#state machines are so. overused

[the-story-of-how-we-died]

Fixing Unity's Animation System

Idk if there's a big game dev community on tumblr or not, but I want to talk about this, so I'm gonna lol

The problem with Unity's animation system becomes obvious as soon as you try to do anything more complicated than "idle, walk, run, jump". Trying to add attacks or more complicated form of transitions becomes absolute hell. And no small part of this I attribute to the fact that it's a state machine.

(I think state machines are shoe-horned into game development anyhow, but that's a topic for another post)

So, I went out to create a new system that better fit my needs. I managed to categorize nearly all of my animations into three separate groups: cross fades, snaps, and cinematics.

Cross fades are animations that play continuously under some kind of condition, like idling, walking, running, falling, swimming, etc. etc. The important part of cross fades is that they don't have a predetermined end (ie. they're meant to seamlessly loop).

Snap animations are animations that do have a predetermined end, like attacks, dodges, emotes, etc.

Cinematics are, well, cinematics. I was mainly thinking cut scenes, but there's probably other uses for them as well.

And what about animations that don't fit perfectly into one of these groups? Well, I added support for specialized behaviors as well. I'm not certain exactly what these would do, but I made an abstract class these scripts can derive from with an `ExecuteSpecializedBehavior()` function to be called. (I think it's better to build in support for these kinds of things right now, even if I can't see a use for them.) this also isn't, like, an asset. I'll provide the scripts, but I'm not, like, claiming to own the code or the process or anything like that lol (or offering support for bugs). feel free to use/modify it however you want.

(This got waaaay longer than I intended it to, so I'm going to put the rest under a keep reading)

This `ChangeAnimation()` function is at the core of the entire system:

I had originally wrote out exactly what each of the variables not defined in the function did, but I think it'd be easier to just share them in a photo

Some things to note: It'd be possible to get rid of 'defaultClip' with something like 'animations[0]', but I didn't want to force myself to remember that the first thing in the list needed to be the default animation (as well, it prevents things from getting messed up if the order of the list somehow changes).

'AnimationName' and 'TransitionType' (which I've renamed to 'AnimationType' in the script, I'm just too lazy to retake the screenshot. I'll refer to it here as 'TransitionType' for clarity) are (clearly, probably) enums. I realize that an enum isn't the best type for 'AnimationName', but I felt that the ease of writing 'AnimationName.Idle' in a script was worth the extra effort of adding each animation to the enum.

I partially blame this on Unity, as there is (as far as I know), no way to play an animation via script except with it's name (which is a string, ofc). I thought of several ways I could've implement this, including consts or a static class, but I felt like an enum had the fewest downsides relative to its upsides (consts would require a reference to a class, and a static class would've been more annoying to implement inside the `AnimationWrapper` class)

I could've coded something that would've handled it better, but this seemed like the easiest way that's also fairly robust and is supported by default inside Unity.

'OnSnapAnimationEnd' is called via Unity's built-in animation event system. I tried really hard to make it so I didn't have to use it because I find it absolutely awful (supplying an function name by a string?!). But, unfortunately, Unity's way of adding them by via code is broken (because of course it is), so the workaround I came up with was to create one function that is called via the event which invokes another event that is far easier to subscribe to. (Plus, some extra functionality for the snap animations, which I covered above.)

The 'AnimationWrapper' class supplies both information about the animation (the actual clip, it's AnimationName, and its TransitionType), clip functionality (cross fade times and offsets), as well as a field to supply custom behaviors.

I don't know why it's low res, but oh well

And that's most of it. There are two extra functions ('OverrideCurrentAnimationSnap' and 'OverrideCurrentAnimationCrossfade') that I didn't supply photos of, but that's because I feel like just mentioning them clearly conveys their purpose. I plan on adding one for cinematics, as well, but since that part of the system isn't finished, I didn't see a purpose in adding it.

Normally I don't share my code because I don't feel like I've done anything innovative, but with this, I think it's good. It's not the most robust of animation systems, but it supports my needs and - imao - is so. much. easier. to use than Unity's built-in system.

Letting each script handle calling the animations they need is so much easier than getting a reference to the animator, getting a reference to a parameter, setting it up inside the script, setting it up inside the animation editor, defining all the transition, etc. etc.'Letting each script handle calling the animations they need is so much easier than getting a reference to the animator, getting a reference to a parameter, setting it up inside the script, setting it up inside the animation editor, defining all the transition, etc. etc.

Anyhow, even if this is just me shouting into the void, it made me happy to talk about it, so /shrug

Link to script

[acesw]

Reverse: 1999 : Disabled Characters

The game doesn't stray too far on the neurodivergent allegory for the arcanists themselves. But at the same time, there are also inclusions of other characters who are very much known to be disabled. So for this post I'll delve into that, just a bit.

Now, there are 10 characters that I want to put in the spotlight. These mostly lean towards being canon, but a part of these are also researched upon and shortened so the post doesn’t become way too long.

Cristallo, Rabies, Erick : Chronic Illness

It's quite self explanatory that Cristallo herself has a chronic illness. She was born prematurely, with an added condition that makes her physically fragile. As seen in the game, she needs a life-support system to maintain her health when she's outside. It's also implied that her condition may be a recurrent cancer, as her arcane abilities are tied to a machine that provides cobalt therapy, a known advancement in radiotherapy in the post-WWII era.

Rabies is an odd case. In his stories, it's noted that Adam cured Alicia through unknown means at the cost of contracting rabies himself. However, instead of the virus being acute and guaranteed to be fatal, it becomes a chronic illness to Rabies due to the abundance and use of arcanum. And since the rabies virus attacks the brain, his cognitive capabilities and ability to recall things before the present had been impaired, making him rather docile and animal-like in nature as a result.

Erick, as revealed in her anecdote, has a hereditary blood condition that came with her arcane skill. With her arcane skill making her physically powerful, overusing it will accelerate the effects of her blood condition to the point that it can become fatal. To prevent this, she also inherited an armband from her grandfather, Harald. The armband suppresses one's ability to use arcane skills, but by extension it also prevents Erick's condition getting worse.

Shamane : Amputee

Shamane's circumstances are also self-explanatory. He lost his arm for unknown reasons, but after having lived without it for 20 years, it doesn't bother him anymore. However as we know, he crafted his prosthetic arm as a means to avoid scaring kids. (which I think is quite cool in itself)

Ms. Radio, Bessmert : Blindness

Ms. Radio and our new friend, Bessmert, are both canonically blind. Ms. Radio has stated that she cannot see, and asks Vertin to left in places where she can feel temperatures to make her feel at peace.

And as we know, Yenisei (or in other words, Yenisei's VA) has stated in the 1.6 livestream that Bessmert is known to be blind, but even with that, she's a great researcher and guide to her.

Mesmer Jr. : OCD [Content Warning: Mentions of Self Harm and Suicide.]

Mesmer Jr.'s character has heavily implied throughout the main story and her own to have OCD as a result of the traumatic experiences she had gone through from her field of work and her family’s history in it. She identifies that she has "incurable" anxiety, which causes her to think differently about arcanists and act a little irrationally from our own perspective. This anxiety results in double checking everything and having a slightly intensive routine.

This routine is created as a means to maintain herself and her own sanity, but an imbalance or interruption can greatly upset her. As a result, she has conflicting ideals, experiences hallucinations and panic attacks, has suicidal thoughts, and actively inflicts self harm as a means to cope with her anxiety. However, she’s calmer and at peace with herself when she's left alone in a quieter and clean space, away from others, and where nature is heard more than constant buzzing. In short, Mesmer Jr.’s mental health is really complex and would be better if it's explored in a separate post.

Baby Blue : Alice in Wonderland syndrome

It's no secret that Baby Blue has Alice in Wonderland syndrome, or in other words dysmetropsia. This affects her perception of reality and her ability to recall, but this in turn makes her arcane abilities all the more powerful. As a result, she doesn't realize that she's growing up, yet it seems she doesn't mind that much. This doesn't seem to affect her physically either; In fact, it has a heavy influence on how she displays her arcane skills.

Poltergeist : Social Anxiety

Poltergeist has been known to be anxious in social settings which conflicts with her people-pleasing tendencies. She's also insecure about herself which adds up to her not wanting to be directly perceived. At the same time, she doesn't like being left alone as a result of having been ignored and forgotten post mortem. Poltergeist is also elaborate (i.e. not wanting to be looked at for too long) yet awkward at the same time when communicating them.

However, I'm not sure how to describe Poltergeist's case quite well, but the idea of her having social anxiety resonates greatly in my mind, so it can be treated as a partial headcanon.

Balloon Party : Autism and Speech Impairment

Balloon Party as a child had contracted an illness that caused her to have a persistent high fever. In the end, she awakened her arcane skill this way, with her being able to cough up balloons that can be harmful or a cure to anything.

However, it might have also affected her speech because of the physical strain that comes from coughing, it results to BP's speech being a bit slow and having abnormal pauses before she speaks again. Though, this also might be a sign of her possibly also having autism, where rigid and uneven language development is a common pattern in how autism affects one's ability in communication. Her speech also has a pattern of echolalia, having a flat tone, and lack of control of it.

However, speech impediment isn't everything about autism, and there's a lot more about BP's character that also connects with it such as her special interests. I can better explore this in a different post, which will be explained below.

Last Notes

These are the characters I’ve written down, most of these are less headcanon and more of observations I’ve found when looking into these characters. Some people from the lore chat have also added their own insights on some of them. (Thank you lupjo for beta-reading through it and helping me out) 

Of course, there are a few more characters I want to discuss because of the implications of them having autism / ADHD, but these will be written in another post in the future because I still need to research and gather other information. Additionally, it would be an opportunity to talk about the connections between an arcanist’s and neurodivergent person’s relationships with modern society.

Congrats for reaching the bottom of this post, and feel free to add your own ideas or headcanons about the characters here and/or any other ones.

[ratking-mo]

Pinned To The Matt

————————————————————————

Tags; (slight) scent kink, handjob, dom!gn!reader, sub!character

Synopsis; Your old friend Caleb asks if you want to spare together in a wrestling match! He's slightly more experienced than you, however, so he wins the first two of three rounds. However, when you hit the third round, you're able to get an advantage over him.

Word count; 3.1k

Author's note: first experience actively publishing a work. Let me know what y'all think

—————————————————————————

The smell of sweat and slightly exhausted rubber hit your nose as you entered the large gym, the palm of your hand lightly pressing against the glass of the door beside you. Your eyes glance from side to side as you take in the scenery surrounding you, taking note of the crowded state of the area. There stood people at weight training machines working on their arms or attempting to bulk up their forms fully, and on the other side of the spectrum stood people on yoga mats, trying to push their flexible abilities further. You couldn’t help but shuffle a bit as you walked, using your fingertips to grip your jacket sleeves gently. 

Gym culture wasn’t really your scene, to put it lightly. You didn’t enjoy the feeling of prying eyes boring into you, internally critiquing your methods and shape as you tried to mind your own business and train yourself. It could make a man go mad with self-conscious thoughts. If you didn’t work fast. 

To prevent this, you chose to work out in private rather than as a conglomerate. However, this was something that could be negotiated. When it comes to friends or others, you didn’t mind going out with them as a type of hangout session. And this was one of those occasions. You lifted your head slightly as you heard a cheerful laugh, followed by a voice calling out your name. 

“Dude, over here!!” Your close friend, Caleb, Called out as he waved his hand back and forth. Once he finally caught your attention, he lowered his hand, letting out a soft snicker. “Didn’t think you’d show up!”

You couldn’t help but give a soft smile due to Caleb’s contagious enthusiasm, giving him a small wave back as you started walking over. “I said I’d show up, didn’t I?” you asked in a slightly joking tone of choice before turning your head, and taking another look at the scenery. “This place was a little hard to find on maps y’know..” you commented quietly.

Caleb whistled lightly in response, putting his hands on his hips. “I told you that you should’ve just driven with me!” he mocked lightly before turning around and starting to walk down one of the hallways. “Anyway, C’mon! I was able to rent the wrestling ring for half an hour.” He explained, pointing his thumb down a corridor as you both walk.

Ah, how could you forget? The main reason why Caleb asked you to come in the first place is because he wanted a competent sparing partner. He said you were somewhat above average in build, so you were “good enough” to fight with. You… weren't fully sure, what that meant, but you were up with helping him out nonetheless. 

After a few moments of walking, you soon reached a large, empty room with a large green mat on the floor. The was a large white circle within it, seemingly being the border meant for the fighters to fight within. It looked to be slightly worn out, most likely due to being overused and worn out over time. The room itself was dimly lit, other than the light shining in through the windows, and at that there only being a slight amount. But it was enough to navigate throughout the room. 

You move your head downwards, unzipping your jacket to reveal a tight-fit black tank top against your semi-muscular body. You let out a lazy yawn as you gently scratch at your chest, the jacket falling off your shoulders as you move. “So,” You spoke out, your voice slightly deepened due to the yawn. “How many rounds are we going for?” you queried, watching Caleb as he stretched out. 

Caleb let out a soft hum as he stretched his arms out over his head, causing his loose ft tanktop to move inwards towards his chest slightly. “Let's go fooor..” He drawled, eyes lifting upwards as he gazed at the ceiling. “...three for now?” He suggested before moving to point at you, giving out teasing finger guns as he winked. “Don’t want to wear you out too bad!” He laughed lightly.

You give a mocking eye-roll in response, scoffing. “You’re gonna be the one tapping out at the end of this if anything.” You sharply responded, taking a minute to slip off your tennis shoes and roll off your cat-paw printed socks before walking up onto the mat.

Caleb followed promptly after with a soft chuckle, cracking his knuckles as he moved to stand in front of you.

You both adjusted your stance, legs widening and feet planted against the ground to get a steady stand as your arms spread outwards. 

Your eyes narrowed as Caleb’s kept a chipper wide eye stare. He then began to count down. 

“3,” he started, leaning forward slightly as if he were to prepare to pounce. 

“2..”

“1.” You finished, leaping forward promptly afterward to tackle him.

-

The two of you were now on your third (and presumably final,) round. Caleb’s cold to the touch sweat slightly slipped against your already moist skin, the two of you battling one another to earn the upper hand. You had his lower half in a lock between your left side and your arm, struggling to push him further downwards as Caleb’s hands tightly gripped at your legs in an attempt to knock you down. 

You let out a struggled grunt through your teeth, your feet keeping a firm, yet struggled, plant against the mat. You knew you had to act fast in order to win this round, the score currently being within Caelb’s favor. No matter what, 

You did NOT want to see Caleb pull that smug face again. 

Thinking quickly on your feet, you move further to the left, pushing all of your body weight on top of Caleb. In response, the other let out a surprised yelp, his knees buckling due to the sudden added weight and planting down against the mat. You take advantage of his stunned state, moving yourself over him. You use your legs to straddle yourself over his hips, push your upper body further against him, and encased him in a firm headlock, forcing Caleb too further down towards the ground. You let out a struggled pant, shortly followed by a laugh as you smirk. “Had enough?” you chuckle out. 

Caleb let out a struggling noise as he was subdued, his forehead lightly crashing down against the might as he wiggled within your grip. He took deep breaths in and out as his eyes widened a bit. All that filled his senses was you. The scent of your sweat and musk hit his nose as his breathing grew heavy, the tight grip constricting his throat was due to your sculpted arms. The feeling of your pelvis sternly pushing down against his hips to establish your places. 

Caleb could feel heat steadily begin to rise up to his cheeks as his breathing began to get staggered, struggling to remain focused on the current round as his mind began to drift towards cruder thoughts. 

“You know you can tap out whenever you wanaaa~” You spoke to him in a teasing tone, grip further tightening against his throat, but not enough to actually cause any physical harm to him. 

And then, a noise could be heard. 

A noise different from the other ones heard during the match. 

“Mmph..-”. The noise was slightly muffled due to Caleb being so closely pushed against the mat, His eyes firmly shut as his torso began to sway back and forth against your crotch slowly. 

Your eyes widened slightly, a hint of blush hitting against your cheeks. “Dude?” You called out, your grip against Caleb loosening slightly. Though your hold on him stayed firm, lowering slightly to grip his shoulders lightly. 

Caleb’s eyes opened slightly before widening, seemingly forgetting the position you two were in. “S-shit, uh-” he stuttered out in an embarrassed hurry. He made a quick attempt to get his head back into the game, moving his left hand downwards to grab onto your leg while his right hand grabbed onto your arm, attempting to disrupt your balance. “Caught me off guard there!” Caleb stated, trying to keep the mood light after that questionable moment. 

A crease forms between your eyebrows as you let out a small huff through your eyebrows. There was something there that he was trying to play off nonchalantly. You move your hands swiftly, pressing the flat of your hand against the back of his freckled neck, and your other hand pushing against the center of his back, firmly planting him across the ground. 

You stretch your right leg out, your foot kicked underneath his own to attempt to subdue him and keep him further down against the ground for a longer period. 

Caleb visibly stiffened at the sudden touch, his nose hitting against his mat as he went into closer proximity to the mat. The blood quickened, rushing towards his face as he struggled to reach for a pure train of thought. It was rare for him to be caught in such a relationship so easily. He stammered, struggling to find something to say to you. 

Then, 

he could feel himself going statue-like as he felt a familiar feeling of blood rush downward,

Forming a shallow tent within his shorts. 

“Caleb.” Your voice finally spoke up. “Are you alright?? You’re being weird.” You huffed out as your eyes remained fixed on the man beneath you. It's unlike him to be so… finicky. 

Caleb moved, trying to shuffle out of your grip with his strength. He rather be dead than let you see him like this. He stretched his hand out forward, trying his best to escape your trap.

 “I’m Good! I'm way better than good actually,  I'm super good, chill even,” 

he rambled on as he tried to wiggle out from your scrutinizing gaze, The dark red blush starting to hit the tips of his ears. “J-just pulled a muscle, you know?? Haha, ha..-” he laughed awkwardly as he tried to shield his face. 

Well, that was obviously a lie, now wasn’t it?

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes slightly. This relaxed facade was getting to become a little annoying. You wanted to know what was wrong so you could help him out. That’s what good friends do for one another, right? 

You moved the hand that was placed against Caleb’s back, sliding down the side of his leg swiftly before placing a tight grip on his thigh to keep him still. His eyes then shot wide open, quickly wiping his head around. “DUDE, WAIT-!”

You opened your mouth to speak; To tell him if he was hurt, or if he was uncomfortable and wanted to cut this short, that he should tell you. But you were caught off before you could even utter those words, Eyes widening and hand growing still as the side of your thumb gently pressed up against his growing erection. 

The form of it could vaguely be felt, due to the thin and breathable material that was the gym shorts. It was average-sized, 4 or 5 inches judging by the feeling alone. Not too much girth, but it was prominent. 

You struggled to get any words out of your mouth, only letting out a struggled “Uh,” you contemplated on what your next action should be. 

Caleb, meanwhile, had somehow managed to press himself closer against the mat, face covered up in the palms of his hands as he let out a labored breath of embarrassment. “This is so humiliating..” He muttered, his head swaying back and forth in for a slight moment before he moved to look towards you, spreading out his index and ring finger to peek up at you. “Look man,” he sighed, seemingly defeated. “I-I get it if you’re grossed out, we can call it a day or something if you want and-”

Before he could finish his statement, you interrupted him rather abruptly with a croaked-up tone of voice, as if your words weren't planned out in the slightest. (which they weren't, to be entirely truthful.) “ I could help you!” you sputter out. 

You then quickly clear your throat, recognizing that that may have came off as pretty desperate. “O-only if you want to, of course, I don't want to pressure you.” You quickly clarified, deepening your tone of voice a bit to come as a bit cooler than what you were in this instance. 

Caleb stared up at you for a second, eyes wide as he slowly began to lower his hands. He was… struggling, to come up with a half-decent response to that. Were you up for lending him a hand? And was he really in the mood for passing up such a golden opportunity to get off?

“...I..” Caleb drawled out for a moment, hesitant to give you a straightforward answer. He then sharply inhaled the smell of the mat beneath him hitting his nose once more as he began to throw caution out of the window. “Could..” he started again, pointer finger lightly scraping at the faux latex of the mat. “..could you hold on to my neck again?” he requested, his voice being a slightly softer, hesitant tone in comparison to the earlier bombasticness echoing through his throat. 

Your eyes stare him down, slowly beginning to process his request. Ah. Okay. Okay, yeah. You then clear your throat forcefully to snap back to reality, shaking your head quickly. “Y-yeah, of course, man.” you spoke before moving your left arm upwards, assuming a mixture of your current, and earlier position. 

‼️

Your hand begins to move, the backs of your fingertips gently dancing against the band of his gym shorts. The pads of your finger gently rubbed against the skin of his pelvis as you began to push forward, trekking new territory. Caleb shivered slightly, moving to push his face further against the crease between your upper and forearm as he tried to process the ticklish feeling. You move forward, allowing your hand to dip further before it is fully concealed within the black shorts.

Your fingers thread through the mess of matted down curled pubic hair, the feeling contrasting the feeling of the hair on his hair. Clearly, Caleb had odd grooming habits when it came to the areas people couldn’t see. You couldn't help but lightly sway your fingers back and forth in silent curiosity, your mind taking in the new sensation. You then felt Caleb shuffle underneath you, letting out a slightly impatient huff. “C’mon, dude, stop fucking with me..” He grumbled out, unwilling to transparently requisition attention to his neglected area. You couldn’t help but give out a soft laugh in response. “Sorry about that..” You apologize before moving your hand further downwards, your fingertips finally making contact with his aching shaft. 

Caleb visibly stiffened, letting out a muffled groan into your arm as his eyebrows knitted together. His hips once again began to act on their own, steadily grinding his cock against the palm of your hand. You bit your lower lip slowly as you watched the act unfold underneath you. Oh, the feeling of being needed by another. 

What a feeling to envelope one indeed. 

Your finger began to wrap around his cock slowly, keeping a firm yet soft grip around the other other. You breathe in, and out slowly to try and give yourself a slight ghost of confidence. Now was the time to go for it if you were truly serious about this. You then gather up your courage, pumping your hand back and forth in a steady motion, the sounds of soft skin flapping quietly echoing through the room. 

Caleb’s breath began to hitch, moans spilling out from his lips like song notes. He moved his head, further pushing his mouth against the skin of your arm to try and cover his noises. Wouldn’t want someone to hear, right? 

“Oh god..-” Caleb whispered out, his length seemingly starting to stiffen more within your grasp as he let out a slightly shaky sigh. “You experienced in this or something..?” he asked you with a quiet chuckle, attempting to keep the mood light in his own weird way. 

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh in response to that, your fingers intimately rubbing at the swollen head. You felt liquid slowly begin to drip out, coating your fingertips. You mentally celebrated at the beginning fruits of your labor.

“I mean,” you finally spoke up. 

“In a way, if you think about it?” 

Caleb bit his lower lip, teeth lightly puncturing into it, as he attempted to keep his voice low. However, a stifled laugh could somewhat be heard sneaking through. He shuffled further back into you, the warmth shared between the two of you growing ever so cozy as time went on. “Figures.” he jabbed.

You give a faint smile at that, leaning over slightly to gently push your face into the back of his neck. You faintly inhaled as you began pumping your hand at a quickened, harder pace. He smelled faintly of cinnamon cologne, sweat, and sports equipment. 

You really don’t know what you were expecting. 

Caleb began moving around, his movement being rather erratic as he let out a shaky groan. “Dude-” he stuttered out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I-i’m close,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened a bit at that revelation. Already?? Did people usually have their highs so soon? Was Caleb just an overly sensitive person? Was he healthy? ….Should you keep going even after his orgasm and see what happens? You knit your eyebrows together for a moment as you begin to question and weigh your options for a moment. You then quickly shook your head, trying to focus your gaze back on the task at hand. 

The grip on Caleb’s shaft tightened, causing a harmonic noise to be ripped from his throat as his body scrunched. You move your thumb, beginning to rub the head back and forth soothingly in an attempt to encourage him to release. “You’re okay,” you whispered into his ear, further pushing your face against his neck. “Come on.”

Caleb’s nails nearly dug into the skin of your arm as his body shook violently, warm ropes opaque, white, sticky liquid spluttered out and coated the inside of his gym shorts. He began to let out heavy breaths as his body nearly fell towards the ground, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

His face was coated in a soft red dust, body rose and fell heavy as he struggled to get a grip on his reality once again.

You gaze at him silently with half-lidded eyes, feeling the warmth spread to your own cheeks. Did he always look so…

So…

You cleared your throat, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a second to think. You then smiled at Caleb teasingly. “Guess that means I win this round?” you ask him.

Caleb's eyes shot back open in a sudden burst of fiery energy. "WHAT!?" he shouted, quickly turning over so he was propped up on his back. "Hell no, you caught me while I was weak! One more round, that'll be it!" he pointed at you with a soft huff, the red dust on his face still coating it gently.

Well; seems like neither of you will be tapping out anytime soon.

[radioactiveradley]

By popular (???) request, based on the outcome of this poll.

A WARNING: you guys really did pick the most complex one. This is loooooong. A DISCLAIMER. This is a silly little lesson aimed at folks who know sod-all about MRI. There are memes. There is (arguably) overuse of the term ‘big chungus’. If you are looking to delve deeper into the mysteries of K-Space, this is not the Tumblr post for you.

So, without further ado...

Today I am introducing you to my one true love. The legend. The icon.

Ferromagnetic material loves him. Claustrophobic people fear him.

Yeah, that’s right – we’re talking about the big boom-boom sexyboy magnet machine, hereby known as Big Chungus.

Aka...

MAGNETIC RESONANCE IMAGING

First off, though? Let’s start small.

Very, very small.

Meet HYDROGEN.

The nucleus of this element is made up of a single proton, which has a magnetic dipole – i.e., it acts like a tiny bar magnet.

Hydrogen is also a component of water. As we all know, we’re basically walking sacks of goop – meaning that Hydrogen is abundant throughout our bodies.

Therefore, when we stick you in a strong magnetic field… say, within our friend Big Chungus… we can manipulate all those tiny Hydrogen atoms in a variety of fun ways.

Under normal conditions, all your Hydrogen protons are pointing every-which-way.

But in Big Chungus, there is a strong longitudinal magnetic field that travels along the Z-axis of the machine. So, all your teeny tiny Hydrogen protons swivel to align with that field!

If a proton’s energy is LOWER than that of the longitudinal magnetic field (a majority), they will align PARALLEL with the field. If their energy is HIGHER (a minority) they will align ANTI-PARALLEL.

As most of the protons align with the longitudinal magnetic field, the net magnetisation vector within the human body is also longitudinal! This is called the thermodynamic equilibrium – the resting state for all those li’l protons when your body is within Big Chungus.

(You won’t feel any different, btw! We’re flipping a bunch of teeny-tiny bits inside you, but you won’t feel a thing!) (You might do later, when we activate the Gradient coils. We’ll….. get to that)

But, while all of this is very cool, it gives us no actual information. We gotta play some more with your protons - which brings us to arguably the most important concept in MRI. I mean, it’s literally in the name!

Let’s go back to our Hydrogen protons.

We’ve established that they’re all pointing in different directions. But they’re not just sitting still. They’re spinning and wobbling all over the shop.

We call this rotational wobbly movement precession.

In their natural state, these protons all precess at different speeds. When we subject them to Big Chungus, as well as all lining up neatly with the magnetic field, they all start to precess at the same speed.

However, their magnetic North will be pointing to different points at any given moment. Imagine two clocks, both of which are ticking at the same rate, but which have been set to read different times.

This is where magnetic resonance comes in.

In addition to the homogenous longitudinal magnetic field provided by Big Chungus, we also create an oscillating magnetic field in the transverse plane by using a radiofrequency (RF) pulse. We can tune that oscillation to the ‘resonant frequency’ of Hydrogen atoms.

Every molecule capable of resonance has its own specific frequency. We use a funky equation called the Larmor Equation to work this out, or, as I like to call it, W, BOY!!!

(The weird ‘w’ is the resonance frequency; the weird ‘Bo’ is the magnetic field strength, and the weird ‘Y’ is the gyromagnetic ratio of each particular element.)

So, we know exactly at what frequency to apply that RF pulse to your protons, to achieve resonance!

But what is resonance?

In acoustics, a ‘resonant frequency’ is the frequency an external wave needs to be applied at in order to create the maximum amplitude of vibrations within the object. Like when opera singers shatter glass with their voice! They’re singing at the resonant frequency of the glass, which makes it vibrate to the point where it compromises its structural integrity.

A similar concept applies in magnetic precession, with, uh, less destructive results. We’re not exploding anything inside of you, don’t worry!

(We do explode your innards accidentally in Ultrasound sometimes, via a different mechanism. But you’ll have to ask me more about that later. >:3)

To put it simply, magnetic resonance is the final step in getting those protons to BEHAVE. Now, the clocks have been corrected so their hands move at exactly the same time, in the same position. The protons are precessing ‘in phase’. Yay!

This creates transverse magnetisation, as the magnetic vectors of all those protons (which, remember, act as bar magnets) will swing around to point in one direction at the same time.

But the cool thing about resonance? It also allows the protons to absorb energy from the RF pulse.

(Do NOT ask me how. Do NOT. I will cry.)

And remember how the higher-energy protons flip anti-parallel to the longitudinal magnetic vector of Big Chungus, while the lower-energy protons are aligned parallel? And because we have more low-energy protons than high-energy protons, our body gains a longitudinal magnetic vector to match Big Chungus?

Zapping those protons at their resonant frequency gives 'em energy (a process known as ‘excitation’, which I love, because I get to imagine them putting little party hats on and having a rave).

So, loads of them flip anti-parallel! Enough to cancel out the net longitudinal magnetic vector of our bodies – despite the best efforts of good ol’ Chungus!

(Keep trying, Chungus. We love you.)

Our protons are as far from our happy equilibrium as they can possibly be. We’ve lost longitudinal magnetisation, and gained transverse magnetisation. Oh noooo however can we fix this ohhhh noooooo

Simple. We turn off the RF pulse.

Everything returns to that sweet, sweet thermodynamic equilibrium.

Longitudinal magnetisation is regained. I.e., the protons realign with Big Chungus’s longitudinal magnetic field, with the majority aligned parallel rather than anti-parallel.

This is called SPIN-LATTICE RELAXATION.

‘T1 time’ is the point by which 63% of longitudinal magnetisation has been regained after application of the RF pulse. A T1-weighted image shows the difference between T1 relaxation times of different tissues.

And, without that oscillating RF pulse, we lose resonance – the protons fall out of phase randomly, due to the delightful unpredictable nature of entropy, and Transverse magnetisation reduces.

This is called SPIN-SPIN RELAXATION.

Or, if we’re feeling dramatic…

‘T2 time’ is the point by which 37% of the transverse magnetisation has been lost. A T2-weighted image shows the difference between T2 relaxation times of different tissues.

(Spin-spin is objectively a hilarious phrase to say in full seriousness when surrounded by important physics-y people. However, a word to the wise: do not make a moon-moon joke. They are not on Tumblr (present company excluded). They will not understand. You will get strange looks.)

But remember how resonance lets our protons shlorp up that sweet, sweet energy from the RF pulse? Well, in order to get back to thermodynamic equilibrium and line up with Big Chungus again, they have to splort that energy back out.

This is why we stick a cage over the body part we’re imaging. That cage isn’t a magnet, or a way of keeping you still – it’s a receiver coil.

It picks up the RF signal that’s given off by your innards as they relax from the intense work-out we just put them through. How cool is that??

The amount of time we wait between applying the RF pulse and measuring the ‘echo’ from within your body is called the ‘ECHO TIME’, or ‘TE’ (because we didn’t want to call it ET).

(yes, we’re cowards. Sorry.)

We also have ‘REPETITION TIME’ or ‘TR’ – the amount of time we leave between RF pulses! This determines how much longitudinal magnetisation can recover between each pulse.

By manipulating TE and TR, we can alter the contrast (i.e., the blacks and whites) on our image.

Areas of high received signal (hyperintense) are shown as white, while areas of low received signal (hypointense) are shown as black. Different sorts of tissue will have different ratios of Hydrogen-to-other-shit, and different densities of Hydrogen-and-other-shit – ergo, some tissue blasts out all of its stored energy SUPER QUICK. Others give it off slower.

A T1-weighted image has a short TR and TE time.

Fat realigns its longitudinal magnetisation with Big Chungus SUPER QUICK. This means, on a T1-weighted image, it looks hyperintense. However, water realigns its longitudinal magnetisation with Big Chungus slooooowly. Therefore, on a T1-weighted image, fluid looks hypointense! Ya see?

A T2-weighted image has a long TR and TE time.

The precession of protons in fat decays relatively slow, so it will look quite bright on a T2-scan. But water decays slower, and therefore, by the time we take the T2 image, fluids within the body will be giving off comparatively ‘more’ signal than fat – meaning they’ll appear more hyperintense!

If we have a substance with intrinsically long T1 and T2 values, it will appear dark on a T1-weighted image and bright on a T2-weighted image, and the same in reverse. If a substance has a short T1 value and a long T2 value, it will appear relatively ‘bright’ on both T1 and T2-weighted images – i.e., fat and intervertebral discs.

As every tissue has its own distinct T1 and T2 property… we can work out precisely what sort of tissue we’re looking at.

When we build in all our additional sequences, this becomes even clearer! This is why your MRI scan takes sooooo long – we’re running SO MANY sequences, manipulating TR and TE to determine the exact T1 and T2 properties of various tissues within your bod.

There is, however, a problem.

The RF signal given off by each proton doesn’t shoot out in a handy-dandy straight line. Meaning, we have no idea where the signal is coming from within your body.

Enter our lord and saviour:

THE GRADIENT COILS.

(Shim coils are also very important – they maintain field homogeneity across the whole of Big Chungus. While Big Chungus wouldn’t need them in a perfect theoretical scenario… reality ain’t that. Big Chungus’s magnetic field is all wibbly-wobbly, so we use Shims to keep everything smooth! That’s all you need to know about them. BACK TO THE GRADIENTS.)

There are three of them, wrapping around each of the three planes of your body. When these activate, they cause those epicly eerie booming noises, characteristic of a Big Chungus ExperienceTM.

The Gradient coils are also what causes those weird tingling sensations you get in an MRI machine – which, don’t worry, aren’t permanent! Your nerves just go ‘WOAHG. THASSALOT OF MAGNET SHIT. HM. DON’T LIKE THAT.’ But they’ll calm down again once you’re freed from Big Chungus.

The gradient coils cause constant fluctuations in the magnetic field across all three dimensions. They activate sequentially, isolating one chunk of your body after the next.

As these fluctuations cause variation within the signal received, we can look at how much THAT particular signal, received at THAT particular number of milliseconds after an RF pulse, varied when THAT particular gradient was activated, in comparison to when THAT OTHER gradient was activated.

For every single bit of signal output.

That gives us A WHOLE LOTTA DATA.

^ imagine this, but the cupboard contents is just. data.

Way too much data, in fact, for our puny human brains to comprehend – so obviously, we feed it to an algorithm.

K-space is a funky computational matrix where all this info gets compiled during data acquisition. Once we’ve finished the scan sequence and have all that yummy raw data, it can be mathematically processed to create a final image!

Just like that. Simple, right?

TL;DR

You are full of Hydrogen.

Hydrogen nuclei (protons) are basically tiny magnets

These tiny magnets are orientated completely randomly, with ‘North’ pointing in all directions

We stick billions of these tiny magnets (i.e., you) into a mahoosive magnet (i.e., Big Chungus)

All the tiny magnets flip around to align with the longitudinal magnetic field of Big Chungus

High energy protons = antiparallel Low energy protons = parallel

As you have more low energy protons than high energy protons in your body, the net magnetic vector of your body is longitudinal – just like Big Chungus!

All your protons are spinning and wobbling (precessing) at random rates

We use an RF pulse, tuned to the Resonance Frequency of Hydrogen, to make ‘em precess in phase (wobble at the same time, all pointing in the same direction at once). This creates a Transverse magnetic vector.

This in-phase precession is ‘Magnetic Resonance’

Magnetic Resonance means the protons can absorb energy from the RF pulse

Now there are more high energy protons within your body! They flip antiparallel, and the net longitudinal magnetic vector of your body decreases.

We measure the time it takes for the high-energy protons to release that energy and return to alignment with the net magnetic vector of Big Chungus (Spin-Lattice Relaxation / T1 recovery)

And the time it takes for the precessing-in-phase protons to Quit That Nonsense and all start wobbling in random directions again (Spin-Spin Decay / T2 recovery)

Each tissue within your body has a different composition & density of Hydrogen atoms – which means each tissue within your body has a unique T1 & T2 recovery time

By measuring the signal at different times (TE) and by varying the frequency with which we apply RF pulses (TR), we ‘take pictures’ that show variations in the amount of signal these tissues are giving off. The signal is caught by the large radiofrequency receiver coils we put over you when you enter the machine.

Because the signal given off during recovery/decay blasts out in all directions, we don’t know exactly where it originated within your body.

Gradient coils are arranged across X, Y, and Z axes throughout the gantry of Big Chungus. They cause tiny fluctuations in the magnetic field, in sequential chunks throughout space. This is the booming noise you hear when you’re in the machine.

These tiny fluctuations cause variations in the signal we receive, depending on how close the signal is to the activated gradient coil. All this data is compiled in a magical computational matrix called K-space. A funky algorithm then decodes those variations and couples them up with the strength of the signal to give us 1) How much signal is being blasted out at that particular moment 2) Where exactly that signal comes from within your body, according to the 3D map produced by the gradient coils

It then represents these values with a pretty picture!

Tl;dr tl;dr:

[dailyanarchistposts]

I

“Today we are still preoccupied with creating gardens.Why? To not suffer from hunger. Because having rice, beans, fava beans, maize, peanut — then one can survive.” — Renato, of the Canela community[1]

“The development of what we know as agriculture was not an overnight phenomenon, but rather a several thousand year-long project. In some places in the world, the earliest stages of cultivation were never surpassed, and remain sustainable today. In many more places, the pressures of the global economy have corrupted these practices just in this last century. But in most of the world today, we are witnessing the full-blown colonization of native foodways, and a nearly complete dependence on western industrial practices. To trace this “biodevestation” directly back to cultivation itself, is to ignore the history of conquest and land displacement that pushed the food systems of subsistence cultures to the brink, where they now teeter on the edge of extinction.” — Witch Hazel, Against agriculture & in defense of cultivation

Situated in dense forests and savanna of the Brazilian state of Maranhão lives the indigenous Canela people. In the past they lived from hunting, gathering and gardening but starting from 200 years ago as they were pushed from their traditional territory as settler farmers occupied the land bit by bit. The lush forests are being replaced by industrial eucalyptus and soy plantations, and cattle ranches. They now inhabit an area 5 to 10 percent of their original territory. Traditionally the Canela travelled from place to place as the seasons changed but now adopt a more sedentary lifestyle living in bigger permanent villages. Although the Canela still depend on hunting and foraging they don’t have access to a big enough land base to cover all their needs so they increasingly depend on gardening to meet their needs.

For the Canela gardening is not just to meet their subsistence needs but also a means of resistance against being assimilated into the structures, networks, dependency and the institutional inequality of the Brazilian state, religious institutions, and multinational corporations who are constantly trying to infringe and occupy the Canela’s home.

Other threats to the Canelas way of life are from the environmental effects from the industrialized agriculture of soy and eucalyptus production that causes water depletion which exacerbates drought and soil erosion. The overuse of fertilizers and agrochemicals annihilates plant biodiversity and pollutes the local rivers and waterways with high levels of nitrogen and phosphorus which in turn causes algal blooms which can produce toxins that are harmful to animals and cause dead zones from the reduction of oxygen in the water starving fish and plants. So any flora or fauna living near a eucalyptus or soy plantation is at risk.

The Canela’s subsistence gardening approach is totally different from monocrop agriculture. They work with nature using a conscious ecological and more biodiverse method.Typically in agriculture only a small variety of cash crops are grown in large fields covering acres upon acres of land where in the Amazon large sections of jungle are destroyed. For the Canela gardners instead of being dependent on a small variety of cash crops they cultivate over 300 varieties of plants to meet their subsistence needs. Instead of using destructive hellish machines like bulldozers, ploughs, and combine harvesters they use a slash and burn method to clear small patches just enough for them to use and their tools consist of a digging stick and woven baskets. They only use the same garden for two years and then not use the same area for at least eight years to allow the forest to regrow and return fertility to the soil.

The Canela’s vast knowledge of plants helps them determine which ones make good companions that will help each other grow, which ones are natural repellents to predatory insects that will attack the plants, and which plants to grow which will attract beneficial insects such as pollinizers. And likewise their vast knowledge of soil helps them to consciously plant to suit the 10 different soil groups in their area which will help prevent soil erosion, nutrients depletion, and combat against other harmful effects that are typical of agriculture. Their focus is for caring for the well-being of local biodiversity and the nonhuman inhabitants.

The Canel don’t see themselves as farmers but parents looking after their plant kin viewing their saved seeds and cuttings as their babies and their growing crops as their infants, genuinely loving them in the same way as if they were their human children caring for the plants as the plants care for them. They view the environment as consisting of human and nonhuman “selves”, and gardening as caretaking for themselves and their plant and human families.

[slowd1ving]

[✦III. OH, HOW TRAGIC IS HE] SNIPPET • . DR RATIO

honestly I'm so used to writing comedic scenes this is just bittersweet man :-(

warning: death but also not really, injury

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In retrospect, it was practically expected that your tired life would beget yet another tired cliché. 

There was something completely unoriginal in the series of misfortunes that befell the proletariat salaryman (read: you). In novels, movies, and the occasional game, the most ordinary of souls stumbled across a situation that chose them. For once, someone in their weary lives had need of them; not as a pushover, nor a lackey, but someone courageous and brave who became a hero. Forums and comments oft scorned these overused plotlines—and you agreed, of course—but it was an interesting premise to think about. 

“There’s a survivor on the third floor—”

Still, no matter how intriguing the promise of escape from the mundane was, it was pointless. It wouldn’t happen. 

“Hey— can you get up? Blink if you can hear me, alright? 

The accident in the lab was almost poetic. Of course, when a protagonist encountered an explosion in their place of work, there was always an accompanying montage that indicated something was wrong. Whether it be the change in key in the background chords, or a close up of cracking machinery, the audience got some sort of closure as to why. Was it fate? Was it the cruel machinations of man? Was it just an unfortunate accident?

“We need oxygen here—he’s going into shock! Help—you—get a gurney immediately!”

But actually, there was none of that fanfare for you. Just a sluggish warmth that crawled from your limbs and back into your heart, from limbs far too cold to move. No, not cold. You simply couldn’t feel them—much like when a body part suddenly fell asleep on you. 

If you scrunched your face a bit, you could smell the acrid wisps of rubble: paint chips and stone all congealing into an antiquated scent. You couldn’t exactly see, but maybe that was for the better. 

“What’s happen—” Your tongue felt leaden in your mouth: heavy and contorted as you awkwardly sounded out your question. An explosion? A gas leak? A mine that somehow went off? There was something wet dribbling from your mouth; tasting like white hot iron, seeping past your aching lips. A hero would know. A hero would have that information playing out panel by panel while they bled out, farewells and anguish for their loved ones already melding into the fabric of existence. 

Ow. 

“Shh, don’t talk, okay? We’ll get you out of here, alright?” There weren’t any reassurances for your state. No ‘you’ll be okay’, no ‘stay with me, alright?’. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t, but it was in that moment when you wished you were—dropping out before doing your degree and doctorate, keeping far from the lab, and holding on to your life with blissful ignorance on your side. 

You opened your mouth. 

“No, you don’t need to say anything, alright?” The voice was kind, you noted drowsily. If not a little clumsy, swaddling you in a foil blanket like some overgrown child. Well. You couldn’t see it, and neither could you feel it, but you could feel your limbs lolling this way and that way at the movements—like some grotesque, decommissioned marionette. 

At least it didn’t hurt.  

“Thank you,” you whispered. There was nothing outrageous about your last words. Like the rest of your life, the syllables were as ordinary as they came. A quiet beginning. A quiet end. There was nobody to say goodbye to, nobody to wait for past the veil. 

It was an accident. 

“I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?” 

Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end. 

The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above. 

[chaoslovesmisery]

Chapter 11. Claw Machines and a Wild Gaze

"I thought you were told to make bi-weekly check ups the last time you were here." Zayne says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I was..." I trailed off.

"Yet, the last time you were here was over a year ago," he pointed out, settling into his chair and placing my medical files on the desk with a deliberate thud.

"Yes, well... I'm here now. That's what counts right?" I laughed sheepishly. He doesn't crack a smile, cold as ice. Like usual.

"Why does everyone in the Anhausen class always refuse to follow doctors orders?" I hear him mutter under his breath and I try not to crack a smile knowing he was also talking about the Heroine. He grabbed his stethoscope and approached me with a clinical calmness.

"Now, let's listen to your heart," he instructed, his voice steady as he placed the cool metal against my chest. I felt a jolt of cold that made me shiver slightly.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed, leaning in to focus on the rhythm of my heartbeat. There's a small look of surprise or confusion in his eyes as he pulls back and picks up my chart again.

"You're Evol has stabilized a lot more. Have you been getting some sort of treatment?" He inquired and I thought about how I absorbed the Aether Core last week.

"Nope, not really." I say and I can see a hint of disappointment flash in his eyes.

"I see," he pauses.

"We're gonna have you run a few more tests. You tested positive for high traces of Metaflux, what do you do for living exactly?" He asks, picking up his clipboard.

"Is that really relevant, Doc?" I ask and he narrows his eyes at me.

"I mean Doctor Zayne." I say looking down.

"The recent high volumes of Metaflux in your bloodstream are abnormal. With your unstable Evol, it appears you may be on the cusp of Protocore Syndrome. I'll need to order some scans, I don't see that your previous doctor requested any. You were seeing... Doctor Noah?" he asked, surprise creeping into his voice.

"Ah yes, that sounds about right. However, that was a few years back, last year I saw someone else but I can't remember who," I replied, hopping off the crinkly white paper and making my way to a corner seat to lean back and regain my composure.

"I'm going to order a series of scans of your heart, and we'll discuss the results next week," he said, rising to head for the door.

"Well, that's not really going to happen. I just came in for a simple physical, and it seems you've told me I'm looking better than last time," I countered, rising to follow him.

"You have the start of Protocore Syndrome, which is a progressive and life-threatening illness. On top of that, your unstable Evol can lead to severe side effects if overused," he replied, blocking my path as I attempted to exit. I looked up into his striking green and amber eyes, momentarily captivated.

"My death doesn't scare me," I admitted looking down, shielding the unsettling truth that his resolve reminded me too much of the Heroine—a fact that sparked memories of my past, but that's not today's concern.

"As a doctor, it's my oath to try and save as many patients as I can," he stated solemnly before opening the door and stepping out, leaving me wrestling with the weight of his words and the implications of my fading health.

"Please, take your scans, and we will meet again next week," he instructed firmly before turning to leave, the door slamming shut behind him with a sharp bang that made me flinch. I shouldn't have talked about death so lightly with him. Although I also can't remember much of the game with him either, I do know that he also suffers from an Unstable Evol.

I opened the door and walked down the hall, each step echoing in the sterile corridor. As I turned the corner, I froze at the sight of Zayne and the Heroine just ahead. Zayne leaned down brushing something out of the Heroine's hair with a small smile crossing his face.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" A voice said behind me cause me to jump. I spun around to see a young looking man with brown hair, large black rimmed glasses, and a lab coat.

"Oh, actually..." I trailed off, glancing back just in time to see Zayne and the Heroine slipping out of sight.

"I'm lost, it's been a while since I was last here getting a checkup and I lost my way. Can you help me Doctor?" My voice wavered a bit, and I hoped my pathetic acting wouldn't be too obvious.

"S-sure," he stammered, his cheeks flushing a light shade of crimson, making me blink in surprise. Was he seriously getting embarrassed by a simple question? I couldn't help but grin at his awkwardness.

"Th-This way," he added, gesturing stiffly towards the elevators. As we walked, he struggled to strike up a conversation.

"So, what do you do for a living?" He asks. How I answered Zayne earlier seemed like the wrong response so I may as well give an answer this time.

"I'm a Hunter," I said, flashing him a warm smile, only to watch his face turn an even deeper shade of red as if my words set off a spark in him. The elevator chimed as it arrived at the first floor. "Thank you so much for your escort, Dr..?"

"Greyson." He says placing his arm behind his head awkwardly. There's something about him that seems a little familiar, like I've seen him before but I don't have much time to think about it.

"Thank you Dr. Greyson." I say as we walk out of the elevator heading to the front desk.

"Checking out." I say grabbing my phone from my back pocket checking the time.

"Your check-out paper, please?" The woman asks me, smiling.

"I'm sorry?" I replied, feigning confusion as my stomach twisted.

"When the doctor is finished with you, you'll receive a checkout paper so we can schedule any additional appointments," she explained patiently.

"Ah, that was what I left upstairs," I said quickly, hoping she wouldn't see through my flimsy lie.

"No problem! What was your name, and the doctor's name? I'll give him a call to confirm your checkout," she responded with ease. Ah shit.

"My name is Mephisto, and the doctor I saw was Dr. Zayne... but I saw his with a cute girl that looked like his girlfriend and I think I heard they went to get something to eat so I don't want to interrupt their date." I explained forcing a casual tone, based on the look on her face she knew I was referring to the Heroine. Maybe she chose the Zayne route? However, it's a difficult route choosing Astra's tool.

"When did he mention making your next appointment?" Dr. Greyson chimed in, tilting his head in an earnest way.

"I believe he said in six months," I replied, pretending to ponder as I looked up at the ceiling.

"But if the doctor needs to make an appointment sooner, you can give me a call, Miss. Yvonne," I say, turning back to the nurse behind the desk, glancing at her name tag. She takes a look at her watch, seemingly debating whether to call Zayne or not.

"It'll be alright, Yvonne. Please let Miss Hunter check out," Dr. Greyson interjected with a reassuring smile that seemed to relieve the tension in the air and Yvonne sighed.

"All set!" she said, smiling at me after a series of quick clicks on her keyboard.

"Thank you both! I'll see you in 6 months!" I chirped as I made my way to the exit. As I stepped outside I felt the cool air wash over me.

"How did everything go?" Sylus asked, leaning casually against his motorcycle just outside the hospital doors. I scanned the area for any sign of the Heroine before cautiously making my way toward him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask curiously.

"Here to take you home—hope that's alright," he replied, offering me a helmet with a reassuring smile. My gaze drifted to the arcade across the street, a place I had planned to visit after the check-up. Sylus chuckled lightly following where my gaze was.

"I suppose we could have a little detour for a game." He says, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Just one game?" I tease, a playful smile dancing on my lips as I pass him back the helmet.

"One game? Now you're testing my generosity," Sylus jokes, placing back his helmet on the bike and reaching out his hand towards me.

"Alright, five games then!" I countered, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of stepping into the arcade. He chuckled and nodded, clearly unable to resist the charm of a challenge. We walked across the street and the neon lights cast a warm glow that beckoned us inside. I notice there is a claw machine with a smiley dino and another of a crow that I had seen as an emoji recently.

"Wait, isn't that the emoji Luke and Kieran made of me recently after entering it in a contest?" O ask pulling out my phone comparing our messaged character to the plushie. I can't believe they made their emoji into a plush.

"Well, now we definitely need to get it," Sylus says with a grin, exchanging a $5 bill for a small handful of tokens.

"Who should go first?" He asks.

"You." I respond without missing a beat.

"Alright then," he says walking up to the claw machine with the crow.

"Of course you're going for that one," I say, unable to help my laugh.

"You got this!" I cheer as he steadies himself, one hand casually tucked in his pocket while the other grips the machine handle. He makes a calculated grab for the crow but just as he lifts it, it slips and tumbles back down.

"Oh no, my hand slipped. I wonder if a few more words of encouragement will help me," he says with a sly grin. As he moves the claw to try again I can't help but touch his arm, leaning in to catch a better view of his technique.

"One more nudge, and I'll be pressed up against the claw machine," he jokes and this time luck is on his side as the crow finally makes its way into the drop slot.

"A ruff-wearing crow... What a unique plushie design..." I trail off while grabbing the plushie from the machine. It's cute but looks nothing like how I look in my crow form.

"It looks great. It's refined, classy, and elegant," he defends, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Sounds like your taste in aesthetics," I reply with a playful smile rolling my eyes.

"I'll use them as a reference next time I choose a dress for you. Refined, classy, and elegant—these words suit you most," he teases, and I feel a blush creep across my cheeks.

"It's my turn now," I declare, grabbing a token and striding over to a nearby claw machine.

"It looks familiar," Sylus muses, his gaze fixed on the smiley dino inside.

"By the way, its smile reminds me of someone," I say, missing my first grab with the machine.

"Are you talking about me?" he asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips as I can't help but grin back, taking another token and giving it another go. This time I manage to lift the plush halfway up before it tumbles free, the dino slipping through my fingers.

"What made you think that? My smile is friendlier than the plushie's," he says, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. Just as he speaks, I take my last token steadying myself with a deep breath before skillfully maneuvering the claw. This time, victory is mine! I grabbed the dino and held it up excitedly. He smiles back leaning down to pat my head and a warm feeling fills my chest.

"Alright, I grabbed what I wanted. I'm pleasantly surprised you offered to play the claw machines with me today," I say, cradling both plushies as we make our way back to his motorcycle.

"What did you think I was going to have us do?" he asks, feigning bewilderment.

"You'd buy the arcade and declare that all the plushies here were under your care," I tease, laughing at the thought.

"...Your imagination is boundless yet short-sighted," he retorts, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his amusement. I gently place the plushies in my backpack, ensuring they are safe as he hands me my helmet. He hops onto the bike, and I swing my leg around, wrapping my arms securely around his back.

"You don't have to worry, Linkon City has speed limits unlike the N109 Zone," he chuckles, his laugh vibrating through my arms making me smile broader. I squeeze him a little tighter and his laughter erupts again as we take off. The city lights blur around us as we speed through Linkon City and as we reach the N109 Zone our speed picks up considerably. The sun is at the end of its sunset and the sky is a mix of beautiful shades of pink, purple, and blue.

As Sylus as I arrive to a high end shopping center, we're greeted by two rows of men wearing black suits. They bow and shout at the same time catching me off guard.

"W-what's this about?" I stammer, hastily removing my helmet.

"Kieran and the others arranged it. To give you a taste of how it feels to be the center of attention." he replies with a teasing smirk. My brow furrows.

"Was it on purpose?" I ask and he shrugs.

"This is nothing. Now, remember to maintain your 'demeanor.' " He says, placing his hand lightly on the base of my back.

"Will there be more arrangements like this in the future?" I whine lightly grabbing his upper arm

"Don't be so quick to question things." He says adjusting his hand to pat my shoulder.

"This is only the beginning.," he teases lightly, placing his hand back to my lower back, nudging me forward leading me to an elegant bar on the first floor. Surprisingly, it's right across from the photo booth where I had taken pictures with Sylus before. As we walk into the bar, the warm lights around us and gentle jazz music playing create a cozy atmosphere, and there are quite a lot of people here.

"I have a bad feeling about this..." I trail off.

"Here's the first rule: Stay calm," he whispers in my ear. We stop in the back of the bar, where there are red velvet seats watching over the rest of the place. Clearly, we are in the VIP section.

"This place seems really chaotic," I say, taking a seat in the large velvet chair, aware of the many eyes trailing us with every step.

"This will help you adapt to these sorts of situations ahead of time," Sylus replies, but I can't help but wonder why I need to get used to this kind of attention.

"Miss Hokage, your drink," a waiter dressed in black announces, sliding two drinks before us. Hokage? It seems like Kieran and Luke may have been indulging in one too many Naruto episodes recently.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Sylus asks, his voice hushed, curiosity evident in his eyes.

"That'll be all, you can go," I responded curtly, waving my hand dismissively at the waiter.

"Good, but that's not enough; if you don't show even a hint of aggression, you won't be able to keep others in check," he instructs, and I sense a hidden meaning in Sylus' words. My anxiety spikes as I take in the scrutinizing gazes around me—some obvious, others less so.

"This is child's play. I'm not scared. Didn't you say the first rule for you is 'staying calm?'" I retort, my clammy hands betraying the confidence in my voice.

"Should I let Kieran push you a bit more?" Sylus muses, pulling out his phone as if ready to make a call. In a panic, I quickly grab his sleeve.

"No need. I think it's good enough. We need to take this step by step." I say while taking a mental note to jump Kieran later for scheming this whole ordeal. He told me I needed to be more confident yesterday instead of focusing on the Heroine but I rolled my eyes at him ignoring everything else he had to say about the matter. He doesn't know the history of her and Sylus like I did.

"You're right. Turn around and look," he murmurs in my ear before stepping back, his demeanor shifting as he observes my reaction.

"Why?" I ask, confusion lacing my voice, but as I turn my head, I'm greeted by the sight of two drunken men—one tall and lanky, the other short with a staggered walk—heading straight for us.

"Was this also arranged by Kieran?!" I blurt out in a panic, my heart racing at the thought. Memories of my time with the Overlord flash in my mind, and I couldn't tell if Kieran was trying to help me face my fears or orchestrating a cruel intervention that capitalized on my insecurities today.

"Shouldn't be," Sylus replies, furrowing his brows with concern.

"They don't look friendly. Are there really that many people who don't know you?" I question, anxiety bubbling within me, and he responds with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"I'm not that infamous. Of course, I'd be a nobody to some. But remember, this is your turf now, and it's up to you to decide how to handle them," he instructs. He casually holds a glass of wine and adopts a nonchalant air, all while blending seamlessly into the crowd with his all-black attire. The relaxed confidence he exudes only amplifies my unease, leaving me to grapple with the growing uncertainty of the situation.

"I can handle slicing up enemies and their goons but... I don't know how to handle these people without a blade pressed against their neck." I admit feeling the weight of my inexperience with confrontation beyond combat.

"Relax. Handle it however you like," Sylus reassures me, surprising me further by placing the very blade I usually carry into my hand. My eyes widen in shock at the unexpected gesture, the cold metal grounding me amidst the chaos. .

"No wonder it's so lively tonight. Hey, Missy. Those people gonna back you up or what?" the tall, burly drunk man slurs as he saunters over, his presence looming like a thick wall beside his shorter companion as they stand by our table.

"You got a problem with that?" I shoot back, narrowing my eyes at both men.

"You brought a really nice gift. Don't you wanna be friends?" the shorter man chimes in, snatching the glass from Sylus' hand and gulping it down in one greedy motion.

"Tell us where your turf is and we'll pay you a visit one day," he says with a predatory smile, a surge of unease coursing through me as I try to suppress the trauma bubbling up within.

"We don't need to be friends. And as for my turf, I'm afraid you'll be hard-pressed in getting there," I retorted, looking them up and down with disdain leaning back in my seat, crossing my legs with deliberate composure.

"Show us some respect!" the tall drunkard barks but I barely glance at him, my eyes flicking to Sylus instead. He stands relaxed with his arms folded, a calm observer to the escalating tension. I unsheathe the blade and jab it into the table with a forceful slam and the blade standing tall.

"Why should I?" I shout causing their attention to snap to me and then to Sylus, confusion painting their features.

"H-He's...!" the shorter man stutters, gripping the tall man's shoulder as fear begins to seep into their eyes.

"...Hmph, let's go," the tall man mutters, his ego seemingly deflating as they both turn on their heels, scrambling away from the table.

"They left just like that? What the hell?" I ask in disbelief as I process the sudden retreat. My heart was still pounding with adrenaline but I felt a small spark of joy as I was able to push back slightly against the remnants of my past.

"A single look is enough," he says, confidently striding over toward me with an assured grin.

"It seems you haven't had your fill quite yet? Next time, there's something else you could say—" he pauses.

"Since you're here, you should leave something behind," he adds wickedly, an amused but wild glint in his eyes.

"Oh! That's quite the idea." I respond, thinking about his suggestion. It wouldn't be too bad to strike fear into people like that. He pats me on the head and warmth floods my cheeks as a blush creeps across my face, enjoying the praise.

"You can pass as a big, bad boss. Sort of. You did use your prop to your advantage," he observes, and I can't help but crack a smile, feeling a surge of confidence. I sheath my blade and secure it in the strap on my leg, having removed it earlier for my hospital checkup. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and begins to lead me away, setting my heart racing.

"Wait, where are we going?" I ask curiously.

"Darling, the second rule is to talk less," he replies playfully, guiding me back to the lobby of this high-end mall before we step into the gleaming gold and white elevators we ascend to the fifth floor.

"This is the place," he announces, gesturing toward a stylish shop that stands out amid the luxurious surroundings.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, confused as to why we were in a place filled with glasses behind display cases.

"Buying you something." He says looking at the fancy display cases that show rows and rows of sunglasses. The golden edges and inlaid diamonds sparkle with an enchanting light, all screaming luxury.

"Wait, is this supposed to be for another prop?" I question.

"Since you can't be inscrutable, use sunglasses to hide. Same effect," he suggests thoughtfully, scanning the rows before his eyes land on a pair that seems to capture his interest.

"These two," he says to the sales lady, his voice smooth and confident.

"Yes, Sir," she replies, slipping on white gloves before carefully taking the sunglasses out of their case. Sylus puts on the pair he took out and hands me the other one with a playful smile.

"Try it," he says, tilting his head slightly. I watch his slender fingers brushing against the edge of the frame before catching a glimpse of his deep eyes beneath the black lenses. They hold an intense gaze that feels almost like a challenge.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asks suddenly, I feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

"Oh, it's nothing. The sunglasses you chose are really nice," I manage to say, looking away.

"Only the sunglasses?" he teases, his grin widening. Without thinking, I snatch them from his hand and put them on.

"I get it. With these, I have a demeanor similar to yours," I say while glancing in the mirror behind me, realizing how our similar red eyes create an air of intimidation behind some simple shades.

"Let me see," Sylus says, pressing the back of my head gently to make me face him.

"Are you planning to kill with your eyes now?" he asks, raising an eyebrow clearly amused.

"Well, I was copying your look from the bar earlier," I reply, trying to maintain my serious facade.

"Don't smile. You need to frown," he instructs playfully, brushing his thumb over my lip, which makes my face heat up even more.

"Ugh, I doubt a single look can scare you," I say, turning away flustered.

"Personally, I never really cared about threats," he shrugs.

"Tell you what, if you scare me off with just a look, you win. Can you do it?" he challenges. I grab Sylus' collar and pull. Now that I'm closer to him, I give him the fiercest glare possible.

"Who said I couldn't?" I challenge, glaring hard into his eyes. For a moment, he blinks, taken aback, before a slow grin spreads across his face.

"It's a lot better now," he admits, raising his hands in surrender.

""Really?" I ask, surprised by his admission.

"My heart is racing." As he speaks, his breath brushes against my face, sending a shiver down my spine. He grabs my hand and places it on his chest, and he's right—his heart is pounding. The closeness only makes my face flush again, sending my heartbeat into a frenzy.

"So, are you going to give up?" I ask, locking my gaze with his behind the dark lenses.

"I surrender," he replies while gently lowering my hand back to my side, his tone teasing yet sincere.

"When you go out to practice your bad boss behavior, I'll arrange a group of 'bodyguards' for you later," he says, taking off his sunglasses and handing them to the sales lady, who has quietly observed us.

"What about you?" I pout slightly.

"I'm very expensive," he says with a grin, then an idea pops into my head.

"Don't worry, this big, bad boss won't be a cheapskate," I say with a smirk, sliding my hand into his front pocket where I know his wallet is tucked away. I pull out his sleek black card and hand it to the woman.

"We'll take these two out the door," I declare, and she accepts it with both hands bowing politely before disappearing momentarily.

"All right, whatever you say..." he chuckles, leaning down and gently nudging the sunglasses back up my nose.

"Boss," he says with a playful seriousness and I can't help but smile. This truly felt like a nice break after everything that happened. Like a calm before the storm. I better enjoy this while I can, who knows what will happen next.

****************************************************************

A/N: 

Chapter heavily based off/follows of Claw Machine Response: Grumpy Crow, Unique Aesthetics and Smiley Dino's Smile, and 4-Star Sylus Tender Moments: Wild Gaze

Read/Played in order:

1.  After Achieving getting Grumpy Crow, the response Grumpy Crow and Unique Aesthetics will appear. (If already achieved response can be reviewed in Love Timeline Memory)

2. After Achieving getting Smiley Dino, the response Smiley Dino's Smile will  appear. (If already achieved response can be reviewed in Love Timeline Memory)

3. 4-Star Sylus Tender Moments: Wild Gaze

***Sorry for the delay of the chapter, I will be skipping next week as I transition from my old job to my new job and celebrate both my parents birthday. I also have a trip planned for DPR Ian's concert at the end of the month but I will try to get ahead in chapters instead of write them each week. I forgot the reason why I try writing ahead haha. Please note that for a little while until we get more new Sylus content I will be using his other cards/memories for this story. I do intend on following the storyline for Sylus with the game for this story. ****

[saltsicklover]

Trouble - Fan Mail Pt. 6

Title: Trouble - Fan Mail Pt. 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2700

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of blades and straight razor, angst. Steve being an ass and Sam finding shit too funny. Overuse of names. 

-- To be continued. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :) --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

The tension hung between the super soldiers, sticky and all consuming as the hours turned to days after the fight. Bucky sent his letter, begging 201 to be real, to be the woman he is so desperately hoping she is on the other side of the postal route. 

He walked the letter down to Miss Brown himself, making sure that Steve couldn't intercept it on it's way. The moment Miss Brown locked her eyes on Bucky, the letter clutched in his grip, she knew she was in for a treat, but Bucky just handed the letter over with a polite 'thank you' before continuing on his way, leaving no room for her to make a quip about it. 

Bucky wasn't going to let anyone get in his way, not even Miss Brown and her kind smile. He couldn't afford to chance it. This letter was going to get to her, that he knew for a fact. 

The next day, he ran into Steve and Sam in the kitchen, his gut twisting with anxiety as he locked eyes on them. Sam's chest rumbled with leftover laughter, a joke spoken that has disappeared into the air around them. Steve keeps his gaze down, finding the dark coffee in his mug the most interesting thing he has seen all week. Bucky tries not to let it bother him, instead opting to nod a hello towards Sam as he passed. 

Steve's body was cocked away from Bucky, attempting to box him out. Bucky swore he could almost feel the cold radiating off of him- he hated it, but not as much as he hated their last encounter. 

Bucky has to remind himself that he hasn't done anything wrong. There is nothing in any handbook that explicitly states that he cannot have a pen pal. And why would there be? He isn't spilling government secrets, he isn't endangering others, everything about his writing to her is normal. It's the most normal thing that he as found himself a part of in a long time. He wasn't going to feel bad, and he wasn't going to let Steve make him feel bad about it either. Absolutely not. 

"What's with all the tension?" Sam questions, a shiver running up his spine. Goosebumps overtake his skin. He moves to run a warming hand over his skin, aiding them to disappear. 

"Ask Rogers," Is all Bucky mumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Steam spirals from the decanter, rippling upwards and spreading across his face. The hot liquid spills into his cup, sloshing as it's filled. Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky puts the decanter back into the machine with a little too much force, the glass clanging loudly against the walls of the machine. Sam raises a questioning brow at Steve, a tight expression covering the blonde's face. 

"We got into it a couple'a days ago," Steve brings his own mug to his lips, the mug pressed firmly to his mouth keeping unwanted words from pilling off his tongue. Bucky clutches his mug, knuckles turning white as his skin stretches harshly over bone. There is so much not being said. Bile creeps up Bucky's throat, burning. 

A noise escapes Bucky, a rough and ragged sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. The sound earns looks from the other men, eyebrows raised with anticipation. Sam knows there has to be more than they are letting on, but he is hesitant to question. The friendship Steve and Buck share is older than time and more complicated than string theory and Sam knows better than to stick his nose into places it doesn't belong. The tension, however, makes him feel like he is stuck in a foxhole, communing with God, so he pushes. 

"Sounds like there is more to it than that," Sam's tone is firm, his eyes shifting between the men. Bucky folds his arms over his chest defensively, looking through his downturned gaze straight at Steve. The blonde shifts awkwardly from leg to leg, beginning to cave under the stares of the other men.

"I'm just looking out for your safety, Buck," Steve mumbles, "Someone's gotta have your best interest in mind, especially when you don't," Sam watches as Steve's eyes make a full revolution as Bucky scoffs. 

They haven't had a fight like this in a long time. Before the war, they never fought over girls or where to spend their time. They often bickered, mostly Bucky to Steve, telling him that if he doesn't slow down he will have an asthma attack, a fit, Bucky would have to carry him home. Steve was always high off of someone's fist, pulling his face from the dirty pavement with blood flowing from his nose. Most of his shirts where stained down the front with blood from instances like that. 

Bucky fought for him, on more than one occasion, when he couldn't convince Steve that it would have just been easier to run. Running isn't always cowardly- sometimes it's necessary for self preservation. Run- live to fight another day. 

"Okay, hold up," Sam puts his hands up, one palm towards each man, attempting to deescalate the rising testosterone. "What got this whole thing started? What makes you think that Buck isn't looking after his own ass?" The whole situation seems to be becoming more ridiculous with each passing moment. 

"Steve think's 201 is trouble," Bucky mumbles into his coffee. Steve turns bright crimson, a blush crawling to live beneath his skin. Bucky can feel the frustration bubble through his veins, palm going itchy, stomach folding over itself. 

"I can't help it, Buck," Steve rubs at the back of his neck, moving to run over his bearded cheek. Bucky sends him a sort of angry shrug, his eyebrows furrowed tight. Bucky is truly finding it hard to care. 

Sam watches the interaction, the pieces falling into place in his brain. 201, Buck's pen pal, Ace! The thought hits Sam like a bullet. It strikes him, a laugh erupting from deep within his chest. The sound is full and hearty, drowning the tension in the air with a swirl of joy. It catches his friends off guard, their expressions bewildered and offended. 

"You think Ace is trouble?" Sam manages to cackle, his words falling out through laughter. "Ace? Oh you've gotta be kiddin' me!" Sam howls now, tears invading his vision as a cackle rips through him. "She couldn't hurt anyone if she tried! Hell, even with her straight razor she looked soft. There is nothing tough or menacing about her!" 

Sam is doubled over from laughter, each giggle complete with an incoherent thought about Ace and her inability to be anything other than sweet and sincere. Steve and Bucky share a confused glance, their faces tangled up as they look at Sam, head tucked between his knees as tears stream down his face. The unbridled joy that pours out of him is infectious, causing the men to snicker a bit at him. 

For the first time since the fight, the tension between Steve and Bucky seems to lesson, Sam's laughter washing over them and carrying the tension from their bones. After a moment, Steve is giggling a bit, too, leaving Bucky standing there a bit more confused than when it first stared. 

"Are you going to just laugh to yourself you asshole or are you going to tell us what's up?" Steve giggles, hand coming up to press against his chest. They watch as Sam wipes his face with the heels of his hands. He takes a couple of deep breathes, steadying himself. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sam finally gets out, "I'm good, I'm totally good!" The air in the room shifts again as they the super soldiers are still waiting for Sam to clue them in.

"Steve, you might want to hold back Buck for this next part," Sam tells them, backing up a bit to put more distance between himself and Bucky. There is already the kitchen island between them, but Sam moves to put Steve between them as well, a cautious hand out in front of him. Neither of the other men move, their feet still planted firmly in place. 

Steve is too curious and Bucky is too nervous, but neither of them show it. Steve urges Sam on with a couple revolutions of his wrist. Bucky just stares at him through his scrunched brows. 

"A few weeks ago, I wrote to Ace-" Sam begins, only to get cut off by Steve.

"Ace?" The other men question in unison.

"Yeah, Ace, that's what I call her. I didn't know her name because metal man didn't want to share it, so I had to steal it from his mail with a little help from Miss Brown; but, that's not the point of this!" Sam begins, his face flushing raspberry hues, prickling to live up his neck as he swallows thickly. 

Bucky's hands a clenched, tension grasped in the spaces between his fingers and palm. 

Sam clears his throat, "I wrote her and I told her that we needed to meet, plain and simple. I'm with you on this one, Steve. Someone had to make sure that this whole situation came up legit," He shrugs a bit, a sly smirk painted over his lips. 

Steve visibly relaxes at the news, the thoughts of him being 'crazy' or 'overbearing' or hell, even being 'paranoid' fly out the window. Sam voicing his concern for Buck really fills Steve with a sort of calm, knowing that his newest friend cares for his oldest. The thought warms his heart. 

Bucky, on the other hand, is fuming. But, he's not sure if it's because his friends don't seem to trust him to make his own choices, or if it's because Sam got to meet her first. That thought leaves Bucky feeling physically aching. The jealously snaking around the inside of his chest cavity, pulsating with each breath. His knuckles are pure white, almost like his bone is going to bust through the skin while the slight whirring sound grates through the room as the plates of his hand push together with force. 

He hunches his shoulders a little further, the jealousy making him want to shrink away into nothing as it takes over, bit by bit. The grip he has on his emotions is slipping, falling through his fingers like globs of wet sand. He aches. 

"What was she like?" Steve questions, almost like he is asking more for Bucky than he is for himself. Bucky leans in a bit, waiting for Sam to answer, that sly smirk still adorning his face. 

"At first she was guarded, closed off. Maybe protective?" Sam shrugs a bit, gesturing, "But she cornered me into her work station and insisted on giving me a shave. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous with that blade pressed up against my neck,"

Bucky chuckles at that, the low sound rumbling through his already smoldering chest. The thought of his pen pal with a blade pressed against Sam's skin while she put him in his place was just too good. 

"She was kind, attentive to her work, firm with her words, and definitely good with a blade," Sam rubs a hand over the stubble that has come in, the movement involuntary at the thought of a razor pressed against his warm skin. The memory of the sound makes him shudder, goosebumps running down his spine.

Steve and Bucky both watch Sam intensely as he fidgets a bit, thinking about what else he wants to say about his encounter with Ace. He mulls over an idea, the boys can see the cogs turning in his mind through his eyes. 

Sam bites his lip, mumbling, "She wasn't going to write you back," 

"What?" Bucky questions, "I didn't hear you,"

"She wasn't going to write you back," Sam says a little louder this time, wincing as the words leave his lips. 

Bucky's heart drops into the depths of his stomach, the jealousy coating his insides slides away as the nausea takes over. He goes cold, then hot, then cold again, sweat slicking over his skin. Bile creeps up the back of his throat. 

She wasn't going to write him back. The thought turns Bucky's stomach. He almost lost her and he didn't even know it. She almost got away from him, slipped through his fingers, ended up as a passing thought, a fleeting fancy. Almost. He didn't even know it. Fuck, how could he not have known?

But, she did write it back, the letter is currently tucked in his pocket with the others, sitting firmly against his chest- against his heart. She did write back, and he repeats that thought over and over to himself as he wipes his the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. 

"But, she did write back," Bucky speaks after a few moments of silence, the thickness of the air surrounding them seems to quell at his words. His voice is small, and he looks a bit like a kicked puppy when he speaks, but that doesn't change the words that come out of his mouth. It doesn't change the reality that she did write him back. 

Sam and Steve acknowledge his words with a nod a small smile. 

"Is that all, Sam?" Steve asks, turning his attention back. 

"She asked me to look after tin man," He smiles, gesturing over to Bucky, who's face has turned scarlet at his words. He can feel the blush running deep beneath his skin. Both Steve and Sam break into large smiles, their faces glowing with the knowledge. 

Now that everything is out, the tension around the men completely falls away. All of the anger and the resentment that hung between the soldiers for the last couple of weeks is gone. They can breathe, each drawing a deep breath into their lungs and letting the oxygen spill into their veins. 

"Are we good, man?" Sam turns back to Bucky, his eyebrows raised in question. Bucky just nods, a small bit of jealousy still stinging. Bucky can't believe he knows what she looks like before he does. 

"Yeah, Sam, we're good," Bucky offers, and with that, Sam turns to leave. 

"Wait!" Bucky calls after him, catching his attention before he rounds the corner. Sam meets his eyes with a questioning look. All Bucky can do is stand there and wring his hands together, unsure of how to broach his question without sounding insensitive. The words are stuck on his tongue.

"Buck?" Steve prompts a bit, encouraging his friend. 

"What's- uhh, what's she like?" Bucky starts off, emphasizing words to try and get a different meaning across. Both Steve and Sam look at Bucky, brandishing their best smirks. Sam just crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his body against the wall. 

"What's she like, huh?" Sam teases, earning him a grumpy stare from Bucky and a light laugh from Steve. 

"She's..." Sam starts, "She's beyond beautiful, Buck." Sam bites his lip a bit, watching the wonder and frustration bloom over his face in equal measure. "She glows, like light reflecting from broken crystal. She's honest and maybe a little broken- it's that look in her eye that got me though," he chuckles a bit, "When she asked me to look after you, her eyes were so big, like you could see through them and right into her soul," 

Those are the last words, Sam leaves him with before disappearing, leaving Bucky to over analyze each one. Steve leaves him a moment later, a small smile bidding him goodbye. 

And so, Bucky stands in the kitchen alone, feeling lighter than he has in days, brain stuck on the idea of her soulful eyes. He brings his hand up to his chest, pressing the letters closer to his heart. He can feel the faint beat through the letters, and suddenly a thought hits him-- This won't be letters forever, at some point, there will be a women standing in front of him and he will have to look at her, right in the eyes. His reflection will stare back and maybe her soul will too. 

This will not stay on paper forever, it just can't, and Bucky panics. 

TAG LIST 

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[jaguz123]

Thermodynamic Lawyer

aka: a chonny jash fanfic

yes ! hello ! idk if this is how it works really , but i've decided to cross post stuff onto here as a test i guess

... will release new parts, hopefully i can figure out how to navigate tumblr in the meantime

---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_

They stood there. Almost seamlessly. They fit into the image so well, as if they were meant to be there. But they were pasted there like patchwork- glue and shreds of paper stuck to their edges ruining their view. Freud had underestimated the power that they held, grimy fingers reaching for any ounce of influence over his sovereignty, hissing and clawing at each other.

He watched the advisors in action with a gloomy look in his eye. They threw everything they could at each other. They screamed obscenities, they slammed each other's skull in the wall… And Soul laid there, staring. He could do nothing but glare at them and their profane forms. He couldn't tell if his head was in the clouds or if it was six feet underground- fiberglass fanned across his skin, cotton in his ears. He was resting, watching as they fought, far too tired to bring out his trident.

He could offer the usual assurances. Tell them that they were the same. He could stand like that, better than them, but they looked at him as if they knew something he didn't.

Always and forever, he thought. Better. Superior.

Yes, he watched the Avian screech and sob as the Automaton ripped into his flesh with an almost guilty look in his gaze. Unwilling to indulge in his anger, and yet he committed the integral act anyway. To commit the atrocity wasn’t what was bad- it was to give into the emotion that oversees it. Mind was filthy nonetheless. Heart was soaked in the core-rotting metaphor synonymous for the trivialities of suffering that- meaning something important maybe in some other world- he had forgotten the name of. It was likely an overused proverb. Decayed trite and worthless, frayed at the edges by its repeated utterances. Paper can only stand the test of time for so long.

Soul thought, The first law of thermodynamics states… That if 2 systems are in equilibrium with a third system,- 

The Weeping Angel struck the machine in front of him with a harsh cry, wings flaring, screaming in agony, “Your fault! Your fault, you knew it, you know it! You- god, I missed! I wish I hadn’t of missed!” 

-then they are thus in equilibrium with each other. It is common sense. He lightly coughed into his palm. He watched with dying interest. His body still felt exhausted. So did he. The only difference between him and his weighted body was the fact that one listened to what he wanted, the other completely disregarded it. Guess which was which.

“Alright,” He sighed, finally at least somewhat fulfilled with his rest, tired of their bickering- “uh… Now, if I must-” grappling for his line… What did he always say here again? “You two are one in the same… Why do you always fight?” He drew out the last sentence, begging the clock to stop ticking, wailing for the bird to stop its call. Asking so kindly for the ruler to stop his parade. Not a soul in that room would listen. 

Again, they looked at him with that snobbish look of theirs. They looked tired of that bullshit of his- maybe they were just blind to their own- looking at him as if he were a child fresh from the womb.  He would crawl his way back up their expectations again maybe, perhaps he’d drag his broken body up the bell curve and label himself the average- average life expectancy, of course, if he wanted to hang by the rope then they all would.

“Are you… Blind, or something? I’m fighting for your case.” He was a thermodynamic lawyer of sorts- oh, that sounded familiar. Where’d he hear that from? Whatever. It didn’t matter. The sentence wasn’t that grand anyway. 

It appeared as though they had finally separated from their quarrel- they had found their bodies, but not their eyes. Pathos might finally come together with Logos to rise against the hypocrisy of Ethos, discreditable sources and quotes from lawyers of the past, the one who had held himself in contempt- and the third-eyed joke of a man.

(nothing against will wood btw this is just for the story)

“And… What do you think you hold against us? A noose?” Heart hissed at him, before turning around and stomping away. Mind stood rooted there like a dead tree managing to stand the weathering of lifeless bark, tolerating every force pushed against it even in its death. 

“Do you propose we sit down and have a chat?” Soul asked. He ignored how the canvas in front of him was blank. He disregarded how the clock struck twelve, pushing the ticking out of his thoughts as if it had a lack of relevance. Really, it was the most important thing he could hear at the moment. He was aware of the glare shot at him. He wouldn’t turn his back on a fucking knife, so he kept gazing at the machine-like creature in front of him. Shame he couldn’t grow a face on the back of his head to keep an eye on the mirror behind him.

“No, no- I don’t suppose I do. Just a word would be fitting.” That look. That pathetic look. It was almost pitiful, the look you’d offer an overly optimistic child that still thought the world was sunshine and rainbows and friendship bracelets at school, ketchup stains on your shirt and your hands filled with scribbles of marker. 

“Oh-” The talk would be long. Or at least agonizing. Coming from the man who had glared at himself through the glass, he knew what to expect from that attitude. To expect anything more was to expect the faceless author trying to fill some self-set quota to come up with her own clever lines, desperately scratching the surface of such demands to figure out how she even saw herself at that point.

At best, the reflection was blurred, the outcome hazy- he might slip out of this with only one or two bruises to his identity. He could try to get the superego under control, but the rider of the horse was only as strong as he willed himself to be. The mount could rear him off easily.

“You don't know yet. You truly have no idea. Of course, nothing new from the man that copes by making Tally Hall covers-" He paused for the presumed effect, “-you really are just this brand new breed of pathetic that I don't even know what to name you as.”

Soul started back with a grimace. Oh. Okay. Shit.

He blurred it all out. The anaesthesiologist had done his work well. He couldn't feel the knife digging itself into his chest, he couldn't feel it dragging chunks of his flesh out. He watched as it happened with a hollow stare- apathy was the main numbing agent. He wished he could just sink into repose like he had before. The reprise of the situation would happen again next time. Reprise? Repose? They were synonymous. Again and again, until something breaks. Something would put him to rest and he would wake up again like he had before.

“I am the lawyer fighting for your case, I am the jury arguing against you…” Soul whispered, drawing his breath near and close, almost afraid to share anything with the man in front of him. "Thermodynamics states that you are the same… The same as he… Threes, not thirds!” 

The Automaton leaned down at this, glancing at his disheveled form with slight confusion. He asked, "Pardon?”

Soul didn't listen. He was too busy hearing the ringing of the Bell curve, skull pounding in rhythm with the metronome, painting himself as the sane minority. It's the same as insane, if you really think about it. The right to a stable mind is an unobtainable privilege, but it is wholly possible in the eyes of the beholder. If only Soul was his own protagonist, then he'd be able to behold the fruits of his labors quite well. 

He leaned his head back with an almost tipsy look in his eyes, a laugh in his throat swirling with a gag. 

“Oh you think you're so smart for that… Don't you!-” He found himself suddenly hissing and lurching forward, before reminding himself of his own foreword and recalling the fact that lawyers probably don't harm their clients. Even if they're unwilling. No, he was a good person. He was whole. The other two were just parasites that had happened to stumble about. Why did he still defend their right to exist? They refused to acknowledge that they were the same.

He refused to acknowledge that the three of them were insane.

He held that thought at his lips, before standing up and nearly attempting to spit it out with a heave. 

Mind rushed towards him, joints grinding against each other artificially. He stared at him with the eyes of a snake, like some peasant trying to rid the king of his crown. Tridential regicide! God!

“No! No! This talk is over! Not another word from you!” Soul gasped, scrambling away. He collapsed just a few steps into the hall, dragging himself the rest of the way to his room.

The second law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created or destroyed- that it can only change forms. You could suppress your urges in one field to invest in another- but you can never shove down your own zeal completely.

Soul slammed the door shut, falling down completely, laying on the floor with an almost awestruck expression on his face. The very root of his issues had clawed its way out of its own grave, told him what was wrong with what Soul always did, and crawled his way back down again. The visage was rotting, the corpse was alive- the carrion was walking, its eyes on the prize! The price was anonymous, probably costing nearly two thirds of a dollar, but pest control was sacred! He needed them gone!

And even though the war would never be over, the causation of depression nearly always fighting against him and the two passengers along with him- if he could get rid of those two neat sections of the load, maybe the boat would finally stop sinking.

Or maybe it would drag him down deeper. Maybe without his two counterparts, he would be weaker. Maybe none of them were meant to tear away from the abyss, born from the sacred flesh in which their forms were sculpted from. 

Such a disgusting thought. They always swarmed around his head like flies or vultures, maybe he was the dead man walking here. Maybe that was why Heart's gaze was blind- Mind's was fresh- and his was merely atrophied from a lack of true vision. 

His ego had told him to shun away the evidence of their faces and their uncanny resemblance. It had told him to neglect how they were lacking and completing, and he had listened. He hadn't even turned to look back- as it had stolen away the whites of his eyes too, and it had sealed the half of his decent side into some merciless black. 

The closed system that he had barricaded and built around himself was loosening. It was leaking energy he would never get back. Entropy was freezing him in that very spot, the thing that kept him moving- going against the laws we have accustomed to build reality- had begun shattering in midair and fizzling out like dying oil lamps or active fireflies. He was unsure which was which, he was unsure if he would ever be sure. 

Those laws must be nonsense. If they had any stable foundation in reality, why did they desert him in the most desperate throes of looming consciousness? He didn't want to admit that he might be wrong, even if that would make him right, because there's always the possibility that the assumption of self satisfaction was to be a lie. His hands laid outstretched towards the sky, reaching out and, with dying resolve, attempting to reach for that final dream that lay beyond even the most final frontier. Fragile at closer inspection, ready to shatter, and even more ready to drag itself together because of gravity. Again, and again- and again.

No matter how many times he said again, no matter how many times he yelled cut- no matter how many directions he yelled into the void, it would happen again. The world would cleanse itself of the memory- the good and the bad. The fact and the fiction. It would recall the lines drawn between Ethos, Pathos, and Logos. The rest was irrelevant. The evidence was trite. It all existed inside of their head, things being made up inside of their individual pseudo-consciousness. What was the difference between truth and false when one lacked the confidence to attempt to differentiate between the two? Nothing.

Soul was- he was- oh, who was he fooling here if not himself? He was nobody. Not even relatively close to the identity he was supposed to be. If anything, he was cripplingly tired, and that didn't help a damn thing. He lay there with the very black sunken eyes Heart owned, and he spoke with the same sharp tongue that Mind was too preoccupied with using to detect it in his voice. Just because they only found the flaws in him that they were concerned with didn't mean that the others didn't exist. 

Heart and Mind were the same. He was different. He had to be different. Mediation was impossible then if he couldn't rip himself away from the other two. They could never be whole if they truly were the thirds they were supposed to be. They were three, and he needed to pacify them so they would finally fade away. Then he could be one. Not just one with Whole- but one as Whole.

Something in him doubted that. 

He would recite the laws. He would split off and separate himself from the bad apples, he'd roll back to the tree- the tree towering so high over them. The tree that he would have to be.

Survival of the fittest, a lawyer in the making. His finality. His solution. The one he strived for- and he was so unbelievably close. He had to ignore that nagging voice holding him back. 

---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_

AN: mid as shit ... but anyway planning for there to be three chapters in total

barely beta read/looked over ... my neglected child , we're dying like soul's ego and likely fanon god complex

[jtperfumefun]

Below is a (not so good) translation of a brief article about A-chan.

Perfume's "A~chan" from Ayaka Nishiwaki's Instagram (@a_chan.prfm_p000001)© Sports Hochi / Hochi Shimbun

Ayaka Nishiwaki, also known as "A~chan" of the three-woman techno-pop unit Perfume, updated her SNS by the 1st and introduced her training method.

The appearance of her while staying in New York in the United States attracted a lot of attention, and on her Instagram Stories, she said, "I spent several months working a demon diet!!" confessed A~-chan.

On the night of August 31, she appeared in good spirits via live streaming, and once again expressed her gratitude, saying, "#激痩せ #morbidly thin #It was a life I wanted to be told #Jaken #実は #Buttobijoy #dreamlike #鬼ダイエット #Great success #I'm healthy #Various messages #いろんな心くばりをありがとう."

She also reported that she tried Pilates, saying, "I started machine Pilates in March, and when I was surprised and enjoyed this training and my body was changing steadily, my constitution improved even the way I think about exercise and my mindset."

"Machine Pilates→ Deep muscle massage of muscle teacher (trainer Tadashi Nakatsuji) → machine Pilates→ deep muscle drainage → machine Pilates of muscle teacher ... This routine is the latest model of my body building," she explained, "The weak parts where the muscles are not used, the parts where the muscles are too strong, the parts that are overused, the parts that are stable with heels, the next step.

She also posted "#ムキムキあ~-chan" and "#私の鎖骨あったよ" during Pilates, and her toned body received comments from her followers, "A~-chan's waist egu!" and "She's a complete athlete!!" "It's a great effort lol!" and "So stoic...! It's cool."

[ludcake]

tbh mostly academic discourse here but I've always struggled with the wide use of genocide as a buzzword in modern discourse in so far as it is used to describe processes of colonial domination and imperial ventures - as a scholar in IR, there's a fundamental disconnect with the idea of describing something as a genocide without taking into account the origin of the world, which was, to quote its creator, " a crime without name".

It's difficult to be respectful to the study of Raphael Lemkin and the baggage behind it whilst also widely applying the term; it was created specifically in the context of Lemkin as a Jewish and Polish refugee to describe the process of Nazi extermination of minorities, which he differentiated later from ethnocide (which is specifically the destruction of the cutural heritage of a people) and which he drew specifically as a shared link between the Armenian Genocide and the Holocaust, and his later work in analysing French colonial policy in Algeria and Soviet policy in Ukraine.

Genocide has become a really easy word to use, same as "fascist", but it carries a unique weight to it that makes it hard for me to use it without careful consideration; because genocide isn't just the extermination of a group of people, it's not just mass murder, it's not just ethnocide, it's not a secondary consideration. It is the combination of all these factors - and ultimately, a crime committed with intent and purpose. It's become a buzzword since the 1990s and its use to describe the Hutu-Tutsi conflicts in Rwanda, and with its popularity there came an overuse of it to describe bad things in general - the United States is committing a genocide, the Portuguese committed genocides, Russia commits genocide, it becomes so ubiquitous that its characteristic, founding itself as a "crime without name", loses entirely the weight of its origin.

What word can describe the intentional extermination and destruction of a people so that they would become a relic of history, targeted with the full intent of industrialising a machine of slaughter, if genocide now no longer manages to encompass the specific cruelty of those circumstances?

The United Nations, following Lemkin's guidance, created a convention on genocide. It codified it as such;

"genocide means any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: (a) Killing members of the group; (b) Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; (c) Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; (d) Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; (e) Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group."

Yet that definition does not encompass Lemkin's original definition either, in his work Axis Rule in Occupied Europe, as follows;

New conceptions require new terms. By "genocide" we mean the destruction of a nation or of an ethnic group. This new word, coined by the author to denote an old practice in its modern development, is made from the ancient Greek word genos (race, tribe) and the Latin cide (killing), thus corresponding in its formation to such words as tyrannicide, homocide, infanticide, etc. Generally speaking, genocide does not necessarily mean the immediate destruction of a nation, except when accomplished by mass killings of all members of a nation. It is intended rather to signify a coordinated plan of different actions aiming at the destruction of essential foundations of the life of national groups, with the aim of annihilating the groups themselves. The objectives of such a plan would be disintegration of the political and social institutions, of culture, language, national feelings, religion, and the economic existence of national groups, and the destruction of the personal security, liberty, health, dignity, and even the lives of the individuals belonging to such groups. Genocide is directed against the national group as an entity, and the actions involved are directed against individuals, not in their individual capacity, but as members of the national group.

The following illustration will suffice. The confiscation of property of nationals of an occupied area on the ground that they have left the country may be considered simply as a deprivation of their individual property rights. However, if the confiscations are ordered against individuals solely because they are Poles, Jews, or Czechs, then the same confiscations tend in effect to weaken the national entities of which those persons are members.

Genocide has two phases: one, destruction of the national pattern of the oppressed group; the other, the imposition of the national pattern of the oppressor. This imposition, in turn, may be made upon the oppressed population which is allowed to remain or upon the territory alone, after removal of the population and the colonization by the oppressor's own nationals.

Denationalization was the word used in the past to describe the destruction of a national pattern. The author believes, however, that this word is inadequate because: 1.) it does not connote the destruction of the biological structure; 2.) in connoting the destruction of one national pattern it does not connote the imposition of the national pattern of the oppressor; and 3.) denationalization is used by some authors to mean only deprivation of citizenship."

Here, then, the fundamental thesis of genocide is the nation; and that is also something that is difficult for me to reckon with, because I am not a nationalist. I do not believe in the utility or use of the bio-cultural nationhood to define geopolitical terms, and think that as people, we have closer kinship between each other by our shared material reality than we do due to national kinship. How can we better understand the gross material reality of death for death's sake - because that, to me, is the true crime behind it, the killing for the sake of elimination, the completely and wholly negative act of complete destruction engineered by the methods of capital industrialism and powered by the murderous intent of ideology - and yet reckon with it? To put it in other terms, how can we reckon with genocide, when the word is so thoroughly stigmatised that it is used as a generic negative, rather than as the thoroughly specific, legal term that brought it to genesis?

At what point do we understand that key word - objective, intent - and at what point does death no longer mean a statement upon nationhood, and at what point do we define nationhood to a group? The UN definition would see us define nationhood as an abstract, by which religious groups constitute a nation whole, yet on the flipside we do not understand political affiliation, or personal belief or philosophy, to warrant such protection. What is the inception of a nation that makes it liable to be genocided? Is there a word to describe solely the uniquely destructive ideology of genocide, or a word to describe it in service to other goals, is there a word that would differentiate Soviet policy in Ukraine to British policy in Wales to French policy in Occitania to German policy in Bavaria? Is there a word that would differentiate the colonial enterprise of Britain in India to its enterprise in the Americas? To the Spanish enterprise in the Andes, to Portuguese enterprise in Mozambique and Angola, to the Brazilian enterprise within its own territory, to the American enterprise in Liberia and the American enterprise in Mexico? Do we accept that genocide is such a widely occurring act that there is no fundamental differentiation between the clash of Hutu and Tutsi peoples to the Belgian domination of Rwanda? No difference between the starvation of India and the treatment of Bangladesh by Pakistan? At what point is there not another "crime without name", then? When do we require new words to define these concepts, at a time when there is such a clear interest in redefining and expanding the word genocide so that all peoples have a claim to it, to a point wherein it becomes so commonplace that again we're left with no words to describe the unique evil of enterprises such as Nazi Germany, Manifest Destiny, Manchukuo and the CUP? How do we differentiate these from apartheid, and from colonialism, and wars of extermination?

Is there, again, a crime without name?

[forgottenyear]

Following what I wrote in the last post – in which I may have stumbled over the soft-switching that must occur for us to do things that fear stops me from doing – it is possible that some form of shuffling must occur before I can write for this blog.

In my steady state, I feel nothing. With respect to these subjects, at least.

To write for therapy, I need to tap in to emotions that are ordinarily switched off to allow me to function. The emotions are extreme, and it is extraordinary to feel them, and so they can overwhelm my initial purpose for writing. I am also attracted to them, moth to flame style, because they feel like life in the absence of regular feeling. Then we reshuffle and the parts that are usually erased from awareness come to the fore. (I feel like “shuffling” is the best description for the experience, so I may overuse the word for a while. Sorry.)

There is a lot of pain back there. There are emotions I do not understand. The past and the parts are the chaos that I rightly fear, and that I do not ordinarily tolerate. We cannot function in the chaos, and I did function in its relative absence (during the amnesia).

--

The new machine I am wiring uses deadly currents. I decided to work my way backward through the circuits – I have focused exclusively on grounding and will work back to the working circuit last. I am making no assumptions because any false assumption could be my last. (I am saying I in this case because my fear and respect for electricity are overriding my faith in the unfused part’s abilities. I am not sure if the saying, “two heads are better than one,” necessarily applies here, but the point is still valid. I am not obstructing or endangering the project by injecting an extra level of safety.)

I think there is application for this model in my therapy writing. I am a sucker for words like “grounding,” that have actual meaning in both environments.

--

So, somewhere toward the beginning of this post, I was going to write about how the emotional levels of posts to this blog are either 0 or 10, and rarely anything between. The feels need to trip an emotional circuit breaker, to trigger a reshuffle, and then to leave me emotionally hungover; or it is just a dry, academic discussion of no consequence.

What I am describing here is cliché on the page, but no less a reality.

--

I now remember that I have written, maybe a few years ago now, that I do not know how to help Angela. I barely know how to help myself. I do not know what to do with her trauma. It is kind of the thing with DID, that I have no common references with which to understand what she went through.

When it comes to the boy part(s?), I have no awareness of their trauma(s?). I have so little awareness that the boy part is mostly only an undeveloped concept for me. Words on a page, only. Our system’s junk drawer, I suppose.

I still feel like these parts are complete strangers who moved in overnight, when the amnesia broke. I still hope they will move on soon.

I would like to help the parts, but I also need to remain uninvolved for safety.

I am glad I am not them.

[meagenimage]

So supposing I get hired as a human image-to-text transcriber for- Chinese is overused as an example, let's say Hangul (the Korean alphabet). I spend all day looking at Hangul letters, looking up the Unicode for it on a chart and typing that code into the computer. (dream job, btw) My chart doesn't tell me how each symbol is pronounced and I have no idea what the texts I'm transcribing are about.

I'll probably be very slow at first and I have to spend a lot of time checking my Hangul-to-Unicode chart for every symbol, but with practice I will improve. Eventually I might be typing in Unicodes in a blur, without ever needing to check my chart. Maybe my bosses could even give me hand-written or partly smudged Korean texts, and I will do a fairly good job at guessing which character comes next (thanks to having seen many such a sequence in my time).

Would you say that at this point, I can understand written Korean?

Just like a native Korean transcriber, I use my eyes to detect the pattern of the symbols, and associate that in my brain with the Unicode number of that symbol. You can put me in a brain scanner and there will be a part of my brain that lights up when I do my transcription.

I have the same competence as a native Korean transcriber, but I have competence without comprehension.

When we teach small children to do math, we would like for them to develop competence as well as comprehension. So on one hand we want them to memorize the times tables, but on the other, we give them word problems. "If I have four baskets and there are six oranges in each basket, how many oranges do I have?" and the child has to figure out from context which operation they have to do with the numbers they just heard. "Four plus six equals ten" is a correct statement, but it is not the right answer to the problem!

Computers are built on programming and programming is based on algorithms, and the definition of an algorithm is that it will produce the correct answer when properly carried out even when the person (or program) doing it has no comprehension of the problem. An algorithm is competence without comprehension.

Every computer program we have today has an equivalent on Turing's universal machine. Turing's machine can read symbols off of a tape, erase and write a new symbol, or move left or right on the tape. It can go into various "states" and it has a finite lookup table for what it will do next, given the current symbol and state.

Turing's machine does not have comprehension. It cannot map the symbols to anything in the real world, because it has no concept of the real world. You can give it a set of instructions that tell it how to convert an input of "view from camera" into an output of "robot moves in a way to avoid obstacles", but that does not give it a concept of "space" or "movement" or "environment". It has nowhere to store those. All it does is follow instructions to produce an output.

I'm not saying we will never be able to create a truly thinking being with circuits and programming instead of meat and chemicals, but it will not happen with a Turing machine. And right now, everything we have is a Turing machine.

[hollow-keys]

For the Doctor Who Asks: 2.0 game- All of the questions! (Or all of the ones that you feel like answering.)

Okay, alright!

1. Why do you love Doctor Who so much?

I'm a big fan of sci-fi in general honestly and always have been, especially if it has a lot of media to pick and choose from and lore to sink my teeth into. Doctor Who is specifically very interesting as a time travel show with a rotating cast and media in several different formats which lends itself to perpetual change and creativity and you can revisit prior eras without derailing the current one.

2. Which Doctor would you most want to travel with?

Two or Three. It's no secret that I love Two, Jamie and Zoe so it is ofc a dream to hang out with my faves. Three is kind and considerate of his companions but he's also the realest when people cross him so I think he'd be nice without being Too Nice yk. I made a joke post about this, but he wouldn't beg the Master to regenerate after tormenting his friends and the entire planet for a year (looking at you, Ten).

3. Which Doctor and Companions would be your perfect Tardis team?

My fave canon team is Two, Jamie and Zoe (Though Five, Tegan and Turlough is also great) but a non canon team? Uhhh. Two, Jamie and Tegan could be fun because she's a strong personality like Zoe but also a layperson like Jamie. I've already said Jamie and Leela in another post (sensing a pattern but he is my guy), Bill could be great on pretty much any team as a true everyperson because she truly is just Normal. Like, the other TARDIS team members are arguing and she just says something that seems obvious in retrospect but nobody else thought of. She can just cut through bullshit frfr.

4. Would you rather hang out with Jamie Mccrimmon or Sarah Jane Smith?

Jamie. Sorry Sarah Jane but he's my guy.

5. Classic Who or New Who?

Classic. NuWho takes itself so seriously sometimes like it's trying too hard to be Mature™ and distance itself from the "silly show for nerds" reputation the Classic series got. I appreciate the budget and the added emphasis on emotional arcs but watching the Doctor go through the same character arc again and again and make a speech about how much murder they've done and how ~morally ambiguous~ they are at least once per season is tiring. This is why later One era, Two, Three and Early Four is peak Doctor Who to me. They're just a bit of a tetchy guy travelling the universe and helping people.

6. Would you rather be a Dalek or a Cyberman?

Would I rather be shot or shot? Hmm. If I choose Cybermen can I be one of the good ones like Bill?

7. What's your favourite story from each Doctor 1-15

Okay, That's tough so I'll give a maximum of 3 per Doctor.

One: Planet of the Giants, The Celestial Toymaker and The War Machines

Two: The Evil of the Daleks, The Mind Robber and The War Games

Three: The Mind of Evil, Day of the Daleks and The Three Doctors

Four: The Arc in Space, The Sun Makers, and State of Decay

Five: Castrovalva, Earthshock and Frontios.

Currently on Six's era and not familiar with Seven or Eight.

I don't remember most of NuWho well enough to comment rn (planning on a rewatch once I'm done with Classic) but for Tenteen (who shouldn't be a separate Doctor to Ten but whatever) it's obviously Wild Blue Yonder and 15 only has two stories which are both kinda mid.

8. Do you think any creatures have been overused? If so, which ones?

Yes. Daleks, Cybermen and to a lesser extent, the Master. The Daleks are a one trick pony, and their one trick can be done better by other villains. The Cybermen are interesting but aren't always utilised effectively/are overused. The Master is more versatile as a three dimensional character and a Time Lord who can regenerate and therefore, change personality but is still sometimes overrelied on where re/introducing other three dimensional villains would have more variety.

9. Who is your favourite Doctor Who writer?

Umm, I don't really have favourite writers? I have stories I enjoy but I don't really have a specific writer where I'm like "This guy gets it!"

10. What is your favourite piece of music from Doctor Who?

And if I say the theme tune is that a cop out? It's just so good.

11-15. Are about Torchwood and Sarah Jane Adventures and I've never watched Torchwood and can't remember enough about SJA.

Thanks for asking!

[active-fitness-store]

5 EFFECTIVE ELLIPTICAL WORKOUTS FOR WEIGHT LOSS: REAP THE BENEFITS WITH SOLE ELLIPTICALS

Do you want to lose those excess pounds and reach your fitness goals in a pleasant and effective way? The elliptical machine is the only thing you need! The elliptical provides low-impact, full-body exercises that burn calories and tone muscles. It is an excellent exercise machine for weight reduction and general cardiovascular health. This blog post will go over five energizing elliptical workouts that will assist you in achieving your weight reduction goals. We'll also stress the value of using premium equipment like Sole ellipticals, with a concentrate on the renowned Sole E95 Elliptical and the stylish and reasonably priced Sole E20.

The Power of Interval Training: Unleash It  A tried-and-true way to get the most of your elliptical workout and accelerate your weight reduction is to use interval training. Short rest intervals are interspersed with times of intense exertion throughout this program.

Start your workout on the E20 or advanced E95 with a five-minute warm-up at a moderate tempo when utilizing Sole ellipticals. Then, increase the resistance and speed for 30 to 60 seconds to exhaust yourself. This is followed by a slower 1-minute recovery phase.

For 20 to 30 minutes, repeat this cycle. Your heart rate will increase as a result of the powerful bursts of exercise you perform during high-intensity intervals, enabling you to continue burning calories after your workout is over. You won't have any problem with Sole Ellipticals changing the resistance levels or tracking your progress with the user-friendly displays.

A Steep Hill to Success Adjust the slope on the Sole E95 Elliptical to simulate the experience of climbing a steep hill while working different muscle areas and burning calories.

Start with a flat incline, 5-minute warm-up. Then, adjust the inclination on the machine to a difficult level and go slowly for three to five minutes. As you persevere, your quads, hamstrings, and glutes will start to work harder, increasing your calorie burn.

The E95's user-friendly console, which shows important information like time, distance, and calories burnt, is a great tool for keeping track of your progress. Regularly including uphill climbs in your workout can not only aid in weight loss but also assist you develop lower body strength and endurance.

Long Distances That Build Endurance

The Sole E20 is the ideal training partner for individuals who want longer, steady- state sessions. The objective is to keep the same speed for a considerable amount of time, usually 45 to 60 minutes. Set the resistance level so that you can walk with ease while still maintaining your stride.

Because of the E20's silent operation and ability to help you focus on your workout, the time goes by quickly. You'll target your aerobic system, burn calories, and enhance your cardiovascular fitness by maintaining a moderate effort. When you want to give your body a vacation from intense exercises or for active recuperation days, long-haul sessions on the Sole E20 are fantastic.

Change Your Habits By switching up your elliptical workout, you may engage various muscle areas and mix things up. You may cycle backward on Sole Ellipticals like the E95 and E20, which emphasize various muscles and give your exercise more variety.

Cycle for two to three minutes in the opposite direction after a quick warm-up in the forward direction. Maintain a straight spine and engage your core. Since this workout focuses on the hamstrings, calves, and glutes especially, it will help you tone and improve your lower body. By following this pattern consistently throughout your workout, you'll not only burn more calories but also avoid overuse problems from repetitive moves.

Tabata-Style Exercise A high-intensity workout technique called tabata training uses a 20-second on, 10- second off pattern. Start with a 5-minute warm-up on the Sole E95 elliptical. Next, give it your best for 20 seconds, working as hard as you can against extreme opposition. After then, take a calm, steady 10-second rest break.

For a total of 8 sets, repeat this cycle for 4 minutes. Finish the workout with a 5- minute, easy cool-down. You'll surely be out of breath after a session of tabata training on the Sole E95 Elliptical, but it's a highly efficient technique to increase metabolism, burn fat, and raise fitness levels.

[magicalbuffalotransformerman]

Now, they say that to name a ship, you need to follow a sort of... list of regulations. The President of the United States before the time of the USS Fuck Around and Find Out, Jeremy L. Blazkowitz, had felt that the regulations were good, yes, but also outdated. So, he had it so that the regulations around ship-naming were optional from his first day in the Oval Office.

This had led one ship-designer (of coincidentally German descent), Ronald Gewehr, to draw a boat that he'd had in mind since he was a young adult. He designed a 457,000 tonne battleship, similar to the days of old, arming it with guns larger than those could have dreamed of back in the 1950's, and missile/torpedo systems 'out the wazoo', as it were.

Unfortunately, the higher-ups caught wind of what Ronald wanted built. They sent a messenger to his domain to remind him that the Washington Treaty was still in effect, to his chagrin and despair. The messenger handed Ronald a letter alongside the barren news and went along with her day.

The letter read as follows:

Ronald W. Gewehr of the United States Navy, We recognize your ambitions of building what you write to be a 'fuck-off massive war machine' in the form of the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'. We are pleasantly surprised at the design of the ship, as it invokes memories of the older designs of warship. One member said that it reminded them of the mighty Warspite. The rest of us, however, have two problems with your ship; One, it is much too large to fit within the bounds of the Washington Treaty, and thus cannot be built, Two, multiple members state that your overuse of unsavory wording is inappropriate for an official government blueprint. We hope this letter finds you peacefully. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, U.S. Navy (P.S. the name is funny.)

Ronald's dream had been dissolved before his very eyes. How had he missed the Washington Treaty?! He sat upon his dining room chair, eating a soggy bowl of cereal in despair for the rest of the evening.

Twelve days later, the POTUS had decided to come visit Ronald's living quarters.

"What?!", Ronald exclaimed, "The President of the United States? In my house?! What do you need, sir?"

"I like your battleship design." the POTUS responded. "It's much too big for the Treaty to handle, but I figured 'meh. Sounds like fun'. Would you like to create an illegal battleship blueprint for me?"

"I'd be more than delighted to, sir," Ronald stuttered, "but what would happen if the Joint Chiefs found out?"

"You have my permission, Ron, don't worry," the POTUS assured Ronald. "I've had a conversation with the boys upstairs and, after a while, they said it's alright for this battleship of yours to be built. One problem, though."

"Yes?"

"None of the dockyards we have are large enough to build it."

"...Oh."

"However," the POTUS continued, "I also spoke with the PM up in the Great White North. He said he'd put aside a dockyard for us."

"Oh, how kind of him."

"That's what I said! I've arranged a limousine to come pick you up as soon as you're done with the blueprint. Here;" the POTUS handed Ronald his personal cell number. "just call me once you're done and I'll have the limo send you north."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. President."

"Not a problem, Ron. Just, uh... make sure no one else knows, else it might be."

With that, the President left for the Oval Office once again, and Ronald hurriedly got to work on the official blueprints of the USS F.O.a.F.O, purposefully named 'Project Counterstrike' for the time being.

Turns out, the exact same situation played out, beat for beat, across the ocean in the Land of the Rising Sun itself; Japan. Apparently, as the scouts would have it, they're adding more turrets to a Yamato blueprint and calling it the Sekiryu. This surprised old Jeremy B., who assumed that his situation with Ronald was an isolated incident. 'Had they heard of Project Counterstrike?', he thought to himself.

He hoped that he Japanese were just building this for nostalgia's sake.

They were not.

Some days later, the President had been told by his messenger that the Japanese are declaring war on the USA... again.

"So, they want to get Hiro-Naga'd again?"

"No, sir," his messenger corrected him, "they say they want the Sekiryu to duel our- your private project."

The President suppressed some laughter. "Oh, those poor fools.", he simply added. The President politely asked his messenger to leave, before contacting the Oak Bay engineers up in the North.

"'Ello?", a gruff voice questioned the unknown caller.

"Hello. Is this the chief engineer of Oak Bay?"

"Yessir. What do you need?"

"I need you to start work on Project Counterstrike, urgently."

"Heh. You got it, big man." The Chief Engineer hung up.

On the President.

...Rude. But, good. Means they'll be able to fight the Japanese with something efficient... well, for what it is, one would suppose.

Two years later, the duel went swimmingly well for the Americans. The Fuck Around and Find Out's shells sunk the Sekiryu from 100 kilometers out, in a freak show of luck, leaving the Sekiryu looking like the USS Arizona had back in the Pearl Harbor attack.

Some amount of centuries later, a starship designer had wanted to pay tribute to the USS Fuck Around and Find Out. He figured that the Astrogeks, being as aggressive as they are, wouldn't want to face a human fleet on home-turf. He asked Upper Management if they could build, in his words, 'the most terrifying warship in the Universe'.

Upper Management complimented the designer by building such a monument of death within two coincidental years. The USWF Fuck Around and Find Out, colloquially named Foxtrot Overlord and Fuckin' Overloaded by the Fleet, orbited the Moon.

The Astrogeks came knocking with a fleet thousands strong.

Peace negotiations begun almost immediately.

The President of the USA, now termed the President of the USW, Albert D. Eisenhower, had decided: "Hey, that was... remarkably quick. How about we do that every time someone gets pissy-pantsed at us; just let the Foxtrot Overlord sit around and look scary?"

And so: they have.

They say that humans are the proverbial 'Sleeping Giant', an efficient deterrent of war, due to their complicated and destructive history. This makes them the most terrifying fleet in the Universe, with a monument to their history floating ominously around their Moon. The 'Galactic Federation', as the opposing forces like to call them, are notorious for parking the USS Fuck Around and Find Out nearby their homeworlds if they're found to get a little rowdy.

Peace negotiations happen within the week. Naturally.

Humans are the proverbial “Sleeping Giant,” and thus make remarkably good deterrents. A common tactic of the Galactic Federation is to simply call in a human warship, such as the USS “Fuck Around and, FindOut,” and simply let it sit nearby. Peace Talks happen within the week.