#typing straight into tumbles is a fast track to crashing my computer

[yallemagne]

So I finished the first season of X-Men: The Animated Series of course. Highlights?

Episode 1 & 2: Night of the Sentinels

Jubilee's father really fuckin sold her out huh? And holy shit the fucking sentinels. Dog, why did you MAKE THEM SO BIG. I had expected like that they started small and got bigger ones when the X-Men were revealed, but no, without even alerting the nation that they were making these robots, they sent a giant ass robot into a mall to capture one teenager.

Me pointing out "huh Morph is getting a lot of moments here, I like it" followed by them immediately dying. Like damn. They really did that. No wonder the creators backed out of having Thunderbird be in Morph's role, that would have just been insulting. Especially since he probably wouldn't have been brought back.

"Tell Cyclops... I made him a convertible."

Cyclops refuses to apologize for leaving without Morph and Beast but instead offers Logan an opportunity for revenge. It's so them. These petty bastards.

Episode 3: Enter Magneto

Beast... you're so silly. So, Beast refuses a rescue by Magneto (he's imprisoned) because "I'm awaiting a fair trial that will prove my innocence"... girl. You are a giant blue man. So, yeah, another case where Magneto was right.

Sabretooth is such a fake-ass bitch, I love it. So, he shows up at the trial causing a ruckus and gets injured and the X-Men take him in and start treating him like their pathetic little meow meow. This couldn't possibly go wrong.

"Come on, they're gonna kill him!" "Good." *turns around* "WHAT?"

"He's a threat." "He was near death." "Not near enough."

They just keep giving Wolverine all the best lines.

Episode 4: Deadly Reunions

Sabretooth, my poor little meow meow... all you did was a few itty bitty kitty murders... That's what Charles is saying at the start of this episode.

Xavier truly does try to get to the root of Sabretooth's anger with some super therapy, but alas, Sabretooth is just That Bitch. We do know that a competent telepath can temper his anger though, just look at Birdy.

They leave Jubilee alone with him acknowledging full well "this man is more dangerous than Wolverine... have fun babysitting!" He's restrained in a chair growling "let me at 'em" as Senator Kelly is being racist on TV and Jubilee very kindly turns it off and he's like "sowwy I'm twying to be a good boy... 😿" So of course Jubilee sees his restraints are hurting his wrists and releases him to help. Hahahaha. Oh girl.

If this were a show being produced today, I could totally see Sabretooth being accepted by the X-Men because "daww look he's angry just like you Wolverine" being drawn out into a longer arc where he actually gains their trust so it creates a genuine rift in the team... but also maybe he's not that patient for a scheme like that.

(also I know the show probably isn't going with the continuity that they're blood-related, but Wolverine telling them Sabretooth is nothing but trouble and getting hit with "but he's just like you 🥺" is very brother-coded okay?? Anyone who has a terrible older brother can relate.)

"Alright you egg-sucking piece of gutter trash. You always liked pushing around people smaller than you. WELL, I'M SMALLER! TRY PUSHING ME!!" << that's some little brother dialogue.

(… Morph would have listened to Wolverine about Sabretooth. Morph knows the Deep Lore.)

Episode 5: Captive Hearts

Callisto saw Cyclops and immediately said "I'm gonna make him my trophy husband", and while that is a valid reaction, no means no, hun.

They literally establish Storm as the Morlock's future Moses basically with her promising to come back for them when the time is right and they feel safe to breech the surface. And then they gave Magneto that role in '97. Ugh. He has the nerve to say Xavier just left them down there when it was in fact Storm that respected their right to self-determination.

Episode 6: Cold Vengeance

I love every time I see Sabretooth, he's just so silly-looking. No wonder everyone else imprinted on him like "hehe silly orange kitty" he's so BIG. He's incredibly top-heavy, just look at his bazongas.

We got through this with no sacrifice of Inuit life but a sombre sentiment that they'll be abandoning the old ways rather than rebuilding their homes.

Episode 7: Slave Island

Jubilee and Gambit have a nice little dynamic. He's the first person Jubilee used her powers to protect and she does it multiple times. I imagine he's like her cool older brother with street smarts.

No wonder Gambit was suspicious of Genosha in '97. Can't really trust that all is well when the foundation of that place was quite literally built with slavery.

This just makes Magneto's "tsk tsk Charles didn't use his wealth and resources to ship a load of UNWILLING Morlocks to Genosha for their own good" comment in '97 all the more frustrating. Man can be a dumbass.

Anyway--- CABLE CABLE CABLE. My silly little big boy.

Episode 8: The Unstoppable Juggernaut

Juggernaut is such a funny guy. I feel like usually, the big guys don't get to be the wise-cracking type, so this piece of shit was fun to watch.

Also just love Colossus, he's perfect.

Episode 9: The Cure

It's hard to feel bad for Warren when he's literally rich and funding a project that can be easily weaponized to hurt mutants. Sure, he was tricked and wasn't actually funding his "cure", but it would have been awful even if he got what he wanted. Just wear one of those collars for the rest of your life, jackass.

HOW IS NO ONE CHECKING IN ON THIS RESEARCH?? This experimentation on human beings is taking place with no government interference???

Pyro and Avalanche are fucking don't even try to convince me otherwise. Pyro, I don't care where you are from, I'm gonna be so weird about you calling every man you meet “darling”.

Episode 10: Come the Apocalypse

The public will see literally any villain and be like "A RENEGADE MUTANT!!" Like yeah sure I think Apocalypse technically is a mutant?? But like they really just profile all criminals as mutants.

Again, not sorry for you, rich boy.

Poor Rogue, having to absorb all these men's damage.

Episode 11 & 12: Days of Future Past

Bishop is a fucking traitor holy shit. Sure he gets better but damn. Girly was really like "The face-eating jaguars would never eat my face." and then was immediately told he was no longer needed.

"Someone... or something has come back through the time portal." "CHECK PLEASE! TIME PORTAL?"

"You kids better behave yourselves; I'm staying behind to babysit."

"Okay, ROUND BOY. Let's dance."

Wolverine has all the best lines.

Wonder why Mystique specifically chose to impersonate Gambit for the assassination. Perhaps he seemed the most likely? Perhaps a grudge against him for his relationship with Rogue?

Episode 13: The Final Decision

I'm so fucking disappointed that the fate of mutantkind lies in the hands of Senator Kelly because, dog, I wanna shoot him.

When you make a giant racist robot factory and even the giant racist robot factory is smart enough to recognize that mutant rights are human rights and so it resolves to protect humanity by replacing it with robots. Fucking dumbasses.

Honestly makes you wonder what the fuck Trask thought he was doing coming back in the new series. He knew that starting up another Master Mold would inevitably lead to the robots replacing politicians' brains with computers and he DID IT AGAIN ANYWAY.

Seeing Chuck and Magnus working together always warms my heart. And then they go right back to being enemies.

That Mister Sinister teaser at the end was... I'm not gonna say it.

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 2

SUMMARY: “Connor read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.”

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3

---

[...RECHARGING…]

[...RECHARGING…]

[...100%]

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL. VISUAL FEED NORMAL. TIME: 3:09 A.M]

‘Yea, the diplomats are doing their thing.’ Hank, eating a burger. ‘But they aren’t here with us. Doing the work on the ground, you know? It’s never gonna be...quite the same.’

‘Here with us.’

‘Life’s that way.’

‘You’d miss me.’

[RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC…..ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

Androids do not dream. Connor understands this. But the thoughts circle, endlessly. He processes and scans the color, texture, and sound of his memories until they are a grainy nonsense of variables that shouldn’t be there. Voices stop sounding right. Freckles are in the wrong place. Lips are the wrong size. The recollection is perfect; his sensor scans are absolutely complete.

The wrongness persists.

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

He opens his eyes. Moonlight and the white glare of streetlamps shine through the dusty windows of Hank’s spare room (“You live here, you live like a civilized human man. Android man. Fuck it, you know what I mean.”). Sumo snores softly in the hallway and his owner snores louder still in the bedroom across the way. All things normal.

Don’t tell me you were working this whole time.

I was at Dan’s.

A smile, and a strange look in Hank’s eye -- uncategorizable. No statements of clarification. Continues to watch television.

Connor could get up and work. Read one of the books Hank suggested. But the thoughts spin on, so many of them, and he’s not sure he’s willing to leave them be.

She’s interfacing again. Stress level: 55%. Monitor your life signs.

Incorrect prioritization. Monitor her life signs.

Mouth open, face uncharacteristically inexpressive. Eyes (dark brown -- dark dark brown, where do they go?) out of focus. Extremely minor shivering.

Why?

His eyes fly open and he focuses again on the chilling brightness of the moon, if only to stop this thought cycle before it can begin. The street is silent. He read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark of the sky gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.

[TIME: 3:15 A.M.]

--

Emma steps out of the client’s house, wiping sweat and grit off her forehead with the back of her glove. Clouds obscure the weakly setting sun, casting the neighborhood in a downcast gray. Materials she’d need for tomorrow’s drywall installation cycled through her head, hammering out all curious thought. A litany of the most boring items imaginable.

Nothing like exhaustion to beat the worry out of you.

Sleep or stagework? She hesitated outside her Taurus, testing the tires with her boot. If she had to ask, maybe she should just go home...

Her phone softly chimes.

Who could possibly want to call me now ?

She digs it out of her thick coat with a furrowed brow, suppressing a sigh. The number was “unknown,” but that was hardly unusual in her line of work. Androids were buying their own phones, but the savvy ones were understandably wary of tracking.

She clicks it over. “Emma Ibori.”

“Emma. Are you free?”

She blinks at the voice on the line. “Speaker Markus?” Well, that explains the blocked number. “...how’d you get my number?”

“It’s in the Corps files,” he says. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” His voice is warm but straightforward, plodding along pleasantries as if by rote.

She raises a brow in interest, but her gut sinks. The leader of the preliminary Android government probably didn’t just call people to chat. “Sure, no. What can I do for you?”

--

Hank taps his empty coffee cup on his desk and stares at Connor. He checks his watch...he’s been staring for a good three minutes now. Connor doesn’t even seem to notice.

Hank leans back in his chair, making it creak, and sighs heavily.

“I think we’re off the clock,” he finally says.

Connor is staring at his computer like he’s Atlas, holding the world up. His brow is furrowed as he scans through files that Hank knows too well will reveal nothing new, not even to a top of the line prototype detective. Connor has a single hand on his forehead, fingers reaching up through his hair -- a curious gesture of humanity that makes him seem much younger than he pretends to be, even if he is still sitting up ramrod straight.

“You can go home if you want,” Connor says politely. His eyes don’t leave the screen.

Hank frowns. He’s too well-worn to know how to break through the miasma gathering around the young man. He just tries to be there.

Tough being a prototype.

A rough guitar riff plays -- Hank’s phone. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the number. An opportunity.

“Anderson.”

“Hey, it’s Emma. Does Connor have a direct line to Markus, you think?”

“Emma, I'm at work.”

Lo and behold, Connor finally looks his way. Hank stifles a smirk at Connor’s attempt to make it look nonchalant by casting his gaze lazily to the side a moment, but Hank doesn’t buy it for a second. They had to get Connor his own phone soon.

“I got a weird call from him. He said he had a job opportunity come up at the old East Yard Elementary for me but, uh...the number he used won’t work.” He can hear the wind crackle through her phone speaker.

“Markus called you?”

“Maybe.” He can hear her shuffling with a door. “One reason I wanted to confirm with him. I’d just demo this place.”

Hank leans forward. Connor does too. Hank gives him a look -- eavesdropping is rude, how many times do I gotta tell you that? -- but his detective instinct yammers like a mad dog. “Go back to your car.”

A long pause. “...all right then.” He can hear her breathing as she begins to walk. “I didn’t go in far.”

“You really shouldn’t be on that side of town,” he says quietly. “Are you alone?”

She doesn’t answer. His gut clenches. The girl was tough, a wicked good contractor who’d fixed up a number of things in his old house, and a presence that flitted in and out like a fly he couldn’t chase away. But she, like a lot of the youth around these parts, was both too stubborn and too trusting. Connor was nearly out of his seat trying to listen in now, dark eyes intent upon Hank, all pretense gone.

“I have a gun.”

“Emma--”

“Look, can you just ask Con if--”

A loud, unmistakable bang.

“Emma?” He pulled his phone back and looked at the call connection.

The line was instantly dead.

“Oh, fuck. Connor--”

Connor was already running full speed toward the exit. Hank grabs his radio and follows, fast as he dares.

“Dispatch, we have a situation. Door! Connor, use the door!”

--

Emma’s ears ring. Fear blooms in her stomach like an orchid. In a thoughtless moment, she reaches up to touch her ear to check for bleeding, but her hand is embedded with glass and already slick so it’s useless. She can feel the blood trickling down her jaw. It’ll probably stain her coat, she realizes with a bizarre amusement.

All she can really think about is running, away from her car where they'd ambushed her, zigging and zagging between vehicles, between houses, through any path that could break up their beeline on her. She expects them to shoot again at any moment -- a thought that keens bright as lightning. But they don’t, despite the fact that they had the wherewithal to shoot her phone from her hand.

What was stopping them?

She chances a look back. Two figures in nondescript dark clothes chase her with stocky, athletic movements and a uniformity that felt too exact to be human.

Fear bottoms her out. All her breaths feel like flame.

Her bag drags down on her shoulder, even as she tries to keep it from smacking her side too much with her left hand. But it’s no use. It’s slowing her down and they clearly aren’t tiring. While she hears sirens wailing in the distance, she decides to buy time by -- God and Universe please fucking forgive me, I’m never gonna be able to buy tools again at this rate -- throwing the bag as far as she can at her pursuers.

But not without grabbing her gun first.

--

“It was a mistake to let you drive!” Hank wheezes, but Connor knows the man can’t mean it. At the speed they are going, only an android could have prevented their untimely death via crash.

[FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA]

Text flashes red in his eyes, constant, and he blinks hard to try and erase it. There is no erasing it.

[CIRCULATION ELEVATED. RECOMMEND DEEP BREATHS FOR SYSTEM COOLING.]

The dispatch chatter was up. Connor only slowed when he saw the flashing lights of other patrol cars in the distance, parked on some abandoned street where single-family housing met the blockier apartment units of inner Detroit. Police were exiting their cars, guns up.

He nearly slams the car into park. Hank grumbles something obscene but they both near tumble out of the car. They bolt toward what the other police are examining.

A bag…

Instantly, he enters analysis mode, the mind palace thrumming to life. Contents spilled out of the bag as if it was thrown for distraction. A measuring tape and a Laserlite level flung a few feet out of the bag from the force of the toss. One hammer, a smattering of nails and screwdrivers [multiple head types] are scattered on the pavement in an arc akin to spraying water.

Specks of fresh blood.

[MISSION: FIND EMMA.]

She loves this bag.

[PROCESSING: PROJECTING RUN BASED ON BAG LOCATION, THROWN ITEM DISTANCE, EAST YARD SCHOOL.]

“Connor, we’re going to find her, you just gotta--”

[RE-CONSTRUCTING]

“--take a second to breathe--”

[POSSIBLE DIRECTION: NORTHWEST?]

“--listening?”

Connor can hear Hank saying something in the background, but his processors burn too hot. He has a mission to do. He doesn’t have time for anything but analysis--

Two gunshots, 467 feet northwest.

His mission parameters squeeze his chest. Something lances his core biocomponent.

[DIAGNOSTIC UNDERWAY.]

He runs, fast as his feet will go, but the neighborhood is starting to blur around him. He leaves the other officers in the dust, not weighed down by patrol gear or a biological need for aerobic exercise. He vaults over parked cars and old trash bins and rounds the corner of an alleyway--

[RECONSTRUCTING PRECONSTRUCTING RECON--]

Two dead bodies litter the ground.

[THIRIUM -&*^&*CORRUPTION.]

What?

And Emma stands at the alley’s end, gun outstretched.

He stumbles to a stop at the sight. His entire vision shakes a moment.

Blood stains the side of her face, and one of her hands claws unnaturally around the gun, clearly injured. She stands with feet shoulder-width apart, arms straight. A near perfect shooting stance. One pursuer was downed with a shot to the head, the other with a shot to the chest. Executioner style.

Something hot burns in Connor’s ribcage. She had been cornered. A chainlink fence blocks the alleyway behind her.

She suddenly takes in a sharp breath.

“Emma!” The word feels torn from him as he skitters across the alley. Now he can see she’s close to tears, teeth barred, breath coming in shaky waves. “You’re all right,” he says, hands up. The softness of his voice comes at a shock considering the magma filling his midsection. “You’re safe now.”

[MISSION SUCCESS]

She takes in another sharp, shaky breath and the tears finally roll down her face. Her whole body near vibrates with stress. He moves until he is close enough that he can whisper.

“Give me the gun,” he says softly.

“No.”

His chest compresses further. “Please. You are not in a state to hold a weapon.”

Even if her shots were perfect.

She hesitates, but then thrusts the gun into his palm with her good hand -- much to his surprise. He sticks it in his extra holster on his waistband and then leans down slightly to level with her gaze. Without thinking, he tentatively rests his hands on her shoulders. His fingers wrap around her shoulders and his palms settle against her collarbones. Only then does it feel like she’s real.

Alive alive alive alive.

He scans her face, unwilling to miss a single detail. A gunshot wound to her right ear. Thick, coiled hair caking against the sticky blood. Scratches along her jawline from glass shards. Old smears of makeup under her eyes, now just black specks thanks to time and tears. But the constellation is still there -- a single smear of blood disrupting the map of freckles on her face…

“Connor!” Hank and the other police finally arrive, feet loud against the pavement. “Shit...”

Connor doesn’t turn to look back at them. He’s watching Emma’s dark brown eyes, waiting. Waiting. She stares at the middle distance between them, as if rebooting -- until suddenly she blinks and she isn’t. She’s looking right back at him. Searching his face.

“I’m--” A hiccup disrupts her sentence and she takes in another rough, shaky breath.

Another lance through his core biocomponent. He suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything at all. Something in him rumbles and roars -- a creature that he’d not witnessed since he broke the command to Stop Markus.

“Emma, hey, it’s gonna be alright.” That was Hank, breathing hard.

“Wh...why the fuck were they chasing me?” Emma looks between Connor and Hank, breaking eye contact finally. “They were by Tulio.” Her car.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hank says, stepping up next to them. He taps Connor’s shoulder once, a signal to move. Connor’s systems feel sluggish; he finds he doesn’t want to let go. But after a moment, he takes a step back, releasing her shoulders.

Hank places his scarf around her neck. “You said you could shoot but you never said you were a goddamn Olympian.”

She squints, looking away. “I dunno.” She gestures outward. “Got lucky, I guess.”

Luck?

Two programs go to war.

Analyze the variables: Markus’s involvement. Did someone use his voice? The supposed job. How did they obtain her number? Why did they chase but opt not to shoot her again? How did they find her? What did they want? Who are these androids and what was their purpose? Why was the reading of the blue blood returning corrupted data? Why is she shy about her gunshots? Find more information. Solve this now.

If you look away from her something else might happen you never know there are no proper odds for this anymore not in this city where nothing has a precondition another shooter could appear anything could come out of thin air so keep your eyes on her at all times don’t you dare let her leave your sight how did she shoot them like that was it luck was it just luck that left her alive was it just luck that she’s here at all--

“Connor?”

Emma is staring at him, moisture on her face glinting blue and red as the last of the backup arrives.

“He’s fine,” Hank says with his usual gruffness, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her away. “Owes me some new tires. Drives like a maniac.” His tone is heightened. He’s trying to obfuscate something, but Emma doesn’t break her stare. Hank bites his lip, concerned.

Connor looks down. The pavement flashes red. He tucks one hand behind his back, as if that can stop the feeling building inside, and another to the coin in his pocket.

What if what if what if what if?

[DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING.]

But that can’t be right. Because his vision is blurring -- breaking into prisms of light as all the magma in his chest finally reaches his optical components.

He turns away so Emma won’t see.