…”

“Doctor, you may continue.” General Woods prompts.

He nods, moving the pointer to the other file, “this is Lieutenant Ghost, revenant of the Void. I am sure he needs no introductions, Limbo has been a subject of many of our previous meetings. That is not why we are here today.”

The files disappear from the screen, a set of mission reports replacing them, “a few weeks ago, I have received the reports from Taskforce’s 141 most recent mission, which will be referred to as the incident of Las Almas from here on.”

Agent Laswell shifts in her sit, leaning closer to the camera.

“I have read the reports. Initially, I believed them to be false, because what they described was, well… quite clearly impossible, according to all known Reaper laws.”

Stanislav couldn’t stop a small smile from pulling on his lips. That day, one that started like any other, ended up being one he’ll never forget. He didn’t sleep all night, reading the reports again and again, enough that he can still recite them from memory.

He clears his throat, motioning towards the first marked section, “according to Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost, following a situation where the Lieutenant was forced to use Limbo in MacTavish’s vicinity, their powers changed.”

Images of a revenant training field, from the Los Vaqueros base, cover the reports, “the photo in front of you was taken after the Lieutenant used Limbo for the first time after that ‘change’. Those black trails were pointing towards MacTavish, because, from Ghost’s brief explanation, the victims of Limbo were able to see the Sergeant.”

General Woods’ eyes narrow, “but that’s…”

“Impossible.” he confirms, “this, it appears, was only the beginning.”

Stanislav returns to the reports, “I unfortunately do not have clearance to know the exact details of the following events, but the Sergeant entered Limbo a second time. During that time, unlike the initial incident, MacTavish came into contact with the victims of Limbo. This…”

The projector switches to a photo of an arm, black marks wrapping around it. Fingerprints, MacTavish wrote. Stanislav had theories they were possibly markings of the Reaper of the Void, but seeing as the only revenant that belongs to it doesn’t have them, there is no possible way to confirm that.

“This was the result. Lieutenant Ghost is also recorded to have been ‘marked’, by white trails on his face. Additionally to those, the revenants’ powers were modified, with MacTavish’s fire changing colors to white in his left hand, and Ghost able to withstand fire in his right.”

He lets the weight of his words sink in. Major Clifford, a man responsible for a few, albeit of a lower class, revenant soldiers, asks, “so the two revenants swapped powers?”

“In layman’s terms… yes.”

The Major frowns, deep grooves etching into his skin. General Woods’ expression borders on stunned, but he motions for Stanislav to elaborate.

His hands start shaking unexpectedly, because what he’s about to say, what he’s about to voice for the first time since his discovery, practically discredits everything they ever knew about revenants and Reapers.

“The last change reported by the revenants during the Las Almas Incident, has occurred a few days before the report was sent to me. MacTavish and Ghost have claimed the Reaper of Destruction and the Reaper of the Void are no longer.” Stanislav adjusts his glasses again, nerves and adrenaline flowing freely through him, “their Reapers have merged, and have called themselves… Lumity.”

The room is quiet. For only a few moments.

“Merged?!” “That’s not- what about the other revenants of Destruction-?” “What the fuck did they do-?!”

“Gentlemen! I’m sure we have a lot of questions, but we will get no answers if we keep bickering among ourselves. Let the expert talk.” Laswell’s voice booms over the cacophony that erupted, silencing the bewildered men.

Stanislav nods in gratitude, “thank you, Miss Laswell. I understand the confusion, me and my colleagues have been working overtime trying to decipher this.”

“And? What have you found?”

“Not much.” he doesn’t pay mind to the displeased faces around him, “as you’ve said before, General Woods, these events seem to be impossible. Revenants’ powers do not change, Reapers do not change, and most certainly not to the extent described by the Sergeant and Lieutenant.”

“Do you know what could’ve caused this?” Laswell inquires.

Stanislav shakes his head jerkily, “I’ve investigated previous Reaper-revenant interactions, as well as our known models of Reaper Hierarchies, which are in simpler words Reaper-Reaper relationships, and not once, in any observation we have recorded as humans, have revenants been able to influence Reapers.”

Reaper-revenant relationships are often told to be ones of pawns and kings, though in Stanislav’s humble opinion, even that comparison doesn’t encapsulate the depth of those interactions. Humans, and revenants to a lesser extent, are nothing but ants for entities of an interdimensional scale. Since the founding of the Spiritulogy field, basic rules have been established.

Revenants cannot affect Reapers. Reapers are far, far more powerful than can be perceived by the human mind.

Reapers are eternal. They do not die, and it is extremely unlikely the human race have, or will, witness the birthing of a new Reaper in the time of their existence.

That last point has been debated, since the emergence of the revenant of the Void, but most experts, Stanislav included, believe Void was birthed (or the equivalent process of coming into existence for Reapers) millions of earth years ago.

So how come an ant raised and affected its master?

Stanislav’s eyes meet Miss Laswell’s, “do you understand the magnitude of this incident? This changes everything we know about revenants and Reapers.”

General Woods sighs, and removes his cap to scrub at his hair, “what this is, is a goddamn shitshow… what do you suggest we do with them, Doctor?”

“If it were in my hands, I would’ve chosen to examine them more closely, attempt to recreate the conditions that triggered these changes in the first place. If, perhaps, this new type of revenant-”

“What do you mean, new type of revenant?” the Major exclaims.

“Well,” he turns to face Major Clifford, “even calling them revenants would be technically wrong. Revenants are defined as being humans who, after dying, have met the entities we call Reapers, and are irreversibly altered by those Reapers, often gaining powers and markings that stay consistent through their entire life, until a few moments before their Final Death, where their Reaper will retract the ‘deal’ that granted them those powers. In reality, the Sergeant and Lieutenant are now a completely separate entity compared to a typical revenant-”

“Doctor Novikov, while I’m sure we all find this very interesting, I’d like you to stay on topic, please.”

“Ah- of course, my apologies, General.” Stanislav lets out a small, nervous laugh, “I understand you are not operating with a scientific standpoint in mind. From a… tactical standpoint, I recommend separating the two revenants until my associates and I can determine whether this new relationship is stable. Preventing more changes is the key here.”

“What do you need to be able to determine that?” Miss Laswell asks.

“I’d like to redo their revenant tests. We do not have methods to deal with these sorts of incidents, so I will treat them as newly Reaped.” They will need to rewrite their files, log the new Reaper into the system, along with the markings and powers that are attributed to it… tedious, but necessary processes. More than ever, Stanislav needs them, if only to cling onto a false sense of control.

The revenant tests are, in all cases but this one, a series of challenges of increasing difficulty, meant to find the limit of one's powers as soon as they recover from their Reaping. The majority of common, third class Reapers have standardized tests, but within Stanislav’s field he has had to build custom tests more than once.

Tests like these allowed revenants like Captain Price to discover the dependencies of his abilities on emotional connections, allowed Spiritulogists to record abilities with greater accuracy than ever before.

He’s been barred from examining a revenant only once - and it was none other than Sergeant MacTavish. As his file states, his powers are simply too dangerous to test. Stanislav may be only a scientist, but he’s been under military rules long enough to know when red tape starts entering his field of work. It frustrated him to no end when he was younger, but he has come to accept it.

“We will arrange for you and your team to be transported to the 141’s current base, Doctor. Do you need anything else?” General Woods asks.

Stanislav considers it for a moment, “I’d like access to the Verdansk Incident.”

Woods’ brows shoot up, “Doctor, you know I can’t grant you that.”

Stanislav sighs, turning around to pace around the room. “I understand the SAS’s needs to keep certain events classified, but if you want me to decipher the meaning of Lumity, I must have the full picture, of both revenants.”

Everyone in this room knows what makes Ghost exceptional among revenants, but the Sergeant is (or… was) a typical revenant of Destruction, albeit uniquely strong, on the surface.

“I can theorize for weeks how Lumity came to be, General, but if I don’t have the entire timeline of one half of it, those theories will stay just that-”

General Woods shakes his head, “we have regulations, if this incident falls into wrong hands, especially now-”

“I don’t need to know anything beyond the information pertaining to MacTavish’s Reaping, sir-”

“Doctor Novikov, that’s enough!” the General slams a fist onto the table, “you will not be granted access to the Verdansk Incident, and that is final!”

Stanislav exhales slowly, gaze glued to the General’s furious eyes, “...yes sir.”

Miss Laswell clears her throat, easing the tension in the room, “shall we move onto the second topic of this meeting, General?”

Woods blinks, leaning back in his chair, “yes.” He drags out a folder, and throws it on the large table. It slides a little, landing in front of Stanislav’s curious eyes. “What can you tell us about the Revenant of Fate, Doctor?”

His eyes flit between the General and the folder, hands hesitating as he flips it open. The face that greets him is not unfamiliar, Stanislav wrote this file himself after all.

“All I know about Vladimir Makarov is in this folder, sir.” he stares at the censored sections with distaste, “his Reaper is almost as mysterious as Void, it didn’t Reap revenants for over five hundred years before Makarov.” the mental image of the Reaper hierarchy model floats in his mind. “It didn’t need to - as what we categorize as the Reaper above all Reapers, the apex predator.”

“Does Fate have any relation to Void and Destruction?” Miss Laswell asks, expression serious.

“Yes and no.” Stanislav mentally tracks down the list, models Spiritulogists have worked over for decades, “Destruction belonged to a group of Reapers who we know to be older than the most. Those Reapers often work outside the hierarchy, as they were conceived before Fate enforced it. Void, on the other hand, as the newest Reaper to interact with humanity, has yet to prove its capabilities and be placed in the hierarchy. According to Ghost, it adhered to Fate regardless.”

None of this matters anymore, of course, as Destruction and Void have ceased to exist.

Major Clifford snorts, and rolls his eyes condescendingly, “what do we care which Reaper listens to which? I respect your research, Novikov, don’t get me wrong, but we requested intel on the revenant.”

Stanislav frowns. How can a Major be so ignorant of Reaper-revenant relationships? “I… I assume you are aware that Reapers are able to communicate with their revenants, correct?”

“Yes.” the Major huffs, a smirk on his lips.

“Then I believe you are able to deduce that a Reaper aligned with Fate could, hypothetically, command its revenant to submit to the revenant of Fate, regardless of their affiliation as humans?”

The smile falls from the Major’s face, “...are you implying our revenants, in the SAS, will betray their country for- for a bloody Reaper??”

“No.” Stanislav narrows his eyes, “I am telling you, sir, that Reapers do not care for human borders, they do not care for our conflicts, only their own. I am not warning you of deserters, I am warning you of interdimensional beings with the power to bring people back from the dead and grant them powers that biologically should be impossible for humans to have. Beings that are potentially on the cusp of conflict, that will drag revenants into it with no regard to their wants.”

Stanislav steps closer, hands gesturing to emphasise the weight of his words, “me and you, Major, as humans, will never be able to fully understand why Reapers do what they do. But this is what Spiritulogy is about - understanding what is beyond comprehension. And I do not like to brag, but as the head Spiritulogist of the SAS, and a man with almost three decades of experience in the field, I want to believe I have a better grasp of what certain signs mean.”

He stands in front of the Major, breath short and heavy, not with anger, but with a mixture of terror and delight, “Lumity is a sign of a change in Reaper-revenant interactions. No longer is this relationship a one-way street.”

Stanislav leans in, watching as finally, the Major understands what they’re facing, “none of us know how the Reapers will react to this. Their reaction can range from a slap on the wrist of Lumity, to the annihilation of the human race.”

“T-they-” the Major swallows nervously, “they wouldn’t just- destroy us like that… They don’t have the right-”

“Major, we both know this as humans” Stanislav straightens his back, readjusting his large, round glasses, “with enough power, rights do not matter.”

Revenants and humanity, out of innate, animalistic terror, have always followed Reapers’ commands. None has ever been strong enough to stand up and disobey.

The same can be said for Reapers, and Fate. Countless times, Stanislav has received reports of fearful revenants, telling him of terrible events foreseen by their Reapers. Reapers know when and how each of them will die. They can try and delay it, take one of the few other paths presented before them. You cannot surprise an entity with that kind of sense.

Both of these statements are false, now.

“T-thank you for your time, Doctor Novikov.” General Woods says shakily, “we will be in contact in the future. For now, you are all dismissed.”

While the rest of the men filtered out of the room, Stanislav collected his papers and files, deep in thought. A voice behind him brought him back to the present.

“Doctor Novikov.” Miss Laswell called, the room empty beside himself, “I’d like to have a word, if you have time.”

Stanislav taps the edges of the papers to line them up, and drops the neat stack beside him, “of course, what can I do for you, Miss Laswell?”

The CIA agent gives him a nod, “I believe we can do something for each other.”

He tilts his head inquisitively, and to his surprise, Laswell begins speaking in Russian, “you said you would need access to the Verdansk Incident to solidify your theories on the new Reaper, correct?”

Stanislav blinks rapidly, responding in his mother tongue as well, “ah, yes, but the General said…” his voice fades at Laswell’s expression.

“My work with the 141 often lands us outside the boundaries of red tape, Doctor. This current situation is no different, in my eyes.”

“You…”

“I have an offer.” Stanislav can hear Laswell’s keyboard clicking, “all I need is your word, that this will not leave the room.”

Stanislav feels a smile slowly spread on his lips. He may have accepted red tape as part of his job, but he would be a fool to miss an opportunity to cross it.

His research is more important than a few regulations. For the fate of humanity, of revenant kind.

“You have my promise, Miss Laswell.”

[mbakuetshurisprincess]

The Only Logical Thing to Do

AN: Hey y’all! This is the scandal based fic I teased in this post. This ended up actually being wayyyyy longer than I expected like offically takes the crown as the longest fic I’ve ever written so go me lol. This part I just wanted to establish a few things yk start us out slow before we get into the real scandlous events of this story. Next part will be the developing countries ball, so stay tuned. Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: Sometimes the US Constitution applies to your love life. Separation of Church and State was a good thing, right?

Pairing: Shuri x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, political talk, idk

Word count: 4,707

Suggested listening: Love and Happiness - Al Green

“Love and happiness, yeah  Something that can make you do wrong  Make you do right  Yeah, hmm  Love...  Love and happiness”

You poured over your notes for the fifth time after your press conference, looking for something that indicated the mistake had been on your part. This was your third year working for the Kane Presidency. You were originally on the President's campaign staff as a Public Opinion Specialist and upon his election, you were employed as a Data and Intel Specialist.

 Your job title was vague on purpose, it was hard to explain to the American people what exactly you did. In simplest terms, you were a girl who knew things. You read situations well and were able to predict how events were going to play out with killer accuracy. It also helped that you happened to know more ways than one to dig up dirt. This gave you access to the inner circle of the White House, becoming an integral part of everyday function with an opinion valued by the president only second to his chief of staff. 

For the past week however you had been filling a different role, one of the press secretaries. When the previous one came down with pneumonia last minute the president turned to you to fill the role. And reluctantly you did. You put on your most respectable suit, straightened your hair, and wore your highest heels; ensuring you were digestible enough for the American people. Despite not enjoying being in the public eye, you did the work well and maintained order. 

This is why when you were caught off guard by a question today, even one as nonmemorable as this; you were concerned. You replayed the moment in your head as you continued digging in your notes. 

“I’ll take one more question before I go.” You spoke from behind the podium, you had been up there for the past forty-five minutes and the questions you started getting were beginning to dwindle in relevancy. 

Hands shot up from reporters everywhere and your name was being called from all directions. You looked out into the crowd and nodded at one, Ashley Richardson. She cleared her throat before standing and speaking. 

“France’s president has reaffirmed their statement that the attacks on Wakanda’s outreach centers, where vibranium is held, were not perpetrated by them. However, he has commented and said that the country will continue its legal efforts to gain vibranium. Doubling down and saying that the US has pledged its support of France in these efforts. Are these comments true, does President Kane support France in these endeavors?” 

As her words registered in your head, you racked your brain to remember if in any of your briefings you had heard any news of this. Nope. Not a word about France or vibranium as far as you knew. This left you with two options, be on the offensive or be on the defensive. Her words caught you off guard but this is what you’d been trained for, you allowed yourself just enough time to blink to be internally baffled before turning back on your personality. 

“France is an ally of the United States, as is Wakanda. The President is committed to maintaining a peaceful relationship between the two countries.” You spoke as if your words were fact despite not knowing a thing about what she was talking about. “That’s all for today, thank you.” 

The sound of your work phone buzzing pulled you out of your trance, you flipped it over and read the caller ID. 

Unknown Caller 

The anonymity of the call didn’t surprise you, this was DC, after all, people weren’t too keen on sharing information. 

“You have two minutes before I hang up the phone, go.” You spoke coolly, you didn’t have time to waste time on your phone, especially not today. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls.” 

You threw your head back and let out a sigh, who else would be calling you? 

“I have told you a thousand times. You cannot call my work phone.” That was all you said before hanging up on the person. You reached into the back of your desk drawer and pulled out your kimoyo beads. As you got them on your wrist you scrolled through your contacts and pressed Shuri’s name. The call rang for a few seconds before Shuri picked up, her holographic body appearing in front of you. 

“Hanging up on the Queen of a nation is an interesting move on the part of the White House I must admit,” Shuri spoke with a smirk. 

You didn’t even give her the satisfaction of looking up from your notes that were spread in front of you. “Shuri, I do not have time for your games today.” 

She rolled her eyes at your words, unsatisfied with the amount of attention you were giving her. She watched you flip through your notes a few times before curiosity got the best of her and she spoke. “What are you doing?” 

Strands of your hair fell in front of your face and you tucked them behind your ear as you shook your head and laughed slightly. “My job, I’m doing my job right now. As one tends to do when they’re at their place of work. Shouldn’t you be doing the same?” 

Shuri took that as a cue to continue with what she had called you about. “Ahh yes your job right, I forgot. The same job that made you lie to me?” 

That caught your attention, momentarily bringing your focus away from your notes. “Shuri, what are you talking about?” You looked up, meeting her eyes.  

“When I called you last week and asked you if your country,” She emphasized the ‘your’ “was going to continue their support of France, knowing they’re the ones carrying out attacks on our outreach centers. You told me no.” 

You pushed your eyes back down to the papers in front of you, of course, this is what Shuri wanted to discuss. It seemed you couldn’t escape the conversation surrounding Wakanda and France. 

“That is not what I said.” 

“Really? Because that’s what I took from our conversation. And then imagine my surprise when I’m made aware that my Y/N is on American television saying the opposite!” She spoke the last part almost comically but you could hear the twinge of irritation in her voice. 

You rolled your eyes and placed your palms flat on your desk, attempting to calm yourself down. You were already stressed about this topic and her berating isn’t what you needed right now. 

“The relationship between France and the United States is one with a long history of mutual support dating back to the formation of the United States-” 

“Oh don’t give me that Y/N!” Shuri threw her hands up in protest. “Don’t give me your politically correct answer!” 

“Then don’t twist my words!” You raised your voice and mimicked her by throwing your hands up. You quickly remembered you were at work, and while yelling was commonplace in the White House, you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself while you were communicating with Shuri. Something you weren't supposed to be doing.

 “I told you last week I didn't know and that’s the truth, nothing about it has come up in my notes.” 

“But today you said-” 

You put your hand up to stop Shuri from finishing. “Church and state.” That was all you had to say and Shuri knew to stop speaking. 

A year and a half ago when you two first started the entanglement you find yourself in, the number one problem between you two was work. One of you would pry information from the other one and you two would stay up all night bickering over policy. It got to the point where you spent the very little time you two had together due to busy schedules arguing over work. Thus the Church and State policy was created. 

You two joked that it was weird that you were applying the constitution to your relationship, but it was clear it was needed. The words were intended to be a reminder to keep your personal life and work life separate. Whenever someone said it the current conversation had to be dropped, no questions asked. 

Shuri took a deep breath and nodded knowing the rule had been created for the betterment of your relationship. You returned your eyes to the notes in front of you, desperate to find your mistake. Shuri watched you, sensing something was off but not being able to put her finger on it. It only took a few moments before it dawned on her. 

“You didn’t know, did you?” 

“Gonna need a little bit more clarification than that.” You said flipping over the page that currently had your attention. 

“About Wakanda and France, you didn’t know.” Shuri continued to speak confidently, sitting up further in her chair. “When I was shown the video of your press conference today I thought when the reporter asked the question you paused. I swore to Bast that you did but Okoye said I was crazy. I told her that I saw your tell but she couldn’t see it. You really had no idea about any of this.” 

You put your head in your hands and let out a groan. You hated how Shuri was able to read you so well. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Shuri once again nodded, sure in her realization that you didn’t know anything by your response. She debated hanging up and letting you continue looking at whatever had your attention but she didn’t want to end the conversation like that. The time you two had to speak was often brief, ruling a country didn’t yield much free time and your White House work always kept you busy. She wanted to at least leave you with something positive. 

Shuri watched you for a little bit longer, as you sat with your head in your hands. Deciding now was the perfect time to reveal her surprise. “I will be in your country tomorrow.”

You picked your head up out of your hands swiftly. “What did you just say?” 

“I will be in your country tomorrow,” Shuri repeated cooly as if you and her being on the same side of the world let alone in the same country was normal. 

You moved the papers that were in front of you away revealing your desk calendar, hoping you weren't too busy. You found today's date and then moved over to tomorrow where a big red X lay. That was an indicator that told you your whole day was blocked out, not free until the early hours of the next morning. You sighed knowing your chances of seeing her were slim anyway, even if you weren't busy, you had no idea what she was doing in the States.“What are you doing over here tomorrow?” 

“Good question, I should clarify when I say your country I do mean DC. I’ll be in town for the Developing Countries Ball that your boy is hosting.”

You grimaced at her nickname for the President but quickly snapped out of it. Your hands went to open your laptop and you found the file named DCB, containing all of the information about tomorrow's event.

 “I knew something was off.” You muttered to yourself checking the guest list once again. “Wakanda didn’t RSVP Shuri. We don’t have you listed as coming.” Maybe it had slipped her mind but you remembered having to break it to the President that Wakanda wouldn’t be coming. And the guest list in front of you supported it. 

Shuri just smiled her million-dollar smile at you. “Oh, I know we didn’t.” 

You blinked twice at her, willing yourself to believe what she was implying wasn’t true.

 “So you plan to just show up and what? There'll be no table, no planned greeting, it’ll be a mess!” You rambled on and Shuri sat quietly listening to you. Her silence was unnerving, so you thought about what you were saying. 

“There’ll be no table.” 

“There’ll be no table. Shuri repeated with a chuckle. 

Your eyes bore holes into Shuri’s holographic body as realization further sank in. “It’ll be a mess.” 

“Yeah won’t look too good, will it? Not being prepared in his own backyard, I don't think voters will like that so much.” 

You let out yet another groan and threw your head back against the plush office chair behind you. “You know when you do this you only make my job harder right? It only makes me have to work double time to cover his ass.” 

Shuri sat back in her chair, interlacing her fingers behind her head. “So don’t.” 

You rolled your eyes and spoke. “You forget I have a job, Shuri? The thing that pays my bills, makes sure I can eat and sleep comfortably at night. The job that practically says “cover the president's ass'' in its description.” 

“You don’t have to work for him and you know that. There's a job here for you whenever you want it.” The words flowed out of her mouth with immeasurable self-assuredness. This was a point she was familiar with making, insisting that the Kane Presidency, rather the United States, wasn't good enough for you. 

Asserting that your skills could be used for more than covering up the sins of politicians.  “And even if you didn’t want to work, I could always use a Queen to rule with.” 

“Making me a Queen before even making me your girlfriend, bold I must admit.” You retorted back quickly, immediately regretting it. You knew Shuri hated when you brought up the conversation surrounding your relationship, especially because there had always been an unspoken rule between the two of you. Titles weren’t needed, what was just what was. Simple as that.

“Y/N-” Shuri sat up out of her relaxed position as she tried to defend herself but the sound of the alarm on your phone stopped her. 

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath, stopping the alarm. “I have my roundtable in five and I haven’t prepped my report yet.” You pulled another file up on your computer and began typing quickly. 

Shuri knew that meant her time with you was over for now. As much as she wanted to continue the conversation she respected your dedication to the job. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay sthandwa? Maybe I can come over since I’ll only be in town for a day and a half?.” 

You nodded, if you had been paying attention to what Shuri was saying you would have stopped her idea right then and there but your laptop had too much of your attention. But, “Mhm we can talk about it later.” was all you could say. 

Shuri took one last look at you before hanging up the phone, knowing you didn’t mean to be short, you were just clearly a little stressed. 

Your roundtable went well despite your lack of preparedness. Nobody spoke about the press conference from earlier and Wakanda nor France was even mentioned. Most of the evening was dedicated to talks of trade negotiations with Qatar and the developing countries ball. 

“One last thing while we’re still on the topic of the ball Mr.President?” You spoke up as the meeting was coming to a close. 

Despite the president's insistence that you call him by his first name, Jackson, you never could bring yourself to it. You liked to maintain a certain distance in your closeness with him, he was your boss after all. 

 You looked at him as he sat at The Resolute Desk, the same place every president had sat dating back to 1879, him only the second black man to sit there. He wore a black suit with a navy tie that complimented his skin tone well, with his American flag pin on his left side. He looked presidential, just as you had helped design him to be.

“You know it’s never just one last thing with Y/N.” The President said with a smile earning a laugh from the others in the Oval Office.   

“Just doing what you pay me for.” You said back with a smile and a nod.

“Always appreciated Y/N. Please let’s hear what you have to say.”

You looked around the room, generally, your opinion was trusted without question but this one was going to be a bit of a hard sell and you knew it. “We’re going to need one more table for tomorrow.” 

“And why would that be?” The president had a confused look on his face. “I thought we already finalized the guest list, who did we forget?” 

“I have reason to believe Wakanda will be in attendance tomorrow.” You said confidently. 

The president's chief of staff, Michael was the first to speak “Wakanda…Wakanda…Wakanda.” He said as he flipped through his notes. “No Wakanda is not coming, not only is Wakanda not coming they’re giving us a middle finger by not responding.” 

The president turned his attention back to you, awaiting your response. You could feel the pressure in the room as everyone else wondered where your claim was coming from. 

“Based on the intel I’ve gathered I have reason to believe that Wakanda plans to attend tomorrow. Queen Shuri and a few Dora Milaje members if I had to guess.” 

The president took a deep breath in. “Well your intel hasn’t failed us yet Y/N, no reason to believe it will now. Michael, talk to the events coordinator, and let’s set up a table with, what do you say, 8 chairs Y/N?” 

You nodded in response as you started packing your things up, not as bad as you thought it was going to be. 

“Yeah, let’s get a table with eight chairs set up for Wakanda.” He looked around the room. “Well everyone I see no need to hold you all here too late given what we’ve got in store for tomorrow. Everyone go home, I don’t want to see any of you in your office after an hour!” 

The people in the room all laughed at the president's comment, you were happy knowing you could take your work and finish it at home. Everyone slowly filed out of the room and you were one of the last, bidding your farewell to those still there as you left. You made it out of the oval and down the hallway that led to your office before you felt someone walking beside you. 

“You ever gonna tell me how you do it 007?” The voice asked, you looked up and were met with Michael’s face. He was older than you and had been in the political sphere for longer but there was mutual respect shared between the two of you. It had even developed into a friendly rivalry. 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me 007?” You laughed before turning your face serious. “At least not in public.” 

You both paused walking and stared at each other sternly for a few seconds before cracking up in a fit of laughter. 

“I’m serious Y/N how do you do it!” Michael exclaimed when you reached the door to your office. He stood there as you unlocked it and walked in behind you once it was open. 

“If I gave you all my secrets Michael, I wouldn’t have a job would I?” You walked around to your desk and kicked off your heels, happy to be done with them for the day. 

Michael plopped down in one of the chairs opposite your desk. “Just tell me this once how you do it 007, tell me one thing and I won’t ask again!” 

Sliding the comfortable slippers on your feet you spoke. “Nobody really wants to know how the sausage is made. Just be happy I saved your ass hmm?” 

The older man rolled his eyes at your words, watching as you packed your bag up with the things you would need to work from home. “Oh, you’re actually listening to him and going home? Didn’t expect that from you, I must admit.” 

You look up from your bag. “You’re not?” 

Michael shook his head as he rose from the chair. “I live here Y/N, you know this. Someone has to be here to ensure liberty is protected and our nation is secure, blah blah blah.” By the time he had finished, he had made it to the door of your office. 

“Have a good night Michael.” You said with a chuckle, he always did have a certain determination about work that you appreciated. While you let your work dictate your life, work was his entire life. 

He put his hand up to wave goodbye and walked out of your office before turning around and poking just his head back in. “I’m gonna figure you out, I will figure out how you know these things.” 

You cocked your eyebrows at him and smiled. “Figure me out or die trying, that’s the saying right?” 

 He returned your smile and turned back around. “Night night 007.” 

You finished packing your bags and made your way out of the White House, making sure to say goodbye to Morris as you walked out of the front gates. You made your way to your car and drove the 15 minutes it took to get back to your place. 

Pulling into your garage you made a mental note to call your gardener and have them do a refresh of your small front yard, your flowers were starting to wilt. You entered your house through the garage door and kicked off your work slippers and put on your house shoes. Setting your bag down on the couch you made your way into the kitchen, stomach hungry for something to eat. 

You browsed through your fridge, there was food you could cook but that was going to require something you were running low on at the moment, energy. Moving over to your cabinet the bag of popcorn caught your eye, you had promised Shuri you would stop just eating wine and popcorn as meals but desperate times called for desperate measures. You pulled the popcorn and a bottle of red wine along with a cup down from various cabinets and laid them out on the counter, ready for you when you came back. 

You made it into your bedroom where you stripped and took a long hot shower. Allowing the steam to rinse away the stress from today. After getting out you moisturized with the shea butter Shuri had bought you and dressed in a pair of shorts and one of her sweatshirts. The smell had started to fade from this one and it made you sad to know that meant the last time you saw her was further and further away. 

You grabbed your water bottle from your nightstand and made your way back to the kitchen. As you waited for the popcorn to finish in the microwave you popped the cork on the wine bottle and poured a hefty glass for yourself. You savored the full-bodied taste of the red wine, the one you had chosen was one of your favorites, first introduced to you by your mother. 

The popcorn finished and you held the bag in one hand with the bottle of wine tucked into the crook of your arm and your glass in the other hand. You walked into your living room and sat everything in your hands on the coffee table in front of you before reaching into your bag and pulling out your laptop, kimoyo beads, and both your personal and work phone. 

Opening your laptop you threw back a couple of pieces of popcorn and got to work. While the developing countries' ball was at the forefront of most upper cabinet members' minds, you had moved past it. Knowing that Michael and the events coordinators would take care of the table and greeting, your job concerning that was now done. Now you were focused on your next big project, re-election. 

You tapped through a few files that served as decoys and entered the passcode that let you into what you were looking for. The file that held every ounce of dirt you and the US government could find on the presidential rival candidates. You reached for your glass and took a sip of wine, holding the glass in your hand as you picked up where you left off, digging through one candidate's fiscal records. That were obtained 100% legally…maybe.  

“Donated to pro-life fundraiser, not very left wing of you.” You said to yourself adding that new information into the file, sometimes it was too easy. 

Something buzzed next to you and you looked down to see a call from Shuri on your kimoyo beads. You slid them on your wrist and picked up, now that you were more calm seeing her call felt more like a relief than a stressor. 

“Hello, my love.” You said sweetly smiling at her as her holographic body popped up from your wrist. You could tell she was in her lab by the background, more specifically in her corner station. She had a turtleneck underneath her lab coat and you could see her black slacks just peeking into the frame. 

“Oh, now I am my love?” Shuri asked with a chuckle, she knew your attitude earlier wasn’t intentional but she enjoyed messing with you about it anyway. 

“I’m sorry, earlier I was just stressed with work, you know how I get.” You said apologetically. 

“I am just teasing you sthandwa, I know you didn’t mean to be rude.” Shuri smiled at you and you returned one to her before grabbing a handful of popcorn and munching on it. 

“Are you eating popcorn?” She asked as she watched you throw another handful back. 

“Mayh-be.” You responded hesitantly through a mouth of popcorn. 

“And I see that wine glass in the corner, Y/N we talked about this!” Shuri exclaimed. “Real food, you promised you would eat real food.” 

You finished chewing before speaking. “This is real food!” You held up the bag of popcorn. “Popcorn is just corn, that's a vegetable.” You put the popcorn down and picked up the glass of wine. “And wine is just grapes, that's a fruit.” You accentuated your point by taking a sip of wine. 

“HA!” Shuri let out a hearty laugh. “That’s wrong and you know it.” 

“My points would hold up in a court of law.” You said matter of factly letting a smile crack on your face. Moments like these you loved, when the both of you were just being you, making each other smile. 

“Bull shi-” Shuri went to cry out but the sound of ringing from your end stopped her. You recognized the sound of the ringing and knew it meant someone was calling your personal phone. Not many people had your personal number anymore and you didn’t use the phone for much of anything these days. Normally you would have immediately checked who it was but you didn’t move your eyes from Shuri. 

“Aren't you going to get that?” She asked. 

You shook your head no and reached down to silence your phone without looking at who was calling. “Whoever it is can wait, I’m talking to a pretty girl right now.” 

Shuri smiled again and began speaking. “Anyway so I was thinking since I’ll be in town tomorrow, maybe I could come ove-” 

The sound of your phone ringing once again cut her off. 

“Mrs.popular today aren't we,” Shuri said smartly. “You should get that, it must be important if they're calling you twice.” 

“Shuri-” You wanted to stop her but before you could she said “We’ll talk later Y/N.” and ended the call. Your phone next to you had stopped ringing and you let out a groan. Shuri being irritated with you right before she came into town was the last thing you wanted. 

Your phone beside you rang for the third time and it confirmed your suspicions. Aside from Shuri, there was only one person in your life who felt entitled enough over you to blow up your phone. You took a deep breath and flipped it over before picking it up. 

“Hello, mother.” 

Tag List: @starkdemigodninja @trixielwt @verachii @melodykisses @rxcently @iwillbiteabitch @louderfortheback @bananafishok @atssukoo

[n4tural1]

AI: my thoughts

Imagine a world where your dream job is certain to be rendered obsolete by a machine, now open your eyes and see the same image. I am an artist in our current age. My line of work is likely to be replaced by two quick lines of writing into an AI. Will I have to pursue a line of work I harbour no passion for due to the certainty of my likeness being stolen? An unfortunate amount of people hear anyone talking about these issues and disregard them, thinking “Oh no! Another nihilistic luddite screaming about the end of the world”, but I’m here to show you why these seemingly nihilistic claims have actual basis. AI, while promising, poses a threat to all who desire to join the workforce. Whether it’s the plagiarism that takes place in training an AI, the doors it opens for tech giants and other multimillion dollar companies to replace all workers with machines or even the fact that it steals from artists just to replace them, AI is a bigger issue than anyone could’ve ever imagined.

The main ethical quandary with generative AI is the fashion in how it learns. Machine learning, for the uneducated, works by archiving provided media into its vast data banks, in which it then uses to generate a “new” piece of media by stitching together anything similar. This, in a vacuum, isn’t inherently bad, however, its possibilities are. Closed source AI’s currently on the market have been fed copious amounts of media from copyrighted and privately owned sources with neither permission nor financial compensation. I would bet that at least half of you in this room are thinking “oh that’s not good! These AI’s should be sued!”, but that’s the thing, they can’t be. It is currently impossible to prove any specific piece of work has been used to train a generative AI, and it is too impossible to state any piece of work produced by one is copyrighted, as it steals from so many different sources, the origins obscure each other. This isn’t just image generating AI’s either, chatGPT and Gemini are text based generative AI that have both been proven to not only regurgitate copyrighted work; such as Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, but completely make up fake historical events due to such! Most terrifyingly, voice replicating AIs such as Voice.AI and elevenlabs and deepfake AIs such Synthesia and TopApps not only pose a threat to the entire entertainment industry, but to the reliability and reputation of all digital footage. This potential replacement of all white collar work with no chance of enacting any legal repercussions leaves AI manufacturers and consumers to perpetrate this plagiarism and leaves little room for human-made work that genuinely contains soul.

“The rich get richer”. It’s a saying parodying the quote “You need money to make money”, which is quite relevant when talking about the ethical concerns behind AI. The media giants and other mega-corporations everyone gets mad at are only going to be fueled by the introduction of AI, the only reason they haven’t taken the leap is because of the public perception of AI and the writer’s strike that happened in protest of it! Casual use of AI, for personal use or purely for a joke between friends is an endorsement of AI use in general, and therefore the use of copyrighted imagery and replacement of workers by these corporations. Until some actual policies regarding the use of artificial intelligence in corporate context come into play, any use of AI, wholesome or not, endorses the self-destructive abstraction of one’s own job. I had a similar conversation with a previous friend, and here is an argument they had to say: “all productivity improvements take some jobs but if there were no productivity improvements ever there would be the same amount of jobs but everyone would be poor”. This is a poor argument due to the fact that every time a new innovation such as this has threatened jobs, there have always been union labour laws put in place to prevent such issues. However, with the speed at which AI is being developed, legislation has been struggling to keep up with the necessary interventions due to its lack of priority in all political contexts.

As previously stated, I am an artist, a voice actor specifically. My job is being actively replaced by AI, by ripping the voices out of people's throats. Disregarding the security issues especially in politics for now, any person with enough footage of someone and a powerful enough AI model can steal someone’s voice just to use it for free. It is evident that this poses a COLOSSAL threat to the entertainment industry. And not just voices! Any artist can be completely replaced by their own artwork! This is disgusting. Semi-personal anecdote here, but I heard a story, from a fellow voice actor, where they did an over-the-phone audition. I heard a story where this “over-the-phone audition” was an elaborate scam used to train an AI off of their voice, rendering them completely obsolete because they were betrayed by their own voice. This isn’t just an exaggerated story thought up for some irrelevant emphasis, this is a genuine threat that exists right now. Artists might have to stop sharing their passions in fear that by sharing them, the AI conglomerates will devour their work and spit it back out, soulless and deformed, but cheap and fast. What makes art compelling? What is art if not created by an artist? If art reflects a person's life and experience, what is “art” created by a machine? It’s nothing, it’s absolutely nothing.

So what is there to do about it? I’ll tell you, protest! Go on strike! That’s right! How else are we going to grab our government's attention? The most famous protest in history was the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, and guess what, it was famous not only because it was successful, but because this was when Martin Luther King Jr. made his famous speech. Quoted directly from an article from resilience.org published in 2024 “Suppose a movement to ban AI were to succeed. In that case, it might break our collective fever dream of neoliberal capitalism so that people and their governments finally recognize the need to set limits.” Make some noise! Get mad! Are you really going to let these machines steal your job? Your voice? What makes you human? No. We, the people, will overcome this threat, and we will take down this mechanical menace. So go out there, express your opinions, use your voice, use the rights you are entitled to as a human being to speak out against the use of AI. And remember, “silence in the face of injustice is equal to complicity”.

[curseofbreadbear]

head hurts but i wanna write SO have my take on the mimic (and their "role" in my silly littol lore)

I'd like to start by introducing this video by TheChiptide which explains the Mimic, its functionality, and its likely role in FNAF canon. His video influenced my take on the Mimic and filled in quite a few gaps in my brain. Also, his videos on FNAF tech are fascinating and I highly recommend them.

Okay, so first off: Mimic's origins.

As stated in this video, the Mimic's technology is very reminiscent of the Charlie bots from the Silver Eyes trilogy. As is the case with MANY of FNAF's creations, Henry is likely the original creator of the Mimic (or is at least responsible for its programming); as is also the case with Henry's creations, the programming for the Mimic almost definitely fell into the wrong hands.

William procured many of Henry's creations after his supposed death; the endoskeleton who would later become Circus Baby, blueprints, prototypes...and the Mimic's original programming. William, obsessed with immortality and power, gets the idea to make a "copy" of himself using this technology. He specifically trains it to follow a behavioral pattern:

(taken from the "sequel" video, "FNAF is DOOMED!")

The Mimic program that William built upon is actually, as you may have guessed from the screenshot above, Glitchtrap. Some time after William's death in FFPS, this program was eventually scanned and integrated by a modern Fazbear Entertainment into a new VR title, "Help Wanted."

Glitchtrap is not a manifestation of William's spirit; it is a digital clone that William made.

Because of modifications that the Mimic's program makes to result in a "better state" (please watch this video, I can't do it justice), Glitchtrap furthers its own existence by replicating itself in peoples' heads via a white rabbit mask. It happened to Vanessa, and as of RUIN, it is now happening to Cassie. This is the Mimic's way of immortalizing itself, and if left unchecked, the Faz-universe is in a LOT of trouble.

Now, that's all well and good, but I've also been "dropping hints" at another way the Mimic manifests in the Faz-universe: as the Glamrock animatronics.

If you watch TheChiptide's first video (which I highly recommend again because I'm just giving y'all the Cliffnotes), he describes how the Glamrock animatronics' AI is so sophisticated that it resembles the Mimic's machine learning. Theoretically, if the AI was trained on the behavior of a real person, it would be almost indistinguishably human. This was likely the program's original goal before it fell into William's hands (remember, Henry was trying to recreate his daughter).

In theory, if the creators of the Glamrocks stumbled on this AI, they'd have their animatronics set out for them. As a matter of fact, they would already have data to base their characters off of; previous night guards, previous owners, or even current employees. If you're wondering why Glamrock Freddy has so many similarities to either Henry or Michael, this might just be the explanation for you.

I personally love the idea that Freddy's behavioral pattern was based on Henry specifically; modern Fazbear Entertainment seems reliant on nostalgia for the original character's (and the 80's). What could be more reminiscent of the original Freddy Fazbear's Pizza / Fredbear's Family Diner than the damn owner, the man who built AND played Fredbear on stage?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 8, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

MAY 09, 2024

Today, in Racine, Wisconsin, President Joe Biden announced that Microsoft is investing $3.3 billion dollars to build a new data center that will help operate one of the most powerful artificial intelligence systems in the world. It is expected to create 2,300 union construction jobs and employ 2,000 permanent workers. 

Microsoft has also partnered with Gateway Technical College to train and certify 200 students a year to fill new jobs in data and information technology. In addition, Microsoft is working with nearby high schools to train students for future jobs. 

Speaking at Gateway Technical College’s Racine campus, Biden contrasted today’s investment with that made by Trump about the same site in 2018. In that year, Trump went to Wisconsin for the “groundbreaking” of a high-tech campus he claimed would be the “eighth wonder of the world.” 

Under Republican governor Scott Walker, Wisconsin legislators approved a $3 billion subsidy and tax incentive package—ten times larger than any similar previous package in the state—to lure the Taiwan-based Foxconn electronics company. Once built, a new $10 billion campus that would focus on building large liquid-crystal display screens would bring 13,000 jobs to the area, they promised. 

Foxconn built a number of buildings, but the larger plan never materialized, even after taxpayers had been locked into contracts worth hundreds of millions of dollars for upgrading roads, sewer system, electricity, and so on. When voters elected Democrat Tony Evers as governor in 2022, he dropped the tax incentives from $3 billion to $80 million, which depended on the hiring of only 1,454 workers, reflecting the corporation’s current plans. Foxconn dropped its capital investment from $10 billion to $672.8 million.  

In November 2023, Microsoft announced it was buying some of the Foxconn properties in Wisconsin.

Today, Biden noted that rather than bringing jobs to Racine, Trump’s policies meant the city lost 1,000 manufacturing jobs during his term. Wisconsin as a whole lost 83,500. “Racine was once a manufacturing boomtown,” Biden recalled, “all the way through the 1960s, powering companies—invented and manufacturing Windex…portable vacuum cleaners, and so much more, and powered by middle-class jobs.

“And then came trickle-down economics [which] cut taxes for the very wealthy and biggest corporations…. We shipped American jobs overseas because labor was cheaper. We slashed public investment in education and innovation. And the result: We hollowed out the middle class. My predecessor and his administration doubled down on that failed trickle-down economics, along with the [trail] of broken promises.” 

“But that’s not on my watch,” Biden said. “We’re determined to turn it around.” He noted that thanks to the Democrats’ policies, in the past three years, Racine has added nearly 4,000 jobs—hitting a record low unemployment rate—and Wisconsin as a whole has gained 178,000 new jobs. 

The Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, the CHIPS and Science Act, and the Inflation Reduction Act have fueled “a historic boom in rebuilding our roads and bridges, developing and deploying clean energy, [and] revitalizing American manufacturing,” he said. That investment has attracted $866 billion in private-sector investment across the country, creating hundreds of thousands of jobs “building new semiconductor factories, electric vehicles and battery factories…here in America.” 

The Biden administration has been scrupulous about making sure that money from the funds appropriated to rebuild the nation’s infrastructure and manufacturing base has gone to Republican-dominated districts; indeed, Republican-dominated states have gotten the bulk of those investments. “President Biden promised to be the president of all Americans—whether you voted for him or not. And that’s what this agenda is delivering,” White House deputy chief of staff Natalie Quillian told Matt Egan of CNN in February. 

But there is, perhaps, a deeper national strategy behind that investment. Political philosophers studying the rise of authoritarianism note that strongmen rise by appealing to a population that has been dispossessed economically or otherwise. By bringing jobs back to those regions that have lost them over the past several decades and promising “the great comeback story all across…the entire country,” as he did today, Biden is striking at that sense of alienation.

“When folks see a new factory being built here in Wisconsin, people going to work making a really good wage in their hometowns, I hope they feel the pride that I feel,” Biden said. “Pride in their hometowns making a comeback. Pride in knowing we can get big things done in America still.” 

That approach might be gaining traction. Last Friday, when Trump warned the audience of Fox 2 Detroit television that President’s Biden’s policies would cost jobs in Michigan, local host Roop Raj provided a “reality check,” noting that Michigan gained 24,000 jobs between January 2021, when Biden took office, and May 2023.

At Gateway Technical College, Biden thanked Wisconsin governor Tony Evers and Racine mayor Cory Mason, both Democrats, as well as Microsoft president Brad Smith and AFL-CIO president Liz Schuler.

The picture of Wisconsin state officials working with business and labor leaders, at a public college established in 1911, was an image straight from the Progressive Era, when the state was the birthplace of the so-called Wisconsin Idea. In the earliest years of the twentieth century, when the country reeled under industrial monopolies and labor strikes, Wisconsin governor Robert “Fighting Bob” La Follette and his colleagues advanced the idea that professors, lawmakers, and officials should work together to provide technical expertise to enable the state to mediate a fair relationship between workers and employers. 

In his introduction to the 1912 book explaining the Wisconsin Idea, former president Theodore Roosevelt, a Republican, explained that the Wisconsin Idea turned the ideas of reformers into a workable plan, then set out to put those ideas into practice. Roosevelt approvingly quoted economist Simon Patten, who maintained that the world had adequate resources to feed, clothe, and educate everyone, if only people cared to achieve that end. Quoting Patten, Roosevelt wrote: “The real idealist is a pragmatist and an economist. He demands measurable results and reaches them by means made available by economic efficiency. Only in this way is social progress possible.”

Reformers must be able to envision a better future, Roosevelt wrote, but they must also find a way to turn those ideals into reality. That involved careful study and hard work to develop the machinery to achieve their ends. 

Roosevelt compared people engaged in progressive reform to “that greatest of all democratic reformers, Abraham Lincoln.” Like Lincoln, he wrote, reformers “will be assailed on the one side by the reactionary, and on the other by that type of bubble reformer who is only anxious to go to extremes, and who always gets angry when he is asked what practical results he can show.” “[T]he true reformer,” Roosevelt wrote, “must study hard and work patiently.” 

“It is no easy matter actually to insure, instead of merely talking about, a measurable equality of opportunity for all men,” Roosevelt wrote. “It is no easy matter to make this Republic genuinely an industrial as well as a political democracy. It is no easy matter to secure justice for those who in the past have not received it, and at the same time to see that no injustice is meted out to others in the process. It is no easy matter to keep the balance level and make it evident that we have set our faces like flint against seeing this government turned into either government by a plutocracy, or government by a mob. It is no easy matter to give the public their proper control over corporations and big business, and yet to prevent abuse of that control.”

“All through the Union we need to learn the Wisconsin lesson,” Roosevelt wrote in 1912.

“We’re the United States of America,” President Biden said today, “And there’s nothing beyond our capacity when we work together.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON