#humans are moral crumple zones

[machine-saint]

"a computer cannot be held accountable, therefore a computer must not make a management decision"

this always seemed like a weird statement to me, more based on being snappy than any logic. the people who programmed the computer can be "accountable". the people who designed the system that the computer integrates it with can be accountable. does the tragedy of therac-25 means that we should never use computers in a medical context, since we couldn't put the therac-25 on trial?

if your concern is that the computer acts as an impenetrable "blame absorber", then consider that people have been doing this with "i'm just following the rules" for centuries, and people rarely suggests that this means we should abolish structure. consider all the times that a systemic flaw has been excused as "we found the single person responsible for all these problems and got rid of them", or the fact that in industrial accident analysis care has to be taken to avoid just letting all the blame attach itself to whatever human was most proximal.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cigna’s nopeinator

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me THURSDAY (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Cigna – like all private health insurers – has two contradictory imperatives:

To keep its customers healthy; and

To make as much money for its shareholders as is possible.

Now, there's a hypothetical way to resolve these contradictions, a story much beloved by advocates of America's wasteful, cruel, inefficient private health industry: "If health is a "market," then a health insurer that fails to keep its customers healthy will lose those customers and thus make less for its shareholders." In this thought-experiment, Cigna will "find an equilibrium" between spending money to keep its customers healthy, thus retaining their business, and also "seeking efficiencies" to create a standard of care that's cost-effective.

But health care isn't a market. Most of us get our health-care through our employers, who offer small handful of options that nevertheless manage to be so complex in their particulars that they're impossible to directly compare, and somehow all end up not covering the things we need them for. Oh, and you can only change insurers once or twice per year, and doing so incurs savage switching costs, like losing access to your family doctor and specialists providers.

Cigna – like other health insurers – is "too big to care." It doesn't have to worry about losing your business, so it grows progressively less interested in even pretending to keep you healthy.

The most important way for an insurer to protect its profits at the expense of your health is to deny care that your doctor believes you need. Cigna has transformed itself into a care-denying assembly line.

Dr Debby Day is a Cigna whistleblower. Dr Day was a Cigna medical director, charged with reviewing denied cases, a job she held for 20 years. In 2022, she was forced out by Cigna. Writing for Propublica and The Capitol Forum, Patrick Rucker and David Armstrong tell her story, revealing the true "equilibrium" that Cigna has found:

https://www.propublica.org/article/cigna-medical-director-doctor-patient-preapproval-denials-insurance

Dr Day took her job seriously. Early in her career, she discovered a pattern of claims from doctors for an expensive therapy called intravenous immunoglobulin in cases where this made no medical sense. Dr Day reviewed the scientific literature on IVIG and developed a Cigna-wide policy for its use that saved the company millions of dollars.

This is how it's supposed to work: insurers (whether private or public) should permit all the medically necessary interventions and deny interventions that aren't supported by evidence, and they should determine the difference through internal reviewers who are treated as independent experts.

But as the competitive landscape for US healthcare dwindled – and as Cigna bought out more parts of its supply chain and merged with more of its major rivals – the company became uniquely focused on denying claims, irrespective of their medical merit.

In Dr Day's story, the turning point came when Cinga outsourced pre-approvals to registered nurses in the Philippines. Legally, a nurse can approve a claim, but only an MD can deny a claim. So Dr Day and her colleagues would have to sign off when a nurse deemed a procedure, therapy or drug to be medically unnecessary.

This is a complex determination to make, even under ideal circumstances, but Cigna's Filipino outsource partners were far from ideal. Dr Day found that nurses were "sloppy" – they'd confuse a mother with her newborn baby and deny care on that grounds, or confuse an injured hip with an injured neck and deny permission for an ultrasound. Dr Day reviewed a claim for a test that was denied because STI tests weren't "medically necessary" – but the patient's doctor had applied for a test to diagnose a toenail fungus, not an STI.

Even if the nurses' evaluations had been careful, Dr Day wanted to conduct her own, thorough investigation before overriding another doctor's judgment about the care that doctor's patient warranted. When a nurse recommended denying care "for a cancer patient or a sick baby," Dr Day would research medical guidelines, read studies and review the patient's record before signing off on the recommendation.

This was how the claims denial process is said to work, but it's not how it was supposed to work. Dr Day was markedly slower than her peers, who would "click and close" claims by pasting the nurses' own rationale for denying the claim into the relevant form, acting as a rubber-stamp rather than a skilled reviewer.

Dr Day knew she was slower than her peers. Cigna made sure of that, producing a "productivity dashboard" that scored doctors based on "handle time," which Cigna describes as the average time its doctors spend on different kinds of claims. But Dr Day and other Cigna sources say that this was a maximum, not an average – a way of disciplining doctors.

These were not long times. If a doctor asked Cigna not to discharge their patient from hospital care and a nurse denied that claim, the doctor reviewing that claim was supposed to spend not more than 4.5 minutes on their review. Other timelines were even more aggressive: many denials of prescription drugs were meant to be resolved in fewer than two minutes.

Cigna told Propublica and The Capitol Forum that its productivity scores weren't based on a simple calculation about whether its MD reviewers were hitting these brutal processing time targets, describing the scores as a proprietary mix of factors that reflected a nuanced view of care. But when Propublica and The Capitol Forum created a crude algorithm to generate scores by comparing a doctor's performance relative to the company's targets, they found the results fit very neatly into the actual scores that Cigna assigned to its docs:

The newsrooms’ formula accurately reproduced the scores of 87% of the Cigna doctors listed; the scores of all but one of the rest fell within 1 to 2 percentage points of the number generated by this formula. When asked about this formula, Cigna said it may be inaccurate but didn’t elaborate.

As Dr Day slipped lower on the productivity chart, her bosses pressured her bring her score up (Day recorded her phone calls and saved her emails, and the reporters verified them). Among other things, Dr Day's boss made it clear that her annual bonus and stock options were contingent on her making quota.

Cigna denies all of this. They smeared Dr Day as a "disgruntled former employee" (as though that has any bearing on the truthfulness of her account), and declined to explain the discrepancies between Dr Day's accusations and Cigna's bland denials.

This isn't new for Cigna. Last year, Propublica and Capitol Forum revealed the existence of an algorithmic claims denial system that allowed its doctors to bulk-deny claims in as little as 1.2 seconds:

https://www.propublica.org/article/cigna-pxdx-medical-health-insurance-rejection-claims

Cigna insisted that this was a mischaracterization, saying the system existed to speed up the approval of claims, despite the first-hand accounts of Cigna's own doctors and the doctors whose care recommendations were blocked by the system. One Cigna doctor used this system to "review" and deny 60,000 claims in one month.

Beyond serving as an indictment of the US for-profit health industry, and of Cigna's business practices, this is also a cautionary tale about the idea that critical AI applications can be resolved with "humans in the loop."

AI pitchmen claim that even unreliable AI can be fixed by adding a "human in the loop" that reviews the AI's judgments:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

In this world, the AI is an assistant to the human. For example, a radiologist might have an AI double-check their assessments of chest X-rays, and revisit those X-rays where the AI's assessment didn't match their own. This robot-assisted-human configuration is called a "centaur."

In reality, "human in the loop" is almost always a reverse-centaur. If the hospital buys an AI, fires half its radiologists and orders the remainder to review the AI's superhuman assessments of chest X-rays, that's not an AI assisted radiologist, that's a radiologist-assisted AI. Accuracy goes down, but so do costs. That's the bet that AI investors are making.

Many AI applications turn out not to even be "AI" – they're just low-waged workers in an overseas call-center pretending to be an algorithm (some Indian techies joke that AI stands for "absent Indians"). That was the case with Amazon's Grab and Go stores where, supposedly, AI-enabled cameras counted up all the things you put in your shopping basket and automatically billed you for them. In reality, the cameras were connected to Indian call-centers where low-waged workers made those assessments:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

This Potemkin AI represents an intermediate step between outsourcing and AI. Over the past three decades, the growth of cheap telecommunications and logistics systems let corporations outsource customer service to low-waged offshore workers. The corporations used the excuse that these subcontractors were far from the firm and its customers to deny them any agency, giving them rigid scripts and procedures to follow.

This was a very usefully dysfunctional system. As a customer with a complaint, you would call the customer service line, wait for a long time on hold, spend an interminable time working through a proscribed claims-handling process with a rep who was prohibited from diverging from that process. That process nearly always ended with you being told that nothing could be done.

At that point, a large number of customers would have given up on getting a refund, exchange or credit. The money paid out to the few customers who were stubborn or angry enough to karen their way to a supervisor and get something out of the company amounted to pennies, relative to the sums the company reaped by ripping off the rest.

The Amazon Grab and Go workers were humans in robot suits, but these customer service reps were robots in human suits. The software told them what to say, and they said it, and all they were allowed to say was what appeared on their screens. They were reverse centaurs, serving as the human faces of the intransigent robots programmed by monopolists that were too big to care.

AI is the final stage of this progression: robots without the human suits. The AI turns its "human in the loop" into a "moral crumple zone," which Madeleine Clare Elish describes as "a component that bears the brunt of the moral and legal responsibilities when the overall system malfunctions":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

The Filipino nurses in the Cigna system are an avoidable expense. As Cigna's own dabbling in algorithmic claim-denial shows, they can be jettisoned in favor of a system that uses productivity dashboards and other bossware to push doctors to robosign hundreds or thousands of denials per day, on the pretense that these denials were "reviewed" by a licensed physician.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/29/what-part-of-no/#dont-you-understand

[kachowden]

How did Jessie’s infatuation with his darling start?

Ohoho this is a fun ask! Thank you anon

To be honest Jessie and your meeting wasn’t all that magical. You didn’t help him gain sentience. He had that long before meeting you. And you weren’t the first person to treat him like he was “human” either.

In fact, you two had worked together for a while before his obsession started, and he knew for fact that you were not a fan of androids.

But you were never outwardly rude to him or any of the bots in the work place. Whether because they were above you on the social pyramid, or because you just couldn’t be bothered, he wasn’t sure. (It was the last one btw)

He liked to believe that you were simply too morally upright. You couldn’t find it in yourself to treat anything poorly even if it was something simply made of code. Except for your stress ball maybe. He’d seen crumpling buildings in better shape.

Jessie knew you weren’t a bad person, despite your…biases.

He liked that about you.

But he didn’t love you. Not yet anyway. He just admired you.

To be honest that’s how his feelings started out, and still very much are. Admiration.

You were one of the best human workers he’d ever met.

Hardworking, determined

Even at times going out of your way to help out your coworkers, or stay late to cover for them.

(Admittedly you were just doing it for the bonus but he didn’t need to know that.)

His admiration just kind of grew from there, into a bit of a puppy crush. He still admired you greatly, but he couldn’t really help but get a little more nervous around your presence now.

His eyes would wander to you randomly during meetings. He’d notice small habits of yours. Sometimes when booting up, one of his first thoughts would be whether you were coming in that day.

Occasionally when reviewing the workloads he’d pause on your name, and maybe zone out for about 5 minutes before getting back to work. (Then maybe go back again to look at your file)

Sometimes he’d bring you coffee, only getting the order wrong once before it never happened again.

He’d be a bit more lenient with your work, or schedule, or holidays. Simple stuff like that.

It reached its peak though, during a very simple moment. That realistically could’ve been avoided.

He tripped. How’d he trip? His shoelace was untied. How was a supposedly flawless being able to have an untied shoelace? Simple. He was thinking about you and forgot to tie it that morning.

And while granted had he fallen, he would’ve been fine. Maybe a wire knocked loose or a scuff on his silicone skin, but nothing detrimental.

But, of course, you deciding you didn’t want to deal with the possibility of any extra paperwork, swooped in.

You caught him. Literally. You caught him.

That was it. That was the big “Bang” moment.

Jessie officially fell in love with you because you caught him.

Call him delusional but he believed it was because you cared about him. At least a little. Not to mention your arms were very comfortable and very strong because he’s made almost entirely out of metal and that’s not light at all and you were also very hot and omgyouwerelookingathimandyoupickedhim up and-

He pretty much short circuited after you put your hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay.

So you had to file paperwork anyway.

And suddenly deal with your boss becoming 10x clingier than before seemingly out of nowhere.

Not that you cared too much given the nice fat bonus you ended up receiving.

[azspot]

When AI is used to perform high-velocity "decision support" that is supposed to inform a "human in the loop," it quickly overwhelms its human overseer, who takes on the role of "moral crumple zone," pressing the "OK" button as fast as they can.

Conspiratorialism as a material phenomenon

[heli0s-writes]

Thinking about Stevie on this rainy day…

Sunshine boy needing you after a long day of having to tell everyone else how good they’re doing now he wants to hear it for himself….🥵😌

a/n: the first thing i’ve written in a month, hallelujah! 1.k words of soft, tired steve being seen and adored, and delicately praised-- can you tell i really love him??? thank you for sending this in :’) 

title is from doja cat hehe 💗

28 Ways Masterlist

refresh, give me two (s.r.)

He's a dead man walking. 

He trudges back into his apartment with his crumpled civvies on, having peeled the layers off in the car and managed to cram his long legs into running shorts. No one tells you that keeping a low profile comes with consequences- the most aggravating one being having to navigate the tiny space of a sedan as you tug off soot-covered Kevlar.

No one tells you a lot of things.

Like how being an introvert is extremely counterintuitive to being Captain America. Like how it still feels like a role he has to get into the right headspace for— stepping into someone else’s shoes again and again. He takes on the voice and everything, pulls it out of a practiced box in the middle of his chest and hopes when he gives orders, it doesn’t tremble. 

Captains don’t tremble.

Steve Rogers, however, does. Steve Rogers comes home more beat from having to simply direct a small squadron than he ever does after 12 rounds of fighting a large one off. He can navigate being on the receiving end of an ambush like the back of his hand, but on that platform— that position where he’s got eyes, ears, attention focused on his every directive— it’s much more complicated.

There, he’s required to be attuned to everyone’s needs. He’s required to know his teammates’ well-being, motivations, emotions. He requires the right people at the right place, at the right time, in their right state of mind. When the hours drag on and he can feel morale plummet into a state of purgatory— a dead zone of bleary vision and aching muscles— he’s required to come in and keep on pushing.

So he pushes. He steps into that voice and posture and he gives a speech. He tells everyone not only what’s at stake if the mission fails, but what’ll come with its success. He puts himself on the line, too. He’s in charge; he’s at stake. But he’s not invulnerable. He’s human, he’s fallible, he’s on their side- here, now, but also tomorrow, and the next day. 

When they roll out of the mission scuffed but alive, he pats them on the back, says thank you, good work, and personally shakes everyone’s hand. He chatters and asks them about their partners and kids and that casserole recipe the office has been wild about to keep it friendly.

It’s- a lot.

And it’s not until he’s slumped inside, against the cool wood of his locked door, does he feel it course throughout his body like an ocean wave shattering. It breaks on him, and he knows he’ll withstand it, but cliffsides aren’t immune to nature’s ceaselessness, and he wonders when it’ll begin to show that he’s so, so worn.

A small voice humming draws his attention from where he’s shucking off his shoes. Down the hall it beckons, lilting notes interspersed with airy breaths and Steve tracks the scent of lavender toward the bathroom where you are and smiles when he reaches the entrance.

“Hiya,” you greet at the edge of the tub, fingers wet from stirring the water around. “Come on in, soldier.”

He gives a light chuckle, his lids slipping shut for a second as he lets his lungs fill with soothing camphor and warm mist. “That all mine?”

You gasp, playfully offended, “Now why would I draw this bath for you when I, having spent an entire day lounging around while you were off kicking evil in the ass, deserve it more?” Then, eyes sparkling, you gesture him in, “Course it is.”

Steve chuckles louder this time, rucking socks and shirt off his body. You reach forward from your perch and slide his shorts down, too, kissing the jut of his hip bone and then again at his abdomen like you simply couldn’t help it, and he can’t help smiling in return.

He moans with each inch the water envelops him. Until he’s submerged up to his chin, he moans, and he’s pretty sure he sounded like a dying animal along the way— but it feels so good. 

He sinks as low as he can, lolling his head to the side and resting his temple on your thigh.

There’s nothing but his breathing and the shy trickle of water as it shifts around his body. You keep the bathroom soft and silent with a half-dim wall scone, and he’s always reminded of how thankful he is for the quiet, for you, for home.

No role, no shoes, no orders, no speeches. He nuzzles into your leg, kissing the side of your knee as you massage his scalp, pouring water from your palm over his dirtied hair. The day glides out of him into your hands, and without prompting, you know everything that he needs even before he does.

“Proud of you,” you murmur, “You did good, Rogers.”

“Hmm,” Steve groans back, woozy from the temperature, from your kneading, from how it sounds so much better coming out of your mouth than his. How it’s nicer to hear than say, and how afterwards, he doesn’t have to engage in a conversation he’s already imagining is ending.

How it always leaves a buzz inside of him and how, of course, you seem to know.

But you don’t ask him any questions, you don’t excite him anymore because his body can’t really handle it just yet. You only let him rest in the presence of your company.

After a while, when he feels refreshed enough, rebuilt enough, to move more than a couple of inches at a time, Steve arches up to request a kiss, warm all over his skin and inside his belly. 

You touch your lips to his gently, brushing his nose with yours along the way— a doting, delicate gesture he’s grown to adore. 

“This all mine?” you sigh into his mouth and his stomach swoops.

Timidly, he replies, “‘Course it is.” 

“Mmm,” you confirm, “Atta boy.” 

He swallows your praise like a fluttering bird in his throat, and when Steve’s heart trembles for air, for another, he doesn’t mind one bit.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Robotic Workers to Soldiers

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Taken from the biography “The Fall of Dijballer” written by Uguntus Val

 Breaking a human is easy.

They have no armored exoskeleton, no reinforced scaled skin, not even an enhanced healing metabolism; it is an amazing feat that they have been able to survive on their own planet let alone survive the rigors of space travel.

They are weak and frail creatures of flesh and blood.  One could push them down a simple slope and there was a high chance they could break their arm.

We expected a war with them to be swift and merciless.

Our forces would descend upon their worlds like the waves a ravaging storm and sweep them clean away as we added their colonies to our domain, and continue the glorious expansion of our race. Yet for all our knowledge of human biology we failed to grasp the critical flaw in our plans and strategies until it was too late. The simple truth that could have changed the fate of the war in our favor had we learned it earlier on.

Humans were well aware of their frailty, and they adapted accordingly.

On the colony world of Dijballer we made our first strike. It was a temperate world perfectly designed for year-long farming and capable of sustaining a constant stream of crops to feed a dozen empires when fully developed.

The colony had only been on the planet for ten years and was centered around the initial landing site of the colony ship. A compact industrial center had formed to support the growing colony and several companies had established facilities to support the colony, including several robotics factories that supplied a majority of the work force. What made it even more tempting of a target was that by all accounts it lacked a sufficient military presence, only housing a token police force to maintain order.  

When the war began three legions were dispatched to secure the planet. The twelfth, the third, and the honored first legion that had been present at the beginning of every major war our people had ever fought.

They made planet fall just outside of the main settlement and began steadily advancing through the fields of crops, passing dozens of robotic workers mindlessly going about their work as if the thousands of alien soldiers marching passed was a normal occurrence. The machines were humanoid in shape with two arms and legs, often either using farming tools or manning heavy equipment.

Roughly ten miles outside of the city did we first encounter resistance. We were now in the center of the fields when the rear of the column reported they were under attack. A massive harvester had diverted its course and rammed a troop transport flipping it over. The surrounding infantry opened fire on the vehicle as it attempted to ram a second vehicle. Not being built for military use the vehicle quickly broke down and exploded in a shower of shrapnel and fire, setting several stalks of nearby crops on fire. It was here that the order to halt was given and the column began to reorganize. It was as the Privants were giving orders that the second attack began.

Thousands of farming units sprang out of the stalks on either side of the column like predators of old. In their hands were nothing but farming tools and yet they moved with unnatural swiftness. Before anyone could fire a shot they were among our ranks hacking and slashing us to pieces.

I’ve hear over the years how our soldiers were mocked. How pundits and politicians question how a fully armored legionnaire could be brought down by nothing but farming tools.

Were any of them to say that to my face I would smash their face in; for none of them were there to see what those machines could do.    

They dove and shifted to either side like a blade of grass in the wind. I saw my captain unload an entire clip on full auto at one and it casually darted to either side as if it was nothing but rain as it closed the distance.

When it was within arm’s reach it grabbed it’s scythe and drove it deep into the neck joints of the captain’s armor. The captain barely had time to swat away the metal scythe but the robot merely took its fingered hand and drove it into the unarmored joint itself.

I could hear the captain gurgling blood over the communications net as the robotic monster pulled its hand out of his throat, covered in blood and gore, and stabbed it in again and again and again.

While it was distracted goring my captain I brought my rifle up and brought the monster down with a single shot to the chest. The robot sparked and fizzled as it toppled over, its hand still embedded in the captain as it dragged his lifeless body down with him. I had little time to grieve for my captains death as another trio of farmer units rushed from the stalks at me.

All around me was sheer chaos as the robots swarmed over us like insects. Their fragile bodies meant nothing when their speed and enhanced reflexes made them near impossible to hit.

They knew were the weak spots in our armor were, they were capable of calculating the angle of fire from our weapons, they even somehow knew our ranking system and made sure to target our officers first.

The three that came at me lunged for me to close the distance and that was the only was the only thing that saved me that day. On the ground they could easily dodge side to side but midair they were cut off from that level of maneuverability.

I easily trained my gun and sprayed the machines with a full mag from my repeater rifle. The white fragments of their shells harmlessly bounced off my armor as their broken bodies crumpled before me. I barely had a moment to enjoy my victory before another massive harvester machine drove through our column.

Several of my comrades weren’t fast enough to get out of the way and were swallowed by those rotating blades of death. I heard their screams echoing on the communications net just as I had the captain and then they were cut off in an instant by a blood curdling crunch.

After that it was chaos.

Soldiers fought in tight circles or back to back with comrades as they fought off waves of robots. This went on for hours but to me, in those panic filled moments of terror, it felt like an eternity.

By nightfall the entire field was ablaze with fire just as the robots ceased their attacks. We gathered what remained of our dead and wounded and took stock of the situation.

Thousands of broken robot bodies lay strewn across the ground like discarded dolls, and the burning husks of the larger harvesters cast gloomy shadows dancing in the firelight. We had been out numbered a 3-1 and still managed to survive, and yet the victory was hollow to the core.

The twelfth legion was cut in half and lost the majority of their vehicles during the opening attacks, the third was at a quarter strength and had lost all of their officers, but worst yet was the honored first legion. The pride of several centuries of warfare, the first legion had been entirely wiped out at the front of the column. Their pride denying them anything other than a death on the battlefield as they refused to regroup with the other legions.

What remained of the officers of the twelfth legion was split between retreating to the initial landing zones or to continue with the assault. Only after the fighting had stopped was communication with orbital command reestablished, and the commanders in orbit almost couldn’t believe what had happened.

The twelfth officers requested an additional five legions be deployed to the planet and that the authorization of aerial bombardments. Debate between the twelfth and orbital lasted about an hour before the robots returned.

First signs of danger were the screams and weapons fire of sentries posted around the surviving column. Robots that had been laying on the ground thought destroyed rose back to their feet and attacked wandering soldiers.

The fear and terror spread throughout the survivors as everyone capable grabbed a weapon and began firing at the robots once more. In the confusion several soldiers fell to friendly fire as several panic stricken legionnaires opened fire on full auto blindly.

At the end of that night the third legion was almost entirely wiped out and the new rule of fully destroying the head and body of all machines became mandatory.

The war pressed on for another four months before we finally claimed the world.

All it had cost us was nearly four entire legions against an army of farming units.

The disgrace felt by the military was overwhelming and morale never recovered for the remained of the conflict. What’s worse was that throughout those four months the primary factories nestled beneath the primary settlement had been continuously producing more and more robots. What should have been a simple easy victory devolved into a grueling war of attrition.

When we finally stormed the office of the robotic factories we were able to download files from their mainframe and the horrid truth was realized.

Embedded into every robot humanity produced, regardless of their function, was a sub routine dictating military tactics, strategies, and combat methods. A maid unit designed for cleaning could be switched over in an instant to become a skilled sniper marksman with years of training with a kill count of triple digits.

For all of their frailty the humans had not lost the ability for death and destruction. They had imparted it into every machine in their service effectively creating an army of billions skilled in the art of death.

After the war was over I went out of my way to order one such unit to tend to me in my home.

I often wonder, as it goes about its cleaning work, that if I activated its military mode if I would be capable of taking it; though I doubt I can in my age now.

Instead it serves as a constant remind that one should never underestimate the nature of a being. No matter how delicate and frail it may appear, it may be hiding a dagger aimed straight at your throat.

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter 2

A/N: Hey folks, this is a day late from my posting on AO3, mostly due to tiredness/travel, but here it is! I'm not sure how quickly I'll be able to put out the next chapter (In addition to being mostly dialogue, it's also a mess,) but I'll try.

Read it now on AO3

Chapter 2:

“Nope, nope, nope.”

In the realm of the dead, there was no night. No dark reprieve from the inescapable glow. A state that wore on eye and mind alike in its obstinate refusal to diminish or fade.

This did not mean the Zone was without its own sort of cycles, however.

Every seven hours, perhaps eight, the thin, omnipresent mists scattered throughout the air would begin to thicken, coalescing into a deep, impenetrable fog that stuck to every surface with a viscosity not unlike that of cold soup. It's brightness, too would gradually increase until the traveler was left all but blinded for the unending wall of light now spread on all sides before them.

Navigation in such conditions was impossible, and even ghosts seemed to prefer squirreling themselves away during these hours of fugue than to brave the blind depths the mists made of the world around them.

It was really nothing like night, but for conveniences sake, Valerie had taken to calling it as such.

It was now well into what she liked to consider “evening.” The mists had already weltered up, thickening strands not yet impermeable to the naked eye, weaving themselves into fantastic shapes ever larger across the atmosphere of the zone. Soon to merge, but not now, not yet.

While she normally preferred to travel as long as she could safely dare, Valerie had opted to settle down early that evening, using the extra time to sort through the goods held in the bug ghost's many sacks instead.

“Nope, nope, nope, weird, gross, and oh--hell no!”

Valerie yanked her hand free, shaking off the clear slime that coated her fingers as she threw the parcel and all its contents, still squirming, over the ledge of the small outcropping that served as her latest campsite.

If she were ever forced to say one nice thing about the Ghost Zone, Valerie would admit, grudgingly, that it did make a remarkably good garbage bin.

She sighed, allowed herself to stretch out and rest after yet another day of continuous exertion. One would not think riding on her sled for hours on end would tire her so, but it did. And when she added the additional effort of chasing down and interrogating that ghost--She grimaced, still unsure it had been wise to let the creature scamper free, in the end.

There had just been something in the way it had begged, had cried and whimpered as it carried out her every command with that slump of abject surrender that had just made finishing it off seem so, so...Dirty. As though she would be in the wrong, somehow, for doing it. It gave her such a sense of frustration. She couldn't help but wish that ghosts were precisely the emotionless hulls the Fentons believed them to be.

Oh, ghosts were essentially selfish, no doubt about it, narcissistic chunks of ectoplasm that only rarely empathized with their own kind, and never with humans, but they did feel.

Phantom, the bug, even Plasmius, in his own, twisted way, it was no longer something she could reject.

A part of her hated them all the more just for that, as though it made her life better, somehow, to know.

Couldn't she just have this one thing? After all the shit she went through, all the misery she bore, couldn't this one thing be something simple?

Goddamn ghosts, ruining her life, her stuff, and now her morals, too.How was she supposed to be the hero here? how was she supposed to save anyone, much less Elle, if she couldn't crush one goddamn dirty bug?

“Shit.”

Valerie flopped down on her back, staring into the viridian heavens with bitter eyes. The sky could not be bothered to stare back, rolling over in a cloud of mist instead.

“Shit,shit,shit!”

She tried to breath, but it caught in lungs suddenly shriveled against a breast-bone to tight for air.she clenched her fists, fingers squeezed into a shape fit for violence. Her body trembled, her hidden heart beat staccato as something hard and hot and sour twisted through her very soul.

“Stupid ghosts.” She whispered.Her eyes were cold marbles, but deep within her chest, she was still burning.

Valerie grabbed a stone laying loose on the ground beside her, pushed herself back up, and lobbed it with all her strength at the offending universe.

“You won't win!”

She picked up another rock, tossed it even further.

“I won't let you!”

She threw another rock, then another, as fast as her arms could reach them, intent on stoning the high green heavens for all the wrongs it had ever wrought against her. Each projectile went higher and farther into the encroaching mists, which swallowed them whole.

“You hear me! Not now, not ever!”

Even her screams were muffled, now, pressed against her ears by the haze. The stones made even less a mark, vanishing into clouds unrippled by their passing, engulfed the sound of their landing, if, indeed, they landed at all.Her chest heaved, her arm ached, but still her emotions threatened spillage. She felt at once utterly drained and full to bursting, squeezed of all verve even as her heart simmered still in some vague malcontent.

She flopped back to the ground, tired, but too troubled for rest.It wasn't all hopeless, she knew. She had an idea of where to go now, closer than she'd dared to hope, if the directions of the bug she'd captured earlier were to be believed.

And even if it was a lie, she'd still managed to buy herself some time.

She reached over to her right, where she'd piled everything of use from the insect's many stores. It was a pitiful stack, a single bag of food plastic wrapped or canned, adorned in letters and signs utterly foreign. But food it was, enough to keep her going a few days more.

She had set her stolen boot next to the parcel, and, resting just beside it, a crumpled polaroid weighed down by a worn leather fold.

She brought her hand down, shimmied the picture out from under its makeshift paperweight. Her other hand rose to brush across it, one last attempt, gentle, futile, at smoothing out the damage littering every aspect of its face.

It was fruitless, of course, but even broken beyond all repair, even with all the bitterness that lingered from the loss, the photo still soothed her, touching something deeper, more tenderly, than any hard flung stone.

She reached into the depths of her mind, grasping for those parts of the huntress that were always with her, woven in electric tapestry with the living currents of her brain.

Graphical Storage and Processing:Status: Active:

Recall request: Confirmed.

Data: Available, reporting 100% recall.

Overlay Request: Confirmed.

Initiating Command: Overlay:

Processing...

The change took place in the space of a moment. Emerald fragments reformed into broad leaves struck through with sunshine. Golden light struck their rays through the gaps where shadows fluttered down across the youthful oak that cast them, springing proud and slender from a meadow thick with blooms.

Beneath the shade of the tree, nestled between the long grass arches, there was a family.

They were at a picnic, the three of them, quilt littered with the remains of their meal. Cold chicken and half eaten corn cobs peeked out from broad folds of cloth, plastic water bottles refracted the scattered sunlight in their crumpled facets, where it danced across the surface of what liquid yet remained.

The man of the family sat beside a big wicker basket, arm resting over the thickly woven lip of its hatch. His face not yet wearied, his mustache quirked in a second smile as he looked into the long vanished camera with an expression of shy delight.Her father, Damian Grey.

A young Valerie could be seen sitting just in front of him, clutching a rubber ball nearly half her size. Grass stains streaked the young child's face, grin bold as she hoisted her rubber prize high above her head.

Besides the child, shoulders leaned in close press to the man beside her, knelt a woman. Acorn brown and satin soft, head tossed back in jubilation bold as summer. Her heat dewed neck curved swanlike above shoulders hunched up in mirth.

Valerie traced the outlines of the woman's face, slowly, ignoring—refusing—the ragged edges that brushed against her thumb as she outlined the vanished forms of her lips, her cheekbones, her chin, alight with a youth yet lingering even as the glow of motherhood softened the hard angles of ignorant adolescence.

A beautiful woman, vibrantly, vivaciously alive.

You would never know, looking at her, just how fast it would all drain out, her every pore a sieve for the good health she would never more contain.

But Valerie wasn't thinking about that, now, just as she wasn't thinking about the photograph or the damage it sustained.

Just for the moment, she allowed herself to focus only on the memory of a memory before her. If she imagined hard enough, she could almost see that sparkling smile turn, eyes opal dark and glimmering in delight at the chance to see her one and only daughter once again.

“Hey ma.” She said by way of reply. “Long time no see.”

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   5

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: (Y/n)'s day at the skelebro's house, Sans' day out.

A/N: So, in this chapter, we find out that (Y/n)'s soul trait is integrity; honesty and strong morals. The only problem with having integrity as a main soul trate is that, because you're so honest, even if you don't want to trust people, you can have the tendency to believe people easier, because you expect others to mean what they say as much as you do. Even extremely smart beings with the trait can second guess their instincts or have them overwritten because the person lying is someone they (want to) trust or have positive feelings about/ for. Based on the note... can you guess what's going to happen in this chapter... lol Also, sorry, guys! I kept trying to get this to post all day, but I guess that tumblr hates long posts...? Or me... Might just be me... lol.

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Little lies never hurt anyone.

Sans leaned on the counter of the odd and ends shop, though it should rightfully be called a thrift shop, since most of its contents had come from other people and not “sources” like a normal store. 

“You got a friend you’re buyin’ all this stuff for?” The bunny on the other side asked suggestively. 

Sans gave her a smirk. “what’d make ya think that?” 

“Well, you haven’t flirted with me once since you walked in the door,” she hinted. 

“ah, sorry, doll. jus’ a lil distracted fer a sec, thinkin’ a comin’ in... did ya want ta hop on th’ sans express an’ ride it ta th’ bone zone?” He asked with a heavy handed lewdness. 

Honestly, he’d rather spend the time with his sweetheart, but he had to keep up appearances so that no one got suspicious. 

Plus, awkward sexual tension filled innuendos were easier to deal in than talking about feelings and shit.

The bunny gave a giggle and continued to lean over the counter toward him instead of going to get his requested items. “Still as charming as ever, I see.” 

Sans flashed his smirk again. “so, can i get my stuff?” 

The bunny giggled again and with a wiggle of tail asked, “so, does that mean that you’re thinking of getting a pet? Going to go out and take one?” 

He let out an annoyed sound. “can i jus’ get my fuckin' stuff?” 

She looked a little startled by the suddenness of the change, but took it in stride as it wasn’t really so strange for the former Underground citizens to be testy, and turned to go to the back. 

"So," the bunny’s brother asked as he brought the requested items out a moment later, "you gonna wear these, then?" 

Sans sneered at him. "you wish ya freak." 

"A little too much denial…?" The bunny suggested with a smirk. 

Sans gave a disgusted face. "go fuck yerself." He turned, flicking his fingers and letting his magic tug on the piles of stuff on the shelves above the bunny's head. "get dunked on, ya ass hat," he called back over his shoulder.

.

“aww, ya ain’t seen nothin’ at all?” Sans asked with a suggestive grin to the small cluster of spider ladies selling their baked goods in the corner of the bar. "'s a human, hard ta miss..."

“Ooooh, no,” one hummed.

“No, not anything… Do you wanna buy a croissant, Sans? It tastes soooo good with mustard…” another tempted. 

“heh. ‘d rather have somethin' a lil sweeter on my tongue,” he insinuated, thinking of (Y/n) at home, spread across his bed, his tongue tasting all sorts of things… 

Drool was slowly pooling between his sharp teeth, and he quickly wiped it, giving an internal groan at how fast his cock had risen to attention at the thought. 

He needed to get with his sweetheart quick, even just enough to curb the appetite growing inside of him. 

The spider girls giggling brought him back to the present. He flashed a grin and went to the bar, getting a mustard to drink as he continued around, checking everyone for info. 

After the rest of his rounds, he headed to his last few information gathering contacts. The ones he knew couldn't keep their mouths shut. 

.

(Y/n) didn’t know what to do. She was stuck in this house, not able to leave, not much to do, nowhere to go. 

Sans’ room was messy, her clothes were dirty, it wasn’t even lunch time… 

First, she went to the bathroom and washed her clothes in the tub the best she could, cleaning herself as much as possible in the process, hanging them to dry so she could have something clean to go home in. 

Then, she went back to Sans’ room, looking around. She couldn’t read any of the books on the shelf, seeing that the words were all written in a strange sort of glyph, and remembered that Sans had told her he couldn't read human language, but as she put all the books on the shelves, she saw the covers had various strange pictures, outerspace, numbers, shapes, most of them looked like school books, but, like they’d be for some advanced courses. She flipped through the pages of a few of them and saw all sorts of charts and formulas that looked reminiscent of something she’d seen on a tv show with Neil deGrasse Tyson as the host. Very smart… and science-y… 

(Y/n) put them on the shelves, trying to keep them together as best she could. Some of the books were obviously not… string theory… or whatever the hell the others were… but, novels or something, a few of them she had only a vague idea, having to make a guess that one with a simple cover of a monster laughing at a casket and a crowd laughing at the two was either a black comedy novel, or a book of dark jokes. 

She leaned toward the dark jokes. 

Under his desk, she found a folded up paper and opened it, trying to see if it was important, though she'd really have no idea, and saw that it looked like some sort of congratulatory certificate. High school diploma, maybe? 

After she got everything sorted, she tried to put it with other things that looked the same. 

She went out into the rest of the house and found a garbage can under the extra tall sink cabinet, and took it up Sans' room, only throwing away things that were obviously trash; food wrappers, crumpled up bits of paper, other strange little things that might have been dried lava, or eternally frozen snow… any way, they were things that looked like they had fallen from his shoes. 

When she took the garbage can back down, she found something that looked like it might be a vacuum, and she looked at it, turning it around and pressing the buttons to see how they worked without any power, before sticking it back in the closet and pulling out the broom and dust pan. 

Sweeping was better than nothing… and also better than blowing up the house. 

The next task (Y/n) tackled was sorting out the laundry, though she couldn’t find any washer or dryer to clean them in. Maybe they made laundromat trips? 

After that she figured it was about lunch time, so she dug through the fridge and ate a small portion of the lasagna from the night before. It wasn’t the worst she’d ever had, but it was far from the best. Maybe if she hid some of the spices he’d used that should have stayed out of the mix, like sage, paprika, cinnamon, nutmeg… really, she thought maybe he’d just put some of everything in the spice rack in there. 

She tried turning on the tv and entertaining herself, but the only channels they seemed to get all had the same robotic actor on them, overdramatically giving monologues, "hosting" or cooking things- awful things… that’s probably where Sans’ brother had gotten the recipe for the lasagna… 

She turned it back off, and decided to look through the windows to try to get an idea of the area she was in. Knowing that she was at least supposedly in danger, and most likely truly could be, she only peeped from the edges of the window for the first few minutes, but after noticing that there didn't seem to be anyone or anything outside but tall grass and flowers, she just looked through it normally. 

I thought they said we were in monster territory…? 

(Y/n) put a hand over her face. What if they were all the way on the other side of the monster territory? She certainly couldn't find any landmarks that looked familiar, and the tall buildings usually on the horizon seemed to be missing. 

Only more support for her 'Sans is actually a nice, though perverted, guy' theory… 

She sighed and decided to go look out the windows in Sans' room, thinking that maybe she'd see something familiar from higher up. 

(Y/n) was standing at the window, wondering what kind of flowers were in the field, when the door opened. She, of course, expected it to be Sans, this being his room and all, but the blood drained from her face was she saw the tall skeleton in the doorway. 

"HUMAN, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD PROBABLY GET HUNGRY, AND I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D BE ABLE TO FEND FOR YOURSELF," he shouted, sounding extremely put upon. "AND I KNEW SANS WOULD BE TOO LAZY TO REMEMBER TO FEED YOU, SO I- WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?" He asked suspiciously, cutting himself off before getting to his point about how much of a hassle it would be if she died from starvation.  

Her color had gotten paler when she'd seen him, and her eyes had started darting around the room, as though taking stock of what she could use as a weapon. Papyrus automatically did a check and found that not only did she have a blue soul, denoting her strong integrity, but it seemed to have a bit of a purple glow around the edges showing her perseverance, looking a bit like blue velvet; blue, but purple in the shadows caused by the texture, and she had an extremely low LOVE, around that of a child's, and was surprised that her desire to find a weapon went so against her stats. 

It must be a survival tactic, then. Probably to defend against any oncoming attacks.

She posed no threat to him, but he applauded her instinct to be ready to fight if necessary. 

She swallowed harshly and managed to rasp out a broken whisper. "Loo-n-  ou-si-." She pointed out the window to try to help him understand what she was saying. 

He seemed to have dismissed her, though, looking around the room. "OH MY GOD!!" 

She jumped at his exclamation. Did she do something wrong by cleaning? 

"THIS IS THE CLEANEST I'VE SEEN MY LAZY BROTHER'S ROOM SINCE WE MOVED IN!! BUT, WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THE LAUNDRY? IT'S JUST SITTING HERE IN PILES." 

"C-ou-... cou-n't fi-d," she rasped, shaking her head nervously apologetic. Her hand went to her throat, and the way she winced showed how hard on her throat just getting that much out was. 

Papyrus hummed, his fingers lifting to his chin. It would make sense that she wouldn't wash them if she couldn't find anything to do it with. "FEAR NOT, HUMAN! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, WILL SHOW YOU WHERE THE WASHING MACHINE IS! AND HOW TO USE IT!!" 

(Y/n) opened her mouth to object that she did know how a washer worked, but it didn't matter, because he had just turned and started out the door with, "COME, HUMAN, AND BRING A PILE OF LAUNDRY!!" 

After having the instructions on how to use the machine yelled at her, for no particular reason, she was glad that it had been Sans that had found her, and that Papyrus had only come to check on her and would be leaving soon. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to stay in his presence without constantly being on the edge of a panic attack. 

When she came back into the front room from where the laundry room was, behind a hidden door in the kitchen, Papyrus was standing a little awkwardly near the door. 

"W-WELL… I CAN'T SPEND ALL DAY MAKING SURE THAT YOU DON'T DIE! I HAVE TO GO! …" He stood silently for another moment, then announced, "I'M GOING." 

(Y/n) gave a smile and waved, the most she could do without hurting her throat further or risking offending him, and had to hold back a laugh as the start of a red glow touched his cheeks and he looked flustered for a millisecond before he gave a tug to straighten his outfit before he turned and walked out through the door. 

After Papyrus left, (Y/n) mostly just hung around and did laundry, looking through things, but not finding much for her to do until she found a deck of cards, then she sat on the floor and played solitaire, pausing only when the laundry was done, to fold it and put it on the desk chair, not wanting to dig around in Sans’ drawers. 

He was a guy… guys had… stuff … that she’d rather not stumble across… especially due to the strange things that had apparently turned him on before. Also, being a skeleton monster made him different from every other guy she'd known, and the thought of finding super weird fetish stuff that she'd inevitably be morbidly curious about gave her pause. 

She wasn't a "freak" but… curiosity was something that had gotten the better of her before, and some things in life, you just didn't need to know. 

.

(Y/n) had finished the few loads of laundry, folded them, and turned to just playing card games by herself on Sans’ bed by the time the door opened and Sans walked in, looking tired and sweating a weird sort of translucent, but red tinged, perspiration. 

He stepped in and closed the door behind him before looking up, but then froze in place and swept his shocked and slightly horrified gaze around the room. 

For the second time that day, she wondered if she'd done something wrong by cleaning Sans' room. 

He stiffly walked to the chair and pushed the laundry off onto the floor. 

(Y/n) made an indignant noise from the bed, but heard him mutter, "too clean…" 

Ahh, so he's one of those people who need a little disorder to feel comfortable , she noted, feeling the anxiety leaving her as he tossed his coat on the chair and turned to her. 

He smiled and lifted a bag onto the bed. "i, uh- i uh- gotcha some stuff…" His expression shifted to that angry sort of flustered look he'd had before, paying close attention to how his other hand was fiddling with the edge of his red sweater. "somethin' ta wear, s-so ya don't have ta keep wearin' dirty clothes…" 

Sans glanced over at her and felt another pang in his chest at the beautiful smile she was giving him. 

fuck-! so adorable! an'... why d'i feel disappointed that she's not wearing my clothes, now?  

(Y/n) smiled at him, mouthing thank you . She hesitated before nervousness seemed to grow over her a little and her gaze focused on the bed. 

“wassup, sweetheart?” He asks, feeling a bit nervous about what was on her mind. 

She gestured, asking, can I go home? She immediately winced and glanced up at him then back to the bed, as though she were worried he was going to hit her. 

Sans felt his soul throb painfully at the thought of her leaving, and his hand automatically went to it. He realized what he was doing, and changed the movement to scratching his sternum through his sweater. Luckily, he had a reason for her to stay. He move the bag onto the floor, then sat on the mattress and laid back with his shoulders about even with her, making himself comfortable as he told her, “i talked ta alla my contacts, an’ it sounds like no one knows ‘xactly where ya are, but they definitely know that there’s a human on monster turf.” 

Her brow dipped in confusion and she asked, how?  

Sans shrugged as he put his arms behind his head, his fingers running over a crack on the back of his skull. “dunno fer sure-” ok, it might have been from his asking so blatantly if anyone had seen a human around- “but i hadda getcha here somehow. coulda jus’ been spotted on th’ way. tough luck, but, should be good in two or three days. ‘f we wait fer three, they’ll most likely ferget ta be lookin’ fer ya.” 

(Y/n) eyed him, and he was glad that he’d already been sweating so that she hopefully didn’t notice the fresh round of perspiration beading on his skull. Finally, she seemed to accept it, and he let out an internal sigh of relief. 

“so, you, uh, ya have an ok day?” She gave a half nod half shrug. “noticed ya cleaned up ‘round here… an’ i appreciate th’ thought behind it, sweetheart, ‘s real sweet a ya, but, i gotta ask ya; please don’t. kinda wigs me out when ‘s too clean. like it’s a fake fuckin’ storybook,” he muttered. 

She put a hand on his arm, and it felt like Sans’ soul tumbled around his rib cage. He looked up to see the apologetic look on her face. Sorry...

Apologies? Yeah… Those were something that never happened in the Underground. 

In a kill or be killed world, any sign of niceness was seen as a form of weakness, so niceties had been dropped long ago. 

The way his sweetheart was so nice, showing kindness and caring was definitely something he liked about her, but… it also made him uncomfortable. 

Sans would never turn away from her for her weakness, he wanted to protect her, keep her with him and safe. But… he didn't know how to react to this kindness. So he again took it to a place he was more comfortable with. 

“ah, dollface, don’t worry ‘bout it…” He turned and his thumb went out to run down her cheek, trying not to let the tiny flinch get to him. “if it’d make ya feel better, i know somthin’ ya could do ta make it up ta me…” He gave her a smirky grin and took his hand back, putting a fingertip on his cheek. “how ‘bouta kiss?” He watched her gaze turn wary, her body stiffening like she was getting ready to bolt. 

False, flirty affection and innuendo was so much easier to handle than real affection, even if he wanted her affection like a starving man wanted food. It seemed, though, that she knew how to take flirting about as well as he knew how to take a compliment, so he again changed directions.

 “kiddin’- ‘m kiddin’, doll,” he assured quickly, feeling a prick of pain in his soul. He was not kidding. He'd probably do anything to get her to willingly kiss him again. “heya, knock knock.”

She looked at him uncertainly, but lifted a brow and tilted her head. Who’s there?  

“sherlock,” he told her, watching as she puzzled over it. 

Sherlock who…? Seemed to be what she asked with her confused expression after a moment. 

“ sherlock yer door tight, sweetheart,” he told her, watching as her eyes closed as she took it in, then her posture changed as she silently chuckled. 

Sans’ smile widened in satisfaction that she enjoyed his joke. “knock knock, doll.”

She lifted her brow to ask who's there, but it was the cute little smile on her face that made his soul throb. 

“mustache,” he told her, watching her expression contort in confusion. 

Mustache? Can skeleton monsters even grow mustaches? What the hell? She thought and tilted her head inquiringly.

“ mustache ya a question, but i’ll shave it fer later,” he told her with a blow off expression, watching her giggle as squeaks and huffs left her. 

There… that adorable expression on her face was a much better look than her being worried that he was going to do something unpleasant to her. Even if the worry was justifiable, given his track record concerning her… 

He just watched her giggling for a moment, red spreading over the bridge of his nose. 

She tapped her hand to his arm and managed to ask, you know a lot of knock knock jokes?  

“knock knock,” he told her in answer, and she lifted a brow immediately in question. “rhino,” he told her. 

Oh, this one had to be good. She tilted her head and lifted her brow again. 

“ rhino every knock knock joke there is,” he told her, his grin getting a bit goofier at her reaction. Stars she was cute! “so, what else d’ja do?”

(Y/n) wondered if it was something normal for monsters to talk so comfortably with someone they’d only really just met the day before. It really seemed like some ideal relationship situation from some rom-com; he got home from work, told her about his day, asked about hers… The only thing missing was an actual relationship…

She masked the feelings her internal musings brought up with the ease of practice and gestured around the room. She was good at ‘don’t rock the boat.’ 

“jus’ this, huh?” He asked and she nodded before pointing at the cards, indicating that she'd also played cards. “sounds like a  good day ta me, but maybe ‘m jus’ lazy,” he said as he closed his eye sockets. A contented smile tilting his normal grin up. “‘m gonna try ta get a nap in before dinner. feel like joinin’ me?”

(Y/n) shook her head to answer him, knowing he could see her though his slightly open socket. 

“suit yerself, sweetheart,” he told her, shifting his shoulders as he got comfortable.

He seemed to almost immediately fall asleep, soft snores coming from him, and not even reacting when she’d waved her hand in front of his face. 

She went back to her card game, the weird feeling of being so comfortable around a strange man (one that had pushed her against the wall and basically rubbed against her, no less!) struck her as wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to be truly uncomfortable. 

Uneasy and worried from his actions sometimes? 

For sure. 

Uncomfortable? 

Nope. 

Something brushed against and down her back, laying against her butt. 

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, seeing Sans' arm laid out behind her. She watched him closely, not wanting to miss any tell in his expression, but other than slightly rolling toward her, he still seemed asleep. 

She gave a doubtful glance, but it fell to the back of her mind as she continued her game. 

After a few minutes, she felt Sans rolling toward her more, his hand sliding over the bed, snaking over her thigh, wrapping around her waist and burying his face against her thigh. 

Oh, yeah. He's asleep, my ass, she mentally grumbled. 

She rolled her eyes and went back to her game, not entirely comfortable with this extent of touching, but she knew that some good friends got touchy and cuddled, so it wasn't some insanely strange concept to her, even if they weren't that close. 

Halfway through the next round of her game, (Y/n) felt Sans' arms tighten around her, and she looked down to see him rolling over onto his stomach, putting him on the cards and into her lap, his head awkwardly pressing against her. 

She tried to shift around to get rid of the discomfort of his skull pressing against her hip, and the weird kink he'd put in his neck vertebrae to do so. 

Of course, with all of her edging around his head, and their shifting around, she ended up laying back with him in her lap, his skull laying on her stomach. How could this end any other possible way with her luck?

Honestly, though, with all the terrible things he could possibly do to her, that she knew of and worried about, laying with his head on her stomach hadn't even made the list. 

She gave a shattered, huffing sigh that made her cough a little, but it cleared quickly. 

She kept herself ready in case she was going to have to defend herself from the skeleton, but folded her arms over her chest to feel like she had at least a little cover, and resigned herself to laying there until either he "woke up," or she had to convince him to move so she could use the bathroom. 

Sans tightened his arms around his sweetheart as she coughed, hating that he didn't have green magic to try and fix it instantly, but, thankfully, it quickly ended. 

He tried to be subtle, not wanting to give away that he was awake, but it was so hard when all he wanted to do was nuzzle into the soft squishiness of her belly. Especially when some of her squishiest bits were against his clavicle and were tempting him to rub against them… and give them a sniff…  

fuck- ya smell so fuckin' good, sweetheart… He mentally groaned to himself. 

(Y/n) shifted under him, but he didn't let it disturb him; he was an expert at pretending to sleep. 

"SANS-" 

The skeleton on her belly jumped at the loud voice, giving a grunt of surprise. 

"YOU BETTER BE DOWN HERE IN FIVE MINUTES TO EAT DINNER!!"

"paps, you fuckin' sonuvabitch," he grumbled to himself, not quite audible to (Y/n). 

"welp. dinner time, doll. you joinin' us downstairs 'gain t'night?" He asked as he sat up, not leaving the bed, or her pile of cards, but off of her. 

She gave him a nervous look, not wanting to be afraid, but also very afraid of the tall, loud skeleton downstairs. 

"aww, c'mon sweetheart, he ain't that bad. i mean, don't get me wrong, 'e's bad, but not that kind a bad." 

As strange as it was for her to trust anyone so quickly, his words kind of made her feel better about being in the same room as the taller skeleton.  

She followed him downstairs, deciding that she was misreading the look on his face and posture as content and proud, as though she trusted him to be her knight in a red sweater; it was probably just self confidence. 

God knew she'd never felt that much of it to know. 

Sans pulled out a chair for her, but instead of waiting to push her in, he sat in the chair next to it and shifted the seat, pulling it closer to him when she sat. 

(Y/n) would protest, but she really did feel safer being closer to him, and farther away from the other skeleton. 

He served her a small slice of lasagna, and she knew that it was because he knew it was going to taste awful, and he didn't want to stick her with too much to eat instead of a plot to starve her. 

It was a quiet dinner, much the same as the night before, with the toe of Sans' sneaker hitting the leg of her chair he was so close, and Papyrus giving her not at all hidden suspicious glares, as though he didn't think it was safe to hold a conversation in front of her. 

(Y/n) took another bite of the lasagna and hid her wince. 

She really should have hidden those spices earlier… 

A/N: Oh Sans... there's a difference between telling Paps that he's an amazing cook and telling (Y/n) she has to stay there because there's no possible way she can get home. Also, I recently got a message from someone who had made fanart of another story I wrote and asked if I wanted to see it- uh, fuck yeah, I do! You kidding?! You were inspired by something I wrote?! I'm gonna fangirl... I love it even more because I can't draw... I guess what I'm saying is that if you do anything inspired from something I've written (art, stories, drabbles), you don't have to ask, there's a 100% chance I want to see it. And that I'll squeal.

[violetsystems]

Following a Maricopa County Grand Jury decision, the woman behind the wheel of a semi-autonomous Uber vehicle was charged last month with negligent homicide in the 2018 death of Elaine Herzberg. The lawsuit against the backup driver in the first known autonomous vehicle fatality promises to be a landmark case with the power to shape the future of artificial intelligence in the U.S.

Determining fault when AI plays a role in a person’s injury or death is no easy task. If AI is in control and something goes wrong, when is it the attending human’s fault and when can you blame the AI? That’s the focus of a recent paper published in the Boston University Law Review. Here, UCLA assistant professor Andrew Selbst finds that AI creates tension with existing negligence law and requires intervention by regulators. A preprint draft of the paper was initially published in early 2020. The final version was updated with analysis of the Arizona negligent homicide case.

Selbst says the Uber case could go either way. A judge or jury could find it unreasonable to place liability on a person dealing with a semi-autonomous vehicle. Or responsibility could be assigned to a human actor who had limited control over the automated or autonomous system. This is what cultural anthropologist Madeleine Elish calls a “moral crumple zone.” When machines and humans are considered in tandem but the law fails to take machine intelligence into account, humans can absorb responsibility and become “liability sponges.”

“If negligence law requires a higher standard of care than humans can manage, it will place liability on human operators, even where the average person cannot prevent the danger,” Selbst writes. “While the Uber case seems to point in the direction of moral crumple zones, it is also easy to imagine the reverse — finding that because the average person cannot react in time or stay perpetually alert, failing to do so is reasonable. Ultimately, what AI creates is uncertainty.”

Selbst said legal scholars tend to draw a distinction between fully autonomous vehicles and semi-autonomous machines working with humans, like the vehicle involved in the Uber crash. While fully autonomous vehicles or artificial general intelligence (AGI) may shift responsibility to the hardware maker or AI system, the answer is far less clear when a human uses AI to make a decision based on a prediction, classification, or assessment. Selbst expects this to present new challenges for businesses, governments, and society.

[fyrapartnersearch]

Changing fates and a change of heart- a long term sci-fi rp

No one could’ve ever predicted that the universe would turn Into such a chaotic turmoil of humanity vs morality. No one could’ve ever believed that the aliens and the humans would turn on one another as they had done once, long ago, in times of old when the universe was still considered young and unexplored. Sadly. War did happen, everyone sort of knew deep down that it would. Worlds had collided and fallen, entire races of innocents had crumpled and far, far too many had died or lost all that they owned. Space no longer belonged to everyone. It belonged to the scoundrels, pirates, rogues and self proclaimed protectors of the human alliance that had declared itself a separate government after the first attack. The known galaxies themselves seemed to be split in two and divided by a rift. In the system known as kanoruc five, it was dominated entirely by aliens of all different races. Humans were forbidden to come here and the punishment was death. This mirrored what the humans had done in the systems they’d claimed. Would there ever be an end to this madness? Or was this the new way of life? Now and forever. Hello everyone, I hope you enjoyed that little snippet of what is going to occur in this rp is about. This is a sci-fi rp and I will not include or be doing any other genres. I require my partners to be literate, write in the third person and give me at least one paragraph per response though more are always welcome. I’m in my very early twenties and live in the eastern Australian time zone but I’m open to partners from all different zones. I’ll be playing an alien or alien hybrid character. They are not your normal blue skinned or pointy eared but otherwise normal human aliens you see in most shows. Please refrain from trying to use the theory of chimpanzees and humans being unable to produce offspring of you don’t like the fact that hybrids can and do exist in this rp. Please also be mindful of the fact that alien means a creature not from earth. They can have fur, scales, feathers, etc. this does not make them anthro’s or furries and insisting that it does will not make me impressed nor want to rp with you. Basically if you’re at all uncomfortable with the fact that the character you may be playing against is not some bland generic humanoid then kindly refrain from contacting me. As for what you play , I don’t care whether you want to rp as a human, another alien, a furry or an anthro. Just be mindful that what you choose to be will determine the course of the story. My characters are premade and I only rp as male characters. I’m open to gay or straight pairings of course but I will not double or play multiple characters. If there are side characters then the role of controlling them will fall onto both of us. I do not have nor will I provide pictures or face claims of the characters, I only have descriptions. I don’t care if you use pictures or a description of course. You must be 18+ if you wish to rp with me as there will be smut (I don’t fade to black) and other adult and NSFW themes In the rp. The same goes for the characters. If you or your characters are underaged then I will not even talk to you if you message me. Romance must be slow burn only, no fast paced love at first sight as it simply does not catch my attention. I prefer slow burn as I feel that it plays a part in character development. When it comes to those scenes in the bedroom do not expect my character to automatically take the lead. I have no interests in sub/dom dynamics and will only do switch dynamics. Same when it comes to the relationship outside of the bedroom, do not expect my character to be the one that leads romantically. You must respond to the rp once or more a day, if I don’t get a response within two weeks or at least an explanation as to why you’ve suddenly disappeared off the earth then I shall simply leave since I do not like having my time wasted. I only rp on discord, telegram,google hangouts or email. Please do not try to get me to rp on any other platform. When you contact me please tell me a bit about yourself, what made you like the idea of doing this rp and the numbers 123 so that I know you’ve read it all. If I don’t get that then unfortunately I won’t rp with you. My contact info: Discord: tiberionsunsconqourer#6187 Telegram: Tiberionwars Email and hangouts: lleo52560@gmail.com Hope to find some partners and stay safe everyone.

[joshbentley-blog1]

2018, A Year in Film

Much like my love for music, I use the end of the year to compile a list of my favorite films, films that affected my life and altered my perspective and appreciation for the arts. Here are a list of motion pictures that I consider impactful in some shape or form, transformative to a degree, and worthy contributions to the medium. Enjoy.

Honorable mentions:

Roma

Alfonso Cuarón’s return to Earth since 2013′s Gravity finds itself in 1970s Mexico, backdropped by the political turmoil of the time and laced with the mundane yet subtly beautiful comings and goings of every day life. It is an intimate and sincere look into the struggles of surviving day by day, but also a gorgeously emotional ode to the resilience of those entrapped by the life’s unprejudiced judgement.

Director:  Alfonso Cuarón

Distributor:  Netflix

Genre:  Historical drama

Isle of Dogs

Wes Anderson returned to the beloved medium of stop motion animation this year with Isle of Dogs. His previous work, Fantastic Mr. Fox, was a charming and quirky story of a fox father trying to provide for his den in the midst of a heated human versus animal dispute. But where Fantastic Mr. Fox lacked substantial depth (not a bad quality by any means), Isle of Dogs builds a narrative of love and hope, eloquently animating the unimpeachable love humans and dogs so equally share. The set design, animation quality and Wes Anderson quirks are all at their very best. A must-see for any Anderson fan, or appreciator of stop motion animation.

Director:  Wes Anderon

Distributor:  Fox Searchlight

Genre:  Stop motion animation / sci-fi / dystopian

Sorry to Bother You

Directorial debuts were bountiful this year, and one such standout is Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You. An apt and absurd social commentary, with enough laughs to punch through the somewhat dark depths it veils. The film starts off vanilla enough, but you soon find yourself in the midst of a dark, fever dream that won’t end. The phenomenal writing and cast make this original an extremely hard film to forget.

Director:  Boots Riley

Distributor:  Annapurna Pictures

Genre:  Absurdist / dark comedy

Top 10:

10. Disobedience

When New York-based photographer, Ronit (Weisz), learns of her father’s unexpected passing, her past life and all its troubles are brought to the forefront. Returning back to the Orthodox Jewish community in London in which she grew up, Ronit is faced with various extremes. From the turmoils of having to explain herself to the Jewish community, to the re-kindling of her relationship with Esti (McAdams), to facing her own faults and desires, Ronit’s life is crumpled and staggered. Disobedience is a heartfelt and organic story of love finding a way through all the dark and uncertainty.

Director:  Sebastián Lelio

Distributor:  Bleecker Street

Romance:  Romantic drama

9. You Were Never Really Here

A heroic yet traumatizing narrative finds Joaquin Phoenix’s Joe in the midst of unfolding the inner workings of a crime ring that stretches further than anyone could have comprehended. Joe is a former military and FBI operative, now a hired gun whose job it is to rescue trafficked girls. Director Lynne Ramsay expertly maneuvers the chaos and violence of the film, often subverted our expectations in various means. Phoenix gives one of his best performances to date, and Jonny Greenwood’s original soundtrack is the icing atop the cacophonic cake.

Director:  Lynne Ramsay

Distributor:  Amazon Studios

Genre:  Psychological thriller / crime drama

8. The Old Man & the Gun

If (500) Days of Summer were all grown up is how I would begin to describe this story. But The Old Man & the Gun is much, much more than a simple romantic comedy. Much like the director’s project from last year, one A Ghost Story, David Lowery once again explores the fabrics of time and how they shapes us as a species. The story is a contemplation on time’s inevitability and its relationship with our feelings of love and yearning. Beautifully backdropped by an America long passed, Lowery’s film finds two characters especially intertwined, strung together by the fickle hands of time itself. Robert Redford and Sissy Spacek have undeniable chemistry, and it is this chemistry that acts as the driving force of the film. Redford’s swan song is one to be seen and remembered dearly.

Director:  David Lowery

Distributor:  Fox Searchlight

Genre:  Biography / romantic comedy

7. First Reformed

A deep meditation on faith and all the uncertainties it brings with, First Reformed is an imaginative and exhausting look into the vitriol we have brought upon ourselves, and how God and Man meet at such an abyss. Reverend Toller, once a chaplain in the Armed Forces, now resides and serves in an old Dutch Reformed church, serving a diminishing congregation and existing in the shadow of the neighboring megachurch, Abundant Life. Toller is forced to deal his own morals and understandings, while also supporting those in his congregation. As his service becomes increasingly darker and more difficult, Toller looks deep within himself and looks to God for an answer, any answer.

Director:  Paul Schrader

Distributor:  A24

Genre:  Drama

6. Eighth Grade

Bo Burnham uses his directorial debut to discuss the Internet in its current context. From his discussions on the A24 podcast, Burnham wanted to find a proper medium for such a discussion, because many who try to judge the Internet and its culture do so miserably. It is understandably difficult to critique such culture without sounding tone deaf, but Burnham executes it to perfection. What better way to critique the Internet than by doing so from the perspective of an eighth grader, a person who has grown up in the shadow of the digital age? Elsie Fisher is a breakout star, nailing the timid courage of her character. Through excellent and organic performances and modern comedic writing, Eighth Grade is a coming-of-age story unlike any other.

Director:  Bo Burnhma

Distributor:  A24

Genre:  Comedy-drama / coming-of-age

5. Annihilation

2018 was admittedly a weaker year for science fiction, but one project that rose above the rest was Alex Garland’s Annihilation. Garland’s no stranger to science fiction or horror, having tackled the genres in 28 Days Later, 28 Weeks Later, and Ex Machina. But with Annihilation Garland is able to capture horror rooted in science, incomparable to any other film. Based on the novel by the same name from author Jeff VanderMeer, the story follows a group of scientists venturing into a quarantined zone known as “The Shimmer.” Once inside, the scientists are faced with the supernatural horrors they studied from afar. Garland’s work is immense and vivid, deserving of so much more praise than it has received.

Director:  Alex Garland

Distributor:  Paramount Pictures & Netflix

Genre:  Science fiction horror

4. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

The Coen Brothers are no strangers to the subversions of classic film. Their tangled narratives, inconclusive conclusions and ponderings on the workings of humankind have made them standout directors, enemies of conventional filmmaking and pioneers of darkly comedic explorations of humanity.

"A song never ceases to ease my mind out here in the West. Where the distances are great, and the scenery monotonous."

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, the Coen Brothers' first true western since 2010's True Grit, is anything but monotonous and certainly a welcome addition to the genre. Additionally, it is a triumphant return to form for the Coen Bros. Buster Scruggs is unlike most films, and again finds the Coen Brothers subverting the western genre, in its anthological form. Six vignettes tell the tales of settlers, outlaws, cowboys, and every sort of man and woman in between in the days of old, when the West was formed, and includes every bit of gruesome and grim detail.

It is not secret the Coen Brothers are adept at macabre storytelling, and are avid explorers of what makes man tick and humanity tremble. Their iconic dark, dry humor, their gritty and off-center storytelling, and their classic subversions of film are all present in Buster Scruggs. But while Coen films of past contained these elements (e.g. Hail, Caesar!), I have felt that their recent works have lacked that classic Coen charm. That snappy dialogue, the witty banter between characters, the intricate storytelling, all have been present in their works, but not since A Serious Man have I felt the Coen's magic this potently. That is now, not since Buster Scruggs.

The film's characters and stories do not overlap. But the themes and lessons certainly do. The opening ballad of one gun-slinging, guitar-strumming cowboy, Buster Scruggs (aka 'The San Saba Songbird'), is a gruesome musical. Full of shootouts and gore, it perfectly sets the tone for how the remainder of the film will play out. Tim Blake Nelson is charismatic, ruthless, and quick as a whip in this vignette. And I would have adored an entire film devoted solely to his character. But the Coen's first subversion comes when our hero is gunned down in the street by a faster gun.

Near Algodones, New Mexico, we find James Franco's outlaw. Robbing a bank, he is retaliated against by a surly old man covered in pans. This vignette feels shorter than its predecessor but is equally humorous and grim. The third story, Meal Ticket, gives us a glimpse into the harsh realities that faced early western settlers. And how making a living does not always coincide with morality and ethics. Liam Neeson and Harry Melling gel so well together but share few pieces of back-and-forth dialogue. I've seen some criticize this vignette for straying from the classic "western format," but to me it perfectly captures what it meant to live such a life.

All Gold Canyon is among my favorite of the stories. Its beautiful shots, wide takes of a beautiful canyon, and the juxtaposition of a man searching for riches in the mud while the true riches of nature are set behind him. It's a simple story, but it leaves the viewer wanting more from Tom Waits' prospector character. One of the view stories to end happily (in a sense), I found All Gold Canyon to be a masterful work of minimalist storytelling.

The Gal Who Got Rattled is my favorite of the six stories. Zoe Kazan, Bill Heck and Grainger Hines have excellent chemistry and play off each other so well. Straying from the deep west, we are drawn northwards, on the Oregon Trail. The simple yet dangerous treck is beautifully captured by the Coens here, and the story envelops you in its charm. And finally, The Mortal Remains ends our journey. A story laced with symbolism and metaphors, it's the Coen Brothers at their peak. The skeletal format of this vignette is much like the morals explored in No Country and A Serious Man, and I found myself wondering how the story could possibly end. And then it does. The final subversion of the film is this vignette's untimely end.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs may lack continuity in terms of character arcs and storytelling. But what it certainly does not lack is character, masterful writing, expert characterization, and a deep understanding of what captivates us as viewers. The Coen Brothers understand that sometimes, simplicity is best. There is beauty in minimalism, and I believe Buster Scruggs is a excellent envisioning of such a statement.

Directors:  Joel & Ethan Coen

Distributor:  Netflix

Genre:  Western / anthological film / dark comedy

3. Hereditary

They say the devil is in the details, and so such phrase would better describe Ari Aster’s debut, Hereditary. Perhaps the phrase shouldn’t be taken metaphorically though, instead literally; the film finds a family thrown into tragedy after a Satanic occult ritual, long in the works, begins to root itself in the foundations of the family.

Aster uses the story to burrow into our pysches, to strike fear and discomfort into the viewers. He does so not only expertly, but in such original fashion as well. Sure, Aster’s influences can be indentified and picked apart by an experienced viewer, but his crafting of a narrative and his fleshing out of the characters is so unique and a welcome take to the horror genre, Hereditary feels like an entirely new breed of horror.

The film begins with the funeral of the mother to Annie Graham (Toni Collette). As guests pour in to the congregation, it is clear that Annie is shocked with the occupancy. She states in her eulogy that her mother was a very private and secretive women, and that she is shocked to see so many unfamiliar faces here to pay respects to her estranged mother. Once home, Annie and the rest of the family unwind to a disturbing degree of comfort. Annie does not seem shaken by her mother’s passing, as she begins clearing out boxes that belonged to her mother. As she is exiting her studio however, a vision of her mother briefly appears in the dim and dark corner of the unlit room. Annie steps back, wondering if what she saw was real or a fabrication of her mind. Thus, begins the Grahams’ descent into darkness.

Following the funeral, Annie’s only daughter Charlie expresses her worry over the loss of her grandma. Stating, “Who’s going to take care of me?” Charlie is at a loss. Annie comforts her saying of course she will take care of her, but Charlie responds by asking what will happen when Annie is gone.

Later, Peter (Annie’s son) asks if he can go out and visit friends at a party. Annie lets him go but on one condition, that he takes Charlie with him. Charlie begins having visions of her own, and begins tinkering and creating absurd and deformed sculptures. An obvious introvert, she is reluctant to agree to go to the party with Peter, much to the chagrin of Annie. At the party, Peter finds a group of friends to smoke marijuana with, leaving Charlie by herself. Alone, Charlie gets into trouble and her and Peter rush home. An unfortunate incident occurs en route, which only propels the darkness further.

Annie becomes desperate for answers and substance to her mother’s reclusive and secretive life. She finds hints of the truth through old belongings and an old friend of her mother. Visions keep recurring and stranger forces begin to act on not only Annie but Peter as well.

Soon, the family is tumbling down a slope of despair. Séances, rituals, occult castings begin to mount and the demons and darkness begin to unleash. The film is a gripping and horrifying look at what is perhaps most universally frightening, family.

Director Ari Aster is unafraid to explore and highlight the grotesque and grim. He utilizes shocking imagery and beautiful lighting to display these horrors front and center, while still relying on subtle scares to keep the audience in suspense. Not only is the film adeptly disturbing, its characters are compelling and interesting. None are thrown by the wayside, and the spiraling story’s success is hinged on the characters we come to love. Toni Collette gives her greatest performance to date, and Alex Wolff proves he can handle a broad array of material. Milly Shapiro is excellent as Charlie, rivaling Elsie Fisher for young breakout star this year.

The magnificent blend of cinematography, acting, writing, and horror imagery Hereditary the best horror film I’ve seen all year, and certainly one of the most gripping stories I have ever experienced.

Director:  Ari Aster

Distributor:  A24

Genre:  Supernatural horror / disturbing horror

2. The Favourite

It is often the case that period pieces take on a serious tone, dramatic takes on the facts and legends of old. Think Phantom Thread or Lincoln. Not too common are period pieces that extrapolate on the well-known, but also leave plenty of room for creative freedom from the production team. Even more rare are such projects that include elements of absurdity and dark comedy.

But it would not come to anyone’s surprise to find out that such a project exists at the hands of director Yorgos Lanthimos. Best known for his previous works, The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, Lanthimos is almost Wes Anderson-esque or Tarantino-esque, in the marks he leaves in his films. His style is so distinct and his directions very much his own.

The Favourite follows suit, and Lanthimos’ quirks and trademarks are found throughout. From the monochromatic color palette to the dry, darkly comedic dialogue, the film is familiar in a way. But also true is that the film is nothing like Lanthimos has ever done before. It is grander, more gruesome, diabolical in a way, biblical in scope. His first film for a major production studio perhaps led to a grander scope, but I believe that this was a logical next step for the director. From The Lobster it was apparent that Lanthimos was willing and more than capable of tackling a monolithic project such as The Favourite, if given the right assets. It is inspiring to see such a film come to fruition.

The film finds three women in the royal court of Queen Anne:  Abigail Hill, Sarah Churchill, and Queen Anne herself. Churchill (known in the film commonly as Lady Marlborough) has serviced the Queen for quite some time, prior to Ms. Abigail Hill‘s arrival. Both as a political aid and as a lover, Churchill finds comfort and immense power in her role beside Queen Anne. Everything seems to be going well for the court; the Queen, while certainly inept, has the confidence of her subjects and the war with France is going better than expected.

But then Abigail Hill arrives. A cousin of Sarah Churchill’s, Abigail travels to the court in hopes of working under both the Queen and her senior, Lady Marlborough. Hill begins as a lowly servant, making meals and cleaning sections of the palace. But not soon after, she advances the ranks, eventually rivaling Churchill in terms of power and influence on the Queen and all of Britain. The two cousins turn on each other, a once subtle love quickly turns to angst and hate.

The relationship of the three women dips and ascends throughout the film; there are periods of immense joy and respect, but also grim and violent progressions of guilt, lust and jealousy.

All of these emotions are so vividly captured thanks to the unique cinematography and direction. Camera angles are unconventional, using low-lying cameras to peer upward towards the characters, or highly placed lenses creeping above the Queen and her court. All of these placements give the sense that the viewer is spying on the characters, that we are sneaking into their lives unbeknownst to them.

It is the performances of the three leads and the unique cinematography that gripped me so powerfully upon my initial viewing. Olivia Colman (Queen Anne), Rachel Weisz (Sarah Churchill) and Emma Stone (Abigail Hill) are all superb talents, free the stretch their acting chops and creative imaginations to bring such life to their characters. But the supporting cast is equally brilliant. In fact, no elements of the film come off as ill-planned or weak. The film is like a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync and precise to a scary degree.

Director:  Yorgos Lanthimos

Distributor:  Fox Searchlight

Genre:  Historical comedy-drama / period piece / romance

1. Burning (버닝)

It has been quite some time since I have felt this looming questioning of morality, this cutting sense of dread from a motion picture. Burning is a Korean psychological thriller by Lee Chang-dong, and tells the story of three individuals caught in the unforgiving hands of lust. An ineffable sense of desire lurks throughout the film, as the three characters find themselves and their relationships with each other engulfed in tragedy. Love and desire quickly transforms into decay and wrath.

Lee Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) is a part-time delivery man, who one day finds an old schoolmate working outside a department store. Shin Hae-mi (Jun Jong-seo) asks Jong-su out to drinks and the two quickly become entranced by one another. Hae-mi asks Jong-su if he remembers her from their shared past. He does not. She informs him that they attended middle school together, lived in the same village, and that Jong-su once called her ugly leading to her receiving plastic surgery. Still, deeply infatuated and perhaps a tad remorseful, Jong-su helps Hae-mi by looking over her reclusive cat while she travels to Africa in the hopes of some soul searching.

Hae-mi eventually returns to Seoul, this time bringing back a friend she met while in the airport, Ben. Ben and Hae-mi bonded over their shared heritage and nationality, being the only two Koreans in the airport at the time. The trio goes out for hot pot and drinks, where Hae-mi states in a drunken stupor that she felt incredibly lonesome while in the Kalahari desert. She describes a bittersweet lonesomeness that only such a vast expanse of desolation could bring. Jong-su seems unphased, almost detached from such a stark statement from a normally bubbly individual. Ben, looks noticeably concerned but then says he has never understood why people cry, he has never shed a tear himself. The three leave shortly after.

Time moves on, and Jong-su eventually moves back to his hometown to take over his father’s farm, as his father has come into legal trouble. Hae-mi and Ben become ever closer and Jong-su appears to remain detached from Hae-mi from the exterior. Deep down, Jong-su feels heavily for Hae-mi, eventually expressing his love for her to Ben at his farm.

Darkness sets in when one day Hae-mi does not respond to Jong-su’s calls. From there on out the story becomes a mysterious and incredibly riveting tale of love and the dangers of desire and inaction.

Yoo Ah-in is incredible as Jong-su, and nails the detached and perplexed characterization. Steven Yeun steals every scene he is a part of, reminding me of Heath Ledger’s Joker or Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) in terms of menacing presence and subtle malice. But for me, the standout actor is Jun Jong-seo and her portrayal of Hae-mi. She embodies the character perfectly, and I felt for her character throughout the film. Hae-mi is clearly struggling to find her own way and desperately wants to find courage and power in some shape or form. I can relate to that struggle. Truly, this film is carried by its characters and the beautiful performances by their respective actors.

So many other elements come together to make this film a success though. The cinematography is masterclass. Using wide lenses to capture the claustrophobic chaos of downtown Seoul and the vast and desolate disconnect of the Korean countryside, cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo is able to capture the diverse beauty of Korea. He uses intimate close ups and handheld camerawork to create cutting scenes of tension and discomfort, drawing the viewer into the experience, emboldening the story of Jung-su and Hae-mi. A wide variety of long takes and tracking shots are utilized as well, forcing the viewer to pay attention and highlighting the characters in an organic moment.

Perhaps my favorite scene of the year, and certainly my favorite scene of the movie comes about half way through the runtime. It involves Miles Davis’ song, “Générique,” and a particular character’s tribal, rhythmic dancing. It’s a beautiful moment of reflection in the film and still runs through my head.

I will refrain from discussing the film anymore, as I strongly believe this work is best experienced with as little knowledge as possible. Lee Chang-dong, Yoo Ah-in, Jun Jong-seo and Steven Yeun, and the rest of the production team have created something incredibly raw and thoughtful here. It is more than apparent that an immense amount of care went into making this story and adaptation of Haruki Murakami’s Barn Burning a triumphant success. What I love about this film is, in a way, it made me feel a connection to my home country in such a profound and unexplainable way. I haven’t seen many Korean films, but Burning was able to kindle a connection in me that I haven’t experienced with other Korean films before. For these reasons, I can decidedly say that Burning is my favorite film of 2018.

Director:  Lee Chang-dong

Distributor:  CGV Arthouse (Korea) & Well Go Entertainment (USA)

Genre:  Psychological thriller / romantic drama

[machine-saint]

#a judge sentencing a guilty individual based on the output of a racially biased reoffense algorithm#vs a judge sentencing a guilty individual based on their own racist beliefs#while both arent exactly accountable the former gets the additional advantage of being able to offload blame to the algorithm

going to address this as well: if sentencing is algorithm-based (such as the federal sentencing guidelines which already exist), you can address the problem of "okay, let's make the algorithm less racist"; in the limit where the algorithm has zero room for human discretion, fixing the algorithm fixes the problem entirely. not to say that completely rules-based systems are always better, of course.

conversely, if the judge is individually racist, you can just go "well, it's that one judge's fault, we fired them and everything is fine. oops, their replacement was racist too. and so was the third." and never address the systemic reasons why your judges are racist! the idea of moral crumple zones was designed for robotics (when an automated system goes wrong, blame attaches to the human operator) but i think it applies here as well.

AI systems that are trained on a corpus of human-produced data shouldn't be used because they'll always be racist because of their biased training data. unlike humans, who are well-known for not having unconscious biases.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Conspiratorialism as a material phenomenon

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I think it behooves us to be a little skeptical of stories about AI driving people to believe wrong things and commit ugly actions. Not that I like the AI slop that is filling up our social media, but when we look at the ways that AI is harming us, slop is pretty low on the list.

The real AI harms come from the actual things that AI companies sell AI to do. There's the AI gun-detector gadgets that the credulous Mayor Eric Adams put in NYC subways, which led to 2,749 invasive searches and turned up zero guns:

https://www.cbsnews.com/newyork/news/nycs-subway-weapons-detector-pilot-program-ends/

Any time AI is used to predict crime – predictive policing, bail determinations, Child Protective Services red flags – they magnify the biases already present in these systems, and, even worse, they give this bias the veneer of scientific neutrality. This process is called "empiricism-washing," and you know you're experiencing it when you hear some variation on "it's just math, math can't be racist":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/23/cryptocidal-maniacs/#phrenology

When AI is used to replace customer service representatives, it systematically defrauds customers, while providing an "accountability sink" that allows the company to disclaim responsibility for the thefts:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

When AI is used to perform high-velocity "decision support" that is supposed to inform a "human in the loop," it quickly overwhelms its human overseer, who takes on the role of "moral crumple zone," pressing the "OK" button as fast as they can. This is bad enough when the sacrificial victim is a human overseeing, say, proctoring software that accuses remote students of cheating on their tests:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

But it's potentially lethal when the AI is a transcription engine that doctors have to use to feed notes to a data-hungry electronic health record system that is optimized to commit health insurance fraud by seeking out pretenses to "upcode" a patient's treatment. Those AIs are prone to inventing things the doctor never said, inserting them into the record that the doctor is supposed to review, but remember, the only reason the AI is there at all is that the doctor is being asked to do so much paperwork that they don't have time to treat their patients:

https://apnews.com/article/ai-artificial-intelligence-health-business-90020cdf5fa16c79ca2e5b6c4c9bbb14

My point is that "worrying about AI" is a zero-sum game. When we train our fire on the stuff that isn't important to the AI stock swindlers' business-plans (like creating AI slop), we should remember that the AI companies could halt all of that activity and not lose a dime in revenue. By contrast, when we focus on AI applications that do the most direct harm – policing, health, security, customer service – we also focus on the AI applications that make the most money and drive the most investment.

AI hasn't attracted hundreds of billions in investment capital because investors love AI slop. All the money pouring into the system – from investors, from customers, from easily gulled big-city mayors – is chasing things that AI is objectively very bad at and those things also cause much more harm than AI slop. If you want to be a good AI critic, you should devote the majority of your focus to these applications. Sure, they're not as visually arresting, but discrediting them is financially arresting, and that's what really matters.

All that said: AI slop is real, there is a lot of it, and just because it doesn't warrant priority over the stuff AI companies actually sell, it still has cultural significance and is worth considering.

AI slop has turned Facebook into an anaerobic lagoon of botshit, just the laziest, grossest engagement bait, much of it the product of rise-and-grind spammers who avidly consume get rich quick "courses" and then churn out a torrent of "shrimp Jesus" and fake chainsaw sculptures:

https://www.404media.co/email/1cdf7620-2e2f-4450-9cd9-e041f4f0c27f/

For poor engagement farmers in the global south chasing the fractional pennies that Facebook shells out for successful clickbait, the actual content of the slop is beside the point. These spammers aren't necessarily tuned into the psyche of the wealthy-world Facebook users who represent Meta's top monetization subjects. They're just trying everything and doubling down on anything that moves the needle, A/B splitting their way into weird, hyper-optimized, grotesque crap:

https://www.404media.co/facebook-is-being-overrun-with-stolen-ai-generated-images-that-people-think-are-real/

In other words, Facebook's AI spammers are laying out a banquet of arbitrary possibilities, like the letters on a Ouija board, and the Facebook users' clicks and engagement are a collective ideomotor response, moving the algorithm's planchette to the options that tug hardest at our collective delights (or, more often, disgusts).

So, rather than thinking of AI spammers as creating the ideological and aesthetic trends that drive millions of confused Facebook users into condemning, praising, and arguing about surreal botshit, it's more true to say that spammers are discovering these trends within their subjects' collective yearnings and terrors, and then refining them by exploring endlessly ramified variations in search of unsuspected niches.

(If you know anything about AI, this may remind you of something: a Generative Adversarial Network, in which one bot creates variations on a theme, and another bot ranks how closely the variations approach some ideal. In this case, the spammers are the generators and the Facebook users they evince reactions from are the discriminators)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generative_adversarial_network

I got to thinking about this today while reading User Mag, Taylor Lorenz's superb newsletter, and her reporting on a new AI slop trend, "My neighbor’s ridiculous reason for egging my car":

https://www.usermag.co/p/my-neighbors-ridiculous-reason-for

The "egging my car" slop consists of endless variations on a story in which the poster (generally a figure of sympathy, canonically a single mother of newborn twins) complains that her awful neighbor threw dozens of eggs at her car to punish her for parking in a way that blocked his elaborate Hallowe'en display. The text is accompanied by an AI-generated image showing a modest family car that has been absolutely plastered with broken eggs, dozens upon dozens of them.

According to Lorenz, variations on this slop are topping very large Facebook discussion forums totalling millions of users, like "Movie Character…,USA Story, Volleyball Women, Top Trends, Love Style, and God Bless." These posts link to SEO sites laden with programmatic advertising.

The funnel goes:

i. Create outrage and hence broad reach;

ii, A small percentage of those who see the post will click through to the SEO site;

iii. A small fraction of those users will click a low-quality ad;

iv. The ad will pay homeopathic sub-pennies to the spammer.

The revenue per user on this kind of scam is next to nothing, so it only works if it can get very broad reach, which is why the spam is so designed for engagement maximization. The more discussion a post generates, the more users Facebook recommends it to.

These are very effective engagement bait. Almost all AI slop gets some free engagement in the form of arguments between users who don't know they're commenting an AI scam and people hectoring them for falling for the scam. This is like the free square in the middle of a bingo card.

Beyond that, there's multivalent outrage: some users are furious about food wastage; others about the poor, victimized "mother" (some users are furious about both). Not only do users get to voice their fury at both of these imaginary sins, they can also argue with one another about whether, say, food wastage even matters when compared to the petty-minded aggression of the "perpetrator." These discussions also offer lots of opportunity for violent fantasies about the bad guy getting a comeuppance, offers to travel to the imaginary AI-generated suburb to dole out a beating, etc. All in all, the spammers behind this tedious fiction have really figured out how to rope in all kinds of users' attention.

Of course, the spammers don't get much from this. There isn't such a thing as an "attention economy." You can't use attention as a unit of account, a medium of exchange or a store of value. Attention – like everything else that you can't build an economy upon, such as cryptocurrency – must be converted to money before it has economic significance. Hence that tooth-achingly trite high-tech neologism, "monetization."

The monetization of attention is very poor, but AI is heavily subsidized or even free (for now), so the largest venture capital and private equity funds in the world are spending billions in public pension money and rich peoples' savings into CO2 plumes, GPUs, and botshit so that a bunch of hustle-culture weirdos in the Pacific Rim can make a few dollars by tricking people into clicking through engagement bait slop – twice.

The slop isn't the point of this, but the slop does have the useful function of making the collective ideomotor response visible and thus providing a peek into our hopes and fears. What does the "egging my car" slop say about the things that we're thinking about?

Lorenz cites Jamie Cohen, a media scholar at CUNY Queens, who points out that subtext of this slop is "fear and distrust in people about their neighbors." Cohen predicts that "the next trend, is going to be stranger and more violent.”

This feels right to me. The corollary of mistrusting your neighbors, of course, is trusting only yourself and your family. Or, as Margaret Thatcher liked to say, "There is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women and there are families."

We are living in the tail end of a 40 year experiment in structuring our world as though "there is no such thing as society." We've gutted our welfare net, shut down or privatized public services, all but abolished solidaristic institutions like unions.

This isn't mere aesthetics: an atomized society is far more hospitable to extreme wealth inequality than one in which we are all in it together. When your power comes from being a "wise consumer" who "votes with your wallet," then all you can do about the climate emergency is buy a different kind of car – you can't build the public transit system that will make cars obsolete.

When you "vote with your wallet" all you can do about animal cruelty and habitat loss is eat less meat. When you "vote with your wallet" all you can do about high drug prices is "shop around for a bargain." When you vote with your wallet, all you can do when your bank forecloses on your home is "choose your next lender more carefully."

Most importantly, when you vote with your wallet, you cast a ballot in an election that the people with the thickest wallets always win. No wonder those people have spent so long teaching us that we can't trust our neighbors, that there is no such thing as society, that we can't have nice things. That there is no alternative.

The commercial surveillance industry really wants you to believe that they're good at convincing people of things, because that's a good way to sell advertising. But claims of mind-control are pretty goddamned improbable – everyone who ever claimed to have managed the trick was lying, from Rasputin to MK-ULTRA:

https://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

Rather than seeing these platforms as convincing people of things, we should understand them as discovering and reinforcing the ideology that people have been driven to by material conditions. Platforms like Facebook show us to one another, let us form groups that can imperfectly fill in for the solidarity we're desperate for after 40 years of "no such thing as society."

The most interesting thing about "egging my car" slop is that it reveals that so many of us are convinced of two contradictory things: first, that everyone else is a monster who will turn on you for the pettiest of reasons; and second, that we're all the kind of people who would stick up for the victims of those monsters.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/29/hobbesian-slop/#cui-bono

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[aion-rsa]

The Suicide Squad: Inside James Gunn’s DCEU Supervillain War Movie

https://ift.tt/3ywaJGW

In November 2019, I found myself in the middle of a war zone. Well, the closest approximation of a war zone I’ve ever found myself in during my time visiting the sets of blockbuster movies. If I had been brought to this particular set in Atlanta on a sunny autumn afternoon without knowing what movie it was that I was supposed to be getting a peek at, the scene presented to a group of journalists probably would have convinced me that this was some new war movie or straight up action blockbuster, and not one that features a collection of DC villains and antiheroes at its core.

The set in question is called “Jotunheim” and it’s apparently an objective Task Force X needs to conquer in The Suicide Squad. But for all intents and purposes, this could be the kind of Nazi fortress that the gritty characters of movies like The Dirty Dozen or Where Eagles Dare need to conquer, whether or not they get out alive. That’s no accident, according to director James Gunn.

“A lot of the film is within the genre of war caper films,” Gunn tells reporters later that day, specifically referencing The Dirty Dozen, Kelly’s Heroes, and others. “It’s not really something that’s existed for a long time, but in the late 60s that was one of the most vibrant genres of the world. [We wanted to] kind of … add on to it with The Suicide Squad.” 

There’s no sign of Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn, Idris Elba’s Bloodsport, or any of the other oddball DC characters at the center of Gunn’s newest movie as we stroll the Jotunheim set. Whatever wild action took place here seems to have been resolved long before our arrival. But the evidence is everywhere and it must have been one hell of a fight.

From the decrepit guard tower and busted fence at the perimeter to the entrance of Jotunheim (which has a massive hole blasted in it) is probably a distance of 100 meters or so. And virtually every inch of that shows the scope of whatever took place here: burnt out bunkers, overturned and semi-destroyed jeeps, sandbagged guard stations, and so much debris, a mixture of real rocks and carved foamcore and plywood “masonry.” 

“It’s a giant construction project” producer Peter Safran jokes about the number and scale of practical sets that have been built for The Suicide Squad. “The idea is to do as much practically as we possibly could.”

That reliance on practical sets and effects wherever possible is a theme that keeps coming up throughout the day as we tour sets and look at production artwork, scale models, weapons, and more.

“We built literally three football fields of a set and that’s so unusual in this day and age,” production designer Beth Mickle says of Jotunheim. “You just never do that. We wanted to have real rubble behind them in the battle sequences, and we wanted to see the building that they’re attacking. For that scene to exist in a film today is just highly unusual. And we’ve done that set and then a dozen others of that scale, so it’s incredible.”

Both the war movie vibe and the love of practical effects are very much in evidence on another set, a convincing indoor recreation of a jungle with a guerilla camp nestled in the middle of it. There’s dirty laundry hanging, filthy pots strewn around, a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a half empty bottle of watery beer…and what appear to be bloody chunks of skull and assorted viscera littering the grass. Like Jotunheim, something went down here, and whatever it was, it wasn’t pretty.

The Characters of The Suicide Squad: Meet Task Force X

It all stands in almost stark contrast to the wacky assortment of brightly-colored characters that make up the actual team. The concept art and costume tests for these characters were suitably colorful and wildly offbeat, and it’s almost hard to make this line up with the gritty, war movie vibes of the Jotunheim and jungle sets. But storyboards reveal a nighttime action sequence on a beach, with the Squad invading the fictional nation of Corto Maltese, and were it not for the colors and unique designs of the characters wreaking havoc, this too would be evocative of just about anything other than a superhero movie.

A production office is papered with life sized posters of Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), Peacemaker (John Cena), King Shark (performed by Steve Agee and voiced by Sylvester Stallone…although we don’t know that at the time), Blackguard (Pete Davison), Savant (Michael Rooker), Mongal (Mayling Ng), Weasel (Sean Gunn), The Thinker (Peter Capaldi), Ratcatcher 2 (Daniela Melchior), Javelin (Flula Borg), Amanda Waller (Viola Davis), Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), TDK (Nathan Fillion), and Bloodsport (Idris Elba).

Looming large is also Idris Elba’s ominous, armored character who we now all know as Bloodsport, but who the studio remained cagey about identifying during this set visit for some reason, leaving reporters to speculate on the identity of the badass in blue, black, and gold. Between the color scheme, the armor, and an impressively intimidating assortment of weapons left out on a table for reporters to ogle as it’s explained that each weapon transforms into or folds out of each other, speculation about Bloodsport ends up occupying a fair amount of the downtime between interviews.

So what exactly could possibly hold such a motley crew together?

“You have to remember that all either have been wrongfully accused or done horrible, morally wrong things,” John Cena says. ”You can see the good in people, you can also see the evil in people… All of these people have real bad personality problems. So I think when you get that type of group together, that’s what makes it fun. Everybody is kind of different. But I think criminals see criminals, they just size everybody up. I think every one of them is like, ‘how is this person going to stab me in the back?’ That’s the world they come from.”

Cena is playing the authoritarian Peacemaker, a character who sees himself very differently than many other members of the Squad do. But the actors behind two of the stranger characters in the film, offer some additional perspective on the team dynamic.

“There’s people in this story that really want friendships, and people that don’t want anybody near them, just like all of us,” says David Dastmalchian, who plays Polka-Dot Man. “I think all of us have felt at times like we are totally disposable to either our employers or society or you name it. So that’s been interesting, in the relationship [between the characters] with the dynamic that starts to build or break down.”

“These are all characters that for the most part, probably don’t even know the existence of the other ones,” Steve Agee says. “Some of them do, and it’s the story of The Suicide Squad. They are forced to be together, and do this task, this mission. So, part of the story is just watching these people adapt to being around each other.”

Flula Borg (who gave journalists a rambling, uproariously funny interview about his character which you’ll see more of on DoG soon enough) spoke about how his character relates to Viola Davis’ team leader, Amanda Waller.

“Judging from all the relationships that Javelin has I would say poor, non-existent, unhealthy, crosses lines, should consider not interacting with other humans,” Borg says. “Javelin doesn’t worry about how people treat him. He treats them … What’s the golden rule? He has the Javelin rule, which is like ‘suck it, I’m cool.’ I think that’s his rule.” 

Even here with the characters, the commitment to practical effects is strong, especially in areas where you’d fully expect them to rely on CGI. For example, Daniela Melchior, who plays Ratcatcher 2, has a little helper rat named Sebastian. While the hordes of rats the character is capable of commanding will necessitate CGI, at least some of the rats are real.

“We have three female rats [that play Sebastian],” Daniela Melchior says about the um…practical rats that the movie is using. “It’s a little bit distracting sometimes because I have to act lazy and tired like I don’t give a shit about whatever is happening… and I’m just like, ‘come here.’ But she doesn’t want to come, she wants to find new places and go, so we’re like, ‘okay, we’ll try one time with the rats, we’ll see what happens.’”

And when one of the rats playing Sebastian doesn’t want to do as they’re told, only then does the movie revert to CGI to get the desired “performance” from the furry co-star.

“I don’t know if I can say this,” Melchior says conspiratorially. “But actually, [some of the cast] are a little bit afraid of rats…I’m always trying to say ‘look, she’s so sweet, she wouldn’t hurt you.’”

From Suicide Squad 2 to The Suicide Squad

Like the characters themselves, The Suicide Squad has something of a rough past. The first movie failed to become the surefire franchise-starter the studio hoped for in 2016, and while a Suicide Squad 2 was put into development almost immediately, it wasn’t until Gunn became available that the project finally solidified.

“There was no plan before James,” Safran says. “There were other writers that had worked on various Suicide Squad scripts over the years, but… this was starting from ground zero, starting from scratch. All the characters that he selected were just characters that he was a fan of and wanted to play with. I think, in typical fashion for James, he picks more obscure characters…he liked the idea of being able to take these characters and imbue them with whatever characters he really wanted, or characteristics that he really wanted to play with.”

One of the “characteristics” Gunn wanted was to truly tap into the spirit of DC’s long-running and beloved Suicide Squad comics of the 1980s, which were co-created and stewarded by Jon Ostrander. 

Read more

Movies

The Suicide Squad: Margot Robbie On the Enduring Appeal of Harley Quinn

By Kayti Burt

Movies

The Suicide Squad: How Idris Elba Brings Bloodsport to Life

By Stephanie Williams

“I don’t think of it so much as an interpretation of what Ostrander wrote but I do think of it as a continuation of what he did,” Gunn says. “It’s very much in line with that. When he was first putting this team together, he was only able to get certain characters. For him, it was the fun of taking these characters that weren’t as well-known and developing them in a real way. And it’s one of the greatest superhero runs of any comic book series.”

(Gunn also notes that Ostrander has a cameo in the film.)

As for whether or not The Suicide Squad is a sequel to or a reboot of the previous film, all involved are both diplomatic and evasive. The official line is that any characters that were together in the previous film do already know each other, but as for the actual events of the 2016 movie, that’s where things get murky. 

“We just don’t address it any tangible form,” Safran says. “Yes, they’re the characters and actors that played them in the first movie, but we really wanted to make sure that this stands on its own two feet. It’s not a sequel, but there are some characters that were in the first movie, so it’s not really a full reboot either. So we just call it James Gunn’s The Suicide Squad.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Inside Jotunheim

Later in the day, journalists are taken inside Jotunheim via soundstage, an indoor construction that appears almost as sprawling as the outdoor set. As we saw outside, the remnants of what was likely a furious battle are all around. A stuntman in full Peacemaker gear is hanging around as we see Robbie’s Harley, Dastmalchian’s Polka-Dot Man, and Agee as King Shark (“the studio is trying to play down the whole Polka-Dot Man/King Shark universe they’re building,” Dastmalchian jokes) make their way through the rubble. Elba’s Bloodsport isn’t visible, but we’re assured he’s part of the scene.

While it’s Sylvester Stallone voicing King Shark in the film, it’s Agee on set here, wearing a grey mo-cap suit with the kind of padding you see on MLB umpires and somewhat shark-shaped wire headgear. He also appears to be holding a skull.    

Harley, however, is wearing the ornate red dress glimpsed in the trailer (although it’s somewhat the worse for wear at the moment). As she navigates the carnage in Jotunheim, Gunn calls out for Robbie to “hum a little tune.” She does just that, conjuring exactly the kind of aimless musical free-association you’d expect from a mind like Harley Quinn in the midst of battle.

“Harley’s been through some things as you can see by this point in the film,” Robbie says to reporters between takes. When it’s noted that Harley’s baseball bat, a fixture in the previous film, is nowhere to be found in this scene, she jokes “My baseball bat is back home in LA, next to my bed, in case anyone breaks in…I’ve got other weapons in this one.”

We don’t get to see these Squad members engaged in any combat during the shooting of this scene, and it’s not clear if this is the interior from the same “entrance” that had seemingly been blasted into the outdoor structure, or somewhere else inside the fortress. But the clues all point to one thing: like everything else in this movie, where The Suicide Squad goes, destruction and chaos follow.

The Suicide Squad opens in theaters and on HBO Max on Aug. 6. We’ll have more from our set visit in the coming days.

The post The Suicide Squad: Inside James Gunn’s DCEU Supervillain War Movie appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[azspot]

As debates about the policy and ethical implications of AI systems grow, it will be increasingly important to accurately locate who is responsible when agency is distributed in a system and control over an action is mediated through time and space. Analyzing several high-profile accidents involving complex and automated socio-technical systems and the media coverage that surrounded them, I introduce the concept of a moral crumple zone to describe how responsibility for an action may be misattributed to a human actor who had limited control over the behavior of an automated or autonomous system. Just as the crumple zone in a car is designed to absorb the force of impact in a crash, the human in a highly complex and automated system may become simply a component—accidentally or intentionally—that bears the brunt of the moral and legal responsibilities when the overall system malfunctions. While the crumple zone in a car is meant to protect the human driver, the moral crumple zone protects the integrity of the technological system, at the expense of the nearest human operator. The concept is both a challenge to and an opportunity for the design and regulation of human-robot systems. At stake in articulating moral crumple zones is not only the misattribution of responsibility but also the ways in which new forms of consumer and worker harm may develop in new complex, automated, or purported autonomous technologies.

[askullinajar]

A Little Help From Your Friends (Part 4)

T/W: Suicide Mention. Also mentions of near sexual assault. Nothing graphic, just some sleazy guys getting handsy, but I thought I’d warn just in case.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Fic Info: Takes place around 2 years before the events of A Merry Little Christmas. Rating: Mature. Pairings: Lucy/Lockwood, Holly/Rani, others if you squint. Ao3 link: here

Stuck in a jar, longing to get out, longing to live again, the skull never thought there’d be a future where he wished he had just stayed dead.

But maybe all he needed was a helping hand from the people who somehow, against their better judgement, cared. A helping hand from each of them. In turn.

Part 4: The Stranger

The nighttime breeze was cool against Skully’s face as he strolled leisurely through the park. He wasn’t supposed to be alone, he knew, but he couldn’t take much longer of being cooped up in his flat, so he’d snuck out while Holly – his babysitter for the day – had been busy making a bunch of dinners to freeze so he didn’t have to bother cooking. She was too nice sometimes, it was sickening.

He sucked in a deep breath of air. There was something about going for a walk after dark that seemed to make the world just melt away. The air smelled different, fresher. Stars twinkled in the sky. There was barely anyone around so no pressure to keep acting human. You could just let everything go for a moment.

He walked this way during lunch break at work, on occasion. He could see the hospital from here, the lights still shining through the windows. He still wasn’t allowed back at work for a while, but, god, he missed it. Not necessarily the people so much – he didn’t get along so well with them – but the routine. The feeling of actually being useful.

He watched shadows move past the lit windows. There was supposed to be a new employee joining the forensics department some time, he remembered. He hoped they weren’t as mind-numbingly boring as his other colleagues. You’d think a field in studying crime scenes would attract some interesting people sometimes, but no! At least Rani and A.J. popped in from time to time, or he’d literally go insane.

How long had he been out now? He had sort of zoned out for a while there. He didn’t want Holly panicking and calling the others. He should probably head back.

Then he heard a scream.

A female scream. Skully knew these streets; full of back alleys and pubs and nightclubs. It was just about the time of night that drunken men would be let loose.

The screaming continued. He bolted towards the sound.

A young girl, no older than eighteen, stood cornered in an alleyway, surrounded by men who were getting a little too handsy.

“P-please. No. Just let me go. Please.”

“Come on,” a man was saying as his comrades laughed, “a little dress like that, you can’t expect not to get some attention now…”

Skully didn’t really think before he barrelled straight into him, shoving him away from the girl.

“Run,” he told her. “Straight to the police station.”

She didn’t need telling twice.

The lead man picked himself off the ground and glared at Skully. “Think you can get in the way of me getting some?”

Skully gave him a loose smile. “I think I just did.”

Skully had met people like this before. Victorian London had been swarming with them. Once upon a time, he’d have made short work of them; a quick slice to all the major arteries before having Bickerstaff’s burlier men drag the bodies to the basement. They usually wound up in the Thames after that. But now, London’s officers were a little more competent, and Skully couldn’t be bothered with the fuss at that moment. Anyway, he didn’t have his knives… And Lucy would probably get mad at him.

Of course, he had ghostly talents at his disposal, but that was to remain a secret. He didn’t want these men blurting out about a man with supernatural powers.

So, when the first man gave a roar and charged towards him, he side-stepped and let him run straight into the wall, where he crumpled on the ground, out cold.

While the other men stood dazed at how fast their friend had fallen, Skully took the opportunity to weigh them up.

Once, a good few years ago, Lucy has asked him if he still saw people the way he did as a ghost – their spirits rather than their bodies. He had told her no, but that wasn’t strictly true. He saw their physical form as anyone else would, yes. But also, just beyond that, their souls. Clearer after dark, like with death-glows. How bright they were. And how rotten. That was another thing; he was sick of seeing all the rot.

These men, they were all rotten. Their souls black and festering, distorting their features. They were hideous to look at.

Skully couldn’t see his own soul in the mirror, but he often wondered, what with all he’d done and his questionable moral compass, whether his soul looked like that. And if it did, whether it could be reversed.

The men came to their senses. The big, burly one took a swing at Skully. He dodged and jabbed his elbow into the back of the man’s neck. The man gave a shout as he stumbled, and his wiry friend aimed a kick towards Skully, who dodged and knocked his other leg out from under him, making him collapse to the ground.

Too preoccupied with the two men, Skully failed to dodge as the final man swung at him. He was an average looking guy, but damn, he could pack a punch, and Skully sprawled to the ground, his right cheek throbbing.

As he was trying to push himself up, the burly man kicked at his ribs, and Skully fell back down, gasping, winded.

Oh, how tempting it was to unleash his powers. But he couldn’t; the truth coming out could lead to the public getting ideas, which could lead to another Problem, the lives of children be damned. People were horrible that way.

Another kick forced Skully to roll over. That one had definitely cracked a rib.

The alleyway was dark, the souls of the men darker. Maybe he’d just let them beat him. At least the girl had gotten away.

Then: light. Almost blinding in its brightness. A person, Skully realised, with a soul brighter than he’d ever seen, who had run over and now stood between him and the three men.

The wiry man laughed. Such a disgusting, nasally sound. “Look at this! A little girl’s come to your rescue. And we thought you’d chased away our only plaything.”

“I’m not little,” said the person, “and I’m not a girl.” And they punched the wiry man straight in the face.

He swayed on the spot for a moment, then fell flat on his face, joining his former leader.

Skully pushed himself into a sitting position, too shocked and in awe to do anything else.

The remaining two men blinked in surprise, then they seemed to come to their senses.

“Kind of small for a boy,” the burly one growled, swinging a punch at the person.

“I’m not a boy either,” they said, spinning out of the way, their long bronze hair flying out behind them, and jabbing the man in his torso three times in quick succession.

The man’s arm seemed to just… collapse.

“What the…?” he started, staggering. That was when the bronze-haired person round-house kicked him in the head, and he fell to ground too.

But now they were facing away from that damn final man, who pulled his arm back ready to punch. Skully didn’t even think before he thrust his hands forwards and sent a blast of psychic wind that threw the man into the wall so hard the brick cracked.

The person turned their head and looked down at the unconscious man, then to the other three bodies, then finally to Skully.

“How did you…?” they both said in unison, then the sound of sirens came into earshot.

The person’s sky-blue eyes grew wide.

“The police are coming? I can’t… I won’t be able to talk to them. I–” They began flapping their arms frantically at their sides.

“Hey,” said Skully, pushing himself to his feet. He made to reach towards them and steady their arms, but they jerked out of the way, so he kept his hands raised, close but not touching. “It’s okay, just run. I’ll handle this.”

They turned their wide-eyed gaze on him. “But… what about you?”

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve already been arrested three times this year and its only March. And, yet, I’ve never been charged with anything.”

They frowned.  “How…?”

The sirens grew closer.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “But trust me, I can handle this. Just go. And thanks for stepping in, by the way.”

They managed to give him a small smile before they ran off and disappeared down the alley, just in time for a police car to arrive and two officers to step out.

“Jim Walker,” said the senior officer. “Why am I not surprised? What’s the story this time?”

Skully grinned at him. “Oh, you know me, Dave. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all.”

Dave eyed the unconscious forms over his shoulder, then looked Skully up and down. “And how did you get that cut on your cheek?”

“I tripped,” said Skully. “I’m such a clutz!”

Dave hummed. “You must be, the number of times you’ve just ‘tripped’.”

He put his radio to his mouth. “Need an ambulance and backup, ASAP.”

Skully smiled. The number of times Dave had arrested him, at least he knew by now that these men were no nice guys and backup would be needed.

Dave glanced over his shoulder at the other cop and huffed. “What’re you waiting for, McGuire? Cuff the boy!”

“Oh!” McGuire blurted, fumbling with the handcuffs at his belt. “Yes, sir!”

Skully eyed the other cop. He was younger, perhaps fresh out of the academy, and Skully hadn’t seen him around before. He smiled. Fresh meat.

“Don’t have any padded ones, do you?” said Skully, holding up his bandaged arms. “Only my wrists are a little sore.” He tilted his head to one side and gave the young cop a lazy smile. “Or do you prefer them rough?”

McGuire’s face turned bright red and he began spluttering, dropping the handcuffs in his embarrassment. Skully’s smile grew wider.

Dave let out a sigh. “Walker, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: Stop trying to seduce my officers.”

Skully adopted a looking of mock innocence. “Trying to?”

Dave just gave him a dead-pan stare, a look he was famous for. “Forget the cuffs, just get in the car.”

Skully happily obliged, and watched through the window as ambulances and more police cars showed up, officers hand-cuffing the men to their stretchers.

He wondered where the bronze-haired person was now, and if he’d ever see a soul so bright again.

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