#like its not something shes deliberately doing wrong. its a way her brain is wired. and she can use methods and tips from her therapist to

[audiovisualrecall]

And now ma is in a Mood

[badgirlcovenrep]

omg chenrich prompts? hell yeah!! Okay so how about immediately after the council meeting? Steph taking Alex to the hospital because u KNOW its steph who takes her to get treated

As is expected I got a little carried away 😁

So this is a bit of a mix between chenrich in the hospital and medical grade painkillers Alex lol

Hope you enjoy!

No one could have prepared them for that community meeting. Steph shook all over just to think of Jed luring Alex into the woods. Of him leaving her for dead in some awful mining hole.

It made her so furious. Even hearing him cry, blabbering like a sad shadow of the man she'd known (the man that was all a charismatic lie, showmanship, to hide the disgusting truth) her anger, her hurt was too fresh for the girl to gather any sort of sadness for him.

"I'm sorry, Ryan," Alex repeats, standing at the bar with them.

Ryan is staring, speechless, at his father's crying shadow.

"I'm so sorry-" she tries to take a step forward, but her feet falter, and Alex nearly topples over to the ground, grunting in pain as Steph jumps to hold her elbow and help steady her into the floor once again.

"Fuck, Alex, you need a doctor." Steph insists. But Alex is looking at Ryan with so much concern that she can't get her to move.

"It's not your fault, okay?" Ryan finally speaks, breaking out of whatever haze he'd been in to look back at her, "It's not your fault. I just- need a moment to process all this. Go with Steph, you're hurt."

Alex finally looks at her then, and Steph can feel herself plead with her eyes - because she might not know a lot about these sorts of injuries but she's smart enough to know - just by the way she's swaying back and forth on unsteady feet - they probably have another minute, at most, before Alex collapses.

"You did it." Steph mumbles, voice filling with unbridled pride as well as urgency, touching down Alex's arm to hold her cold hand, "You did it, ok? You can settle down now."

Her brown eyes are hazy, blinking back to Steph with rapidly heavying eyelids.

"Good. That's- That's good." Alex slurs back, the last reminiscent of adrenaline leaking out of her body in a heavy huff, "very, very good-"

Steph barely has a second to process what is happening before Alex's body gives out. By some miracle, she's able to flip her arms around her shoulders just fast enough to stop her from falling to the ground.

****

Pike helps her take Alex to the local hospital before going back to deal with Jed's arrest.

It's a small hospital and probably has about ten rooms, but given that these sorts of things (bad things) rarely ever happen in Haven Springs, they're quickly given a private room, and Alex is just conscient enough (before she passes out from the painkillers) to tell the staff she could stay.

Steph doesn't think she would have left either way. Not without knowing Alex was alright, but it's good to have permission to sit by her as she fluttered in and out of drug-induced, heavy sleep.

The doctor had given her the run-down of the other girl's injuries. Five broken ribs, stage two trauma to the head - probable concussion to be assessed once she was more awake - a punctured lung, internal bleeding all around the ribcage, and a bullet wound to the shoulder.

She was an absolute mess of scars. A walking, breathing miracle.

Steph had heard the doctor talking to the police when she stepped out to get some snacks at the vending machines. "She should be dead." He said, with such conviction and surprise, it made her stomach turn.

Steph felt that she could do nothing but sit by Alex's sleeping form, slowly realizing that she was absolutely screwed. Because she already liked this girl way too much - and God, what a roller-coaster of emotion she'd been put on the last month - but how could she not? When Alex just waltzed into everyone's lives like this determined, selfless little light? When she was so obviously a rare soul, made of so much sweetness, and softness, and strength, Steph doubted she'd ever come across someone like her again?

Looking at the circumstances from the other side now, it seemed as inevitable as any of it.

"I can feel you thinking." Alex's voice startles her out of her thoughts. Steph looks up to meet her tired brown eyes, looking so soft and vulnerable without her glasses and surrounded by clean hospital sheets, "You've been broody lately."

Steph giggles, choking on her own emotion, "Guess I'm still mad about Jed." It's not a lie. She is upset. But there was a lot more than that, more about how her insides swelled with emotion when Alex looked at her - but she leaves it the way it is.

"I forgave him." She shrugs. And Steph knows she did, she was there after all, but that didn't mean the drummer was quite as ready herself.

"Well, I didn't." And maybe that makes her childish - resentful - but she can't take the image of him pointing a gun at Alex out of her head. The image of him pulling the trigger, sending her off to what could very well have been death - "at least you made him cry like a baby."

"Jerk." Alex smiles, eyes squinting back at her in humorous indignation before they slowly turn more vulnerable as she adjusts herself on the mattress, patting the empty space beside her body, "Can you- come lie down with me?"

There's nothing, truly, that Steph would have liked more. She would take any chance of being closer to Alex (and of getting off the uncomfortable hospital chair) but she was also still afraid - still scared something might go wrong and they'd lose her. "Are you sure? You're hurt."

"Please?" Alex pleads, blinking back at her with honest-to-God puppy eyes, even if still a little glassed-over from the amount of Vicodin they were pumping into her veins. For the umpteenth time in the past few days, Steph has even more confirmation that she is screwed.

Because, honestly, there's nothing Alex couldn't get her to do with just a slow blink of her brown eyes.

So she gets up and climbs into bed with her. It's incredibly tight for two people, and they are instantly pressed together as Alex scoots over the pillow so they can look at each other, alone in this hospital room that smelled like industrial-grade detergent.

Alex reaches forward and takes her cheeks between her palms, so very close Steph can't help but catalog all the cuts and bruises covering her face.

"You're so pretty." The girl says, finally, and Steph can hear the tiny slur in her voice. She's probably still drunk on a shit ton of medicine, but it does nothing to stop the drummer from blushing profusely, "you're, really, really pretty. Have I told you that?"

"Hm- yeah you sorta- do that when you're on painkillers." Steph comments, and her eyes can't help but fall to Alex's mouth.

She has a tiny cut on her lower lip, and Steph's fingers itch to touch it. To feel her skin again, like that night on the roof, when she felt so warm and tingly, like a live wire of electricity that could swallow Steph whole. For now, she holds her distance.

"But it's true." Alex pouts, "and you're really hot when you're protective too."

Now that- that was different from anything she'd said before. And when she looks up, the girl realizes Alex's eyes have turned to stare at Steph's lips too.

"Yeah?" She asks, a little too cocky given the situation, but oh well, you can't blame her for the swell of pride that takes over her chest.

"Yeah." Alex teases back, "Thank you. For taking care of me. For being mad at Jed for me- even if you can't do anything about it." Her tone turns sincere, and her eyes flutter everywhere but Steph's face, Alex's dead giveaway that she was trying to hold something back.

"Oh please, I'll rip his mustache off." Steph jokes, because it's her default strategy when she doesn't quite know what to do, "You have lost your right to upstanding citizen facial hair, sir!"

"Fuck, Steph, don't make me laugh." Alex says as a few stolen giggles escape her lips, creating ripples across her shattered chest that made her hiss with pain.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Steph apologizes, and on instinct, she leans closer to run her hands over Alex's arm in reassurance, holding the weight of her body above Alex with her elbow.

From this angle, they were even closer, and Steph was staring at her from above, watching Alex smile at her, head on the pillow and a half-lidded, humorous expression on her face.

"Oh, this is nothing. Just a few cuts compared to my fighting days." She jokes, and Steph's heart is filled with so much concern, so much love for this girl she can't help but fluster with anger.

"Shut up. You're gonna hurt yourself if you don't take it seriously." Steph says, "you're like, seriously hurt, Alex, you could have died."

Steph wants to ask, but Alex's free hand reaches forward and pulls her closer, fist tightening around the collar of her button-up shirt, and suddenly they are so close her hand shakes with the itch to touch her, "See? Protective Steph is so hot."

"I know. I'm sorry." Alex has the decency to look reprimanded, smoothing one hand over Steph's shoulder in a simple act that sends calming waves over Steph's flushed skin, "I'm okay. I promise" she's being sincere, Steph knows she is by the way she frowns slightly in concern. However, there's a quiet, teasing smile spreading across her face.

And Steph honestly used to think she was smooth.

She made girls blush by the minute. Awoke the bisexuality in at least a few of her drunk makeouts on the way from California to here. She used to be a real flirt, ready for anything a pretty girl could throw her way. But sitting here, with her torso half hovering over Alex Chen's body, her tongue feels heavy, and her brain can't conjure a single thing to offer in response.

It's at least a relief that she doesn't say anything, because a second later, Alex is smiling at her with her coy, knowing little smirk, and pulling her in for a kiss.

Steph is far too focused on not crushing her further, very deliberately placing her hands on both sides of her head to better hold her weight, but she still feels the strong, dizzying zap of electricity as Alex's lips touch hers, her lungs filling with liquid, warm waves of emotion.

And maybe, Steph thinks, it'd be fine if she never breathed air again.

[allthingsmustfall]

For @rockscanfly ‘s prompt of “charles gets to watch arthur do embarrassing shit all the time. whats one time that arthur saw charles do something embarrassing?” which ate my brain and made me cackle incoherently to myself.

This is the ‘like thieves in the night’ verse, after they get to Serendipity and before John’s in the know:

Arthur’s been loitering near the stables, avoiding Hosea’s endless dickering to make nice with some a new foal and its weary momma, so it’s only seeing Charles’ back go rigid that makes him glance up.

It’s a bright spring morning, just barely out of the grip of winter, and they’d ridden down to the Smit’s ranch to pick up a few head of cattle for the farm, something that Arthur figures should’ve taken ten minutes, but with Hosea there’s always twenty minutes of small talk and an hour of haggling over prices, so he’d settled in for the long haul while Charles inspected the herd.

Arthur leans out of the barn to get a better look at Charles, who’d been leaning against the fence, smiling vaguely as he looked out over the rolling hills. He’s not doing that now - his hackles are up and he jumps back from the fence like he’s touched a live wire, furtively casting around like he’s looking for cover in a firefight.

Doesn’t seem to Arthur that anything’s changed, really, Hosea’s still up on the porch with the owner, and it seems his eldest daughter has stepped out to join them. She’s a nice enough girl, just turned twenty with no ring on her finger, and she’s plush and soft in the way Mary was, like she’d break should Arthur so much as look at her wrong. Matilda, Arthur remembers suddenly, her name’s Matilda.

Glancing back to Charles, he finds the man has jumped the fence, making for the side door of the stable, creeping along like he’s hunting game.

“Charles!” Matilda calls from the porch, her voice bubbling with the kind of excitement that only comes with youth. She dashes down the steps, her skirts in hand. “Daddy didn’t mention you’d be coming down too!”

From where he’s leaning, Arthur can see Charles’ face through the side window as he’s caught, and his eyes go rabbit-wide, and he mutters a curse that Arthur has only ever heard him use when he’s talking about the Army or Dutch.

“Heey there, Matilda,” he says, voice strained as he turns on his heel, still backing away slowly.

Matilda is fussing with her hair, straightening her dress as she comes up on the fence. “I told you,” she teases, “My friends call me Maddie.”

Charles makes a strained noise and backs into one of the struts holding up the stable’s overhang. “I - yes. Sorry, Maddie. I was just - just going to take a closer look at the herd -”

“You know,” Matilda says, like she’s being subtle or shy, “I never did get a chance to thank you proper for seeing me home after Glenda threw a shoe.”

Charles throws up his hands, “No need for thanking,” he says quickly. “Just - being neighborly.”

“Lending me your coat,” Matilda goes on, oblivious, “Letting me squeeze up behind you on the saddle - “

Purposefully, Arthur bites down on his knuckles to stifle a laugh .Somehow, Charles has neglected to relate this particular little story of neighborly good-deeding. Funny, that.

“I just - the weather was real bad,” Charles says, still backing away. Arthur has seen him less wary around rattlers. “Just - best for all that you got home safe -”

“It was just so - heroic,” she says, wistfully. “Daddy says you’re an American? You used to be a cowboy out on the frontier?”

“Oh no I - I just - I - just ranching, mostly,” Charles lies, because if the girl wants heroic stories, then Arthur’s got a few dozen to fill her head up with. “Nothing interesting -”

Matilda sighs gustilly, fanning her chest as she positions herself in a way she must think looks enticing, but mostly seems uncomfortable. “It sounds so romantic.”

“It’s not,” Charles says, almost plaintively. “It’s really -”

“Oh no,” she says, purposefully letting an old handkerchief flutter into the muddy paddock. “I dropped my handkerchief.” She leans over the fence, making as if to grab it, but even from this angle Arthur can tell she’s just shoving her breasts together as she leans over, deepening her cleavage with a lot of creative positioning and hope. “Would you be a dear and grab that for me?”

Charles stills, looking from the girl to the pile of manure it’s landed in and says, deliberately, “I’d just as soon leave it, miss, I think it’s ruined.”

Arthur just about has to shove his fist into his mouth to silent a peel of laughter at that, almost doubling over.

The girl pouts, but goes on unperturbed. “You know, I’m a really good baker,” she says hopefully, perking up. “I’d love to come by Serendipity sometime, just to show my appreciation. Momma says no one makes pie like me, you know. Would you like a slice of my pie, Charles?”

Charles just about yelps, probably because he backed his way onto a loose, rusty nail in the side of the barn, cowering back like he’s never done for lawmen or O’Driscolls or the god damn US Army, but it’s just as well, because that sends Arthur to the ground, wracked with silent laughter, and the shout covers the noise of him sinking to the ground.

“I don’t - like pie,” Charles says shortly, which as far as metaphors goes, ain’t even a little bit wrong. “I. My. I been stepping out with Tilly Jackson for a long while now, and she makes, uh, some real nice biscuits, though -”

“You mentioned her,” Matilda says, her voice going a bit suspicious. “I saw her ‘round the market last weekend and she seems real surprised you told me about the two of you -”

I bet she was, Arthur thinks hysterically, another peel of laughter trying to claw its way out of his throat.

“Oh no,” Charles whispers to himself, quietly. Arthur claws his way back to his feet just to see how wide his eyes have gotten, and he’s not disappointed. There’s small rodents living out in the desert with less fear of hawks than Charles has for Matilda Smit in this moment.

“-and she told me you two called things quits? She said you’re a real gentleman but you broke her heart.”

“Did she,” Charles says darkly, in a tone of voice that promised later retribution.

“I think any woman would be lucky to have you, Charles Smith,” she says, earnest and sweet, blinking big brown eyes at him like a fawn in spring.

“That’s - uh, that’s real kind, but really, it was Miss Tilly who broke, uh, my heart,” he says quickly, “I’m just. A broken man about it.”

Tactical mistake, Arthur thinks. In his misspent youth, Arthur has used that line to the exact opposite effect that Charles is hoping for.

On cue, Matilda makes an anguished noise. “Oh you poor thing,” she says, hitching her skirts up to climb over the fence. “Oh, women can be so, so cruel, you deserve yourself a good wife, and lots of babies running around -”

“No, no, no, miss, please!” Charles says, pure panic in his voice, “You’ll muddy your skirts. You just. Stay over there.”

“You’re such an gentleman,” she says, almost as if it pains her, but she at least stops trying to go over the fence. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come around some evening,” she says, and her voice goes sly for a moment, “You know, my daddy is driving the herd down to Montreal the end of the month -”

If he was a good man, Arthur would stop this, but thank god he’s a bastard because the anguished noise that Charles makes at that invitation is one that will bring Arthur joy for years and years to come.

“I wouldn’t want to - to presume, Miss Smit -”

“Maddie!” the girl says sharply.

“Maddie! I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t want to bring you any trouble-”

“I like a bit of trouble-”

“And I just - the farm needs me -”

“You’re so responsible -”

“And I, I, uh, uh -”

“No need to get flustered, Charles,” the girl says, all sweet and understanding, “We both want the same thing-”

“Arthur!” Hosea calls jovially, striding into the barn and drawing up short when he finds Arthur doubled over, barely holding back tears of laughter. “What on earth are you-?”

“...Arthur?” Charles growls from the other side of the wall, suddenly glaring in through the window at the pair of them. “You been there the -”

“Mister Matthews,” Matilda says, sounding put out and sour, “Charles and I were just - “

“I’m real sorry, Miss Smit,” Charles says quickly, “We best be on our way. Gotta drive the cattle home -”

“Think Hosea and I could manage it the two of us,” Arthur says helpfully, palming away tears. “If you wanted to -”

“No!” Charles says, then more calmly, “No, no, I think it’s best we all three of us go, just to be sure. Sides,” he says, glaring at Arthur, “We got things to discuss when we make it home.”

Arthur flashes him a sharp, innocent smile, shrugging. “Don’t wanna get in the way of young lo-”

“I’ll go see to the horses,” Charles snaps, heaving himself over the fence and stalking away to where they’d reined up the horses, but not so fast that Matilda doesn’t have the opportunity to lean over, whisper too loudly, “End of the month!”

“What on earth was that about?” Hosea asks, frowning faintly after him.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll tell you the whole thing,” Arthur says, laughing despite himself. Charles was gonna skin him alive, but there wasn’t a force on earth that could stop him telling everyone back home.

~A few hours later~

Lenny is laughing so hard he can’t breathe, doubled over on the ground, looking near to passing out, and Sean and Karen ain’t much better off, both leaning against each other to stay upright.

“I think it’s entirely fair I said what I said,” Tilly says, unrepentant. “What on earth were you thinking? You know I’m thinking about letting Beau Montreau step out with me, and he’s skittish as a cat -”

“I’m just telling her I’m an invert,” Charles says wearily, headown on the table and, taking pity on him, Arthur quietly refills his glass. “It was a nice life here, but it’s time we moved on.”

“And break her heart?” Lenny manages, weeping with laughter. “You scoundrel.”

“Now I ain’t a jealous man,” Arthur says, enjoying this far, far too much, “But if you’re leaving me for her, best you just come out with it, do it quick like setting a bone.” Arthur makes a show of marshalling himself. “Do it now, quick, while I’m ready.”

Charles’ lashes out, but Arthur ducks the smack deftly, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his unresisting knuckles, only dropping it when the door creaks open behind them. John struts in looking pleased with himself, fresh back from town with the groceries. “Ya’ll will never guess what I heard down in town - seems Charles’s finally got himself a woman - hey, hey! What’s so goddamned funny!”

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

the wolf should’ve been afraid of me.

Titans 3.04

just under the wire! ... i hope.

like with the previous review, i’m typing this up as i see the episode. here we go!

spoilers ahead.

1. ... well. that was an interesting cold open.

1.25. i don’t know whether to admire this show’s restraint when it comes to gotham and its excesses, particularly arkham asylum. it’d be easy to go hammer and tongs, like suicide squad (2016) did, or any number of bat media did, at a tropey, colourful~~insanity~~ that can be quite damaging, casting mental illness in strangeness and criminality. it definitely shows gotham as... separate from the rest of the country, its own ecosystem of heroes and villains, a sort of rogue state. 

but that ecosystem is still human, with its heroes needing to clip parts of themselves away just to survive, growing old and needing to be recycled, its villains languishing in the same kinds of systems that fail everybody else who needs to be helped. it’s a quieter, tenser sort of wrongness: not strange enough that you can dissociate, but not close enough that you can completely empathise. gotham is its own creature.

1.5. i know that the reasoning behind this is more doylist than anything, but i’m so glad that joker was killed off with little fanfare right at the start of the season. he is the one man in the batverse that’s transcended its confines as this sort of ethereal boogeyman/eternal edgelord and to justify his presence in the series would mean giving him this tired, overblown importance and too much of a stab at colourful, tropey “madness” in this otherwise-subdued series. i wish all batmedia would follow suit and get rid of this fucker.

1.75. so jason is bucking scarecrow’s control! or reminding him of who exactly holds all the cards right now. circling back to what i talked about in the last review, it’s remarkable just how little time it’s been since jason’s “death” and he’s already got ‘minions’ and elaborately set up plans to track, break and kill the titans. just how long has he been planning this? when did he first look at WE weapons prototypes and think that’s something i can use to blow somebody up? and the most unsettling question: did he plan his own death at the hands of the joker just so that he could break batman?

at this point it’s obvious that the scarecrow at least started jason down this path, but it’s frightening just how far he’s travelled already.

1.8. aaagh, less than one minute in! i’ll shut up. 

2. conner washing his hands at the sink reminds me that he was directly in the line of explosion when hank got blown up and he’s probably got atomised hank-bits all over his skin that he’s desperately trying to wash off.

... you’re welcome.

2.25. conner, don’t you speak to gar fucking logan like that, sir, no!

2.3. if anything it’s the lex part of him that gave him the knowhow to recognise the weapon and build a de-activator for it. 

anyway, for that ‘half-breed’ and ‘talking tiger’ comment?

(i wish, tho, that we actually see conner more interested in the superman part of his legacy, like maybe listening to stories from gar, or even better, dick, so we get a better idea of the pressure he’s feeling to live up to that part of him and not the part that’s lex.)

((i talked about conner’s stages of moral development in his introductory episode last season, but i wonder if the next stage of his self-actualisation would be to further integrate the parts of himself and realise that they are only parts and he, conner, is an entirely different person unto himself that can make decisions on how to use what he has and what he knows. his superman abilities can be used to destroy. his lex knowledge can be used to save.))

3. oh dawn :((

3.25. is this the last we see of dawn and hank? i mean, we know donna is coming back; would it be a stretch to think they’ll try to have a go at resurrecting hank as well?

3.5. “deathstroke didn’t make us into killers.” good, because deathstroke didn’t make jason a killer either. there’s a missing step there you need to be looking for, dick. 

3.75. dick did try to break the cycle, step away from gotham, run from the possibility that he could turn into batman. it didn’t help; he couldn’t fully withdraw from his vigilante persona the same time he loathed it, and batman literally haunted him both asleep and awake. but maybe gotham doesn’t have to turn anybody into anything. maybe gotham has nothing to do with it at all. it’s about taking responsibility, realising some sacrifices are pure bullshit, and building an actual family instead of merely a team.

anyway: hugs!

(oh, also? mr “i hate flying”? i mean, there’s perfectly valid reasons to hate flying that’s not related to childhood trauma, but then again, this guy was literally a ‘flying grayson’ once. also also, remember that he also gets sea-sick. must’ve a lot of fun stories to tell.)

4. ooh that gar/kory confrontation was brief but cool!

listen, i have never seen a psychiatrist with that extravagant an office and SIR I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW HOW--

4.5. kory’s so unused to reaching out for help and it’s breaking my heart that HPG likely is some kind of impostor that’s maybe causing her symptoms in the first place. 

kory and dick have mostly been apart this season but it’s remarkable how their journeys have paralleled each other; kory processes her grief, isolation and existential dread into a determination to take care of this new family she has, no matter what it takes; dick does much the same, forging ahead with plans and solutions until he has no fuel left in him and spirals into a massive breakdown.

4.25. listen titans this really is a TERRIBLE continuity error. we aren’t goldfish; we can clearly remember that two minutes ago it was gar’s upper arm that was burned, not his forearm. COME ON.

“sensory deprivation tank” *SNORT*

anyway, gar is the BEST

4.5. i wonder where these visions of experimentation took place. was it on tamaran, or on earth, after she came to hunt down rachel/trigon and before she lost all her memories? is HPG a part of the scientist group that experimented on her? ... god, i hope not. i mean, i think he is, but it would be cool to have some positive therapist representation in media. 

5. you’d think the van transporting a dangerous supervillain that only batman could catch would be more secure but... i’m also not entirely surprised. 

5.15. i love dick gives ZERO shits about hiding himself or even ensuring scarecrow is adequately contained. just turns away after kidnapping him in BROAD DAYLIGHT and says ‘let’s go’. I LOVE THIS DUMBASS

6. lmao gar is having a really really shitty day SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK or just a goddamn story arc of his own

6.5. i’m really confused about the timeline here. so... sometime ago, kory came down to earth to hunt down trigon, yeah? at some further point down the line she and her sister were kidnapped and experimented on. THEN she somehow escapes but... loses her memory? a few months pass and then we see blackfire alive and well and free; she kills faddei, can impersonate other people, and is clearly seeking out kory. but now she’s still in the experiment facility...? what’s going on?

i’m not entirely surprised about the facility being mostly deserted. either the biggest investors in this project gave up on it and it was left to the most fanatic to carry on, or they were deliberately trying to lure kory and get her to free blackfire--expand the environs of the experiment, so to speak.

7. hopefully barbara is going to get something to do other than listen to various men give her Attitude

8. how do you terrorise a terrorist? well:

i love when dick is a scary-competent motherfucker.

8.25. ooooh, the attack on crane at arkham a ploy to get crane to blackgate? nice one dick, i didn’t even think of that. but why though? to protect crane from the titans? to intercept the van to blackgate and “rescue” him? seems likely--red hood was there, except dick got to crane quicker.

9. still reeeallly unclear about the komand’r situation. was komand’r captured after s2? is this all A TRAP?? if so, why are you stepping into the only thing that can contain you, kory????

9.25. so... definite parallels between dick/jason and kory/kom here. i’m just. i’m still. really confused. i’ll shut up now.

10. this may be my favourite dick look yet:

woodsman!dick in a beanie.

10.5. i unironically love how titans has made this bizarrely-devoted-to-his-moniker, toxin-spewing supervillain into a tamer version of hannibal, psychoanalysing his victims into submission. it’s of a piece with how inward looking titans is, the way all of its villains are obsessed with how our protagonists’ minds work, to the point where they would actually spend time inside of them. 

there are no big plots to end the world. no apocalypses or endgames here. these villains collect the titans’ insecurities like infinity stones. the way the titans defeat them is by achieving character growth--literally winning by the power of love. literally “the real superpower is the friends we made along the way”!

10.7. anyway, i’m betting dick is used to this bullshit from crane and is humouring him in the service of getting more information. the story about the wolf? an implicit threat, not to mention dick getting to control what crane knows about him and what methods he would use to manipulate him.

am i giving dick too much credit here? i don’t think so. he’s really impressed me so far this season.

10.75. like. there’s a real unreliable narrator vibe coming off with every person that talks about bruce (much like how the various members of the titans talked about jason’s motivations) and to buy into crane’s talk about bruce being a psychopath is to fall for the same manipulation that jason fell for. dick is the only person who hasn’t really psychoanalysed bruce this season, and i think some part of his detective brain is piecing things together into a bigger picture.

11. i’m glad kory rescued kom but did she have to kill the scientist?

(i mean, yeah, probably - the less people know that kom escaped the less likely they’re going to have the fucking govt on their doorstep, but still.)

11.5. dick’s gonna come back to wayne manor, stare straight at komand’r and go, well which room would you like? because the team might as well adopt ANOTHER person, yeah?

12. oh MAN that red hood/nightwing fight was AMAZING! and he did the thing! the boomerang escrima thing! i’m so delighted!

12.5. the anger and disbelief in dick’s voice when he says you told crane EVERYTHING?! tells me that he knew exactly what he was telling crane himself.

12.75. “everything you are is because of him” - oh that reminds me of halluci!bruce from last season. i hope we see halluci!bruce again--he is so vicious but so entertaining... so much more effective at tearing dick down than crane or jason combined. goes to show that dick’s biggest enemy is own fucking head.

12.8. oh no! dick’s shot! crane is in the wind with red hood! blackfire is now with the titans! i love it!

honestly this season’s pacing is such a big step up from the last couple. gold star, show.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

This Needs To Stop.

Trigger warning: Sensitive topics, p*dopilia, grooming, mental health and r*cism. 

Ok so this is a bit of a rant so apologies for that, I usually try to stay away from sensitive or controversial topics but this is something that I am passionate about and that I think is important. Also I just want to say that I am in no way directing this to the entirety of the M*lina fandom, I know most are just enjoying their ship, but there are those few who are deliberately seeking out darklina posts or are cross tagging and coming into darklina’s asks and just generally harassing the fandom which sadly I am seeing happen more and more often. Also I do feel like this can apply to all fandoms not just exclusively shadow and bone/ grishaverse, its just this is the one I am experiencing it in right now.   

I’ve seen antis call darkling/darklina fans many problematic things, delusional, mentally ill, ab*se apologists. They also like throwing around words like grooming and p*dophile. The thing that makes me angry about this is that they are taking sensitive topics, topics that many users have been effected by and they are using them to attack shippers merely for liking a character or ship that they don’t. What is even more frustrating is they seem to be throwing these words around without evening fully understanding what they even mean. For example the claim that the Darkling is a p*dophile because Alina is only 17 in the books. Well p*dophilia is a psychiatric disorder where adults are attracted to children and in order for it to be classed as p*dophilia the child involved has to be 13 or younger. A 16 year old can be diagnosed as a p*dophile if they become attracted to a child that is five years or more younger than them. So the relationship between the Darkling and Alina does not meet the criteria to be categorised this way as Alina is over the age of 13. As for it being a case of Alina is underaged, well, for one that depends on where in the world you are. This is based on imperial russia, in russia the age of consent is 16. This means that a 16 year old can have a sexual relationship with a 30 year old, a 70 year old or a 500 year old immortal and in a court of law it is still legal, whatever your own moral issues around age gaps might be. Even then it can be argued that it is irrelevant because, as with most historical literature where young girls marry older men, you cannot put modern day concepts onto them. Like I said this story is based on Imperial Russia, the life expectancy of a person in that time was around 30 years old. That means a 15 year old girl is already half way through her life, she is literally middle aged. It is at this point usually that girls started to prepare to get married and have children and yes sometimes it was to an older man because men were expected to provide for their wife and family which means having a house and job and means to support a family which an older man was more likely to have. My point is a 15-17 year old in say Imperial Russia is not the same as a 15-17 year old in modern day therefore you can’t take modern day laws and morals and place them onto that situation, it doesn’t work, they lived completely different lives. In Alina’s world, she is at the age where girls might get married and her being courted by a man of the general’s status would have been a normal occurrence, for her to have caught the attention of someone with his standing would have been considered very advantageous for her. I mean she literally gets two marriage proposals in book 2, where I believe she is still 17, and Nikolai is talking about how if she marries him it’ll be in name only and they can make Mal her guard so she can do the horizontal tango with him whenever she feels like it, so clearly the characters themselves feel like Alina is at an age where she can, one get married, and two be engaging in a sexual relationship. 

So why does all of this matter? Well it matters because people reading these posts, asks and comments left on posts, may be victims of p*dophilia and grooming. A lot of these comments don’t have trigger warnings and when you are talking about sensitive and triggering topics like this you need to be careful and when you are talking about them without even really understanding them, and where they can’t apply to the characters you are talking about anyway, then you are potentially triggering someone needlessly because you didn’t need to be talking about it in the first place, I hope I am making sense there. I am not saying don’t talk about these subjects if you do think they are relevant, I am saying make sure you do the research, that you understand the subject you are addressing and when you do talk about it do it in a respectful manner, don’t throw it out there in an angry spew accompanied by alot of other derogatory words because that won’t help anyone.     

Another subject I want to talk about is I am also seeing a lot of posts about how darklinas must be delusional or mentally unwell. This, again, is hurtful and harmful. Mental illness for a very long time has had a stigma around it, one that makes the person suffering from it feel weak and ashamed. There was always the attitude of if you are mentally ill then there is something wrong with you, or the attitude of oh just get over it, cheer up, think a different way. But mental illness isn’t just a state of emotion its often caused by hormonal imbalances and chemicals. Genetics can also play a part. There is nothing wrong with someone who is mentally ill their brain is just wired a different way. I also find it problematic when people throw around the word delusional. Maybe its nothing to you, just a word, but alot of mental illnesses have actual delusions as one of their symptoms. These can be scary and upsetting and are outside the control of the person experiencing them. Making the suggestion that liking a particular ships means you are delusional is potentially very triggering to those who do battle delusions and have fought to overcome them. The stigma around mental illness has prevented alot of people suffering from mental illness from seeking help out of shame or embarrassment or even out of fear of being judged and although I do feel like as a society we’ve become alot more open about mental health and alot more accepting there is still a long way to go. When antis start saying things like ‘I can’t believe people ship this, they must be mentally ill,’ or ‘they must be sick in the head’, or ‘if you like this ship than you must be delusional’ not only are they being incredibly prejudice against people who have mental illnesses but it is also so harmful because if there is someone reading that post who is struggling with their mental health and are considering seeking help then you’ve just made them feel more ashamed, more like there is something wrong with them which will make them even less likely to seek out help and as I said before there isn’t anything wrong with a person who has a mental health condition they are just different from you. That doesn’t give you the right to make them feel like they are less capable of deciding what they do or do not like or even what they should or should not like to be classified as a ‘normal’ person. 

The most latest problematic statements I’ve seen have been those accusing Darklina’s of being r*cist. This one I found a bit funny in a it’s not funny kind of way. I just don’t think there is much logic behind this view point. I’m not sure I understand the antis reasoning here. Mostly because I’m pretty sure the majority of the Darklina fandom comes from the books where Mal is described as being a white, brown haired, blue eyed guy. Funnily enough the Darkling is described as being able to pass for Shu, though to be clear it isn’t confirmed that he is a POC, but out of the two in the books the Darkling is more likely to be a POC than Mal. On top of that whilst many darklina fans have made it clear they are not a fan of Mal in the books many have said they like the show version of Mal who, as we all know, the actor Archie is a POC. So by anti logic darklinas are all r*cist because they don’t like book Mal who is depicted as white but we do like show Mal who is a POC. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I do understand that there were some ‘fans’ who made inappropriate and r*cist comments to some cast members including Archie and I would never ever condone that no matter who I ship. But you also can’t condemn an entire fandom just because of the actions of a select few. I don’t judge all M*linas for that one fan who accused Ben of being a pr*dator and p*dophile because of his friendship with Jessie. Once again my point is r*cism is a serious topic and not something someone should use as a retort or comeback to someone not shipping your ship. When we use these words casually it makes it less likely that they’ll be taking seriously when they really do need to be taken seriously, when they really are relevant to what is happening. If we keep using them so casually then when we really do need to talk about them, when it really matters, people will just shrug and go ‘its just antis being antis.’ 

I think it is possible for people to like different things, to debate and analyse different relationships and characters and talk about what flaws they may have in a respectful manner. I wouldn’t say I am anti m*lina but at the same time there are things about them that I find problematic but when I talk about those things I hope I do so in a way that doesn’t demean those who do like the ship. I understand that people will have a different interpretation than me and whilst I might not understand where their thinking comes from or why they have a particular opinion I would never make the assumption that they are mentally unwell or make judgements on their character or morals. I try to think about the words I am writing. I know how easy it can be to just throw a word out there without thinking about it. I used to use the word delusional to describe fans of certain ships, but when I recognised how damaging and problematic that was I stopped and I changed my behaviour because it was never my intention to hurt others. I guess the main message I am trying to convey here is we need to be careful with our words they’re not as insignificant as we might think.                

[sanstropfremir]

it’s the episode 8 review!!! how many episodes is this show supposed to even be?

the stages from the episode feel like such a grab bag.... i still don’t understand why they didn’t put all the skill stages together, and then did the normal two episodes of the third round. i guess it makes sense that they didn’t want to have six stages in one episode and then three in the other two, but eh. 

feeling kinda average on these as a whole, there’s a lot of good elements going on here but probably because of my own preferences (i don’t listen to ballads or blackpink) none of them really hit all the buttons. hopefully this will be a shorter review because i'm only going to do a quick rundown of the vocal stages; i dont really have that much to say about them because they are (intentionally) not very stage picture focused. i'll do the normal stage breakdowns for the other two though, even though i won’t rank them because we still need to see the other four!

vocal stages

sf9 + tbz + ikon

not much to say here other than wow, that’s RED. glad to see some more specific use of spotlighting and i always love when they light things on fire. i do wish they had fill lit with a brighter amber so we could actually get a bit more detail on their faces, especially because there’s six of them. i appreciated the simple blocking and only using one of the ‘stages,’ this stage didn’t need to be anything complicated and it wasn’t. i don’t love spinning camera shots because they make me a bit ill, and i'll forgive the constant cutting because it's a vocal stage and there isn’t any other real movement that we should be paying attention to. not my favourite of the two, i found it visually a bit too repetitive and complex at the same time. always love a crushed velvet suit though, so bonus points for that.

atz + skz + btob

i was braced for the worst and i dont know what kind of miracle happened but it was listenable! like i said, not a ballad fan but i could listen to eunkwang all day. i love a good plinth for a ballad stage, they’re one of my favourite devices in kpop design and i especially love it with a good groundlevel fog. glad they kept it black and white for the first half of the stage, it was in line with the blooming flower projections, and it made a very clear colour arc. they kept the visuals clean and simple with very little blocking at all, a very smart choice for this stage. not sure why they decided it would be the chanel time stage, which i disapprove of because i don’t like chanel, but i do love eunkwang’s shirt with the cameo buttons and the massive turnback cuffs, very 17th and also 19th century. i know they never do it because they dont read on stage normally but yes absolutely more thin chain pendant chokers on men, thank you! i also liked that there was emphasis on a more traditional lighting scheme, there weren't any crazy concert effects, just some good directional beam spotlights and the rear stacks in the climax. 

third round stages

ikon

costume

the first look for them is definitely my fabourite of theirs so far. there’s enough variation in the jackets that the base layer of tshirt and jeans don’t look too repetitive. and i do love a good statement jacket. my favourite is probably donghyuk’s because i'm a sucker for fringe always.

i don’t like the backup dancers costumes, but given the way i’ve reacted to every other all black outfit for this entire show i don’t think anyone was surprised about that. these ones particularly irk me because they’re very matte; there's pretty much no texture or pattern differentials to define the shape of the limb, which makes them disappear when theyre all grouped together (mostly on the women). i think they probably were intending to make a statement/emphasis on the hands because of the sleeve cutoff point, but there were so many arm movements that were just totally missed because the costumes were just black voids. most egregious parts are here, with the female dancers up center. i can barely tell what the movements are unless i’m paying specific attention to them because there's so many black shapes. maybe it was the point for it to be an indiscernable writhing mass, but it wasn’t my vibe.

don’t love this styling on lisa. i hate peeptoe shoes in general but peeptoe boots are the worst offenders. they make you look like you have duck feet, no matter who you are. especially with a flat cutout like that. a universally unflattering shoe, and i would know, i worked in a shoe store for two years. this whole look is just pg-13 rihanna cfda awards 2014 and really nobody should try to run up against rihanna.

also i have to mention this because it’s actually really bothering me, but lisa’s backup dancers are serving very allgemeine ss looks and i do not like it. generally when we see ‘military’ uniforms in kpop theyre usually modelled off older styles (pre wwii) of western uniforms that usually aren’t in circulation, and they’re usually non-matching and embellished in ways that are deliberately not military. i know logically that it's a budget constraint+they’re backup dancers+current trend thing but the clean lines with only button detailing and the all black and that specific harness shape? it hit my brain the wrong way. i mean, technically those uniforms are designer because hugo boss did them, but the uh..... girlboss move didn’t land for me.

this is my PERSONAL OPINION please for the love of all that is holy do not come yelling at me about this. it’s all under a cut, you chose to read the post.

set

very glad to see some busy kitschy sets! this is a massive build, since there’s essentially three full sets here: the temple, the jungle, and the first tiny room. and all of them are very heavily decorated. 

the starting room is just five walls on casters (wheels), that have been set into place with the cameraman and ikon inside at the start, and then once they exit the walls can be easily struck and rolled off set. simple, smart, and convenient!

i missed it the first couple times around but glitching out the projections in the temple for a split second was a neat little trick.

the silver and polygonal nature of the tiger/panther/cat(?) head is a bit disconnected from the gold and the aesthetic of the rest of the stage for me. the difference between the original room set and the jungle tracks, but the cat head isnt able to make the same leap for me. i'm also not a fan of mixing metals so maybe that’s why.

the tiger/panther/cat(?) head is a fun physical transitional device; i'm a big fan of tunnels and small transitory spaces like that and if they’re well dressed like this one they do so much for establishing place and mood.

i'm very sure i’ve seen this style of polygonal animal head with laser eyes before....i cannot for the life of me remember where or for what. i know wang yibo did a panther stage for sdc3 that had a human formation panther with green laser eyes, i wonder if i'm just crossing wires.

OH nevermind it’s because it looks like the witcher medallion. wires were definitely crossed.

lighting

using purple/teal lighting for the jungle was a smart choice because purple is the direct compliment to the gold and also is much more flattering on humans than green. green is one of the colours that humans can see the most variations in, so when something is green when it's not supposed to be (like human skin), we register that very quickly and associate it with unease and sickness. you know how old fluorescent lights have that greenish tinge that kinda makes you feel ill? it's your cone cells and your brain recognizing that you’re looking at things that are not supposed to be green.

very clean colour arc, i love to see it.

sound

it’s.....fine? i don’t listen to blackpink and have no opinions on their music other than it's not my type. i dont really know what the thematic connection to the visuals is, which is not strictly necessary in a lot of cases, but i don’t particularly care for the conflation of ‘savage’ and a (presumably) precolonial religion that’s assembled from stereotypes of real colonized cultures. you can come at me about how ‘it's not that deep’ all you want but i am here specifically doing an in depth analysis, and i gotta point it out. i'm not here to pass judgement on you if you didn’t realize or don’t care or whatever, i'm just saying that it's important to consume content with a critical eye. what you do with that information is your own personal choice, but you should be aware of it at least. 

staging

they took a big risk eating popcorn right before singing, and we definitely got some residual mouth noises of them trying to clean out their teeth. eating on stage is difficult in general because you have to make sure it's not going to dry out the performers mouths, because they dont have access to water and it takes WAY longer to chew and swallow something than you would expect. there’s a LOT of testing that goes into making stage food and guaranteed it’s not made out of what it looks like or what its supposed to be; i worked on a production of amadeus were we did literal weeks of testing amalgams of different desserts to make sure that salieri could actually eat the ones onstage without totally drying him out, because fun fact about that show, salieri doesnt leave stage like, at all, so there was no way to get him water. poor bloke.

i thought the blocking of this was really smart. the long take from the ‘normal’ room and transition into the jungle was super slick, even if that weird circle the camera did while pointed up at the ceiling was unnecessary and pointless.

bobby’s ‘acting’ was extremely funny and that’s the only way people are allowed to act surprised now. edvard munsch scream style only.

the pacing is a bit off and this time it wasn’t mnet’s editing that fucked it up. as fun as it is to have a feature, clearly she wasn’t allowed within proximity of the rest of them for covid or other yg related reasons, but it made for some extremely long transitions, especially the one out of her verse. it kills the momentum of the stage in that beat, even though they manage to pick it up after.

this is a very simple little narrative arc that’s easy to follow and doesn’t require any extra explaining. which is exactly the kind of arc that groups should be doing at this stage in the game. this is a good formic step up for ikon!

i thought the turning off of the monitor at the end was fun and a good callback to them watching the videos at the beginning of the stage. a nice clean way to make it circular.

skz

costume

FINALLY something different on the skz boys! these were mostly fun eboy looks for them, and i like it on the basis that it's not the same as the last set of costumes.

bang chan out there with his thigh OUT and a (fake) bridge piercing? LOVE to see it. great work.

(copy-paste every thing i’ve said about backup dancers wearing all black)

the backup dancers that were dressed as bystanders/extras were great! they should have kept that with all of them because it would have given a little more shape to the choreography and establishing what function the backup dancers were supposed to have.

set

that is meant to be a giant rice cooker on stage, right? i think so because it's a god’s menu mashup? if that's not a rice cooker i have NO idea what its supposed to be

there’s only two large setpieces here, which was a smart way to go. i LOVE the subway car doubling as the truck, even if the truck itself makes no narrative sense. what a fun way to double the use of a single big piece. you’ll be able to see the way it moves in the full cam but it splits down the centre and there entrance doors at the back with attached stairs that bang chan and the dancers use to climb up.

lighting

not a whole lot happening here. i like the cool white leds in the subway car and the contrast with the more warm tones of the outside, which is good atmospheric establishment, but i can't discern a visible arc. 

not a fan of these projections; they’re in line with what we’ve seen from skz so far, which is: extremely literal. i dont think they’re that distracting, but they’re not to my personal taste. they really should have kept the comic panel theme that they did for changbin’s first verse, because that was inventive and fun to watch! and a great atmospheric indicator! i would love to see a bit more experimental projection use but it's hard when they don’t have a lot of time to build these stages and the lighting team is definitely working remotely.

sound

i love that they made the choice to do some actual talking, it’s a good gimmick and it works for the deadpool/comic book/fourth wall break theme, but australian accents take me the fuck out i am so sorry i cannot listen to either felix or bang chan speak english without laughing uncontrollably. 

i don’t like this arrangement but i'm not surprised about that, given my predilections. i'm also tired of skz shouting STRAY KIDS in every performance they do. i know on music shows it's probably more relevant and yea producers tags are a thing but we’ve been watching this show for nearly two months at this point. we know who you are, you can stop yelling. be more creative with it!

staging

my biggest issue with this stage is that it doesn’t have a payoff. there is an arc here: they’re stealing the truck, but why are they stealing the truck? who are they stealing it from? who are they fighting against? it's kind of important in a stage where the theme is stealing and fighting someone that you tell us who that is. in both of ateez’s previous stages were they were both stealing (rhythm ta) and fighting (wonderland), they made sure to show us who the villain was. there needs to be tension for a big blowup climax to actually pay off. whether it be against a a balloon arm kraken or a fascist government. this stage could have reached that next step if they’d just done a little bit more exposition. 

there were a lot of fun choreo moments here, and this is probably my favourite choreo of theirs so far. i thought the whole first bit in the subway car was excellent and a very fun play on those viral videos that we used to see roll around every so often of dancers doing routines in subway cars.

did it need the guns? not in the slightest. more on this point later. i could talk more about weapons and weight here, but i’ve done that several times already.

like with the tbz game of thrones stages, theyre relying a little too much on the audience's preconceptions of the source material in order to carry the theme. the guns are there because deadpool likes guns, but they don’t actually use the guns for anything? the most we get of the stealing segment is felix and the safe, which admittedly is a great bit with him leaping over and under the ‘laser’ lines (theyre likely led strips). because comic books are by nature procedural and deeply tied to narrative, it's unsatisfying when there’s no tension and no payoff.

HOW did we manage to get two stages that are blackpink covers with remote/tv static gimmick and durags? i know the slot machine of kpop tropes is not very big but surely the probability of hitting triple sevens on this one was pretty low. i’m pretty meh on both of these stages overall. skz was unsatisfying but i loved the choreo in the subway bit so that bumped it up a little ahead of ikon’s in my personal preferences, but i'm reserving my actual rankings for next week. assuming we get the other four stages next week and they dont do something stupid and only show two. which they very well might. i’ve stopped trying to understand why mnet does things the way that they do. 

as always the ask box is open, drop your comments/questions/personal opinions, i love to hear ‘em! but don’t be rude just because some of this is touchier subject material.

[downspiral]

* / BPD ( borderline personality damon )

lil talk about damon’s behaviour, emotional patterns and mental health! i’m categorising this as a headcanon for simplicity’s sake but this is all based on canon material, whether unintentional or not i do genuinely think he has it in canon and will sort of be elaborating on why that’s clear to me. as a disclaimer none of this is meant to excuse any of his behaviour and hopefully it won’t come off that way either, but bpd and its associated stigma is a personal topic to me, so please go in with sympathy and an open mind. under the cut bc this could get lengthy!

so to start off with i’ll just briefly explain borderline personality disorder (BPD) for people unfamiliar with it— it’s a mood disorder that has many associated symptoms with various mental illnesses like depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder, as well as substance issues, eating disorders and other personality disorders eg. antisocial or narcissistic personality disorder. it’s classed by four groups of symptoms:

emotional instability

disturbed patterns of thinking or perception

impulsive behaviour

intense but unstable relationships with others

( obviously this definition is too broad for any specific diagnosis, since everyone is different, and can’t be used alone to diagnose someone without ruling out other disorders and subjective opinion of a professional who knows enough about your behaviours to make an assessment, so from here on out i’m going to be drawing on my own experiences, and hopefully i’ll be able to articulate it in a way that makes sense, but please let me know if it doesn’t. )

***

the first and most glaringly obvious identifiers of this where damon is concerned in my opinion is a), his tendency to spiral very suddenly and abruptly after even minor triggers, such as failure, rejection or even just feeling insulted by someone he cares about, and b) his frequent impulsive behaviour, and what might be termed a lack of self-control in following those impulses - the first examples that come to mind would be his leaving for a road trip with katherine despite hating her, or killing jeremy because he was the first person he saw after feeling rejected by elena - and as he later admitted honestly, not knowing that it wouldn’t be permanent. 

so starting with a), his irrational spiralling — i’ll preface this by saying that in my own experience, my initial diagnosis where my therapist suggested BPD as a possibility was immediately after i told her that i felt my emotions were just more severe than most people’s, which is why i always felt i was overreacting to things, both bad and good, alternating with feelings of extreme numbness and dissociation which would follow immediately after as a coping method. bouncing between extremes of emotion is also something we see damon do constantly; not regarding the humanity switch detail and focusing solely on his ‘humanity-on’ behaviour, we still see him go between extremely cold, numb and uncaring (albeit often this is hidden behind deflection and humor) to deeply hurt, loving, and willing to make huge sacrifices for causes or for people. 

this is also a little muddled by the in-world lore of vampires having very heightened emotions. if you consider that damon already had BPD while a human, which is highly plausible given what we see of the decisions he made even then, then it follows that as a vampire those already-dysfunctional behaviours would be driven to extremes. this isn’t only obvious to the person watching; other characters comment on it constantly, e.g. almost any time katherine shows up, everyone immediately starts worrying if damon’s going to snap, having learned that the tiniest of things can send him into extreme behaviour, harmful to both himself - picking a fight with julian out in the open, described as having a death wish, and various suicide missions - and other people - e.g. attempting to kill jeremy and bonnie, despite it being abundantly clear that those two murders would make everything worse for him, and logically, make no sense, and serve no benefit to him. they were not thought-out decisions, not premeditated, and not something he would do in a sound state of mind, which is part of why they’re so painful to watch - they’re stupid, unjustified decisions, and seem irrational and disproportionate to whatever triggered him to make them. this also falls into the category of ‘lashing out’, something damon is frequently noted to do - often in the form of destroying or severing relationships, which may be done via simple purposeful negative interaction with someone, or doing more, genuine harm so that those relationships are ended regardless. 

this ties in both with the impulsive behaviour aspect, but also a comment elena once made which struck a huge chord with me as an identifier of BPD - she said he felt that everyone hated him, and in an attempt to face those perceptions or correct them as someone of sound mind would do, he instead tries to come to terms with the pain of that by making himself believe that they were right - ‘proving’ both to others and to himself that they were right to hate him, via doing bad things. while this particular incident was partially due to enzo’s influence and damon seeking approval from the only person he felt he could still get it from, he still had the agency to make that decision, and this wasn’t the only time where that behavioural pattern could be observed. 

the depth to which those thought processes go can sort of be seen when you consider season 8, where enzo and damon were both under the mind control of a siren, leaving only their subconscious with free will to resist. enzo’s instinct was to try and weave messages into the things that the siren had him do, knowing that bonnie would recognise them and be able to save him from doing more harm. on the other hand, damon’s instinct was to sever those relationships so completely that none of them would ever attempt to save him again, thus keeping them, in his eyes, out of harm’s way. 

i don’t wanna make this so long it’s unreadable so i’ll try and end it with this last point, which is that another symptom of BPD is latching on to one particular person - whoever might feel most significant to them at the time, whether a friend or romantic interest, though often those feelings can combine and become confused when that emotional connection is made (most obvious example being elena, who damon had a relatively good and stable friendship with, that seemingly functioned fine as it was, yet progressed into romance anyway and became destructive). when that said person is found, the intensity of your emotion leads to a usually unhealthy amount of attachment on your part - often leading to possessive, manipulative or even emotionally abusive elements of relationships that more often than not become toxic. this person becomes the sole way that you feel validation/love/approval/happiness, any good emotion at all - in a way, your brain compensates for previous and more significant traumas, e.g. parental abuse/neglect, by channelling all this emotion into the nearest outlet of love and acceptance you can find. as a result even the tiniest fraction of attention or approval from that person can completely brighten your mental state for weeks, while the tiniest perception of disapproval or neglect from them - note perception, this could be something as miniscule as a misunderstanding, a tone being read wrong in a text, a genuine mistake being interpreted as a deliberate attempt to separate - can be enough to drive you to suicidal ideation. 

obviously, whether it’s known to them or not, all this puts an unrealistic amount of expectation on the other person - one individual cannot possibly be responsible for the entire mental state of another, and will often - quite rightly - lead to the decision to end the relationship out of self-preservation. this is observed very frequently with damon’s close relationships; at some point, most of the people he’s been closest to have, with some degree of regret, been forced to write him off, because he puts too much strain on their own mental state. without significant effort to change on the part of the disordered person, sadly, this situation doesn’t usually have a resolution, because one’s own mental health is never the sole responsibility of others. it’s worth saying that most of these behaviours are done unintentionally and instinctively, as what seems the first logical conclusion in a brain that has been wired - physically, neurons and pathways in the brain have been grown by trauma that leads to those paths becoming the ‘right’ ones, rather than the healthy alternatives, which is usually what therapy’s end goal is - minimising the disordered pathways while reinforcing the positive ones, via practice of healthy behaviours and identifying bad thought processes so they can be stopped with the hope that those ones will take priority eventually. that being said, decisions that are motivated by and followed by, self-hatred, doesn’t excuse them from the harm they may cause other people. and it’s not fair - none of it is, because immediately what that situation seems to become is, ‘i didn’t ask to be this way, i don’t want to be harmful, but because i have been traumatised this is how i turned out, and now if i want healthy and good relationships, i have to work twice as hard against all my natural instincts just to ensure i come off as a person worth caring about’. 

this is getting a little off-topic, but to say - there is a stigma about BPD, often associated with emotional abuse and manipulation, and it’s too complex a topic to sum up in one paragraph, but the gist of it is that sadly in my experience there is truth to it. i feel as though my disorder increases the likelihood of me being harmful, which means i have to work twice as hard to stop it - things that seem like common sense, basic decency, human logic that comes naturally and as first instinct to many, have to be actively strived for by people with this particular disorder. so while failing to do so may happen more for those people, and thus lead to them coming off as a worse person, there is some explanation as to why - and of course that doesn’t mean excusing that behaviour, never! but, there is a grey area between ‘excusing and enabling unhealthy behaviour’ and ‘your disability grants you no leeway whatsoever’. there is a middle ground and it’s hard to find the right place to walk it, and probably differs for everyone, but for me that’s why damon is relatable, and why i think i have more tolerance for things that he’s done. 

i’ll just end this by saying that this is all one person’s experience of bpd and what i’ve observed from a few others i’ve known. i don’t speak for everyone with bpd, it’s not my call to make, mental disorder is overwhelmingly complex and hotly debated even in medical circles. but all that being said, i have recognised a lot of my own emotional experiences in damon’s and how the characters around him react to it (without the murder, obviously) and to me it is slightly more complex than ‘this is a shitty person’. thank you for reading all this if you did, it’s kind of hard to talk about, but hopefully for some this adds a little more insight into my portrayal and attachment to the character. 

[no-goddamn-cilantro]

I've got you, Kid

Or, five times in which Tony Stark has his kid's back, and one time where his kid has him.

*One*

"Hey Penis! Penis Parker! Going to your pretend internship tonight?" Peter heaves a long, slow sigh, hitching the straps of his backpack up a little more comfortably onto his shoulders and attempts to ignore the irritating bully, increasing his pace to the exit. Alas, if nothing else can be said about Flash Thompson, it's that he's persistent.

"I bet it's just an excuse for you to hide that you don't have any friends besides that weird Ned kid." The boy in question takes this opportunity to rise to the bait and while Peter appreciates the continued staunch support of his best friend, on days like today he's nothing short of exhausted. Patrol went way past curfew and he just knew Mr. Stark was going to have something to say about it.

"Peter's internship is real! You're just jealous he gets to spend time with The Avengers." Peter could actually hear the capital letters on the Avengers and he felt a tension headache begin in one temple. Before Flash could continue berating him for the internship, Peter escapes out the door and makes a beeline for where Happy is normally waiting for him. Instead of the SUV with staid coloring, a familiar orange Lamborghini sits with the genius owner of it casually leaning against the passenger door. A single eyebrow ticks up as he meets Peter's eye.

"What's up kid? You ready for the conference this weekend?" One blink, then two. No, Peter isn't hallucinating. Mr. Stark is really here to pick him up from school. In front of God and Flash and everybody and oh my God Mr. Stark is here. Peter's grin lit up his whole face and he bounded over to the car in four long strides.

"Mr. Stark! Yeah, I-I think I've got everything," a little breathless, Peter continues to grin at his mentor, a thousand words jockeying for space in his brain and exactly zero getting air time. Mr. Stark pushes off from the side of the car and saunters around to the driver's side, leaving Peter to scramble to get in and shut the door.

Once they're on the road headed to the compound, Peter breaks the companionable silence.

"Hey Mr. Stark?"

"what's up Underoos?"

Slight hesitation, then a very quiet, "How did you know?"

With a deliberately casual handwave and shrug, the genius billionaire gives a breezy, "That guy in the chair of yours- Ted? Ed? Bread?- is pretty protective of you. I notice these things." Peter's face blooms with a mortified blush and buries his face in his hands. Chuckling, his mentor reaches over with one hand and runs his fingers through the teen's hair, disguising the gentility with a playful ruffle.

"Hey. I've got you, kid. I wish you'd talked to me about this stuff before, but you know I've always got you."

The warm glow in Peter's chest kept him warm all weekend.

*Two*

"-and son, I need you to come along in wave two with Widow and Falcon and work on webbing 'em up while they fall. Let's try to minimize property damage if we can, but civilian safety come first." Peter zoned back in just in time to hear his part, giving the Captain a jaunty wave in acknowledgement before shooting a web to the nearest building, waiting for the orange and green... Giant frogs? Giant frogs, ranging in size from an oven to a Buick, crawled out of the wormhole between two buildings and began attempting to... What was that?

"Uh... Mr. Captain America sir? Are they eating the road? And the cars?"

Over the comms comes the somehow both angry and delighted voice of Hawkeye. "You're goddamn right they're eating cars and road! They just ate a Camaro right underneath me and the asphalt underneath it. That was beautiful!"

"Do we need another talk about language, Barton?" Tony's snark was never going to get old to Peter- he snickered and began shooting webs, lifting the oversized frogs and sticking them to the sides of buildings nearby-

-only for them to begin eating through the buildings they're webbed to. "Heckin darn it!" Thinking quickly (and ignoring the suspiciously Tony-sounding laughter in his earpiece), he shot a web and snagged the underside of one of the alien's jaws, flicking his wrist just so and managing to wrap the strand of web around the- frog? Not-frog? Whatever's- mouth, effectively cutting off the wanton destruction of innocent vehicles and roads. Giving a whoop of triumph, Peter went to work on each of them that he could find, swinging between buildings and city blocks to cover as much ground as he could.

Then one of the largest Asphoads (as Peter had secretly named them in the privacy of his own mind) opened its mouth at exactly the wrong time and caught his web directly on the tongue. Immediately it have a hard jerk of its head, stronger than he'd expected, and pulled him off course. The frantic release of the now-being-eaten web and attempt at sending out a web to the next building didn't arrest his fall in the slightest and before he could do more than panic-flail, a metal arm wrapped around his chest and brought his fall to a very sudden halt. As he was lowered the last few meters to the ground, Tony's amused voice sounded in his ear.

"I've got you kid. What would you do without me?"

"Get squished by a rolled up newspaper?"

A bark of laughter and he landed gently on his feet. The Asphoads appeared to have no interest in eating him now that he was on the ground, but he still went out of his way to finish webbing up the original target.

Later, back at the compound, Barton and Sam put on a dramatic reenactment of the fall for Rhodey, complete with Peter's doe eyes and a tearful, "Thank you so much for saving the day Mr. Stark! You're the best dad a nerd could ask for!"

Well, Peter didn't exactly disagree. So it all worked out.

*Three*

His kid was gone. His kid was gone. Ash between his fingers, along with almost everyone else that was on this godforsaken rock. He was vaguely aware of a high-pitched, keening noise, before abruptly realizing it was him. He was making that sound, and he couldn't seem to stop until the violent, racking sobs began to rip through him and he bent to push his forehead into the (ash ash ash Peter's ash) dirt beneath him.

In between the sobs he berated himself.

"I've got you," he said

"Liar!" he accused

"Not enough," he knew

"Bring him back!" he demanded

"Oh God, Peter..."

The name sat like the ashes (all that was left of his boy oh my God my boy my kid gone gone gone) on his tongue, terribly heavy and burning.

He clawed at the ground, as if he could dig through the ashes and dust and, like a phoenix, Peter would rise reborn. All he did was dirty his hands and seem to tear something inside the stab wound he abruptly remembered.

Exhausted, he picked up his head and looked dully up at the blue woman that was watching him fall to pieces without so much as a hint of pity. Somehow, this steeled him against his breakdown and he stood, meeting her eye.

"Nebula, right?"

A nod, her gaze unwavering.

"What's next?"

Her voice is rough, the only sign of any emotion from the cyborg.

"We find him. We kill him. We get our families back."

Tony nods.

"We need help. Get us to Earth and we'll have it."

Without a word she turns and stalks towards the Guardians' ship. He follows, after about ten steps realizing that it isn't dust in his eyes, but his vision blacking out. As he hits the ground, he hears Nebula turn and come back, lifting him and carrying him to the ship. She's still eerily silent, but that just leaves room for Tony's last thought before he succumbs to the darkness taking over his sight and his mind.

I've got you, kid. I'm bringing you home. I promise.

*Four*

Tony and Peter are sitting in his workshop, doing what they do best- tinkering. He's letting the kid go nuts with one of his older gauntlets while he works on a new arm for DUM-E. It's peaceful, and he's quietly enjoying the light chatter from the kid as he discusses his latest Spanish test and Mr. Stark, it isn't fair that we have a test every week, it unfairly skews our grade!

He hasn't actually turned and looked at the kid in a few hours, engrossed as he is with this wiring that just isn't working for whatever reason. But the chatter is soothing, a balm to his soul that is deeply weary.

... why is his soul so deeply weary?

... what's going on in the outside world?

What time is it? Shouldn't Peter be tired? Hungry?

Tony shrugs it off and continues for a few more hours, blissful in the unanswered questions. He notices a bit of (ash) dirt smudged on his hand and for some reason (oh God my boy) it's really bugging him all of a sudden.

"Hey Pete, will you pass me a clean cloth from the bucket under your workbench?"

"Mister... Stark...?"

His hands begin to shake.

"Peter. Buddy. Cloth please."

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good."

His heart pounds in his chest and he turns around.

And he's not in his workshop anymore. It's Titan, and there's Peter. Bruised, battered, and scared. Looking to him. Reaching for him.

He runs and catches his boy in his arms, lowering him to the ground just as he crumbles to ash.

"Peter! No, Peter... I've got you. I had you... God I'm so fucking sorry... Petey..."

With that mournful cry he jerks awake, met with the darkness of the dead ship he shares with Nebula.

I've got you kid. I'm bringing you back. Just hold on a little longer, wherever you are.

Sick from his injury and exhausted, Tony sleeps.

*Five*

It's over. It's finally over.

Thanos is gone, back where it all began for him.

Back on Titan.

The gauntlet weighs heavy on Tony's arm, not just physical weight but the weight of purpose. The weight of promise.

He breathes deep. Lets it out slowly. Focuses on his exact desires. Personally and as an Avenger. Another breath.

Then. Tony Stark Snaps.

A serene pool stretching into infinity around a tiny Pagoda is before him. In it, stands Soul. Wearing Peter's face, but most definitely Not Peter.

"What did it cost?"

Tony stares at Not Peter.

"Everything."

Burning pain.

Exhaustion.

Then, brightness and relief.

The Infinity Gauntlet, and Tony's entire left arm, fall to the ground, burnt and mangled far beyond repair. Where the stones rested are burnt husks.

Tony doesn't care.

Standing where he fell, looking confused but unharmed, is Peter. His kid, his boy. Whole and healthy. Vaguely aware of the return of the other Fallen, but deeply apathetic to it, he rushes to Peter, wrapping him in a tight hug with his remaining arm. Peter, confused and afraid ("Mr. Stark what happened to your arm?!") but utterly trusting, hugs him back just as tightly, burying his face in Tony's chest.

The genius rests his face in the chocolate curls, whispering fondly.

"I've got you kid. I've finally got you and I'm taking you home."

*And One*

A scream rips through the once-silent hallway, waking up three people simultaneously.

Rhodey sits up, sighing and reaching for his braces again.

Steve rolls out of bed, going to stand watch outside the door with the screaming.

And Peter takes off in a mad dash towards the sound. Even though it's a nightly occurrence, it never stops the spike of terror drilled into his spine hearing Tony scream his name like that.

As with previous nights, Peter and Steve exchange nods before Peter walks through the door, hurrying to the bed where Tony is tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Another scream escapes his throat, ending with a plaintive whine and rattling sob. Peter sits next to him on the bed, pulling the blankets and sheets off of his mentor and reaching to wake him.

The teen speaks loudly over the sobs, firm as he tries to bring his mentor back from his own personal hell.

"Mr. Stark I'm right here. You saved me from Titan. We're back on Earth. Mr. Stark, I'm right here!"

Finally, dark eyes open and lock on to Peter who opens his arms to the anticipated and much-needed hug. He still jumps a bit at the cold metal of Tony's prosthetic arm, but quickly melts into the embrace, rubbing the genius' back until the shaking stops.

Into the dark, Peter finally summons the courage to say what he's been thinking in the weeks since they returned.

"Mr. Stark, you don't have to try to be so strong anymore. You did it, you saved us. You saved me. Now let us save you. I've got you, Mr. Stark."

Peter pretends to not feel the wet heat of tears in his hair. He adds one last, soft whisper as he pretends to not feel his own tears.

"I love you Mr. Stark. We'll get through this together."

[twitchesandstitches]

Hyper Brain Jane Growth Comm

Commission fic roughly set in the Labbound AU by me and Alt-Hammer, but non-canon to that AU.

Contains hyper growth typical of my work, but is mainly focused around hyper brain/head expansion.

-----

It had been many years on Earth, since the Lalonde family had made the mysterious discoveries of cloning and other technologies. Along with the other three great families, the secrets of gene splicing and the beginning of modding: self-controlled evolution and altering the body, and with it, the birth of the troll species, and others to come.

But in those days, the legality of their existence had been a serious conflict, and that was always on the minds of some of those, like Meenah the Elder, and her heiress.

“Fer frick’s sake, girl,” the husky and incredibly resonant voice from the speaker said, making little metal fixtures in the walls rattle. “Sit up and quiet hiding when you talk. You’re my heiress. You should be making people quiver and cower when you sit up!”

“They do, ma’am, really!”

A snort. “Trying ta avoid yer tits knocking ‘em down doesn’t count.”

The voice, for its vulgarity, was a beautiful voice. The kind that hotwired your brain and hit the ‘YES MA’AM’ buttons. A primordial voice of authority, one suited to an ancient warlord or a modern corporate officer; someone of a less charitable mindset might ask if there was genuinely a difference between the two: same amount of ruthlessness, and while the carnage was less physical, it was no less obvious.

Jane Egbert - though she took the surname Crocker as pat of the legal technicalities to be the heiress to Meenah the Elder, troll celebrity, top CEO and firm fighter on behalf of trolls and all the other sapients to come from Lalonde Labs - did not feel she had the same effect, even when she was easily the most physically intimidating human in history, if you discounted fertility statues that had quite a strong resemblance to her. She was aware of the fact that she was an ultra-curvy giant of a woman, nearly as much troll as human from all the genetic treatments and even the human percentage was balanced with more cerebral-enhancing cybernetics than anyone else on record. Beneficiary of fertility on par with a troll and the enhancements to breast size and milk production that came with it, and quite a few visible signs of trollish traits, as though she were transforming into one.

It was quite a sight to see a woman more than eight feet tall, with hips even wider than that and breasts quite visibly requiring special bras to absorb the excess milk she was producing, looking mortified. She was so big that any normal human could be driven to stunned meekness by the sheer scale of her; a Polynesian woman, she had grown to immense size from all the breast enhancement, muscle reinforcing, fertility amplifying, and general boost treatments known to the public at large, and quite a few that weren’t. Girthy, a bit chubby, she had the motherly look of someone fully prepared to gestate dozens of children in a single sitting, even if she had never actually had any. Her proportions were massive, on par with trolls; breasts as large as beach balls scaled up to her size and weighing several hundred pounds each, a mammoth backside that required several chairs each… she looked exactly like the model superwoman of the modern age, and had featured in the Crocker Corp’s posters. ‘Take our stuff’, they seemed to say, ‘and you can be gorgeous like her!’

That was before the… other treatments. The ones designed to make a perfect heiress out of her, and more akin to the woman who had adopted her, with all the strengths thereof. She didn’t have human ears, but smaller versions of the colorful frond-like displays that grew from sea dwelling trolls, and feathery gills grew along her throat and the sides of her body. She couldn’t wear gloves, not with those heavy claws and webbed fingers (perfect for swimming), and long, powerful fangs shone in her mouth. Even her eyes, bright blue, had a hint of trollish slit pupils. To say nothing of the small but functional pair of wings flapping from her back!

From the speaker, a kind of two-way phone made popular by the corporation that Jane was poised to take over some day, there came a sigh. On the other end of it, somewhere on the other side of the world, Meenah Peixes the Elder was rolling her eyes. “Try to at least look cool in front of the workforce while you hold the fort down, okay? Ya wanna be taken seriously, try not to blush at everything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane said.

There was a pause. “...Just ma’am?”

“Yes, Condesce?” Jane tried again, using the nickname that the elder Peixes’ batch friends had coined in their youth. The Signless, the Dolorosa, and the rest; they had become troll celebrities and unintentionally set the stage for their growing people’s culture to take titles as a form of self-identity.

There was a longer pause. And then a more heartfelt sigh. “You CAN call me Meenah. Y’know. Or mother. Or… look, you don’t work for me, okay? I ain’t yer boss.”

Jane wiggled uncomfortably, causing something small and metal to glint in her cleavage. “...Yes, ma’am,” she said, looking at the ground, or at least her cleavage. It was too big to actually see any floor. She clutched at the metal object, like holding the hand of a loved one to feel more confident.

There was one last final sigh, and it spoke to a lot of regrets. Mistakes made with parenting, words you couldn’t take back, and one last attempt to try to fix it, with a fear of doing it wrong all over again. “...You’ll keep me posted on important crap going on, yeah? Like that meeting coming up.”

Jane’s heart sank, and her stomach felt queasy. “Yes. I’ll… I’ll represent our cause well.”

Meenah the Elder sighed, and there was a strong impression of eyes being rolled. “I’m doing my part here, but you’ll have to make a good case. C’mon! You can do it. I believe in ya, girl.”

“I’ll… I’ll do it!”

“That’s the spirit!” There was a sound, as if of a kiss being blown. “Don’t tell no one, but love ya.” The speaker disconnected.

Jane sighed in relief, and sat back, and her free hand came up to rub at her temples, right above a sub-dermal implanted augmenting her brain’s processing power. “Ugh…” She winced at what felt like a fairly rough headache.

The metal in her hand shimmered to life; this was not a metaphor. It glowed brightly, with a faint red color striking against a black casing, and a single bright red light glowed. It was alive, a person in its own right. Not life in the same way as cells and blood, but life in electricity and silicon: a true artificial intelligence. This particular one, having a wicked sense of humor and taste for irony that had probably been inherited from the family that had produced him, had named himself after a famous antagonistic AI; he called himself Hal Strider.

Various mechanical synapses wired into her kicked in, and the comforting presence of a familiar mind extruding into hers, at the border of consciousness, rather like a worshipper prostrating themselves before a deity. Hal’s mind hovered, and remotely took control of a small set of speakers Jane carried for this purpose. “Sup, Jane. You’re kinda freaked out.”

Jane groaned. “How can you tell…?” She asked with only a bit of sarcasm.

“I got my ways. Reading that your hearts, all three of ‘em, are pumping mad. Blood pressure is… hoo, that’s not healthy. Shoot, your muscles are tense, especially the ones built into support your… chest. And you’re getting one monster of a headache.” He stopped, perhaps in apology. “Also, it’s kind of obvious you’re freaked out. I’ll order some meds for that headache.”

“You’re a treat, Hal.” Jane slowly got up, dreading going to work. She enjoyed being an administrator, but that meeting loomed over her, and she felt queasy at it. ‘It’s just the possible future of extreme modding, all the potential benefits of self-controlled evolution and all that at stake. And if it’s penalized, trolls and carapacians and the other sapients could be legally prosecuted for having them built in… it’s all on ME.’

She sighed again. “No pressure.” She stood up straight, causing some hefty sloshing from her massive breasts, and cracking from her suit. Oh well. She had a job to do! She pocketed Hal’s corporeal container back into her cleavage, where he sank deep, right against her chest… right against her heart. It beat a bit faster, but definitely not from stress. She patted her upper swell of mammary, enjoying the feel of him so close. “Any medical issues to report?”

There was the briefest pauses from Hal, and Jane later would think this was probably a relevant point. As an artificial intelligence, Hal thought FAST; any hesitation from him was just for deliberate effect, or imitating human social behavior. He thought so fast that he never needed any time to check and report.

But any kind of pause, from him, was the equivalent of waiting several hours to just think really, really hard about something important.

In the span of that pause, Hal looked over Jane’s biology, checked her cybernetic implants, and all the rest. This was actually his job, at least in the official records, because ‘health care officer’ for the world’s most important heiress looked a lot better than ‘personal companion’ for a paycheck. There was some interesting activity going on with her brain. She was thinking so much lately, and her intelligent implants were processing over time, and there was something going on there… Hal noticed something odd there, in her brain chemistry. Chemical markers of something else-

Oh. Yes, of course. The… stuff Meenah the Elder had used to transform Jane from an ordinary, if modded, human into the behemoth she was growing into. All Hal knew about it is that it was absolutely off the books, and had come in a syringe. It hadn’t been manufactured; it had come from somewhere, and best as he could work out from the data he’d mined in old communications between the founding families, had something to do with some site that had started… well, everything.

No one did know exactly how Mom Lalonde, Roxy the First, had created the technologies and genetic splicing techniques to create the trolls in the first place. Or how easy the creation of the carapacians was, as if she had been working from a template. And there were other mysteries there… like that mutagenic stuff Meenah the Elder had used on Jane, treating it first with her own genetics, as if to fashion Jane into her own daughter in the physical sense.

It would seem it was still in Jane’s body. It was working all the time, slowly transforming her in subtle ways, making her a true fusion of human and troll, producing all kinds of mutations, and now it was interlacing with Jane’s cerebral implants and intelligence-boosting mods. And it was doing… something.

In that pause, Hal took a long time to figure out if he should tell Jane about all that, as he was honor bound to do, or if it was better not to worry here. In the end, AIs have hearts as much as anyone. Jane was stressed enough as it were. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and onto Jane’s augmented reality-capable glasses, he made a little avatar of himself giving a thumbs up and a wink.

Jane smiled. “You’re sweet,” she said, and off they went to the offices.

Things did not improve much from there.

Several hours in: several hours of signing off on paperwork in her adoptive mother’s name, personally answering letters about their work that ranged from the merely offensive to the politically extremely disastrous if handled wrong. And then the mod stuff, addressing the medical aspects that were so crucial to their long-term success; they had to focus on the benefits of it to stay relevant in the eyes of the world, and they needed to fix so much…

Jane sighed in her office, Hal close at hand and presently extending himself into a terminal for this purpose. Letters flashed as he relayed several messages from Feferi and Roxy the Younger, and their suggestions for improving mods, and sent them to the labs once Jane gave her okay.

With the pain in her head, like something was trying to hammer its way out of here and making shocks that were hurting her spine, balancing the needs of modifications that could prove vital to the company’s success, and the welfare of all trolls and other beings, Jane was feeling physically ill; it was just too much, all at once.

“I can do this,” she mumbled to herself. “I can do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hal said soothingly. “Hasn’t that stuff I got you done anything yet?”

Jane clutched her head. She swore she could feel her skull moving beneath her fingers. Little hairline segments opening, and things sliding around, very gradually. And...pressing against her fingers? It was an illusion from the pain.

It had to be. “It’s not working…!” She hissed, shutting her eyes. Hal turned off visuals to her glasses, blanketing it in blessed darkness. “Ah… that’s better.”

Hal did the digital equivalent of relaxing… and then froze up. Aw shit, he thought.

The alert got past him, and a video call appeared on a TV. “Hello, miss acting executive,” said an oily voice doing its best to be deliberately unpleasant.

Jane stared at it. “Uhhh. Oh no…”

She was a human woman, of ordinary and unmodded build, and she had a certain look of someone who just love bringing bad news, and takes too much joy in being unpleasant. She smiled, thinly. “May I assume you are the representative of your company’s chief officer in this meeting?” she said, and wiggled her fingers at ‘chief officer’. She probably had wanted to say ‘animal’ instead, and gave the words a nasty spin that had the same effect.

Jane groaned. Dealing with bigots who openly wanted trolls declared subhuman creatures was not something she was fit to do in her state. She blinked hard, trying to focus; the whole world, even with her glasses going to full visibility again, swam in and out of focus. She cried out, pain stabbing hard right from inside her skull.

And again, and another one, and one more, harder than before: she clutched her head, oh god it HURTS!

The representative stared at Jane with poorly concealed distaste, eyes lingering sourly upon Jane’s gigantic cleavage, the faint moisture visible upon her suit from inside, and the other bits of what she had once referred to as ‘oversexed grotesquery’. “Perhap we might… reschedule,” she said nastily. “To account for your troubles. An implant misfiring, perhaps.”

“N-no!” Jane cried out. “I can attend- ah!” she clutched her head, falling onto the desk. Her breasts made it creak as they slammed down, and the rest of her bored down all the way, and the poor desk couldn’t take all her weight. It slowly folded inwards, and then burst, exploding over the room.

The monitor fell onto the floor. It was cracked, and where Jane heard the sound of dollars going up in smoke for nothing, she also heard the representative sounding pleased about her suffering. “This, I’m so afraid, will not look good for the use of implants and modifications. Not if they can backfire so terribly. I will recommend that we postpone the meeting. Ta~” The video ended.

Hal could sometimes be blunt. “Aw, shit.”

“No, no no no!” Jane thrust a fist onto the floor and it shook. She almost punched right through it. “I fucked up! I was working for barely one day, I was supposed to be a good heiress and I already fucked up!” She clutched her head. “And my head hurts, it hurts, oh goddammit stop HURTING!” She raised her head up, to headbutt the ground in a desperate attempt to do SOMETHINg to make it stop.

“Jane, no!” Hal cried out.

Jane yelled, in anger and pain and frustration but mostly the unending agony in her head-

The room went blue.

Psionics flooded out from her, energy bubbling up and exploding outwards in a single pulse, and the walls exploded. Or they ceased to exist, or exploded SO fast, and in such fine form, that they might as well have been annihilated. The blast kept going but got weaker, bowling desks over and trapping the employees. It kept going, setting off alarms and rattling drinking coolers, and all the way to the outer office windows, where the glass shook. This was pretty impressive, when they’d been built to tank anything short of a direct meteor strike.

Hal, silently, noted that Jane’s psionic put out had just risen to that expected of a fully trained goldblood specialist. “Jane…?” Hal asked. “How long have you been able to do that?”

Jane stared open-mouthed, a few bits of rubble falling on her. “I… can’t.” She swallowed. “And I just keep digging myself deeper. Oh, look at all this damage…!” she clutched her head against another fresh stab of pain, and now, she didn’t even notice a swell of blue from her hands flare up at it. She wasn’t in much of a position to be aware that as the pain rose, so did her psionic ratings, while something in her head changed.

Hal did, though. “Uh, Jane?”

“WHAT.”

Hal gave up. “I’ll call someone to help you get out of here.”

Jane’s impulse to insist she could handle this and convince the officials not to postpone the meeting faltered beneath another brutal swell, and a grinding sound in her head. “Oh God… okay, okay! That, that would be best. Okay. Do it. Please…?”

She laid down there for some time, her head grinding and the pain swelling and rising in random waves. And there, Jane realized something odd. With each peak of pain, when the hurting hit the point where it was so bad she could barely think, she kept having ideas.

She didn’t know where they came from. It was as if something was pushing them together, and some part of her was working things out. That the pain was making something happen, and she was figuring things, working through them.

As Hal ran his request out to the first available person, Jane held a hand out and fumbled in the rubble. Still laying down, she found a little tablet that had survived the destruction. She couldn’t look directly at it, not with that screen glare, but she could feel it, and she typed out on it. She sent it.

As an attendant was brought in to escort Jane home, the labs were surprised to receive a write up on a mod formula that had been puzzling them for a while; it was a perfect one, an absolutely ideal suggestion that stood up to all testing. And the really tricky bit?

When they’d sent it upstairs for review, it had only been a concept. Not a fully fleshed out mod; that took months of constant research and testing to do, and Jane had finished it in moments. She’d figured it out.

Upstairs, Jane was being helped to her feet with the help of a black carapacian who called himself the Archive Ranger. “Up you get, ma’am,” he said cheerfully, supporting her massive frame with a small forklift.

“Uhhh…” Jane groaned.

“Uh, Janey. If you give me access, my implants are all over your nervous system and brain; I can shut off your pain receptors for a while-”

“DO IT, PLEASE.”

Hal did so. Jane felt satisfying numbness, and almost fell over. She clutched her head, in relief-

And froze. There was rubble in the way, obscuring her head from sight, but she still felt something round there. Protruding out from her skull, inhumanly. And she still felt her head grinding, shifting…

Transforming. Growing.

For, as the rubble fell away when she was lifted up, it revealed her head in full.

And that, from directly above her eyes, her head had swelled into a perfect sphere.

The Archive Ranger peered. “Um. You, uh. Feeling okay, ma’am?”

Jane breathed in. “What the fu-”

-----

It was a few hours later. The pain was still gone, courtesy of Hal’s presence, and that just left room for Jane to get extremely upset.

Well, not upset, per se. More angry. Or ‘blisteringly furious’.

“You could have told me!” She yelled, stomping around in one of the palatial expanses of her private suite, doing her best not to fall over. She’d been figuring that out for a while, but now she was having to balance not just gigantic hips and hyper-productive breasts larger than her torso, but… well.

That. She felt up her head again, gingerly, as if trying to remind herself it was real. Her fingers slid up from her jawline, to her temple, and there. Where she expected hair, her skull had grown up, swelling upwards, outwards, at a fairly steep angle. Her fingers slid across a strange combination of trollish, human and mechanical bits, all of it growing together in a curious melding. Swells of biomechanical implants that had grown larger from some unknown process, chitinous structure growing beneath the skin to support her new growth, and human skin, thicker than usual. And yet another troll bit, interwoven into ordinary brown skin, vein-line conduits of psionic energy, glowing a vibrant shade of light blue.

She was now in the same league as the Captor line of trolls, in terms of raw psionic power. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Mostly she was concerned about how, according to the x-ray scans that had been taken, her brain had expanded. It had grown outwards, and her skull’s expanded size, for all its disturbing girth, was actually a fairly thin layer. Robust and armored, to be sure, but almost all the mass was her brain.

Her thoughts moved fast, so fast they doubled in on themselves, they criss-crossed and planted new mini-thoughts that blossomed on their own, to unexpectedly arrive at another point and yield insights that felt so perfect, so sublime. It was a pleasure, feeling the depth of her thoughts, the sudden clarity of it.

“You could have told me,” she said again, trying to hold on to the anger. And not focus on how good it felt, thinking so… so profoundly, with such perfect clearness. And the air on her enlarged head felt so nice. It was odd, but so pleasant. Her body shivered at the sensations, and after the horrific headaches of earlier, this was a welcome change of pace.

“I…” Hal hesitated. Another one of those little pauses, so significant in a hyper intelligent AI. “Shit. You’re right. You’re correct, okay? I was scared, okay? I thought you were too stressed out, and when i picked up there was something going on with your head, I figured… I don’t know. Just a little mutation.”

Jane indicated her expanded cranium. She pointed at what had presumably been a intelligence-boosting implant. Somehow, it had grown larger, from a sub-dermal machine to a large swath of smoothly moving machinery, with an oily motion, arcing upwards into a shape uncannily like a troll’s horn. “This? A little?”

“I didn’t realize what was going on! Okay!?”

“How!? You’re a super intelligent AI, how could you not pick that up!?”

Hal tried to figure that one out. It wasn’t as if Jane’s changes had been subtle. “Best as I can figure out, your skull changing was the cause of all that pain, and, I don’t know, something with it boosted your psionics. Built in a better energy network? It interfered with my readings too much, and I was stretched thin. I had no idea any of that was happening!”

“Hmph.” Jane tapped her foot. “Okay… okay then.” Several dozen ideas ran around, meshed together, and sixteen conclusions presented themselves. “That sounds about right.”

“I suppose we could call Meenah the Elder,” Hal said. “We can figure something out-”

“No!” Jane cried out, her eyes wide, ad psionic energy rising around her. “We can’t! It hasn’t even been a day! I need to show her I can do this! I’m a worthy heiress, I need to prove it!”

“But-”

“I can handle this!” She glared at the nearest camera that she knew he was seeing her through.

It lowered dejectedly. Hal gave in. “Okay, okay… so. What do we do then.”

Jane glanced to a nearby computer. She sighed, going over to it and sitting down in the quadruple chair arrangement, suitable to her gigantic backside. “Well, for one, I start working from home. I might as well set a good example; even unexpectedly mutated, I still do as I promised!”

“Wait, don’t forget to-”

There was a crash. And the distinctive sound of a troll-scale chair falling over.

“And perhaps we can get something up her to support my head,” Jane said, from the floor.

Several days passed.

Several days of heady, rampant mutation.

Jane sat at a bench of sorts, examining a holographic blueprint of what appeared to be a purely synthetic body; a robotic shell, capable of fulfilling all relevant biological capabilities, particularly those related to reproduction.

She leaned forward. A harness looped to her head, linked to several wheeled poles to support her head, moved with her.

Her head was far from reaching its final growth. It had only gotten bigger, nearly doubling in size; it was nearly as large as Jane herself, and strangely it didn’t feel that heavy. Jane suspected that her psionics were being naturally diverted into supporting its weight, a minor use of her growing powers she didn’t even have to think about, and Hal’s investigations supported this.

Several glowing spots, reservoirs of psionic energy, shimmered like cyan sunspots on the side of her head. Peaking atop it, her cybernetic bits had just gotten bigger, angling further and further, projecting into distinctive horn shapes, which felt rather appropriate to her.

All of today’s office work is done, she thought to herself, the notion blazing past so fast it had a dozen other variations analyzing the idea from every angle. Her thoughts were coming faster these days, and more clearly; it was like having twenty other Janes thinking with her, and each day, her head got bigger, and her intelligence seemed to be growing as much as her brain was; she felt the peak of some strange singularity, hovering before her.

Surely it wasn’t usual to find… pleasure in just thinking? But here she was, a cool shiver sliding up her back with every moment of pontification. It felt like being milked; an almost shameful pleasure for how different it was from the human norm, and there was so MUCH of it!

The work of an entire week’s worth, finished before breakfast. Jane contemplated that, as fast as she could pull off work now, having an entire day with nothing in particular to do felt a bit daunting. Now what?

Thus, her pet project.

Jane, in addition to her brain, was significantly bigger than she’d been that day she had come from the office. Her appetite had grown truly terrifying; she felt compelled to just eat and eat, fueling her brain’s expansion, but it was going to the rest of her body. She was wider, taller… mostly a lot taller. She wasn’t sure how much so, but she’d had to smash through doorways, mostly with her expanding hips, and none of her clothes fit either. She expected she was upwards of ten feet tall now, and only getting bigger.

“So, what are you working on here, Jane?” Hal said, a camera tilting towards her.

“I assume you recall the project to create truly functional bodies for synthetics,” Jane said,typing on a keyboard and entering in new schematics.

“Hah, yeah. Of course. It’s only been everything I ever wanted.” He made an irritable synthetic noise. “Trapped in these shells that can’t feel, away from you except by proxy… it sucks. It’s literally the worst. Get a dictionary, look up ‘The Worst’, and you’ll find these sucker shells next to ‘em.”

“Yep.” Jane’s head did not wobble much, being about the only part of her that didn’t. It was smooth, gleaming faintly, with not a bit of hair at all now. It did crackle faintly with blue light as she thought about several significant things at once. “The problem with making a chassis that can support a digital consciousness; not being the root of it, but just a channel for it.”

‘The same way I ride in whatever shell I can get.”

“Yes. And of course…” Jane felt conscious of her potential. Her broodmother potential, in fact. “No one’s been able to work out a way to make a synthetic body that’s actual virile. Capable of reproducing.”

Hal paused for a significant amount of time. “...No. They haven’t.” Bitterness and longing twanged from his words.

“I expect that there’s ways to make synthetic reproduction work through creative application of genetic templates and delivery systems,” Jane said thoughtfully. She was built for breeding, she’d redesigned herself to be the ultimate reproductive force just like any troll woman, but… she’d never had any person she really wanted to do that with. Except for one, and he was physically incapable of it. He didn’t even have a body.

Jane glanced down at the schematic. Until now, at least.

Hal spoke up. Something seemed to have been on his mind. “We can, you know, reverse the change. Get into talk with Roxy or Feferi. They know mutation better than anyone else. If you don’t want this, we can reverse it…?” The tone hung in the air, a delicate question.

Jane let the thousands of possibilities for rebuttal soar inside her mind, circling about and becoming more loud and furious, and she reveled in how good it felt to let the thoughts grow. The clarity of her thinking, the speed of it. She felt so… smart.

“Nah,” Jane said, opting for gentleness. She reached into her cleavage with a sloshy sound as her boobs shifted, and cradled Hal with a tough. “I’m… fine with this.”

And that was the amazing part. There was no lie there. She really was happy with this.

Reflectively, she thought that it would have been surprising to others. This mutation was by far even more extreme than her fusion of troll and human traits; she’d been straddling the line between species as is.

But, as shocking as it was, as utterly inhuman this change was…

Between the pleasure of her thoughts and the vastness of her growing intellect, the expansion of her psionic abilities, and the simply physical sensations, this felt good. The thought of going back was horrifying, and it made her feel faint, and small.

She never wanted to feel small again.

That reminded her; the meeting had been rescheduled after all, the bulk of her growth rendering her unable to attend any discussions about that, and soon it would be time to prove she could handle her duties.

She swallowed. She still wasn’t feeling confident enough…

But perhaps, she thought as twenty two ways of pretending to be confident and steely of purpose instantly were plain to her, she could fake it really well. She could out think her foe here, for sure.

Her stomach rumbled. “Hal, sweetie, can you order a fifty-course meal? I’m feeling peckish and growing this much is hungry work!”

“I’ll order up the tailors again,” Hal said dryly.

She waved a finger scoldingly at the camera. “Don’t tease.”

Weeks passed as the meeting was arranged, and Jane went through a period of ‘oh god I’m making so much trouble happen, this expense is all because of me’, but some common sense came through when she thought about the situation. As Hal agreed, even if this wouldn’t look good for her image that they had to postpone a meeting on her account, the time spent organizing everything, from catering to preparing agendas to securing an appropriate venue with the right amount of prestige, was time Jane had to prepare herself.

She wouldn’t have been prepared on that meeting day. And her thoughts moved fast, and examining everything from all the possible angles, the idea emerged within her wondrous brain that she could still have done it that day. By the skin of her teeth, perhaps, but she still could have secured victory.

Meenah the Elder had all the world to pick from for her heiress. She had chosen Jane, and now Jane had the perspective to think that maybe the wily leviathan had seen something she hadn’t.

“An interesting choice of school,” Jane observed during her training regimen, as she called it. She sat at a table, laden with food to supercharge her body and a number of mutagenic package serums, running up in IVs to various parts of her body. Before here, surrounded by small mountains of food that Jane’s ravenous appetite considered a small snack, there was a small folder and it was opened to a record of the woman responsible for rearranging the meeting, seemingly just to mock Jane.

“How so?” Hal asked. Jane turned, and leaning over the table, there was a robot. It was Hal, at last in a new body, handcrafted by her. Not the most advanced sort, she had to admit, but it was the best she could do on short notice and Hal, Hal was not picky. A crude shape, similar to a crash test dummy, but he was there.

His body was just a test run, an essay in the craft she was creating all on her own. She’d make better ones. But he was holding her hand. He looked so small, for the body was human-sized, and she was already troll-sized, and his palm barely fit over one knuckle. But she could feel him, and he could feel her.

Even if she didn’t relish all the marvelous results of her enlarged brain, that alone would have made the change worth it.

“Take a look!” She handed the folder over, minding her head, and she had to lean down heavily to pass it down. Lots of things bumped into one another; her constantly swelling breasts, creaking heavily and wetly against her pajamas, made the table creak beneath them, and her expanded her almost crushed the dishes beneath it.

Hal took it. “School created by her parents, huh. And no non-humans allowed… blanket ban of AIs… charming. We’ve barely existed for more than a few decades, too. That’s a fast ban. I’m kind of proud; my people are truly irritating bastards! And her parents were also involved in politics were dealing. Nepotism there, I imagine.” He flipped through the rest of the folder, and just for fun, hacked into the relevant servers and pulled all information on her. “Okay, got the rest of it, so have fun with a personality outline. Good for strategies.”

Jane tapped her head smugly. “I’ve already figured that out, but you’re a dear. Thank you. I think I should begin my regimen for today, then.”

“No problem.” Hal began powering up the IVs, fluids pouring up into Jane. He considered one that ran up into her brain. “You’re sure about this, then?”

“Yes!” Jane’s expression was a little delirious.

Hal did a few calculations, mostly concerning the experimental nature of the mod she was applying to her brain. Mental enhancement, augmenting memory storage, processing speed, and introducing the capacity for creating shelf-minds to briefly examine a question from multiple perspectives. It was not terribly subtle as an enhancement; most of the other Crocker Corp mods of this nature simply amplified existing capacity, but this one did rearrange the structure of the brain to improve it.

He looked up. Jane’s brain was bigger than she was now; several times bigger than her, eclipsing her and it was still growing. Her skull had fully reshaped around it into a kind of cartilaginous support as hard as armor, complex networks of psionic light producing a fascinatingly complex arrangement around its curves. He wasn’t sure how this stuff would change her brain… but if Jane wanted it, he wouldn’t argue.

Hal happily considered himself an absolute bastard, but when it came to Jane, he was a doormat. “Full force on those mod delivery systems!” Jane commanded, and he did so.

She squeaked, happily, as they hit her system. Many of them were amplification mods, designed to expand on your existing shape and traits (and existing mods), and since Jane was so modded up, they had a lot to work with. Her clothes creaked, built to support her massive body but unable to withstand the pressures of her growth all at once: stitches popped as her breasts grew, expanding by a troll cup-size every few seconds, heavily swelling outwards. Her milk production ramped up, supported by some enhancements Jane had worked there with a clever little addition that made her breast tissue synchronize with her brain; more boob size and milk amplified her processing power,

Her hips grew, waistband creaking and popping right off. Her belly, already so heavy and dense, grew out and just over the swell of her groin, right onto thighs that were growing individual larger than some troll boys on the spot. It didn’t help her legs were getting longer, her bones expanding and reshaping to support such architectural weight. Jane visibly grew upwards, even as her hips grew wider than a couple trucks parked together, her backside swallowing up and crushing the chairs she sat on as it billowed out.

A foot taller. A couple feet, then three feet. Jane kept growing, taller and taller, right alone with her curves getting bigger, her enlarged breasts instantly filling up with brain-boosting milk, and she squealed with delight as her clothes popped right off, burst from her body’s best efforts to outdo itself.

And her brain was shifted, squirming from within. Jane’s eyes crossed as she momentarily blacked out. The change didn’t take long, but it was by far the most complex happening in her body, even exceeding the troll/human hybridization process. Hal supposed it was like upgrading a motherboard while the terminal was still on; you had to have some shutdown.

A fairly human brain design was being reworked from the ground up; her brain, beneath the skull, became a complex arrangement of zig-zags and criss crossed knots, not doing individual jobs but becoming a mass of interconnected processors, linked together to a central core. Amplifying it, adding additional layers to itself, and what that brain had originally been capable of was redefined, evolutionary missteps corrected instantaneously and improved upon.

At this point the other mods kicked in; the boosters, the additional intelligence amps, and some cybernetic upgrades.

Jane’s eyes opened and she squealed in delight when her head expanded. Her eyes almost went cross as her head began rapidly growing. Not an inch at a time, but rather, a whole foot, all in a second. Visibly her head swelled, skull reforming into something much more flexible, rather like an organic balloon, just to keep pace with it.

And like a balloon it grew! As if invisible hands were spreading raw material into it and kneading it all into place, Jane’s head grew larger, and larger still.  It got even rounder, with nodules of cybernetic relays, ports popping up like fins, curling whorls where her chitinous support plates and psionic networks knitted together and then grew bigger.

It was already bigger than Jane, who by now was over fifteen feet tall. A proper troll size, close to what Meenah the Elder had been at her age. A brain over sixteen feet around, nearly twenty five feet across, radiating enough raw psionic energy to erase a small mountain-

And it was still growing. It pulsed from within, glowing blue with just a hint of more neon fuchsias.

And Jane gasped, on the verge of something grand and alien, but good. Her eyes shone like someone who saw the shape of the universe, and the code thereof. She put her hands up to her head, eyes wide and full of delight. “I can see it! I understand it!”

“Understand… what?” Hal asked, baffled.

Jane took a deep breath and nearly shouted, “Everything!”

The weeks of waiting, and additional growth for Jane and all her different plans to be worked out, came to an end. The meeting, and its possible implications for the future of modding and the Lalonde offspring species, was upon them.

Jane was late, citing transportation difficulties. This did not pass unnoticed by the meeting crowd.

“The poor mutant has likely gotten herself wedged in some doorway or something,” the representative who had reorganized the meeting in the first place said with a tutting sound. “Or I dare say all those artificial hormones she’s flooded her body with have done terrible things to her memory.”

“Allowances for size problems were accounted for,” objected a thin fellow who was taking a ‘wait and see’ attitude to the whole matter at hand. He was starting to suspect some kind of personal vendetta from the first representative, and it was starting to grate at him.

The representative smirked. “They wouldn’t be necessary if they didn’t permit mutation into such overlarge forms.”

“If that was the case, the trolls would be harshly penalized for being born over the legal limit of size,” observed another person. They didn’t sound like they thought this was a good thing, or a bad thing. They just said it.

“Which would be cruel and inhumane, to punish people for their biology,” another woman said, more sternly. This got a few nods, but not many, from the fence-sitting portion of the representatives.

The first representative smiled in a very nasty way. “We’ll see.” Those on her side of the ‘lets just be absolute bastards’ crowd nodded. Though in a non committal way. They were intending on making life just the worst for trolls and those like them, but they weren’t going to put themselves onto a bullseye for it.

There came a sound, as if of footsteps, so heavy they made the walls shake even in this auditorium selected for its size. “Ah,” said another. “That must be-”

The door opened. A foot, in an elegant high heeled shoe longer than a child’s bed, crashed into the floor. Then the walls abruptly exploded into a perfect silhouette for something very big to step though; expanding hugely for monstrously huge hips, even more for breasts that looked like they needed trucks to support them, and then, an enormous globe glowing like a blue son.

The awe-inspiringly big woman, as large as any troll, dd not step in. She took another movement and floated into the air, seemingly as light as a leaf. Behind her, the wall rubble floated back into place and sealed itself back into solid form, as though it had never been broken.

“Her,” the figure who had spoken finished weakly.

“So sorry I am late,” Jane Crocker said smoothly, doing her best to hide her screaming nervousness and keep up the pretense of a Cool Business Leader Who Knows Her Stuff. “But then you were all warned, but I apologize again.”

They stared up at her, and the general attitude was of meekness and terrified shock; most of them had never actually been in the same room as a troll before, and weren’t the type to be around people who enjoyed modding themselves; it was their first time seeing someone three times as tall as a human, and so curvaceous, or floating with telekinesis.

It was probably more relevant to their shock that Jane's head, above her eyes, was a massive ball generating so much psionic energy it glowed like light, so thickly that it had taken on solid form and rather resembled her old hair style. Light blue, at that. And it was so massive, taking up a good chunk of the auditorium where she was; it had to measure almost fifty feet across, at least!

“What the fu-” the first representative, the dreadful one, started to say, her eyes widening in disgust and shock.

Jane held up a finger. “Ah. Please let’s not be vulgar?”

The representative stopped. She kept staring, openly repelled. “What have you done to yourself…?! You’re not even human anymore?”

Ah, perfect! Jane repressed the urge to smirk victoriously. Her foe was presenting an overly antagonistic front, and setting herself up to look like the bad guy. This was almost too easy. Her gigantic brain, and all the intellectual boosts it provided, gave her no less than twenty six thousand different routes, each perfectly assured to give her what she wanted, to discredit her foe’s position.

She selected one. ‘Miss, I apologize but whether or not a certain degree of modding voids my species is not the subject of this meeting, nor is it entirely appropriate to comment upon. May I ask that we proceed with the meeting?”

“Ah, yes,” another representative said, rather dazed. He coughed. “First on the agenda, I believe. Now, as representative of the… the biggest modding corporation in the world…” he paused again, trailing off. He kept glancing at Jane’s… well, everything. Jane had to admit that perhaps the low cut of her business suit was rather daring but she was feeling proud of her handiwork in reshaping herself.

“Are mods dangerous? Please!” This was the obnoxious representative, again. Jane had to give her credit; she was dogged. “You WOULD be the expert on that!”

Jane was pleased, despite the insult. The woman had likely prepared a line of questioning intended to poison the meeting against even a moderate position for modding, a subtle one, and Jane’s appearance had rattled her so much, she was showing her hand without thinking.

Making sure to keep her poise and calm demeanor intact, Jane replied evenly, her glasses gleaming in reflection from her cyan aura. A background susurration of her thinking went around, providing perfect counters to everything that might be used against her, and a stray thought observed that Jane’s glass effect probably made her look very spooky.

Jane made her point, briefly but winding her words with so much sincerity and earnestness that just objecting to them would be deeply offensive and cruel. Certainly it would make an opponent look bad, and the woman who had started all this looked uncertain how to proceed.

Appropriate, then. The whole reason that dreadful woman had rearranged the meeting had been to humiliate Jane. And Jane’s position of course; that was a political thing, Making your opponent look back, striking at their position through proxy.

Well, Jane thought. Two could play that role.

Jane reinforced her point, with no less than sixteen different arguments that also served as counter arguments for… well, at least twenty five separate retorts that were in the seventy-six most likely statements she would have to face. That was just off the top of her head of course; she had much stronger arguments in store if they really pushed her.

And she hadn’t cried at all, or showed a sign of her nervous she actually was! She was getting good at pretending to be confident.

About fifteen minutes in, there was something of a problem. “Well, I… ah… that is… I believe Miss Crocker, Egbert…? I think you’ve nicely summed up our side's position on the matter,” said a man who Jane felt certain was on her side. He looked faint, all the same, too unsteady to be certain of what he was really saying.

Jane blinked. She had seen something like this coming, her mighty brain had worked it out, but it was a surprise all the same. “But it’s only been fifteen minutes!”

“Well, yes,” said another. “You thought of everything you needed to say!”

The opponents shook their heads glumly. “What am I supposed to say to any of that?” one managed, shrugging. The first representative didn’t say anything at all. She had a venomous look, but from what Jane had gathered from her, that was just her default state of expression.

“...Oh,” Jane said, using those valuable pauses to work out what to say next. “I am so sorry, everyone!”

“No need, miss,” and this, surprisingly enough, came from the crowd opposed to her position. “I must say. I’m still not comfortably with the idea of injecting things into yourself, or eating things that do things like that to your body… but it’s helped you think faster and better, yes?”

“But of course,” Jane said primly. “The corporation I work at, we are laboring all the time to make such products available for everyone. In more subtle forms, if that pleases you.” She tapped a cybernetic extrusion that looked like the tines of a crown. “It may seem… an unusual choice, but we are all about personal freedom and respect of the body. I can assure you!”

“Certainly something to think about, ma’am,” the speaker replied, and Jane did not miss the switch from ‘Miss’ to ‘ma’am’.

This, of course, left them with nearly six hours left, and not really much less to do for the meeting. In all honesty, she hadn’t seen that coming at all.

Life went on.

Those with a political ear to the ground, or who a close on the research communities, heard of the restrictions around modding being lightened, or at least that they were being considered for it. Trolls, carapacians, and others sighed in relief, grmly waiting for the next government-sponsored threat to their existence, but felt a bit better about this support.

That said, the precise events of the meeting were unknown to most people. The authorities involved were too embarrassed to own up to what had actually happened, and were keeping the particulars under wraps.

This was certainly interesting to Meenah the Elder, known to her friends and employees as the Condesce. She fancied herself a shrewd political player, even if it was mostly of the ‘smash your face against the wall until the wall breaks’ kind of play, and badly wanted to know the specifics.

“Couldn’t tell ya, I didn’t actually attend,” said Li’l Hal, sitting across from her on her personal jet, and he was drinking a cup of milk that was apparently of excellent source, with a hint of alcoholic spice. This was interesting to the Condesce, as he was. Well. In a physical body.

Of all the people to have arrived specifically to meet her at the eve of her trip ending and escorting her to Jane’s mysterious post-politics retreat, she had not expected Jane’s assistant. Particularly in person.

Several questions posed themselves. She settled for, “How the hell did you get a body?”

Hal smirked. His physical body was obviously robotic; a shining and shimmering automaton modeled broadly on the human form, with a hint of carapacian, and facial features from all of those. He didn’t have many features from humans; his antipathy towards the species that had made them was rather infamous, and no doubt he had refused to honor his makers in any way possible with his design.

“Jane designed it,” he said.

She paused. “Janey.”

“Yep.”

“Janey built you a body.”

“Yep.”

“Janey, who has absolutely no interest in mechanics, worked out a branch of robotics we’ve been trying to figure out for decades.”

“Yep.”

“And in the course of mah little trip out, yeah?”

“If I said yep again, would that be redundant.”

Meenah the Elder scoffed. She sat back, a giantess even by the standard of trolls, her engorged figure so enormously swelled that it was said her bras qualified as architectural support and her custom chairs made from old tanks. “Sure, fine. Don’t tell me, chumbait.”

Hal chuckled again, in that very dark way he’d worked out to make people as worried as possible.

Meenah glanced outside. The jet approached an island, the sea visible far below. It offended her ancestry to be so far away from the sea, which was a bit perplexing when she was the first troll of her blood color, but you couldn’t help how you felt. “Huh. That’s the island the Harleys keep all their weird experiments at, right? Where they test the new lusii and keep those big monster things at.”

Hal glanced out the window. A pteranodon was drifting in view, without paying them much interest. “The dinosaurs and stuff. Yeah. Nepeta comes here for hunting and isolation when she’s pregnant.”

“So what’s Janey doing here.”

Hal scratched the side of his arm absently, apparently itching. “She’s working on something and she’s finishing a round of transformation. I guess she wanted to be alone in peace for it.” With a hint of smugness he added, “Except for me.”

“Don’t go breaking yer arm patting yourself on the back,” Meenah the Elder said dryly. “Ya only just got the body.” She glanced out, looking pleased. “Transformation, eh? Janey’s sent me messages ‘bout that. She finally growing big as a troll, like I always figured?”

“Well. Uh. She has. But…?” Hal felt uncharacteristically uncertain. “What DID Jane tell you?”

“Talk about how she’s gotten bigger. And she thinks she’s full of herself.”

“She what?”

“Y’know. She said she’s got a swelled head. Ain’t a bad thing. She knows how good she is, now!”

“I. okay. Wow. I think you may have misunderstood what she meant. I mean. She IS big like a troll now, but-”

“But what?” Meenah the Elder frowned. “Whatta ya getting at?”

Hal considered just telling her, and decided against it. Firstly, it would be a breach of Jane’s trust, telling people without her say so. Secondly, she wanted to greet Meenah the Elder in person, on this eve of her great success. And three, and perhaps most importantly, it was gonna be goddamn hilarious.

“Better to show you,” he said, and successfully did not burst out into a round of maniacal cackling.

The jet touched down onto a runway on a part of the island not particularly frequented by recombinant tyrannosaurs produced by the Harleys (and the meek personalities of kakapo birds, apparently) or rampaging lusii grown to kaiju size from unforeseen complications in the mutations, and the gigantically curvy older troll was pleased by the palatial estate sprawling partway into the sea. Jane liked the finer things in life, and Meenah approved. A short distance away, was… Meenah squinted.

A hill, floating in the air? And beneath it was some kind of round building. Hrm, she considered. Janey was working on some kinda experiment. Worth investigating.

Hal escorted her out and led her, not to the estate, but to Meenah’s surprise, to the hill.

As they got closer, she became aware of a radiant light she had initially believed was a fancy lightshow, but as they walked up a path going to it, she felt the distinctive tingle and skin rippling pressure of psionics. Very powerful ones, at that. “The hell is she doing here? Some kinda psionic battery?”

“That’s… technically true,” Hal said. “I wouldn’t know, though. Not my field.”

She grunted in disinterest.

They came up to it, and small bits of stony rubble, with bits of moss there, were gently floating down. Blue light engulfed them and, as they fell, were reshaped. Carved, perhaps, by an unseen hand. Meenah looked up and saw the hill above them, eclipsed by the vast shape overhead, being changed. The rough edges were being smoothed out, ground down. Little statuettes and gargoyles were extending outwards, getting longer and more ludicrously detailed. The middle of the hill’s bottom half looked like an overworked stonemason’s idea of perfect Gothic architecture, and it was spreading to the rest of it.

Meenah held a hand out. A bit of hill was formed into what was unmistakably a small hand that pressed against her palm. It turned blue and fell away. “Some serious psionics there! Is she carving the damn thing!?”

“I guess so?” Hal said, shrugging.

Meenah looked down, and stars extended from beneath her toe claws. They rose up, moving upwards, all the way up to the top of the hill, but below the big globe above it.

Her wings, fashioned after a manta rays, fluttered and closed. “Guess we go up,” she said, and did so. The stairs didn’t creak beneath her weight, but flexed at the same time her monster hips did. She tried to swat Hal off the stars behind her with her tail, just for mischief, but he dodged it without comment. It was an automatic reaction from her, too.

Meenah came to the top. “Janey! Where are you, girl!?”

“Hey!” A voice said brightly, from in front of her.

Meenah looked up, towards the globe, and for a moment her vision failed her. She saw Jane, sure enough, and from her perspective, floating right below the big globe above them. A globe that was radiant blue, and obscured in a way that made it hard to make out. Jane looked different; bigger, wider, more of that sweet troll bigness.e

Meenah held her arms out, commanding. “C’mere, didn’t come halfway around the world and not get a hug first thing!”

Jane slowly floated down and inside, Meenah thought: ‘Psionics? Hell yeah! That’s a big change, how’d you get to do that!?’ She had been working on that upgrade for a while now. The big globe came with her, so perhaps it really was a battery of some kind.

Jane’s arms, broad and thick with muscle but thicker with softness, came around Meenah’s middle and squeezed her tightly. Meenah hugged her back, and took stock of her in a second; bigger body, much bigger, way more curvy. Hips huge enough to wreck doors; she was a little below Meenah’s elbow and just the right size for a tall troll girl, breasts so big they made up most of her body weight - good and milky, from the sound! - and at this point Condy took in face.

Or rather, Jane’s head.

The globe she had seen was Jane’s head. That massive round shape, larger than an entire apartment building, was a part of Jane! Her head expanded outwards above the temples, into a complex curve of chitinous support frames and complicated psionic networks and great chunks of cybernetic designs, all glowing with so much blue light that it looked like a rather calming star.

Meenah could feel the power emanating from her. That Jane wasn’t even trying to float, and hold up the hill, and carve it up at the microscopic level, all at once.

“Holy shit, yes,” she breathed out, with a rather frightening grin.

“I did it!” Jane said, full of delight and joy. “I did so well at that meeting!”

“I knew it, didn’t I?” Meenah agreed. “Told ya, all those years, you had it! And you did good!” She hugged her again, and then clasped the closest curves of Jane’s enlarged head. “And what’s this beauty I see, eh?”

“Um. The mutagens in my system reacted with my brain boosts and my head sort of … swelled. I tried to tell you.”

“What’s it do for ya? Huh?”

“Psionic boosts,” Jane said promptly. “And a vast increase to intelligence! And, oh, all manner of things. Better reasoning ability, memory retaining, new forms of thinking…”

“Learning a whole new branch of robotics, in a day?” Meenah said.

Jane blushed. “That too…”

“Ya robot boy’s body looks nice.”

“Thank you!”

Meenah patted Jane’s head. It was firm to the touch, very solid, and crackled against her skin. “So, that’s what you meant by a swelled head, huh?” Jane nodded, almost bonking Meenah it he rhead, and this gave Meenah the opportunity to note that the largest bits of biomechanical parts looked like horns. Long, rather thin and… she tried to ignore her hearts skipping a beat. They looked like, her own horns.

Meenah hugged her again. Full of pride, no small amount of respect, and a lot of professional fascination with what Jane had done. “Don’t you tell no one, but I’m this proud of ya. Knew you had it in you.”

Jane grinned, and for once, the pride she felt was not feigned. “Aw!” She thought, in rapid succession, of the best thing to reply, and the obvious one suggested itself. “Thank you… Mother.”

Meenah’s expression, the delighted widening of that smile into something more genuine and sweet, was the finest thing she’d ever seen.

[theimpossiblescheme]

“Where do you come from, where do you go?  What is your scene, baby, we just gotta know!”

I said I was gonna make an appreciation post for Yvonne Craig’s ’66 Batgirl, so… here she is, Barbara Gordon, that Dominoed Dare-Doll out to strike at the heart of crime!

The network wanted to introduce Barbara Gordon to the show almost immediately after her “Million-Dollar Debut” in the comics, and being renewed for a third season gave them the perfect opportunity.  After airing a short presentation to introduce the character, featuring Babs in a much pointier mask fighting off Killer Moth and his goons, they were given the green light to properly usher her into the show.  The rest, of course, is network television history; and while a lot of people can agree that the third season of the show was largely a series of missteps, Batgirl was definitely not one of them.

What makes Babs so interesting in this show is that she’s the perfect demonstration of how femininity and badassery don’t have to be mutually exclusive.  She’s naturally a very warm, charming, and eminently helpful person who goes out of her way to look after her family and her community. She’s a bookworm who works at the Gotham City library and studied almost every subject.  She’s very much a daddy’s girl who almost never fights with her father and regularly invites him over to watch TV with her.  She loves to cook and entertain guests.  She loves classical music and museums of all kinds.  She dresses like Jackie Kennedy at a thrift shop.  She loves to surf and swim and has a thing for charming jocks.  She keeps a gorgeous apartment full of trinkets and vintage furniture with a little parakeet named Charlie to keep her company.  And she visibly wears striking eye makeup even under her Batgirl cowl.

For God’s sake, her Batgirl motorcycle has ruffles on it!

But absolutely none of that takes away from what a devastatingly competent crimefighter she is.  In fact, she uses her reputation as an underestimated Girly-Girl ™ to her best advantage, similar to the way Babs does in Batgirl: Year One.  People tend to not pay her any mind because she’s a girl who can’t possibly do anything interesting in her spare time?  Gives her plenty of time to build her own Batgirl Cave in the back room of her apartment, complete with a revolving wall for ease of access to her costume station, an early computer and switchboard with a Lucite screen, a forensic chemistry set, and an elevator lift for her motorcycle!

People expect her to be soft and meek?  Perfect opportunity to take people by surprise by scaring them out of her apartment, even out of costume, and fully turn the tables on them as Batgirl, the fierce bruiser who loves nothing more than a sharp verbal takedown followed by a good scrap!  Punching isn’t a ladylike thing to do?  No rule saying you can’t ballet-kick their noses up into their brains and grab the nearest blunt object to use as an improvised weapon!

Woman crimefighters aren’t expected to be as clever as the Dynamic Duo?  Time to surprise everyone by using common sense and book smarts to solve cases instead of Bat-Deduction and breaking out of deathtraps by being genuinely resourceful rather than relying on deus ex machina (she does get the occasional assist, but this girl freed herself from self-tightening garotte wire.  That counts for something.)! 

Every time someone on the show tries to sell her short, she gets around to proving them wrong within seconds, and it’s the most satisfying thing to see.  Her biggest flaws as Batgirl were that she could be a little too rough and sometimes unintentionally cruel (such as the time she sprayed Louie the Lilac with sentient rot because she thought he was just bluffing).  But with time and experience she learned better and continued to improve as Gotham’s newest protector—a job she took very seriously, but still had a sense of humor about.

Interestingly, in her first couple of appearances, Babs seemed to be very aware of the fact that people were going to end up comparing her to Batman and Robin, and it manifested in a rather competitive spirit.  She constantly kept secrets from them, even ones that pertained to the case they were working on, and she would even hide evidence from them so she could have the satisfaction of busting the bad guy first.  They didn’t seem to trust her on principle at first, especially Batman, who believed that it was in women’s nature to try to outdo men in everything (holy sexism, ya douchecanoe); and she apparently decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to change their minds.  When they asked her about where she got her information, she would be deliberately vague and mention things like tarot cards and tea leaves—“all part of a woman crimefighter’s arsenal”—as a sort of Take That against them.  And at the end of almost every episode, she would disappear without a trace while their backs were turned, making them wonder where the hell she could have gone.  Eventually the three came to trust each other much more and fall into an easier and more cheerful rapport, but she would still disappear on them when the job was done.

One of the biggest shakeups on the show was that the member of the original “Batfamily” she was closest to was none other than Alfred!  He was the first to stumble upon her secret identity, and she made him swear to secrecy “as a gentleman’s gentleman.”  And he kept his word and continued to serve as her confidante, meeting with her in secret when she didn’t know if she could trust Batman. Every opportunity there was to help Babs, Alfred took it, no matter what, whether it was freeing her from a particularly tricky trap or helping her track a criminal across Gotham.  The two of them quickly developed a really adorable familial relationship based on mutual trust and affection, and you could tell how fond of each other Yvonne Craig and Alan Napier must have been.

The one vastly different addition you could possibly quibble with about this Babs is that there’s this rather aggressive effort to try to pair her up with Bruce.  Her father is very in favor of the idea of the two settling down together (even though Babs is fresh out of college and Bruce is at least in his late thirties).  And while Babs thinks Bruce is a nice enough guy, all of their “dates” end up being rather awkward since Bruce is a colossal dork out of costume, and she honestly just finds him a bit boring.  Besides, “he’s no Batman.”  She has a rather thinly disguised hero-crush on Batman and often wonders who he is under the mask—one can only imagine her reaction to finding out it’s the same guy who would rather watch the news in the back of his limo than talk to her. The attempt at shipping is there, but it never really goes anywhere, so… dodged a bullet there.

And in case anyone is wondering about her and Dick, while they aren’t romantically interested in each other at all, they do make a fantastic team and seem to view each other as brother and sister or at least good friends.  There are entire subplots of episodes where the two team up to save Batman’s bacon, and it’s glorious.

All in all, Yvonne Craig—once a dancer for the Ballet Russe and then a character actress who’d performed opposite Perry Mason and Elvis Presley—gave the world one of the defining heroines of the 1960s.  One who never stayed a damsel in distress for long and was spunky, witty, rebellious, kindhearted, determined, free-spirited, and more than capable of holding her own with the boys.  If anyone remembers anything about the third season of Batman, it’s Batgirl in all her purple glory, and her legacy has endured for so long that even Gail Simone has gone on record saying that when she writes Barbara Gordon, it’s Craig’s voice she imagines.

Unfortunately, Batman’s third season would be its last; even with hopes for a fourth season on the horizon, the destruction of the sets meant that the Terrific Trio would never set forth again on the small screen.  Fortunately, though, this wouldn’t be the end of this Batgirl—she was given another chance in cartoon and comic book form!

In The New Adventures of Batman, she takes on Catwoman to clear her own name from the taint of crime, singlehandedly rescues Robin from both the Joker’s and the Riddler’s henchmen with nothing but brute force, and adds a whole new passel of gadgets to her utility belt, including her own grappling hook gun and a makeup compact that conceals pocket sand she can use to blind her assailants.

In the recent Batman ’66 standalone comics, she gets to help Batman face off against Lord Death Man in Japan, takes on the Joker and Catwoman multiple times, helps free her father from Bane’s clutches, outwits all of the Big Four through simple office politics out of costume, and singlehandedly fends off the Bookworm and Queen Cleopatra with ingenuity and a good pimp slap respectively.

In Batman ’66 Meets the Man From U.N.C.L.E., she battles Poison Ivy’s plant goons (accidentally decapitating one of them with a single kick) travels with the Dynamic Duo, Napolean, and Illya to Monte Carlo to face off against Hugo Strange and his new international crime syndicate, and almost throws hands with Strange all by herself.

In Batman ’66 Meets Wonder Woman ’77, she graduates from Batgirl to Batwoman (Kate Kane’s initial appearance never caught on, it would seem) and takes her place as the new police commissioner of Gotham City after her father retires.

And most recently, in Archie Meets Batman ’66, she and Dick Grayson go undercover as transfer students to help flush out the new supervillain threat plaguing Riverdale and its students, facing off against the Joker and Catwoman in particular so far while dealing with the rabid crushes Archie and Betty have on them.

And as long as people still show an interest in this iteration of Babs, there will probably be more content still to come.  Not gonna lie, this is my favorite version of Barbara Gordon in any medium—I love her personality, her approach to challenges, her fighting style, her relationships with the rest of the cast, and even her costume.  Maybe one day, in a new Batman ’66 comic, we’ll get to see more of a supporting cast for her—bring in Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Frankie Charles, Jason Bard, and all of the characters we’ve come to know and love from the greater DC canon!  Hell, even better, give her a chance to become Oracle and pave the way for new Batgirls inspired by the good she’s done for Gotham!  But for now, we should all take the opportunity to appreciate the most iconic Barbara Gordon and the legacy she left behind.

Before I go, I thought I’d leave you guys with a snippet from the Man From U.N.C.L.E. crossover comic that I think best encapsulates this Batgirl and why she does what she does.  If ever Barbara Gordon had a mission statement, this is it, and I can never commend the comics enough for recognizing what makes her so special.

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

FarscapeWatch: 2.05 ‘The Way We Weren’t’

It’s been a minute, but we’re back in business. The season 2 reactions continue as I continue my first watch of Farscape!~

It's a flashback episode! This bodes well coming so early in the series after effectively a repilot as this season started.

Okay so we're in Moya...or are they just saving money by re-using the set, because either I'm watching a low-quality pitched-up version, or that's not Pilot??

Ladypilot? I like her. So something bad will happen no doubt. Just like Crais's lady second in command last season.

Are we watching a recording? Interesting flashback. Oooh yep they kill that Pilot and its...really quite brutal. Ugh Crais pfo.

And there's the stinger. Aeryn was part of the crew killing the previous pilot of that Leviathan. Which...actually is Moya. And it's Chiana that's found this recording, wuh oh. Good thing she and Aeryn have such a camaraderie and positive history so far... (Although we do seem to be retconning the character development in Taking the Stone away in these last few episodes).

So we enter the episode, and now we're all watching the tape...the whole crew, including Aeryn. Rygel right away stirs the pot, and I'm starting to see a Rygel-Chiana teamup connection. Rygel is somehow a lot more tolerable with someone else on his 'team', so to speak. So right away they all (minus John, I'm sure) jump to the conclusion that Aeryn has been deliberately concealing this past from them as some kind of long-held plan of her own, and really... I just don't think it's been seeded enough that Aeryn might be a traitor. She's been portrayed so far as The Main Girl even over Chiana who's had a lot of narrative focus, her entire character and arcs have been based around her being an outcast from her people, so what does she have to gain by playing what's by my reckoning now at least a months-long game against the rest of them and faking all kinds of emotional responses? Nah, not buying it. But the downside is that then makes the rest of the cast look bad, and I like those guys.

So they start to be paranoid that Aeryn might have come across - or even tortured! - them themselves in the past as they were on Moya at this time, three cycles - that is, three years, I think - ago. Aeryn denies it and John backs her up. Zhaan has a nasty little remark about being shocked that Aeryn would kill a Pilot but...Zhaan, she was ordered to, it would've been her own head on the block if she didn't. And Aeryn rightfully points out that Zhaan had no problem with cutting THEIR Pilot's arm off just out of her own selfishness. Chiana actually chips in as the voice of reason here and points out, had none of them actually thought to understand what it meant that Aeryn was a Peackeeper? She did bad things. So I wonder will this be an introspective episode about all that kind of thing?

Again, I imagine this kind of thing came up in the fandom at the time, but perhaps it's possible that Zhaan, D'Argo and Rygel, being the characters they are, just DIDN'T ever think too deeply about Aeryn's past - or even hid it from themselves so they could work with her. Chiana of course, the wildcard, has no such qualms. Being real though, they've all done plenty bad, Zhaan and D'Argo are canonically killers, even if they had reason, and Rygel and Chiana probably aren't squeaky clean either. Pot kettle much?

And we're into flashback with Aeryn ominously noting relationships. Romantic, perhaps? I'm just ready for John's whiny dudebro to rear its head again just as we'd started to move past that if it turns out she's gasp been with someone else before.

So the first thing that's established is that not only is Aeryn emotionless and focused because she's a Peacekeeper, her singlemindedness and adherence to procedure and policy are actually intense even by Peacekeeper standards. This Aeryn is very firmly Lawful Neutral, an alignment I'd say she keeps but adheres less strictly to at this point in Farscape real-time, veering into True Neutral. On that note, my imagined alignments for all our leads so far: Rygel = Chaotic Evil verging on Chaotic Neutral, Chiana = Chaotic Neutral, textbook, D'Argo = Neutral Good, Zhaan = True Neutral, John = Chaotic Good, Crais = Lawful Neutral. Pilot...hard to say, because Pilot's not been a character for long. Though going by last episode, perhaps that's due to change this season.

Flashback!Moya introduces a 'friend' of Aeryn's from the off. A male friend. Hmmm...

It's revealed that Aeryn also unknowingly facilitated the new Pilot, our character known as Pilot (this will get confusing fast >.<) being brought aboard Moya. It's decided that he should not be told about this tape and immediately the camera cuts to Chiana, hmm, I wonder if *someone* is going to show Pilot the tape??? Presumably he would not be happy to see Aeryn killing one of his kind, to be fair, would anyone be? This is going to go terribly wrong, isn't it.

Back into flashback. It seems that Aeryn's friend is a softly-softly approach kinda guy with his attitude to the imprisoned Pilot, but willing to change to overt violence in front of superiors like Crais. Peer pressure or looking after number 1? We also learn that Pilots are much more intelligent than human(oid)s, or at least, can handle a multipilicty of concepts far better than our brains could.

So we have a lot of Peacekeeper internal politics. Crais is a hard slavedriver who wants Aeryn's superior to work faster and do things ASAP no matter the damage that may cause. Aeryn's man disagrees, but has no choice as he's inferior. Also somehow Aeryn is always in the background in these scenes, although it seems to be the case that she's a lot lower down the chain. Just chance, perhaps?

Minor aside, a shot showing that Aeryn DID in fact see Zhaan while as a Peacekeeper and was not at all bothered to see her captured. So she didn't mention that. On that note, I'm unsure who's privy to these flashbacks - is she telling John in private, or just thinking of them herself and we viewers are looking in, or are we looking in as if we were there for the context of what she's feeling now, becoming privy to information np-one else on Moya is?

Okay so it's revealed why Aeryn is in the background; she's been trying unsuccessfully for a while to get Crais's attention to request a transfer, and has been rebuffed coldly every time. Here he just walks away while she's speaking, sheesh.

Back to present day. It's all weighing on Aeryn's mind and she beats her punching bag until her hands are bloody. John comes to her and they talk, we get some indepth on Peacekeeper culture. Emotions are just about forbidden, especially positive ones, and bonds are also discouraged. Romance is tacitly forbidden, but sex is fine as a biological need for stress relief. It's interesting, the latter - I wonder if that was shocking in the late 90s, because it feels like that's a more common or more accepted perspective on sex at least, today, emotional and abusive other parts aside.

CALLED IT. Aeryn and..Valorik? (I’m going to call him V) were totally bangin'. But possibly also developing feelings for each other, at least inklings of, maybe onesided, maybe both ways? Which is of course, the biggest forbidden fruit. So back then, baby Aeryn was playing on a knife edge of breaking the rules, interesting.

(Possibly slightly kinky sex too, there's a bit of grabbing there and chocking, wow)

ALSO CALLED IT. John seems dumbfounded that Aeryn used to be "lovers" with someone else, and is struck speechless and stammering. Sorry sunshine, but you're both at least mid-twenties, did you really think you were her first? You were ENGAGED or nearly it anyway back on Earth! Aeryn admits now that this guy was her something special that she'd had feelings for - which puts an interesting spin on her requesting a transfer earlier in the episode, and not for the first time either - perhaps easier to run from the situation than deal with the conflict in her vows and her feelings? (Also, still working out John and Aeryn's relationship right now...it feels like Official Couple, but it's interesting how John has now been very much accepted, even as a leader, if his partner is still privy to being outcast at literally a minute's notice...)

Well, now Pilot's seen the tape. "How did he get hold of that?" John asks. Well, John, you're on a ship with two wildcards and two characters who distrust Aeryn, is it rocket science? Pilot calls Aeryn - Officer Sun - in to see him, and does NOT sound happy.

Let me take this moment to note how different Aeryn looks with her hair down and long. She's like a different woman.

Aeryn claims to closer to Pilot 'than any other two beings on this ship' as she still has his DNA inside her. Guess she and John have been using space condoms then? (sorry)

So Pilot attacks her, and tbh, I'm Team Pilot on this one. Aeryn's view that being reminded of what she had done - tacit admission that she forgot, it mattered that little to her! - is just as bad on her as Pilot discovering she killed one of his kind coldbloodedly is pretty much not equivalent I think. "I killed someone which is bad, but it's hard on me too because I forgot and only now feel guilty!" is a pretty weak defence.

Now Pilot's having a flashback. Of being 'installed' into the ship, which is literally being inserted into the driver's seat...and then wired in so he's rooted in. Eesh.

So, we have some interesting ethical things arising. Moya's previous Pilot refused to do as she was told so was killed by the Peacekeepers. Pilot was installed, but was aware on installation that the ship had had a previous Pilot who was now dead in order for him to be installed. Moya was at the time unaware and Pilot fears he will be rejected. Also, the PKs are going to forcibly install Pilot, instead of going through a year-long bonding process, they aim to do it within approximately two days. That's a lot. In the present day, Pilot now refuses to fly the ship - echoing the previous Pilot - unless Aeryn leaves. But... I feel like the fact that it is the same ship that Pilot himself was installed in, also, perhaps, benefiting from the previous one's death, complicates things. He did not, in the flashback, seem to be under the impression that he would be the ship's first ever Pilot.

So Rygel showed Pilot the tape. And Chiana's mad at him for it, god I love her, you never know what she's going to do.

Zhaan and Aeryn scene. Zhaan tends to Aeryn after Pilot's attack on her throat, but is a little rough intentionally and makes some snide remarks too. Interesting little scene, at first Zhaan seems to be very angry with Aeryn, but when she starts to pack to leave, then, relents and apologises; Aeryn only did as she was told. An interesting time-wise parallel comes here, because at the same time as Aeryn was obediently following orders, the other leads were already imprisoned for grossly breaking what was expected of them by murder, theft, or rebellion. Who is right, though? Arguments can be made both ways. And what was John doing three years ago? Probably...similar to Aeryn, following orders, following the rules, and possibly not worrying about the ethics of the situation either.

Back to flashback. More ethics, which is interesting. Aeryn wishes to follow her orders, but her feelings - and what Mr V is telling her - are coming into conflict with those orders, almost suggesting the Peacekeeper system may effectively be two-tier. One rule for the grunts, another for those high up enough for High Command to turn a blind eye. V wishes for Aeryn and he to be assigned together again and stay as partners - and he can make it happen. He also badmouths Crais which horrifies Aeryn - outright "insubordination", but V justifies it to her as observation - likely something else she has learned to value in the military. I'm reminded of Asimov's robots realising that in order to fulfil objective #1 - prevent humans from coming to harm by inaction, humans actually have to be harmed sometimes to save them from themselves or each other.

To complicate things even more. V wishes to sabotage Crais to save the Leviathan, Moya, for fear that pursuing Crais's plans will kill it. V is telling Aeryn, his forbidden lover this - although hearing about it puts them both in danger and makes her an accessory. Tricky, tricky.

Just one little aside as well. V insists that he knows what Aeryn feels, and that if she does as he says and leaves with him, she'll be so much happier. That's a nice parallel to John - but not an all-out positive one, because in both, Aeryn's choice and what she actually wants is being subordinated.

Back to flashback with Pilot, and we learn that not only was Pilot's plugging-in to Moya painful, the pain *never went away* and he has just been living with it, accustomed to it, since then! Sheesh. Further, Pilot has only been accepted by Moya in the first place because she was tortured into submission.

Well this is good. Pilot, feeling guilty, has now unplugged himself from Moya by effectively amputating part of himself that was plugged in. Plus side, he's no longer in pain, minus side...he's no longer in control of the ship, so she effectively has no brain to maintain all the things that need done. Aeryn blames herself for this all and no doubt the flashbacks will let us know why...

Awh, Aeryn's solution is that Pilot needs to talk about the time back then, which is something she's learned from John, I quite like that. John of course seizes on this to pressure Aeryn to talk to HIM which...okay, but it's not all always about you buddy. Just let her do her thing, she's a grown-up.

Flashback to Aeryn and V, alone, intimate. She tells him she will go with him. She admits fear of the unknown, though, and he tells her she has it in her to be able to survive elsewhere - which is heartbreaking, because we know she since has, when she in the past didn't believe she could. She just never could have imagined the circumstances that would occur in.

So it turns out that Aeryn sold V out for his treason. PLaying by the rules and being good was more important. But it's understandable, it's how she was raised, and she was protecting herself, too. Even as he is dragged away, V tells her she's special, even in a proud tone - nobody else would have attempted this, that is, she has turned him in for the reward of being able to get her transfer that had failed so many times before. In a way, she has, ironically, gone about getting that through less than official, or typical channels.

Back to present, and it's heavily implied that V was tortured to death for his treason. Tough on Aeryn, tougher on him, of course.

Aeryn and John, present day, drop from above into Pilot's chamber, bypassing the sealed door. Pilot uses two DRD guards to attack, but John and Aeryn are able to shoot and disable them, approaching and holding Pilot at gunpoint, wow, that escalated fast.

Okay I love how Aeryn doesn't get his talking thing. So she pushes Pilot to talk by shouting at him and threatening to shoot him up here and now if he doesn't. Smooth. It's revealed that separated, Pilot will starve, life support will fail and the others will die, and only Moya will survive.

Aeryn offers herself to be killed by Pilot if he will spare the others. Pilot is humbled, and reveals that it is not just those brought up memories he's been struggling with; he feels just as at fault as Aeryn, because...

Flashback again. V on Pilot's planet, which again complicates good-guy-V that's been portrayed throughout the whole episode. It's revealed that Pilot was informed, and knew going in that in order for him to become a Pilot of that ship - at his young age, before he had been decreed ready - the existing Pilot would have to be killed and removed, and at the time, was although morally torn, happy with that. He was in effect, happy to facilitate another's death just so that he was able to see the stars - perhaps making him a criminal worse than any of the others on the ship in that sense, who killed in desperation or for the greater good. It is his guilt that was dredged up by the tape.

Aeryn convinces Pilot that they have both come a long way since they were those people. Pilot is convinced to reconnect with Moya in a rudimentary manner, but which will lead to a natural, non-painful bond, mutually between the two of them. He will though have less control now, a nice plot McGuffin for later no doubt, but it's thematic so I'm not bothered by it.

Coda, John and Aeryn alone again. Aeryn makes the point that V and John both said to her "you can be so much more" which I didn't pick up on, but hmm. Of COURSE John then tries to fish for a love confession out of her, and we close just on a positive musical cue as the two just look at, and then away from each other. Goddd just give her a minute dude. But they are cute together and I'm getting more a sense that she's just reserved about things of that nature this season than that she's actively not interested and he's pursuing obliviously because she's a humanoid who's the right colour and shape for him.

Okay, that was a lot! I quite liked this one, this season is shaping up already a lot stronger than this time in season 1. 7 to 7.5/10 for this one. Let's get into the breakdowns:

CHARACTER BEATS

JOHN

John...actually doesn’t have a whole lot to do this episode, except what’s required of him as the Designated Hero (be present for the solution of every plot element) and as the framing device for the flashback narrative. I feel like despite John’s prodding, Aeryn comes on her own to most of the solutions and means to reach solution in this episode. Having said that, he is a little more respectful of her this episode than he was last season (”Aeryn, do this, but I haven;t got time to tell you why. Obey me, woman!”) which is a pleasure. I still feel like his leadership hasn’t quite been narratively justified yet though, some more infighting from the others or incapability to work together in his absence would bring me more around to that viewpoint.

CHIANA

Chiana was, as usual, a delight, and for once this time actually wasn’t the progenitor of the plot through carelessness or not thinking about the impact of her actions. She didn’t have a whole lot to do here, though she did get the ball rolling. Still shows a tendency to be out for herself and crucially, only really rely on herself, as as soon as eyebrows are raised about Aeryn this episode she mainly makes herself scarce; interesting that her behaviour in ‘Crackers’ isn’t actually that far off her normal or baseline unlike the large divergences shown by the other characters in that episode. I wonder if that speaks to her baseline being madness or unpredictability, or if there’s a psychic strength there to her.

ZHAAN

First up, Zhaan ditched her horrible gold collar in this episode and looked a lot better for it, although the actress (I haven’t learned names yet) looked oddly shapeless in some scenes, almost like the gown was cut to cover up a pregnancy. No clue whether or not that was the case though, it may well just have been an unfortunate - or otherworldly, I guess - cut. I actually didn’t like Zhaan so much in this episode for the few scenes she made an appearance - she was unreasonably bitchy, I felt. Its possible she was just a little stressed out and acting out, but she didn’t feel like season 1 Zhaan - perhaps just wrongfooted by something she with all her foresight had failed to foresee. I felt Zhaan abused her power and influence in a few scenes here in a petty way I don’t expect from her, even if she did later show remorse. Still, character depth is always interesting.

D’ARGO

Shockingly, in this episode, D’Argo didn’t have a lot to do. This is becoming a recurring theme. There were some positive scenes of camaraderie with John (the rock-paper-scissors to decide who would intercede between Aeryn and Pilot was a nice touch) and I suppose tacit camaraderie with the rest of the crew by siding with them - although, I may have expected from history for D’Argo, the honourable warrior, to side with Aeryn, the honourable warrior. There’s some closeness with Pilot at the end, too, which builds on a (I think) season 1 scene where D’Argo played him music. Perhaps most interestingly, I don’t think he’s shared many scenes with Zhaan lately - yet is kissing her in the credits at the start of every episode, particularly interesting given the team-up with Chiana last episode. I will be keeping a close eye on proceedings.

RYGEL

I actually...didn’t hate Rygel here. Even though he caused the plot and stirred everything up by showing Pilot the tape, it did ultimately have good outcomes, allowing both Aeryn and Pilot to work through some trauma and improving Pilot and Moya’s in-the-background relationship. And he also at least claimed to have acted out of a sense of duty and honour, which...is fair, and also does in a twisted way fit with Rygel’s established perhaps old-fashioned traditional values. You’re alright, little man.

PILOT

This was...very much a Pilot episode, that actually gave surprising depth to, and made me care about a puppet. Two puppets, actually. I’m shocked at how formidable LadyPilot managed to be in her few seconds of screentime, and I’m actually a little sad for Moya - a character who’s literally a set - losing that connection and maybe still never knowing what happened. Dark. Lots about Pilot here; the big benevolent nonviolent alien turning out to be not only smarter than any of them, but also essentially a cold-blooded murderer worse than any of the rest of them was quite the twist. I’m also starting to wonder how far in advance and with what consequences the seemingly offhand monster-of-the-week plot of giving Aeryn Pilot DNA in season 1 was planned to have a lasting reach and effect on future plots. Perhaps it’s ironic to talk about a puppet becoming three dimensional.

AERYN

Woh boy, a lot to get into here. This episode is a little of an Aeryn character study, delving into her past alongside Pilot’s and revealing a past romance, unhappiness with how she was treated as a Peacekeeper, and a tendency to try and keep her head down and get on with it that remains in the Aeryn of the present day. A real duality is revealed in Aeryn in this episode; she has been tempted in the past and has resisted the temptation, but at the same time has cut herself off from happiness in favour of yes, safety, but also misery. She is not a risk-taker, though she is at the same time both a tactician and a warrior, which is an interesting combination of attributes and adds depth to the character she seemed to be early on this time last season. Seeing a Peacekeeper-heavy episode, we are also as viewers privy to how much of the Peacekeeper motto and policies are actually bent or broken by the people themselves and how Aeryn’s devotion to the rulebook is somewhat atypical.

WHAT THIS EPISODE ESTABLISHED:

Pilot actually has a history! And a dark one. John and Aeryn are actually not together despite hints pointing that way so far this series. Aeryn was rule-abiding even for a Peacekeeper, and everyone who isn’t John on Moya is still quick to distrust her. Crais was a dick even by Peacekeeper standards. And Peacekeepers aren’t as united a bloc of people as has been made out so far in the series. Also do we all just live on Moya now?

CHARACTER RANKING SO FAR AS OF 2.05:

1) Chiana

2) Aeryn

3) John

4) Pilot

5) D’Argo

6) Zhaan

7) Rygel

That’s us for this episode of FarscapeWatch until 2.06, ‘Picture If You Will’! (which seems to be perhaps a Chiana episode from previews!) Check out the #farscapewatch tag to keep up with the series, and/or read all my reactions in the masterlist which you can find here and linked on my blog’s main page

[dresupi]

just tell me mogwai

Pairing:  Darcy Lewis/Spencer Reid For:  @marvelfanuniverse Prompt:  Gremlins (Fusion) Word Count: 1062 Rating:  T (For Language)

[Read it on Ao3]

Summary:  Darcy needs some help with some intergalactic babysitting. Obviously Spencer is here to help. 

Check out the [25 Days of Darcyland Masterlist] for more holiday themed fics!  I’m posting one a day until December 25!

Darcy knocked rapidly on Spencer's door, the chirping box tucked under one arm. She leaned down close to it, shushing it as quietly and inconspicuously as was possible.

He was home.  He had to be home.  Penelope told her that he was home.  

"Darcy?" His voice sounded muffled as he undoubtedly looked through the peephole at her.  The deadbolt clunked loudly as he unlocked it.  

For whatever reason, Darcy kept right on knocking until the door swung open and her knuckles came into contact with his hand.  

"Spence!" she said, false brightness leaking out from every crevice of her smile. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing in that cute way it did. It made him look all precious and grumpy.  

She couldn't really take the time to properly admire him right now.  There was a little ball of destruction in the box under her arm and she really REALLY needed his genius brain to help her.  

"Nothing!  Nothing's wrong!  Nothing at ALL!" she said, her fake grin widening.  "Can I come in?"  

"If you'll stop smiling like that, yes.  Wait…" His hands came out to grasp her shoulders as he peered into her eyes.  "Did you hit your head or something?  Are you concussed?"  

"Dude!  No!"  She shook her head.  "Listen, I have a crazy explanation for everything, but I can't give it to you out here," she said deliberately, her eyebrows rising crazy high on her forehead.  She hoped he got the picture.  Please get this picture I'm painting with HUGE broad strokes, Spence… she thought desperately.  Like, get it, please…

"Come in…" he said, his eyes still scanning her in the hopes of finding a stray wire sticking out so he could know for sure that she was a robot clone or something.  

No wires, Spence.  Just this weird little world-ruiner in this box…

He moved away from the door and she quickly moved inside, the box on her hip chirping as she did.  He swung the door shut, locking it behind him.

"What's in that b--?" he began, but Darcy was two steps ahead of him, and all kinds of ready to show him what was inside.  She flung the lid open and the creature she'd so lovingly named 'Squirt' squealed loudly at the sunlight drifting through Spencer's open blinds.  

"Oh shit.  The light.  I forgot about the light.  Squirt hates light!"  

"Squirt?"  Spencer asked, his nose wrinkling, but Darcy waved off any of his genius speak for a few more minutes by repeating her request.

"The blinds.  Close the blinds, Spence."  

He did, closing them and pulling his light cancelling drapes across as well.  He clicked on a tiny lamp on his desk and Darcy reached into the box to pull out Squirt.  

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's a…"  

"A Mogwai," Darcy filled in for him.  "It is.  And they're a little shit."  

Spencer leaned down to get a closer look at the creature, only to stand back up as it snapped at his face.  

He opened his mouth and closed it against several times before forming a question.  "I thought they were fake."  

She rolled her eyes.  "The movie about them was.  They aren't fake. They're an alien race.  An alien race that Nova Corps had jurisdiction over, and they lobbed them off on S.H.I.E.L.D because the space equivalent of a truckload of Mogwai wrecked into a tank of water, and now they're worse than tribbles."  

"Tribbles… which…"  

"Are fake, Spence.  Star Trek.  Come on, keep up…"  

He reached out and took the Mogwai from Darcy, lifting them up and inspecting them to make sure they were real.  He poked Squirt's belly and the creature snarled at him, grumbling and waving its arms.  "Why did you bring it here?"  

She sighed, "Getting there, Spence.  I promise…"  She steeled her resolve before continuing.  Even thinking about telling this story made her cringe.  It was so utterly unbelievable.  "So tank of water, Mogwai, KER-SPLASH!  And you do know what happens when Mogwai get wet, right?"  

"They reproduce aesexually," Spencer replied immediately.  "I've seen the movie."    

"Right… anyway, there were Thousands of the buggers and until Nova Corps can figure out where they're going to house them, everyone gets a Mogwai.  This is mine.  Their name is Squirt, and they're a little shit.  I have had them in my apartment for a week and a half and I had to get out to see someone, and you're the only person I know who wouldn't freak out and tell someone about them…"  

Squirt snapped at Spencer again, who narrowly moved his hand just in time to not get nommed on.  "Why are they so… angry?"  

"Can't eat until after noon.  You know… they turn into cocoons and then into grisly monsters?  Yeah.  Can't eat between midnight and noon earth time."  

Spencer glanced down at his watch.  "And it's 10:30 am."  

Darcy sighed, nodding.  "Yep."  

"When do you sleep?"  

"From like…  six pm till eleven."  

"Can they go back into their box?"  

"Squirt hates it, but they hate everything, so sure."  

Squirt grumbled and rumbled as they put them in the cardboard box.  

Spencer secured the top and walked over to the closet, pulling out a few blankets and pillows. He tossed them to Darcy.  

"What's this?"  

"You're staying here until you have to send that thing back."

"I have a place, Spence.  I didn't mean for you to--"  

"Look… I can't help you if I'm not with you.  And my place is bigger, with less food lying around and… I didn't mean to sound so authoritarian, I know you hate that… I'll start over… Will you please stay with me?  I feel like this would work better if there were two people to keep an eye on them… and those… those gremlin things gave me nightmares when I was younger.  I don't want one alone in your apartment with you…"  

"Spencer, I'll stay," she assured him. "I honestly didn't know you worried about me this much."  

"Really?  How could you not?"  he asked.  

There was a retching sound from the box, but Darcy rolled her eyes and otherwise ignored it.  "I know now.  So like… what's the plan, Spence?  Netflix and actually chill until 12:05 pm and we can feed this little shit?"  

"Sounds like a plan to me."

[lolainblue]

Presque Vu -- Chapter 27

A/N I didn’t want you to wait so long for this chapter since I feel like it’s been a lot of cliffhangers with this series lately. 

T/W: If you are still not aware that this series is papered in kinky smut then I don’t know what to tell you. If you’re new here then... hey.. this series is very heavy on the kinky smut. Also, this chapter is a long one. 

   Shannon gave Raina a kiss on the cheek. “I'll be back in a minute,” he told her before bounding off to the bedroom. Raina watched him go, taking in the more solid physique of the man who had just fucked her senseless before sighing and turning her attentions to the more lithely built man still blindfolded and secured to the chair in front of her.

   “You did so well, sugar,” she said, pulling the blindfold away. Jared chuckled softly at the turnabout in roles. She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth before letting his tongue invade her, his desire and frustration evident in its ferocity. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his shaft and he moaned into her mouth as she stroked his length, gripping him firmly while his hips arched into her movements. She hoped she wasn't going to regret what she was about to do.

   She stepped away from him with a sigh and fished through the bag again, panicking momentarily before finding what she needed. She returned to her spot on her knees in front of Jared and placed little kisses on the insides of his thighs.

   “Princess, these cuffs better be coming off soon,” Jared huffed as he watched her work.

   Raina continued her journey up his body, momentarily letting her mouth linger on the sculpted skin of his abdomen before answering. “Very soon, Sir.” She heard Jared grumble impatiently as she began switching their roles back. Soon the kisses she was trailing lead her to his mouth, and she filled it this time with a moan of her own, her desire reigniting as she touched him. She'd had her fun. There was a deeper need that was starting to surface now.

   She pulled back again, rising to stand in front of him. “Before I turn you loose, I want you to remember something. I am a grownup. I may get things wrong occasionally, but everyone does. You can't start treating me like a child every time I make a mistake.”

   “I didn't mean it that way,” Jared said softly.

   “Okay,” Raina replied, “I believe you.” She felt the smile creeping across her face as she prepared to continue. “And on that note, remember I am a big girl who knows how to use her big girl words. You said you hold back, that you worry about losing control.” She leaned forward and kiss him again, biting his bottom lip as they both growled in anticipation. “Stop worrying. Are you frustrated now? Have a little pent-up aggression that needs to come  out?” Raina purred, her face inches from his, eyes closed. “I fucking hope so. I'm counting on it.” She set a condom and the bottle of lube she had been holding on his lap. “I know what you wanted for a reward earlier. And you can take that. You can take anything you want. Any way you want,” she said breathlessly before moving behind him. She could see his breathing had already sped up again, his chest was heaving and he was flexing his hands in the cuffs as Raina unlocked them. “You just have to catch me first.”

   She left him to free himself from the bondage tape that held his legs to the chair and bounded off for the furthest reaches of the house. She briefly considered going outside, the backyard was very private, but ultimately decided against it. If he caught her there things could get loud and privacy fence or not there were neighbors.

   “Princess you are in big trouble....” Jared called out from the dining room in a playful voice. Raina figured he must have gotten his legs free. She picked a spot with a good escape route... there had to be a little chase, the chase was half the fun after all.. and waited for him to catch up with her.

   Shannon walked past her first. He had slipped into a pair of Jared's pajama pants and had a couple of bottles of water in his hands. He handed one to Raina with a smirk and kept on walking. Raina giggled silently and took a big drink.

   When Jared finally showed up he had that pillowcase in his hand and it looked a lot more full than it had when Raina had left it sitting on the dining room floor. Her bottom lip caught behind her teeth as she wondered what he had in mind.

   “Well well, baby girl.” Jared's pupils were huge and his voice was thick was lust. Raina knew she had pushed him right to the edge. “It's time for you to pay for your little game.”

   “Really?” Raina purred in return. “Do you think you can make me appreciate the error of my ways?” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “I've been pretty naughty after all. It's going to take a lot to correct me.”

   The noise that came from Jared was purely animal, a growl that came from the deepest recesses of his chest as he ran his tongue over his teeth and leered at her. “You don't need to push me any further, Princess. You're already in enough trouble.”

   Raina shifted from side to side, waiting for Jared to advance. When he finally began to step towards her she slipped around him, tearing off down her pre-planned escape route and causing Jared to swear and run after her. She ran through the kitchen and the dining room, knocking the chair Jared had been secured to into the floor in an attempt to slow him down. She laughed as he pursued her, until he finally caught up with her, throwing her face down on the sofa before carefully sitting on her back. She kicked and flailed her arms but had no real desire to get away from him. She just was just enjoying the battle.

   Jared brought his hand down against Raina's bare ass, the sound sharp in the empty room. “Settle down now, Princess. It's my turn." He waited until Raina had stopped kicking before standing up. “On your feet too, Princess. And don't you dare try running off again. Like I said, you're already in enough trouble.”

   Raina immediately stood up in front of Jared, hands at her sides and eyes down. Her pulse was racing. She so desperately wanted him to let go with her but she was still anxious about whether or not she could truly handle it. Fantasies were one thing. Reality had a way of surprising you.

   Jared traced his long fingers down her jaw before tilting her chin up so she was looking into his eyes. They were wild, dangerous and dark with need. She knew she had pushed him into this state. Her chest fluttered and she could feel her palms getting sweaty as some of the bravado left her. Jared let his hand fall away from her chin, tracing it down the curves of her breasts and over to her waist before he removed it completely, sitting down on the sofa with a sigh.

   “Come lay down across my lap Baby Girl. We've got a lot of work to do,” he said, setting the filled pillowcase down next to him.

   Raina took a deep breath and stretched herself out across Jared. He positioned her differently than he had for her spanking in her bedroom, with himself settled back into the sofa and her legs extended over the cushions. He gave her another quick swat, one that sent electric tendrils straight to her core, before running his hands over her rounded buttocks, squeezing them softly. His hands then slipped lower, his fingers searching out her swollen sex, capturing the remaining moisture there before tracing their way back up to the puckered ring he had been toying with earlier. Raina let out a low groan as he breached the tight muscle, one slender digit laying the foundation for what Raina was sure was coming.  

   “Remember, Princess, not a word unless you are spoken to. Do I make myself clear?” Jared's voice was gravelly with lust but firm.

   “Yes, Sir,” Raina responded, her legs falling open for him. Jared reached into the makeshift bag that he had placed near her head and pulled out the small bottle of lube. It felt cool when it hit her fevered skin, and she groaned again, relieved to no longer be concerned with keeping quiet. By the time the third finger had joined in stretching out that entrance she was mewling into the upholstery beneath her.

   Jared pulled his fingers back, chuckling. Raina took a deep breath, knowing by now that when he laughed like that she was in for it. She watched as he reached into the pillowcase again, digging around before pulling out a plug, different than the one he had used before. This one was made of a soft, almost plastic-looking material and was much larger than the pretty rose-gold one.

   “Try and relax now, Princess,” he teased, adding more lube to her skin and presumably the plug, although she could no longer see it from the angle she was at. She sighed when it's head nudged against her, slipping easily forward since she was so well prepared. As the bulb thickened, however, his progress slowed and Raina found herself gritting her teeth and fighting to stay relaxed. Jared rocked it in and out, making slow but steady progress, but every time Raina thought she had gotten to the largest part there was more. She was covered in a light sheen of sweat and one leg had begun to twitch when Jared gave it another push, and Raina began to panic, certain she couldn't take any more of the invader, no matter how much lube he used or how slowly he went.

   “Fuck, oh fuck, it's too big, I can't.... “ words were just tumbling from her mouth as she gripped the cushion underneath her a little tighter. Her brain felt like it was full of sizzling loose wires, and she tried to slow her breathing down.

   “None of those was a safe word, Raina,” Jared chastised, but he halted the advancement of the plug momentarily. “And I don't believe I spoke to you so I don't know why your mouth is open. Do I need to bring out a gag? I believe the one you packed earlier is still in that bag.”

   Raina fought to decide what she wanted. Was she already ready to give up? This had been her scenario, she had thought she wanted this, she had deliberately taunted Jared so he would push her limits. “No, Sir,” she ultimately replied, realizing she was still okay but out of her comfort zone. That was where she wanted him to take her after all, she reminded herself.

   “And what color are we?”

   She hoped she wouldn't regret saying it. “Green, Sir.”

   “Good. Now shut up and take the rest of this like a good girl.” Jared pulled the plug back slightly and then without further warning pushed the remainder of it inside her in one smooth motion. Raina cried out but realized her assessment had been right, she had already been past the thickest part of it. She panted and whimpered and waited for her body to calm down and accept the intrusion.\    “There you go princess, that should leave you nice and ready for me when the time comes.” He reached over her and retrieved something else from the bag but Raina was too focused on trying to relax to catch what it was. Jared began running his hands over the smooth skin of her behind, making satisfied little purring noises as he pulled her cheeks apart, examining his work. He tapped the head of the plug a few times, causing Raina to groan, before running his hand down into her damper recesses, making several passes over her throbbing clit. The stimulation helped relax her, sending warm little tendrils out to her limbs and causing the hunger in her core to blot out the other distractions. Too soon, however, he pulled his hand away.

   “Now, Raina, I'd ask you if you know why we're here, but quite frankly, you haven't broken any rules. All you've done is spin me up and then offer yourself to me for my amusement. So I'm going to amuse myself.”

   The first blow took her by surprise. She wasn't sure what hit her, only that it wasn't his hand. She gasped and gripped the cushion again, unsure what was about to happen.

   “Did you like that, baby girl? Would you like another?” Before Raina could answer there came another impact, harder than the first,  one that made her moan from behind clenched teeth. “Yes,” Jared said, the teasing tones back in his voice, “I thought you'd enjoy that little purchase. It's such a pretty thing.” He held a paddle in front of her face, black leather with a series of studs. She wondered where he'd been hiding it, she certainly hadn't seen that in the toy chest. He pulled it back and rubbed it over the firm crescents of her ass. “Mmm, yes,” he purred to himself, “I think I like this toy very much.”

   Again and again, he brought the paddle down against her bottom, causing her to see stars as the large plug inside her shifted and pushed against her walls. Her instinct was to put her hands behind her, to try to shield the soft skin from the blows he was raining down on her. But she remembered his previous admonishments and knew that she would risk injuring her hands if they were to suddenly appear in Jared's way before he could halt the paddle's path. She could feel a sob welling up in her chest, the fire in her backside starting to circumvent her self-control, when mercifully Jared stopped, returning again to running his hands over the now smarting flesh.

   “Oh yes, Princess. You should see what a pretty shade of red you are.” Raina sniffled. She could feel tears that had escaped her eyes, running silently down her cheeks but she hadn't broken into outright sobbing. She was proud of herself. She relaxed her grip on the cushion underneath her a bit and took a deep breath.

   “Up,” Jared commanded, giving her a far gentler swat with his open hand. She quickly complied, ignoring the shifting bulb inside of her until she was standing in front of Jared while he adjusted his position on the couch. “Now that I've given you that paddling I've been promising you, I think it's time to do something about that mouth of yours. On your knees, slut.”

   Raina was a little surprised to have Jared call her that, that was something that generally only Shannon did, but they were changing things up after all. She dropped to her knees in front of him, eyes down, and waited for further instructions. She noticed the way her ass stung when it bumped against the backs of her heels and groaned at the feeling of the huge plug again shifting inside her. She also noticed how wet she was, how deeply aroused, how much her heart was thundering. She still hadn't wrapped her head around the psychology of any of this, and she suspected she needed to do that soon. But for now, she was content to fill her immediate needs, and to see that Jared's were filled too. For all his talk about control she strongly suspected that he needed something rougher, something wilder sometimes too. He certainly hadn't shied away when she had lain the opportunity at his feet.

   Jared grabbed Raina's chin and tilted her face up to his with a smirk. “You had so much fun telling me how it felt to let my brother fuck you, so I think we'll shut down your mouthy nonsense for a while.” He looked her face over and shook his head. “I'd tell you to dry those tears but we're just going to make more so don't bother.” With that, he grabbed the hair at the back of her head and hauled her forward. “Hands behind your back and leave them there unless you're ready to tap out. I assume we're green?”

   “Yes, Sir,” Raina said, ready for whatever he was going to do.

   “Good. Open up.” Jared pushed his waiting erection into Raina's mouth far more slowly than she would have predicted. She swirled her tongue up the underside as he slid forward, enjoying the taste of him, knowing she wouldn't be allowed the luxury of these slow passes for long. With a moan she bobbed her head along his length, hollowing her cheeks and taking him in while she watched him carefully. His eyes were on her, and he was making pleasurable little noises in his chest, letting Raina know that he had been craving her contact as much as she had wanted to give it to him. She was still looking into his eyes when his expression changed and she knew the real fun was about to start. He grabbed the back of her head, holding her in place as his hips took over setting their rhythm. He gave her a few shallow strokes before slamming himself as far back into her throat as she could take him, causing Raina to splutter and choke. He would withdraw just long enough for her to gasp in all the air she could before repeating the process, hitting the back of her throat for several deep and fast thrusts that left Raina's eyes brimming over with tears again. The longer it went on the more her eyes and throat burned and her jaw ached, and she became dimly aware of the drool that had begun to run down her chin and collect on her chest. She loved the feeling of being pushed to her limits, it was turning her on far more than anything else had, but now she was overcome with a desperate need for him to fuck her. Her clit throbbed and her wet thighs ached to have him between them.

   Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore Jared once again stopped, pulling her off of him. “That's enough blubbering, Princess. Get up here,” he told her, gesturing to the sofa.  Raina took in a few deep, shuddering breaths and stood, unsure exactly how he wanted her to position herself. Jared grumbled and pushed her forward so that her knees were on the cushions. He put her hands on the back of the sofa and then rustled around behind her. She realized he was putting on a condom. He drew his sheathed head between her folds a few times before pushing into her, filling her slowly as he advanced.

   “Fuck....” Raina could stop herself from moaning as his thick length invaded her, the fullness of having him push against the plug in her other channel pushing her limits. Her senses were in overdrive, the raw skin of her ass screaming as he bumped against it and something hot and electric burning in the network of nerves that lined her sex and bunched behind her clit. She gripped the back of the sofa as tightly as she could, her eyes closing as pain and pleasure intermingled and overtook her. This was it. That was what she been wanting and falling just short of. She hoped Jared understood now what she was capable of.

   Jared gripped her hips tightly as he drove into her, pushing her closer to oblivion with every stroke. She could hear him moaning too, she could only imagine how all that tightness and pressure felt against him. “Fuck, baby girl...” he said, leaning forward and biting down on her shoulder. She shuddered against him, fighting not to cum before she thought she could get permission. She knew he wasn't done yet. When he pulled out of her with a sigh, she hoped he was getting there.

   “All right, Princess, it's now or never. Time for me to claim that ass.” She felt him tugging on the plug, rocking it gently back and forth before slowly withdrawing it altogether. He added some more lube before lining himself up at the puckered circle.

   “Are you ready for this, Princess?” he asked her. “Are we still green?”

   “Oh yes, Sir,” Raina replied enthusiastically. She heard him chuckle as he pressed his head against her, easily gliding into her already stretched channel. If she thought that was going to continue, however, she was mistaken. Being stretched by a plug, no matter how large, was very different than having a cock inside you, especially one of Jared's size and length. She could feel her body straining as he advanced, muscles burning in protest as they fought against the swell of him. She began to doubt again that she could handle it, she was whining behind closed teeth, head down concentrating on keeping her muscles relaxed. But then he was in, making shallow little strokes as he gripped her hips and grumbled.

   “Jesus, Princess, you are so fucking tight but you took me right in, didn't you? You're such a greedy little slut.” He took one longer, deeper stroke and Raina shuddered. “Aren't you, Princess? Answer me.”

   “Yes, Sir,” Raina whimpered. She could feel the heat in her core building again as he continued, and she was completely lost to the sensations when she felt a set of fingertips underneath her chin. Her eyes flew up and she saw Shannon standing there, grin on his face.

   “Not so cocky now, are you slut?” he said with a laugh. Jared took that moment to slam into Raina hard, causing her to cry out and push forward until her head was resting against Shannon's bare chest.

   “Her mouth is free if you want it,” Jared offered with a cackle. Raina looked up at Shannon pleadingly, hoping he wouldn't take Jared up on his proposition.

   “Nah, man, she's all yours.” He bent forward so that he could look closely into Raina's eyes, which at this point, she was sure were periodically rolling into the back of her head. “Still green, Raina?” he asked softly.

   She nodded and managed a weak “Yes, Sir,” in reply before another moan tore its way out of her chest. She was so fucking close. She wondered if Jared was going to let her cum.

   “Okay then, I'm going to go start the tub,” Shannon told them before walking off again.

   Jared smacked his hand down on Raina's ass as Shannon walked off. “If you can still speak I'm not doing something right.” He wound her hair around his fist and pulled back, arching her back so she couldn't pull away from him. “Hold on Princess. It's going to get bumpy.”

   Jared grabbed her waist with his free hand and slammed his hips into her, causing her to mewl in protest. He continued at a brutal pace, impaling her on his thick shaft while she shuddered and whined, losing all remaining control. When his hand found the hard kernel of nerves at her sex she screamed, wanting to beg for permission to cum, knowing that she couldn't stop it now if she tried, and unable to summon the words to say any of it. Fortunately Jared, in his experience knew what was needed.

   “Yes, Princess, I know you need it. Cum for me now but make it quick. I won't wait to finish.” His voice was a growl at her ear, and he released her hair so that he could move his hand to her throat. He gripped her firmly as she came apart, convulsing as waves of pleasure threatened to drown her. His own release was marked with a hoarse cry, his hand moving to her shoulder so he could dig in and grip her tightly and keep her from falling away from him. Once he released her she collapsed, letting herself fall back onto the sofa while Jared sank to the floor in front of it. She wasn't sure how long she waited there until Shannon reappeared, scooping her up and carrying her back to the bathtub.

@msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious @meghan12151977 @fyeahproudglambert  @lady-grinning-soul-k @pheenixpeterson

[smartwebhostingblog]

Autocomplete Presents the Best Version of You

New Post has been published on http://webhostingtop3.com/autocomplete-presents-the-best-version-of-you/

Autocomplete Presents the Best Version of You

Type the phrase “In 2019, I’ll …” and let your smart­phone’s keyboard predict the rest. Depending on what else you’ve typed recently, you might end up with a result like one of these:

In 2019, I’ll let it be a surprise to be honest. In 2019, i’ll be alone. In 2019, I’ll be in the memes of the moment. In 2019, I’ll have to go to get the dog. In 2019 I will rule over the seven kingdoms or my name is not Aegon Targareon [sic].

Many variants on the predictive text meme—which works for both Android and iOS—can be found on social media. Not interested in predicting your 2019? Try writing your villain origin story by following your phone’s suggestions after typing “Foolish heroes! My true plan is …” Test the strength of your personal brand with “You should follow me on Twitter because …” Or launch your political career with “I am running for president with my running mate, @[3rd Twitter Suggestion], because we …”

Gretchen McCulloch is WIRED’s resident linguist. She’s the cocreator of Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics, and her book Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language is coming out in July 2019 from Penguin.

In eight years, we’ve gone from Damn You Autocorrect to treating the strip of three predicted words as a sort of wacky but charming oracle. But when we try to practice divination by algorithm, we’re doing something more than killing a few minutes—we’re exploring the limits of what our devices can and cannot do.

Your phone’s keyboard comes with a basic list of words and sequences of words. That’s what powers the basic language features: autocorrect, where a sequence like “rhe” changes to “the” after you type it, and the suggestion strip just above the letters, which contains both completions (if you type “keyb” it might suggest “keyboard”) and next-word predictions (if you type “predictive” it might suggest “text,” “value,” and “analytics”). It’s this predictions feature that we use to generate amusing and slightly nonsensical strings of text—a function that goes beyond its intended purpose of supplying us with a word or two before we go back to tapping them out letter by letter.

The basic reason we get different results is that, as you use your phone, words or sequences of words that you type get added to your personal word list. “For most users, the on-device dictionary ends up containing local place-names, songs they like, and so on,” says Daan van Esch, a technical program manager of Gboard, Google’s keyboard for Android. Or, in the case of the “Aegon Targareon” example, slightly misspelled Game of Thrones characters.

Another factor that helps us get unique results is a slight bias toward predicting less frequent words. “Suggesting a very common word like ‘and’ might be less helpful because it’s short and easy to type,” van Esch says. “So maybe showing a longer word is actually more useful, even if it’s less frequent.” Of course, a longer word is probably going to be more interesting as meme fodder.

Finally, phones seem to choose different paths from the very beginning. Why are some people getting “I’ll be” while others get “I’ll have” or “I’ll let”? That part is probably not very exciting: The default Android keyboard presumably has slightly different predictions than the default iPhone keyboard, and third-party apps would also have slightly different predictions.

Whatever their provenance, the random juxtaposition of predictive text memes has become fodder for a growing genre of AI humor. Botnik Studios writes goofy songs using souped-up predictive keyboards and a lot of human tweaking. The blog AI Weirdness trains neural nets to do all sorts of ridiculous tasks, such as deciding whether a string of words is more likely to be a name from My Little Pony or a metal band. Darth Vader? 19 percent metal, 81 percent pony. Leia Organa? 96 percent metal, 4 percent pony. (I’m suddenly interpreting Star Wars in quite a new light.)

The combination of the customization and the randomness of the predictive text meme is compelling the way a BuzzFeed quiz or a horoscope is compelling—it gives you a tiny amount of insight into yourself to share, but not so much that you’re baring your soul. It’s also hard to get a truly terrible answer. In both cases, that’s by design.

You know how when you get a new phone and you have to teach it that, no, you aren’t trying to type “duck” and “ducking” all the time? Your keyboard deliberately errs on the conservative side. There are certain words that it just won’t try to complete, even if you get really close. After all, it’s better to accidentally send the word “public” when you meant “pubic” than the other way around.

This goes for sequences of words as well. Just because a sequence is common doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to predict it. “For a while, when you typed ‘I’m going to my Grandma’s,’ GBoard would actually suggest ‘funeral,'” van Esch says. “It’s not wrong, per se. Maybe this is more common than ‘my Grandma’s rave party.’ But at the same time, it’s not something that you want to be reminded about. So it’s better to be a bit careful.”

Users seem to prefer this discretion. Keyboards get roundly criticized when a sexual, morbid, or otherwise disturbing phrase does get predicted. It’s likely that a lot more filtering happens behind the scenes before we even notice it. Janelle Shane, the creator of AI Weirdness, experiences lapses in machine judgment all the time. “Whenever I produce an AI experiment, I’m definitely filtering out offensive content, even when the training data is as innocuous as My Little Pony names. There’s no text-generating algorithm I would trust not to be offensive at some point.”

The true goal of text prediction can’t be as simple as anticipating what a user might want to type. After all, people often type things about sex or death—according to Google Ngrams, “job” is the most common noun after “blow,” and “bucket” is very common after “kick the.” But I experimentally typed these and similar taboo-but-common phrases into my phone’s keyboard, and it never predicted them straightaway. It waited until I’d typed most of the letters of the final word, until I’d definitely committed to the taboo, rather than reminding me of weighty topics when I wasn’t necessarily already thinking about them. With innocuous idioms (like “raining cats and”), the keyboard seemed more proactive about predicting them.

Instead, the goal of text prediction must be to anticipate what the user might want the machine to think they might want to type. For mundane topics, these two goals might seem identical, but their difference shows up as soon as a hint of controversy enters the picture. Predictive text needs to project an aspirational version of a user’s thoughts, a version that avoids subjects like sex and death even though these might be the most important topics to human existence—quite literally the way we enter and leave the world.

We prefer the keyboard to balance raw statistics against our feelings. Sex Death Phone Keyboard is a pretty good name for my future metal band (and a very bad name for my future pony), but I can’t say I’d actually buy a phone that reminds me of my own mortality when I’m composing a grocery list or suggests innuendos when I’m replying to a work email.

The predictive text meme is comforting in a social media world that often leaps from one dismal news cycle to the next. The customizations make us feel seen. The random quirks give our pattern-seeking brains delightful connections. The parts that don’t make sense reassure us of human superiority—the machines can’t be taking over yet if they can’t even write me a decent horoscope! And the topic boundaries prevent the meme from reminding us of our human frailty. The result is a version of ourselves through the verbal equivalent of an Instagram filter, eminently shareable on social media.

More Great WIRED Stories

Tech

[awesomecolorfulcollectorwombat]

Autocomplete Presents the Best Version of You

New Post has been published on http://webhostingtop3.com/autocomplete-presents-the-best-version-of-you/

Autocomplete Presents the Best Version of You

Type the phrase “In 2019, I’ll …” and let your smart­phone’s keyboard predict the rest. Depending on what else you’ve typed recently, you might end up with a result like one of these:

In 2019, I’ll let it be a surprise to be honest. In 2019, i’ll be alone. In 2019, I’ll be in the memes of the moment. In 2019, I’ll have to go to get the dog. In 2019 I will rule over the seven kingdoms or my name is not Aegon Targareon [sic].

Many variants on the predictive text meme—which works for both Android and iOS—can be found on social media. Not interested in predicting your 2019? Try writing your villain origin story by following your phone’s suggestions after typing “Foolish heroes! My true plan is …” Test the strength of your personal brand with “You should follow me on Twitter because …” Or launch your political career with “I am running for president with my running mate, @[3rd Twitter Suggestion], because we …”

Gretchen McCulloch is WIRED’s resident linguist. She’s the cocreator of Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics, and her book Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language is coming out in July 2019 from Penguin.

In eight years, we’ve gone from Damn You Autocorrect to treating the strip of three predicted words as a sort of wacky but charming oracle. But when we try to practice divination by algorithm, we’re doing something more than killing a few minutes—we’re exploring the limits of what our devices can and cannot do.

Your phone’s keyboard comes with a basic list of words and sequences of words. That’s what powers the basic language features: autocorrect, where a sequence like “rhe” changes to “the” after you type it, and the suggestion strip just above the letters, which contains both completions (if you type “keyb” it might suggest “keyboard”) and next-word predictions (if you type “predictive” it might suggest “text,” “value,” and “analytics”). It’s this predictions feature that we use to generate amusing and slightly nonsensical strings of text—a function that goes beyond its intended purpose of supplying us with a word or two before we go back to tapping them out letter by letter.

The basic reason we get different results is that, as you use your phone, words or sequences of words that you type get added to your personal word list. “For most users, the on-device dictionary ends up containing local place-names, songs they like, and so on,” says Daan van Esch, a technical program manager of Gboard, Google’s keyboard for Android. Or, in the case of the “Aegon Targareon” example, slightly misspelled Game of Thrones characters.

Another factor that helps us get unique results is a slight bias toward predicting less frequent words. “Suggesting a very common word like ‘and’ might be less helpful because it’s short and easy to type,” van Esch says. “So maybe showing a longer word is actually more useful, even if it’s less frequent.” Of course, a longer word is probably going to be more interesting as meme fodder.

Finally, phones seem to choose different paths from the very beginning. Why are some people getting “I’ll be” while others get “I’ll have” or “I’ll let”? That part is probably not very exciting: The default Android keyboard presumably has slightly different predictions than the default iPhone keyboard, and third-party apps would also have slightly different predictions.

Whatever their provenance, the random juxtaposition of predictive text memes has become fodder for a growing genre of AI humor. Botnik Studios writes goofy songs using souped-up predictive keyboards and a lot of human tweaking. The blog AI Weirdness trains neural nets to do all sorts of ridiculous tasks, such as deciding whether a string of words is more likely to be a name from My Little Pony or a metal band. Darth Vader? 19 percent metal, 81 percent pony. Leia Organa? 96 percent metal, 4 percent pony. (I’m suddenly interpreting Star Wars in quite a new light.)

The combination of the customization and the randomness of the predictive text meme is compelling the way a BuzzFeed quiz or a horoscope is compelling—it gives you a tiny amount of insight into yourself to share, but not so much that you’re baring your soul. It’s also hard to get a truly terrible answer. In both cases, that’s by design.

You know how when you get a new phone and you have to teach it that, no, you aren’t trying to type “duck” and “ducking” all the time? Your keyboard deliberately errs on the conservative side. There are certain words that it just won’t try to complete, even if you get really close. After all, it’s better to accidentally send the word “public” when you meant “pubic” than the other way around.

This goes for sequences of words as well. Just because a sequence is common doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to predict it. “For a while, when you typed ‘I’m going to my Grandma’s,’ GBoard would actually suggest ‘funeral,'” van Esch says. “It’s not wrong, per se. Maybe this is more common than ‘my Grandma’s rave party.’ But at the same time, it’s not something that you want to be reminded about. So it’s better to be a bit careful.”

Users seem to prefer this discretion. Keyboards get roundly criticized when a sexual, morbid, or otherwise disturbing phrase does get predicted. It’s likely that a lot more filtering happens behind the scenes before we even notice it. Janelle Shane, the creator of AI Weirdness, experiences lapses in machine judgment all the time. “Whenever I produce an AI experiment, I’m definitely filtering out offensive content, even when the training data is as innocuous as My Little Pony names. There’s no text-generating algorithm I would trust not to be offensive at some point.”

The true goal of text prediction can’t be as simple as anticipating what a user might want to type. After all, people often type things about sex or death—according to Google Ngrams, “job” is the most common noun after “blow,” and “bucket” is very common after “kick the.” But I experimentally typed these and similar taboo-but-common phrases into my phone’s keyboard, and it never predicted them straightaway. It waited until I’d typed most of the letters of the final word, until I’d definitely committed to the taboo, rather than reminding me of weighty topics when I wasn’t necessarily already thinking about them. With innocuous idioms (like “raining cats and”), the keyboard seemed more proactive about predicting them.

Instead, the goal of text prediction must be to anticipate what the user might want the machine to think they might want to type. For mundane topics, these two goals might seem identical, but their difference shows up as soon as a hint of controversy enters the picture. Predictive text needs to project an aspirational version of a user’s thoughts, a version that avoids subjects like sex and death even though these might be the most important topics to human existence—quite literally the way we enter and leave the world.

We prefer the keyboard to balance raw statistics against our feelings. Sex Death Phone Keyboard is a pretty good name for my future metal band (and a very bad name for my future pony), but I can’t say I’d actually buy a phone that reminds me of my own mortality when I’m composing a grocery list or suggests innuendos when I’m replying to a work email.

The predictive text meme is comforting in a social media world that often leaps from one dismal news cycle to the next. The customizations make us feel seen. The random quirks give our pattern-seeking brains delightful connections. The parts that don’t make sense reassure us of human superiority—the machines can’t be taking over yet if they can’t even write me a decent horoscope! And the topic boundaries prevent the meme from reminding us of our human frailty. The result is a version of ourselves through the verbal equivalent of an Instagram filter, eminently shareable on social media.

More Great WIRED Stories

Tech

[lazilysillyprince]

Autocomplete Presents the Best Version of You

New Post has been published on http://webhostingtop3.com/autocomplete-presents-the-best-version-of-you/

Autocomplete Presents the Best Version of You

Type the phrase “In 2019, I’ll …” and let your smart­phone’s keyboard predict the rest. Depending on what else you’ve typed recently, you might end up with a result like one of these:

In 2019, I’ll let it be a surprise to be honest. In 2019, i’ll be alone. In 2019, I’ll be in the memes of the moment. In 2019, I’ll have to go to get the dog. In 2019 I will rule over the seven kingdoms or my name is not Aegon Targareon [sic].

Many variants on the predictive text meme—which works for both Android and iOS—can be found on social media. Not interested in predicting your 2019? Try writing your villain origin story by following your phone’s suggestions after typing “Foolish heroes! My true plan is …” Test the strength of your personal brand with “You should follow me on Twitter because …” Or launch your political career with “I am running for president with my running mate, @[3rd Twitter Suggestion], because we …”

Gretchen McCulloch is WIRED’s resident linguist. She’s the cocreator of Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics, and her book Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language is coming out in July 2019 from Penguin.

In eight years, we’ve gone from Damn You Autocorrect to treating the strip of three predicted words as a sort of wacky but charming oracle. But when we try to practice divination by algorithm, we’re doing something more than killing a few minutes—we’re exploring the limits of what our devices can and cannot do.

Your phone’s keyboard comes with a basic list of words and sequences of words. That’s what powers the basic language features: autocorrect, where a sequence like “rhe” changes to “the” after you type it, and the suggestion strip just above the letters, which contains both completions (if you type “keyb” it might suggest “keyboard”) and next-word predictions (if you type “predictive” it might suggest “text,” “value,” and “analytics”). It’s this predictions feature that we use to generate amusing and slightly nonsensical strings of text—a function that goes beyond its intended purpose of supplying us with a word or two before we go back to tapping them out letter by letter.

The basic reason we get different results is that, as you use your phone, words or sequences of words that you type get added to your personal word list. “For most users, the on-device dictionary ends up containing local place-names, songs they like, and so on,” says Daan van Esch, a technical program manager of Gboard, Google’s keyboard for Android. Or, in the case of the “Aegon Targareon” example, slightly misspelled Game of Thrones characters.

Another factor that helps us get unique results is a slight bias toward predicting less frequent words. “Suggesting a very common word like ‘and’ might be less helpful because it’s short and easy to type,” van Esch says. “So maybe showing a longer word is actually more useful, even if it’s less frequent.” Of course, a longer word is probably going to be more interesting as meme fodder.

Finally, phones seem to choose different paths from the very beginning. Why are some people getting “I’ll be” while others get “I’ll have” or “I’ll let”? That part is probably not very exciting: The default Android keyboard presumably has slightly different predictions than the default iPhone keyboard, and third-party apps would also have slightly different predictions.

Whatever their provenance, the random juxtaposition of predictive text memes has become fodder for a growing genre of AI humor. Botnik Studios writes goofy songs using souped-up predictive keyboards and a lot of human tweaking. The blog AI Weirdness trains neural nets to do all sorts of ridiculous tasks, such as deciding whether a string of words is more likely to be a name from My Little Pony or a metal band. Darth Vader? 19 percent metal, 81 percent pony. Leia Organa? 96 percent metal, 4 percent pony. (I’m suddenly interpreting Star Wars in quite a new light.)

The combination of the customization and the randomness of the predictive text meme is compelling the way a BuzzFeed quiz or a horoscope is compelling—it gives you a tiny amount of insight into yourself to share, but not so much that you’re baring your soul. It’s also hard to get a truly terrible answer. In both cases, that’s by design.

You know how when you get a new phone and you have to teach it that, no, you aren’t trying to type “duck” and “ducking” all the time? Your keyboard deliberately errs on the conservative side. There are certain words that it just won’t try to complete, even if you get really close. After all, it’s better to accidentally send the word “public” when you meant “pubic” than the other way around.

This goes for sequences of words as well. Just because a sequence is common doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to predict it. “For a while, when you typed ‘I’m going to my Grandma’s,’ GBoard would actually suggest ‘funeral,'” van Esch says. “It’s not wrong, per se. Maybe this is more common than ‘my Grandma’s rave party.’ But at the same time, it’s not something that you want to be reminded about. So it’s better to be a bit careful.”

Users seem to prefer this discretion. Keyboards get roundly criticized when a sexual, morbid, or otherwise disturbing phrase does get predicted. It’s likely that a lot more filtering happens behind the scenes before we even notice it. Janelle Shane, the creator of AI Weirdness, experiences lapses in machine judgment all the time. “Whenever I produce an AI experiment, I’m definitely filtering out offensive content, even when the training data is as innocuous as My Little Pony names. There’s no text-generating algorithm I would trust not to be offensive at some point.”

The true goal of text prediction can’t be as simple as anticipating what a user might want to type. After all, people often type things about sex or death—according to Google Ngrams, “job” is the most common noun after “blow,” and “bucket” is very common after “kick the.” But I experimentally typed these and similar taboo-but-common phrases into my phone’s keyboard, and it never predicted them straightaway. It waited until I’d typed most of the letters of the final word, until I’d definitely committed to the taboo, rather than reminding me of weighty topics when I wasn’t necessarily already thinking about them. With innocuous idioms (like “raining cats and”), the keyboard seemed more proactive about predicting them.

Instead, the goal of text prediction must be to anticipate what the user might want the machine to think they might want to type. For mundane topics, these two goals might seem identical, but their difference shows up as soon as a hint of controversy enters the picture. Predictive text needs to project an aspirational version of a user’s thoughts, a version that avoids subjects like sex and death even though these might be the most important topics to human existence—quite literally the way we enter and leave the world.

We prefer the keyboard to balance raw statistics against our feelings. Sex Death Phone Keyboard is a pretty good name for my future metal band (and a very bad name for my future pony), but I can’t say I’d actually buy a phone that reminds me of my own mortality when I’m composing a grocery list or suggests innuendos when I’m replying to a work email.

The predictive text meme is comforting in a social media world that often leaps from one dismal news cycle to the next. The customizations make us feel seen. The random quirks give our pattern-seeking brains delightful connections. The parts that don’t make sense reassure us of human superiority—the machines can’t be taking over yet if they can’t even write me a decent horoscope! And the topic boundaries prevent the meme from reminding us of our human frailty. The result is a version of ourselves through the verbal equivalent of an Instagram filter, eminently shareable on social media.

More Great WIRED Stories

Tech