#why does it have so much ai bullshit. at least i can turn it off but god

[voidimp]

much as i dislike it i hope this new phone never dies or at least not until we get phones that are actually good again

[edgy-ella]

I recently rewatched Invader Zim with @allshaftsfall, and something dawned on me that I should’ve realized years ago: Irkens have really weak backs/spines.

Or at least, it gets worse the taller they get, exponentially more so than with humans. The only tall Irkens we ever see in the series are the Tallest (obviously) and Sizz-Lorr, all of which are noticeably hunched over.

Sure, you could argue that Sizz-Lorr’s weird hunchback comes from his abnormally large PAK and the Tallest’s poor posture comes from the extreme corseting done to their midsections, but that in turn raises another question: why in god’s name would you ever fuck up your spine like that in a society where your status is determined by your height?

This stood out to me as weird for the Tallest in particular, because height is their status, so you’d think they’d be doing everything in their power to make themselves look as tall as possible rather than the opposite. It’s also something not unique to Red and Purple—concept art shows that Miyuki and Spork, the two previous Tallests before the current duo, had the same thing going on.

Hell, even Tak, who is barely taller than Zim, doesn’t always stand up straight.

This mostly applies when she’s in her human disguise, but still. Her height wouldn’t expose her as an alien—nobody cares about Zim’s more damning features, and Dib has classmates much taller than she would be standing up straight—so she doesn’t have anything to gain by slouching. To me, it seems like she feels like she has to consciously stand up straight when out of disguise, interacting with other Irkens (as someone with scoliosis, I can relate), but feels more relaxed as a human where height isn’t that big of a deal.

Before anyone calls bullshit on Tak ever slouching, look at her posture here compared to Gaz.

None of this is an art style thing, either. The humans in the series, both tall and short, stand significantly straighter. The only human I can think of off the top of my head that slouches is Ms. Bitters, and we don’t even know if she is human.

So, what does this all mean? Why’s this important? Well, to me, it begs the question: if the Irkens end up with significantly worse posture the taller they get, why does their society run on a height-based hierarchy? It’s already a silly concept, and the fact that Irkens already seem to have weak backs is just the cherry on top.

To me, this says that this is not naturally a part of Irken culture, and that the Control Brains put it in place whenever they assumed total control of the species, and it seems like it’s there in order to make the Irkens more reliant on the Control Brains. You can’t expect to have a stable leadership if your rulers are chosen arbitrarily, so the people supposedly in charge have to rely on the giant supercomputers to handle all the hard stuff for them. We already knew that the Control Brains were these shadowy figures controlling everything from the shadows, and this is just doubling down on that. And the implications there are wild: were the Control Brains originally made by other Irkens, only for their AI to gain sentience and weaken the Irkens biologically, socially, and culturally? Were the Control Brains made by a completely different race, only to appear like gods before primitive Irkens and force themselves upon them? If so, what happened to whatever race made the Control Brains? What’s the Control Brains’ overall purpose? How far does this “meat shield used to carry the PAK around” thing go?

Unfortunately we are never ever getting any answers to these questions because the franchise is in indefinite hibernation right now and they didn’t tackle the Control Brains in any meaningful capacity when they had the chance in either Enter the Florpus or the comics. But it’s fun to think about!

[penguinkyun]

chapter 155 review

cw for references to canonical unrequited incest and suicidal ideation

i wish there were enough words in all the four languages that i know to express just how much glee this chapter filled me with

but since there aren't y'all are going to have to deal with this hopefully coherent chapter review

first things first is the hikaru (part of the) revenge is over!! leaving him absolutely emotionally devastated! and also leaving me devastated because i was kinda hoping we'd finally address the AqRb Kiss from 12 chapters ago because of the very clear parallels being drawn between aqrb and hkai in terms of the toxic codependency formed between ruby-hikaru and aqua-ai respectively and the way ruby was standing outside with a dark shadow on her face (because we had no idea if she knew where the revenge was happening yet or not) but oh well. guess she does know whats happening but when she found out? who even knows. another thing offscreened sigh

also uh. about the "mama" in the internal narration. i really wish i could confidently say its aqua finally calling ai "mama" but unfortunately both aqua and ruby are in frame, ruby notably being under the text box. (also if anyone else was as confused as i was about the panelling in the beginning, ruby is already present inside the room and is following hikaru out when aqua stops her)

so it's still unclear whether its aqua speaking or ruby so i'll hold off on cheering there (and also imo that if aqua does finally call ai mama i just think it deserves to be bigger moment)

anyways this particular sequence (and the one with ichigo) raises several interesting questions which is how the fucketh did ruby know about where this retelling of the hkai breakup was taking place and also does not answer anything about rubys acting.

by that, i mean we've been told ruby somehow forgave hikaru in the movie but uh...her trying to chase after him with double black hoshigans doesnt exactly convey that she's forgiven him (and neither does her acting considering we don't see any of it. all we see is ruby thinking about if she can forgive hikaru or not in 147 and then all thats shown is her acting out ai's death without a smile on her face (unlike how ai was smiling at the end of her life. so unless that particular tidbit is being saved for later chapters who knows even)

in that same vein it sure is interesting aqua says "your revenge" is over. wonder if that has any implications (it definitely does and i will get to that in a minute)

so with aqua framing the DVD reveal as ruby's revenge being complete, its no surprise that the next few moments are ruby's homecoming.

HEY MIYAKO I THOUGHT AKASAKA FORGOT YOU

god this scene was so so cathartic to read with rubys hoshigans turning to permanent white with her homecoming from her revenge, miyako embracing both the twins and aqua finally getting to break down.

and the parallels with 124 too! in that chapter, miyako was worrying over the twins while a meal was being cooked for her, lamenting that she couldn't understand them as she wasn't their real mother but in 155, she finally gets to embrace them after making a meal for them, getting to finally comfort them in a tangible way

HER CALLING AQUA HER SON!!! FINALLY!!! SHE GETS TO DO THIS!! SHE GETS TO SAY SHES PROUD OF HIM!!! AQUA FINALLY ACCEPTING THE COMFORT HES BEEN DENYING HIMSELF FOR LITERAL YEARS!! BREAKING DOWN AT BEING TOLD HIS MOTHER IS PROUD OF HIM!!!

ahem. right so that felt incredibly good to read thank you akamengo.

(i will say that there is still that niggling thought of like. why miyako didn't follow up after being told point blank that aqua was breaking down and like. i guess you could say she knew he wouldnt accept that comfort and thus opted to wait until he would but it'd still have been nice to see a panel of her at least checking up on him because the only thing we get is her bullshit answer in 142 regarding the incest bait lol and then she just disappears from the movie arc entirely)

anyways im of two minds regarding the ichigo conversation

because if we assume aqua isnt lying here then i dont...really like the implication aqua only chose to not kill kamiki because ruby forgave him (not only because ruby clearly didnt considering her actions earlier lol) but because as a major part of his arc, aqua choosing not to kill kamiki has to be his and his own conscious choice because its been emphasised over and over that aqua cannot kill someone without causing severe psychological and physical damage to himself leading to his own death. him choosing not to kill kamiki is his choosing not to kill himself in the process and thus him consciously choosing that he wants to live.

but i think (and my theory is) that aqua was clearly lying to ichigo here because he's the one to stop ruby from going after hikaru and also because he told ruby her revenge was over. hers, not his. for ruby, her revenge consisted of ruining kamiki and the same went for ichigo. you can see his moment of deliberation here, where he pauses before answering ichigo, without meeting his eyes.

this way, in saying that rubys revenge is over, he has set it up so that both her and ichigo are now free from their self imposed duty of avenging ai (and goro for ruby), essentially giving them the same grace he had during his no hoshigan arc without letting them in on the final act of his play.

WHICH IS MISS FUYUKO NIINO, EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR HER!!

(sidenote its so funny that aqakn are both back into their love now hairstyles. and also akane saying she doesnt have to imitate ai is a textual confirmation of her purposely changing her looks to match who she wants to be like. but as is with the case of this entire arc i sure would've loved to see the character development that led her to finally letting go of ai here!)

(also justice for katayose yura finally shes mentioned again after *checks notes* around 45 chapters!)

(this is the third sidenote i should plan these out better but lmao is this what akane and aqua were doing during the movie arc?? searching for other evidence to hikaru and accidentally stumbling on nino?? itd be hilarious if the only reason nino noticed akanes stalking was because it wasn't hikaru she was stalking but nino instead lmao)

i cannot tell you the sheer delight that filled me when nino appeared. i had been wondering of her role in all this and i had the tentative theory she was also involved in the events leading to ai's death especially considering the hospital sequence because how the fuck would either ryousuke or hikaru gotten that address but man it sure is validating to see that she was somehow involved confirmed!

toxic yuri wins once again!

(that being said, as happy as i am to see nino as the final boss, i will be holding back some of my delight because how her involvement unfolds is important considering how her and ai's fight is framed as an ordinary fight between friends that would've been solved if it was anyone else in the main manga and her character in main manga.

but i suppose that is the point isn't it? love can rot and nino's certainly did, evolving into a complicated mixture of hate, love and unwavering belief in ai as the perfect idol. and well. all a fan wants is to see and help their idol rise to the top, isn't it? why should nino be any different?)

(but also yeah i have a few issues with this im not sure how to put into words ahsjd)

also please read 45510 its very important as a basis for ninos character and this twist as it is a short side story which is in her first person narration discussing her view on ai right before the movie arc!

(also def interesting aqua only attributes ryousukes, goros and yuras deaths to nino and not ai's huh)

no break week!!!

[badstargateimagines]

Good morning team! It’s time I address the elephant (Daniel Jackson) in the post with us. I have received a few comments, chief among them being prev, bringing to my attention that the above cursed image of Daniel Jackson is AI generated. Being as I pride myself on keeping the art of human generated bad memes alive, I feel it’s important that I address this and explain myself. I am doing this out of my own volition because oh my fucking god dude I posted ai generated Daniel Jackson and I have to see it anytime I get a notification and I feel like a Facebook boomer rn.

Thank you prev and all the other people who brought this to my attention I love you all so much and together we can stop our favourite memers and mutuals from posting AI stuff. I will break this down piece by piece so I don’t miss anything.

Explanation

As we all know, I make these high-quality posts from my state of the art office (my toilet) in my fortified compound (my family acreage) in rural Canada with state of the art editing software (Instagram stories and occasionally affinity photo). Regrettably, due to the nature of my blog being goofy, and my goofiest thoughts occurring around 3am, this has resulted in going on google and finding pictures and images at 3am when I needed to be up at 6am. Being as I was half asleep and that Google now has AI generated images on the first page of search results now, my usually less than stringent quality control missed how fucking bizarre and unsettling that picture is. My fuck up, I will make sure it doesn’t happen again. If it does, we can all throw rotting produce at me in the village square.

Why I’m addressing this

Brother, I fucking hate AI. I’ve already lost one job (content writing) to AI, I will not have it make me lose another (being the shitty meme plug for a niche sci fi show). While AI has its place (writing cover letters to be read by another AI), I don’t think we should have let finance bros touch it with a ten foot pole. Since AI has become the hot button thing lately, with known shitty company Adobe now having AI learning from user’s Creative Cloud files, I have decided to be an old man yelling at clouds over it. AI also, for me personally, makes me extremely fucking lazy and I’m already an object at rest, so AI makes me practically catatonic. The reality of living in a future where machine learning can write fan fiction for you, is that if you don’t lose your brain, it atrophies and bounces around your head like a tumble weed. I hate to prove Aristotle right about anything, but he kinda ate with the whole knowledge and self-actualization thing.

Actions I’m taking

I will not be removing the unsettling uncanny valley Daniel Jackson because: a) if I were to edit the post and take out AI Boy, his corpse would still be dragged around in a victory lap depending on which version is reblogged, and b) it should bring you all comfort to know that this post jumpscares me anytime it comes up in my notifications. With that said, in the future, in order to limit the public humiliation that comes with accidentally posting AI bullshit, I’ll stick to home grown pictures and images from the personal archive. At the very least, I’ll use a search engine that can keep AI off my fucking lawn and in turn off of your lawn.

If I do it again

If this happens again, rest assured it’s by accident. You are always encouraged to tell me if one of my posts contains AI images. Thank you to everyone who brought this up this time because keeping AI bullshit off of our collective lawns is a team effort. I appreciate how nice everyone was in bringing this up and I love you all so so so much. Like I said, I’m addressing this formally so that there’s no ambiguity on my stance, not because I felt any sort of pressure. I think it’s important to extend people the same courtesy they extend me when something like this is brought up and take the effort to explain myself and the actions I’m taking moving forward. If you think that’s unnecessary, then I respect that, but I feel it is necessary to own up to my own fuck ups when they’re pointed out so kindly 💖🥰

Hehehe that is SO me when I hehehehe

[swampyswan]

Theory: Season 2 will show that Brett is a sleeper agent planted by JR

I’ve heard people theorize that Brett is a secret agent, but I personally think he’s a sleeper agent, aka, he’s an agent whose been brainwashed into being unaware that he’s a spy.

(Keep in mind: I don know for sure if this is true. These are mostly just interesting things I noticed when rewatching the show and seeing a lot of weird coincidences).

For one thing, the show makes it clear that Brett, for all intents and purposes, would make a good spy. Not in the same way as Rafe Masters, whose really more of a really showy operative than an actual spy (Reagan even points this out when he breaks through a glass ceiling very loudly and attracts a bunch of attention). Actual spies in real life are meant to be normal looking, boringly mundane, and good at staying out of trouble for fear of blowing their covers.

The show early on points out that Brett is always below suspicion, and the show even goes out of its way to do that to the audience as well. Still, there is a big amount of foreshadowing that Brett is some kind of agent. For example;

His face is “so generic that it can’t be traced by sattelites” and he can literally infiltrate the White House just by bullshitting the guards, which isn't an easy task even if you are a generic white dude in a suit. Alpha-Beta also proves this when he gets Brett’s name and identity wrong (despite being a super intelligent AI, and Brett coming from what seems to be an incredibly wealthy family, so his information seems to be completely wiped from whatever database AB was using).

Reagan, in episode one, is immediately suspicious of him and thinks he’s too good to be true, and everyone else brushes off her concerns because they think she’s being crazy. The audience might have even been suspicious of him, too, at least before he turned out to be genuinely sweet and her “evidence” was shown to be quite flimsy. There were even some viewers who were genuinely surprised Brett turned out to have nothing up his sleeve, mostly because, when this cliche happens in other shows, the "perfect" person turns out to be actually villainous, while in Inside Job, Reagan seemingly turns out to be in the wrong.

In episode nine, Reagan throws the accusation that Brett is a “sleeper agent planted by Abercrombie and Fitch” and the gang only backs off when he mentions his therapy appointments. It doesn't really matter too much, but it's VERY weird that Reagan makes the same accusation in both the beginning and end of a season to the same character, especially since they're best friends. So, I'm led to believe that, in season two, she's gonna accuse him again and it'll be much more dramatic.

JR also has Brett go undercover as a rich guy to trick Bezos into buying the yacht. And Brett somehow SUCCEEDS at it, even though he looks like an idiot doing it. JR also notably pulls Brett to speak in private A LOT, and perhaps only really does it to Reagan as well. It's possible that it's because Brett is new, but it's something that has happened quite a few times.

Brett mentions always wanting to be a spy, even as a child.

Also, as an aside, we know sleeper agents exist in this world, since Jimmy Fallon is one apparently, and references are made to others.

The reason why I think JR is the one who planted Brett as a sleeper agent is for a few reasons:

For one, JR is the one who apparently hired Brett. Even though he already had Reagan in line to get promoted to leader, and he knows she can do it, he still hires an unpaid, inexperienced intern who doesn’t even seem to know how anything in the company works? To LEAD the team on his first day, and not just start at the bottom and work his way up? I get that this is meant to be a joke about the fact that Brett, a cis white guy, gets the same job position as Reagan, a half Asian woman whose put in far more work and obviously deserves the promotion more. But, like, Brett didn’t even APPLY for a job, since he supposedly met JR at a barbecue. It’s pretty funny he got hired despite having 0 qualifications, but it’s also suspicious.

This almost seems like JR is just being shallow by hiring him; but we’ve also seen JR be genuinely intelligent, ruthless, and manipulative when it comes to running Cognito. He’s not really someone to hire some random shithead off the street, but he is the type to deliberately plant a sleeper agent among the gang for later use.

Compared to everyone else, Brett almost feels TOO normal for his job. I understand that that’s part of the joke, that he’s just a regular guy at an insane workplace, but it also seems a bit jarring because he’s just so normal. Almost too normal, as if it’s on purpose.

So why? What goal could there be for JR to put in a sleeper agent? Well, perhaps it’s just a fail safe for if he were to be knocked from his position. Maybe activating Brett’s sleeper agent status is a worse-case scenario; if JR managed to achieve his goal of getting a black robe, then he could leave the company in the care of Reagan and Brett, and no one would ever know Brett’s true nature. If someone happened to get in his way of getting his promotion (*cough* Rand *cough*) than he has another option open...

So, why do I think. Brett is a sleeper agent, and not just a regular spy? Well, the thing is, a sleeper agent is different from a spy in that they are completely unaware of the fact that they are undercover. While a normal spy is essentially putting on an act, a fake persona to make them seem friendly, boring and harmless, a sleeper agent is basically just a regular person with no malicious intent until they are “activated”. In other words, Brett would have no idea that he’s undercover, which would mean his sweet personality would be completely genuine, not just a trick to garner trust.

This would also explain why Myc wouldn’t know he’s a mole; if Brett were a spy, and his nice personality was just an act to trick people, Myc would have figured it out on day one when he read Brett's mind. This would fill in any plot holes about his mind getting read and explain why he wasn't outed sooner.

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[the-bau-quinjet]

Always

Summary: You overhear Steve talking to Bucky about going back to be with Peggy. Rather than confronting the situation, you write him a letter.

Warnings: I cried just thinking about writing this, so much angst, some swearing

Word Count: 3305

a/n: here it is folks: the sad fic I mentioned a few posts ago. Inspired by a multitude of songs from the album Ashlyn by Ashe. I high key recommend listening to that album while you read or just in general. I'm pretending like nobody died in Endgame because that shit is sad and I know this is sad aside from that, but I still have a heart ya know?

Per usual, any song lyrics (or song lyrics that I changed a bit) are in bold! I think used lyrics from Me Without You, Save Myself, I'm Fine, Love is Not Enough, and Always.

Masterlist

"You'd really want to go back?" You overheard Bucky right before you walked into Steve's room.

"I don't know." He let out a deep sigh. "I mean, I do know, but what do you think?" Steve's answer left you wondering what they were discussing.

"All for Peggy?" Your heart stopped waiting for Steve to reply.

Another sigh escaped his lips. You could easily picture him running his hands down his face, a signal he was deep in thought. "I mean, I never got a chance to see what would happen with her. Don't you think she deserves this much?"

You felt frozen. You couldn't hear the rest of Steve's answer or Bucky's reply over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.

It was all too much to handle. Rather than confront the grab bag of emotions swimming inside of you, you turned around and went back to your room in a zombie like haze.

"Friday, don't let anyone in my room."

You know the AI replied, but you were still too caught up in thought to understand it. Your mind was full of questions you knew you couldn't figure out the answers to alone.

Why would Steve want to go back for Peggy when he had you? Why would he even consider it if he loved you like he said he does? Is he still in love with Peggy? Has he been in love with her the whole time? Why would he choose her when he's spent so much more time with you?

"Y/N?" The sound of Steve's voice outside your door startled you. "Y/N, honey, are you in there?"

You could hear the doorknob rattling in his attempt to open it, but Friday was doing as you asked.

"I thought you were going to meet me downstairs?"

His words only broke your heart more, a small sniffle escaping despite your efforts to remain quiet.

"Are you not feeling well? What's wrong?"

His questions were left unanswered, much like the questions swimming around your head.

Steve kept talking to you through the door for a while, but you never replied. You weren't ready to face him, not until you knew you wouldn't say something you'd later regret.

-

The next few days carried on much the same. You refused to leave your room, relying on various snacks and protein bars you had for food. Every few hours, you would try to write down what you were feeling, but it didn't help calm you down the same way it typically did.

Everyone tried talking to you, but nothing worked. Steve spent hours outside your door every day in an effort to get you to talk to him, but you just couldn't figure out your emotions. It was all still too much to handle.

Late one night, Steve said something that forced you into action.

"Y/N, I don't know what happened, but if I did something I'm truly sorry. I'm returning the stones tomorrow. We've never not said goodbye before a mission... I just hope this one is the same."

You listened as he quietly walked back down the hallway, steps slowly receding until you were left in the same absolute silence you've spent the last few days.

You knew you had to talk to him, but hearing him say to your face that he's staying with Peggy would kill you.

You couldn't survive a permanent goodbye, not in your current state of mind.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, you decided to write Steve a letter. Maybe you'd give it to him or maybe it would just help you organize your thoughts. Either way, it would be helpful to write to someone for a change.

Hi Steve,

I, well, I guess I'll start with this. You deserve an apology. I'm truly sorry for ignoring you for the past few days. I just... I heard what you said to Bucky and I didn't know how to deal with it.

You know I've never been the best at controlling my emotions, so I just holed myself up in here. I avoided you so I could figure out my own feelings first.

I know I should talk to you. You deserve that too, but I don't think I could survive the heartbreak. I guess I'll try to explain everything I've been thinking and feeling since that night.

Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. It feels kind of stupid to say, but I obviously experienced a range of emotions when I first heard you and Bucky talking about going back.

You know I've always found solace in writing, so that's what I'm doing. I needed a way to clear my thoughts, and it turned into this concoction of thoughts and some poems - you know how I feel about poems. (Look at that! A sarcastic comment! I didn't think I was capable of humor anymore.)

This might not surprise you, but the first emotion I clung to was anger. I'm not angry anymore, well at least not as angry. Anyway, I wrote this next part when I was absolutely pissed at you.

-

What the fuck?

You want to go back in time and stay there?

You want to leave me behind?

Steve, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I could keep you here. If I really wanted to, I could figure out a way to do it. I could cut the brakes just to keep you from leaving. I'll do it too. My hands on the wheel would drive us into a wall.

You must think I'm being petty. Hiding in my room like a child to avoid you. All the while, here I am writing all the things I could do to keep you. Well, news flash: I don't need you. You made me think the only world I could exist in, was one you lived in, almost had me fooled.

Here's something you probably never considered, because I sure as shit never thought I'd even need to. I can be me without you. I don't have to rely on you for my own happiness. I thought you loved me, but if you want to go back and be with Peggy, do it. Go find yourself, let me down.

It's easy to sit here now and look back on how everything we had would always be second string to your relationship with her. God damn hindsight's 2020.

I want you to know, you did this to me. You broke my heart. When I heard you say you wanted a chance to be with Peggy, it's like my whole world crumbled down around me.

Everything I thought I knew was ripped out from under me. You poured rain all over my sunny. Yeah, someday, this could all be funny, but right now it's absolute shit.

And maybe everything will work out the way it's meant to be, but honestly I couldn't give less of a shit about that right now.

If I had the chance, I would take it back. Everything. Meeting you. Becoming friends. Dating you. Falling in love. I'd be jumping off your sinking ship, instead of going down with it.

It'd be so much easier that way. If I never fucking knew you.

One day I'll be good. I'll be over all of this bullshit. Right now I'm just mad. And you know what, it's justifiable. I think I'm allowed to be mad at you.

I'm over being so mature. If only I was never yours. Maybe I'll go back in time and undo it all. Then at least I could save myself from you.

-

Like I said, I wrote that in the heat of the moment. Once my brain caught up to my ears, all I saw was red. Anger didn't last as long as you might think though.

All that was how I felt in the moment, but I want you to know it's not true. I don't really believe any of it. I was hurt and angry and avoiding the pain I knew was just around the corner.

I've always told you anger would be my downfall because I just can't control what I say.

Let me be completely clear, I would never want to undo meeting you. You've been the best part of my life for years. I need you to know that I don't regret any of it and I never will.

Anyway, the anger shifted to tears pretty quickly. It wasn't hard to feel the pain that comes with someone you love leaving you. I can't honestly picture a world where I don't love you.

This is the first poem I wrote. With tear blurring my vision, I put pen to paper and this is what came out.

Complicated. Understated. On the way to, Devastated. I'm just holding on for dear life.

Short and sweet, right? Well, not so much sweet, but you get the point. I feel broken. Here's another bit of poetry for ya.

Right now I'm sorry, Burns through me darling, But I can't help hope In thirty years it won't.

Maybe I just need time. That's what everyone always says. "Time can heal all wounds."

It's hard to even think about moving on though when everything reminds me of you. I've got emotional souvenirs from fleeting moments we spent together. If this is the end, I'll always know you were my golden years. I know in the future I could close my eyes and go back there.

Maybe that's the hardest part. Knowing I'll always have these memories.

All I've been thinking about for the past three days is if this will ever feel better. And maybe it will, when time has passed.

Maybe when I'm older, I'll run out of stories about you. Maybe when I'm older, I'll know what it's like not to love you, Anymore.

Despite my best efforts, it's still only a maybe. Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to stop thinking about you every second of the day. Maybe when I'm older I won't feel like crying everytime I see your face.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll always feel this way.

Maybe when I'm six feet, underneath the concrete, I'll know what it's like not to want you, anymore.

I'm not saying all this to make you feel guilty. You don't need to tell me you're sorry. I know you are. I know you would never hurt me like this without a reason.

I should just talk to you, but I don't think I can. Not yet. We don't need to talk til we're ready. Both of us.

I guess I do have one question. Do you really love me?

I don't think I want to know the answer right now. Because even if you do... it takes a lot more than a rose, more than a kiss, more than a heart to truly love someone and spend forever with them.

It takes a lot more than a ring, more than a vow, more than a promise to build and maintain a relationship.

Love is not enough. I know that now. Even if you love me to the best of your abilities, you could still love Peggy more. Love may not be enough for us, but at least we got that much.

If you leave, I'll live the rest of my life grateful that at least I got your touch for as long as I did.

I used to think we could take our sweet time, that everything would be just fine. But now I know maybe not.

I cried for days. Like I said, I'm not writing this to make you feel guilty though. I just want to be completely honest. I cried a lot, probably more than I ever have before.

I kept replaying memories of time I spent with you. Not even dates, just the small moments that made me know I love you.

Like that day I woke up too early, almost put salt in my coffee. Oh I thank God that you stopped me before that.

I've never been a morning person, but ever since I met you you've always been there to keep my head on straight.

I think the thing I love most about you is how you can read me better than anyone I've ever known. I can hide from everyone else and they won't bat an eye. They never can tell when I'm falling apart on the inside.

No matter how hard I try to hide it though, you don't believe me when I say I'm alright. You can always, always tell.

It's like you've got a sixth sense that tells you I need you when I try to say I'm fine.

Before I met you, I would get so lonely everyday. Now I'm only lonely until you ask if I'm okay and then I remember that I have people who are there for me. I have you.

All this to say, I love you, Steve. I love you more than I've ever loved another human being.

Forever yours,

Y/N

-

It took you nearly all night to write a coherent letter and come up with a plan to talk to Steve. A quick glance at the clock let you know Steve would be up any minute, so you had to act fast.

You opened your door for the first time in days, running in a full sprint to the stairs and down the hall to Steve's door.

With one final burst of courage, you shoved the letter under the door and ran away before anyone could find you out of your room.

-

"Y/N?" A familiar knock on your door woke you from a restless sleep. "I read your letter, Y/N please let me explain."

It felt like time slowed down as you stared at the door.

"Y/N, I have to bring the stones back, but I really want to talk to you first."

"Come in." You steadied yourself with a deep breath, but one look at Steve ruined your flimsy resolve.

"Y/N... I tried to wait for you to come to me, but..."

He stopped talking when you shook your head, a painful sob forming in your chest.

"I've been thinking a lot." You started slowly, voice scratchy from days of not being used except to cry. "What if staying with me isn't the best thing to keep you happy?"

"Y/N, I-"

"Please let me finish." You waited for him to acknowledge your words before you spoke again.

"If letting you go is the best way to show that I love you, I will." Tears poured down your cheeks, breaths coming to you shakily.

"Captain Rogers, your presence is requested in the backyard." Friday's voice echoed through the room.

Steve looked more torn than you've ever seen him.

"Let's go." You nodded toward the door. "I've got more to say, but you've got somewhere to be."

Slowly, the two of you walked down the hall and entered the elevator.

"I don't know if you'll ever come back-"

"Y/N, really just let me-"

"Steve, please." You begged him to let you get it all out. "I won't ask 'cause that's selfish."

"It's not." He cut in again.

"It is. You deserve to be as happy as possible." With a slow, shaky breath you continued your speech. "I've come to terms I might never feel whole again."

The elevator doors slid open. You followed Steve to the yard where they set up the time machine.

"I'll be broken when you're gone, but I won't hold you back if it's wrong."

"Steve, there you are! Let's go-"

"In a minute, Sam." Steve's eyes never left you, remaining soft and caring. "We can go back inside if you want." He ran his thumbs over your cheeks, ridding them of tears only to be instantly replaced. You've always hated crying in front of people.

"I don't care what people say." You shook your head, ignoring the potential pitying looks you could receive for crying in front of others. Another deep breath, and you continued. "You know I won't force you to stay."

It was your turn to wipe tears from Steve's face.

"If you leave, I'll be okay. Just promise that you won't forget me babe."

"I could never-" He cut in again only to stop when you gave him a pleading look.

"I understand if leaving is what you have to do. I don't want you to go, but I'll be okay, eventually." You let out a watery chuckle, wiping your eyes again.

"Y/N, I never meant for-"

"Steve, you ready?" Sam interrupted again.

"It's fine. You can go." You did your best to hold back any lingering tears. You had to physically turn Steve around yourself and push him towards the machine.

"Y/N, please, I can't-"

"Steve, they're waiting for you. It's okay, I promise." He finally started to walk away only to pause when you called out one more thing. "Oh, Steve?"

"Yeah?" He wore a solemn smile.

"I'll love you always."

You watched as he listened to Banner's instructions and bid farewell to Sam and Bucky. The bitter part of you wondered if Sam knew.

A strangled sob left your mouth as soon as Steve disappeared. All three men standing around the machine looked your way, Sam and Bucky running toward you to help.

"He should be back any second. It's fine!" Sam desperately tried to console you, but you knew it wouldn't work.

"Y/N. Y/N! Listen to me. Did Steve talk to you?" Bucky asked, ignoring Sam's bewildered expression.

You nodded pitifully.

"Did he explain-" You cut him off.

"He- he didn't ha-have time.: You stuttered as you tried desperately to gulp in air through the tears. "I did most of the talking. I needed him to know it was okay."

"To know what was okay?" Sam asked, still clearly confused.

The thought of explaining it only broke you down more. You would have fallen to the ground if not for Bucky catching you. Your body leaned into his.

"Doll..." Bucky shook his head. "You should have let him explain."

You choked on another sob just thinking about it.

"Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay." Bucky whispered in your ear, ignoring Sam's confused glares.

"Y/N..." The sound of Steve's voice echoed in your ears causing another painful sob to jolt through your body.

"Baby, please look at me."

You genuinely thought you were hallucinating when you opened your eyes to see Steve towering over you.

"Steve?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"It's me, I'm here." He gently took you from Bucky's arms, cradling you close to him but leaning his head far enough away for you to look into your eyes.

"You came back..." Your tears slowed, gently falling down your cheeks as you stared at him wide-eyed.

"I was never planning to leave." He spoke while gently stroking your hair.

"B-but, you were talking to Bucky about going back?" Your tears gave way to confusion as you glanced between him and Bucky.

"Just to say goodbye." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, breathing in your scent. "I just thought she deserved a real goodbye."

New tears pooled in your eyes as you took in his words. "So, you never wanted to leave me?"

"I could never, and would never, leave you. I love you so much. I just wish I knew why you were holed up in your room sooner." He smiled at you, the same adoring smile he gave you the first time you met.

"I love you too. Always." You leaned into his embrace, relishing in the touch you thought you'd lost forever. He whispered his reply, clinging to you just as much as you were to him.

"Always."

a/n: today I discovered I am truly incapable of writing a sad ending. I just like the idea of escaping to a reality where Steve would never abandon me.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

[berrylover0571]

It must have been fucking Magic with regards to PR how easily a bunch of fucking people managed to spin the AI art discussion into a philosophy of art discussion.

Like I'm pissed that I watched and tried in real time to get people to stop talking about the philosophy of art with regards to this bullshit and to start talking about the labor shit that it was influencing. Fuck your bullshit philosophical definition of art that talks about the human spirit and drive, we can have that discussion when working artists and the labor of art is considered something of Worth to preserve and encourage and not something to be constantly cut corners on.

I mean, not to spell out the original fucking post, but they literally had to themselves because even my neurodivergent ass understood this: it doesn't matter what Innovations happen there will always be banal, bland, cookie cutter art that is made pretty much terribly, even from a gracious art critique standpoint giving them the benefit of the doubt. I could probably off the top of my head scroll through deviantART right now, and after cutting out the fucking chaff of AI art, I could find feasibly at least 30 different furry artists, all of whom make it a fucking God damn priority to post the same five Disney characters they're cribbing from. Like I get it, maybe they're trying to develop a style uniquely tied to it, I don't know, but we all know a bland artist. Hell, I'm part of a fetish art community, there are banal, uninspired artworks in that community, a niche fetish community has people making art that might as well be Bland bullshit nonsense.

If you get stuck trying to define the philosophy of art with people who use philosophy to justify why they should be able to just be given a blank check to make a fucking website or algorithm that reinforces eugenics, causes genocides, or contributes to suicide and eating disorders, you're going to lose. These fucking idiots talk bullshit philosophy constantly, they could talk circles around you doing it. So don't talk on their terms, talk on your terms.

Your terms should be, and I cannot stress this enough, treating the work of artists and working artists as well as regular artists as something that is meant to be valued in terms of its labor. Not a damn thing makes me want to drink more than people talking about preserving the efficacy and culture of Art and then refusing to support artists near them. I am not a rich person and I even can shell out $30 every once in awhile to get a commission of myself in some dumb fetish scenario because, one the artist will get attention and people will happily propagate new stuff from their favorite artist, and two make it financially supported which is more important, because it helps them have at least some supplemental income as they try and build a platform.

You know that infamous pukicho post with doctor yiff and bullshit? The only way you can get furry artists that charge thousands of dollars for commissions is if you create a sustainable ecosystem of artists being valued for their labor and not devalued in the eyes of fucking the entire world. One of the reasons my weird Niche fetish Community has been able to sustain itself so long, despite the fact that it probably shouldn't, is a mixture autistic hyper fixation, really weird fetishes, and the constant support of work that servicing a niche group can give.

Not only does it piss me off that people got locked into philosophical debates about the meaning of Art with some jackass who wants to fucking turn art into this money printing machine, it pisses me off that we're still having debates about it. We all value art in some way, everyone wants it, that's why they keep trying to get us to use or validate AI art because it then legitimizes it within the social consciousness outside of a weird novelty. That being said, do they value art in the same way that a CEO values employees, they treat art as this disposable or interchangeable series of random things put together by some person in a specific way that appeals to some people. They value art in as much as they can spend and as much as they can make, and I assume you value art in how much it means to you and how much it means to people you care about, which on the surface can sound very similar. In each situation there is a metaphorical or literal cost, there is a number, a tag on it that means something, something substantial. So you can talk endlessly in circles about how much either of you value art, but at the end of the day they want you to legitimize AI art for the pure and depraved reason that they don't have to Value artists and they don't have to pay artists. They want to cut Corners again. The value in them legitimizing the AI art is not valuing or legitimizing shit art that's utterly atrocious and probably shouldn't be made, the value is in them legitimizing it and then completely not using or soliciting The Works of artists.

They don't have to pay money for commissions, they don't have to hire graphic designers, freelance or otherwise, they don't have to insure or pay an entire branch of their organization, something that Tech Bros will constantly do. They will look for any reason to cut corners, to cut down to the Bare Essentials and run those thin for as long as possible making sure they're stupid fucking websites last the longest. It happened with facebook, it's happening with twitter, I guarantee you it's happening at YouTube and Snapchat and Instagram, it happened at google for fuck sake. They want to trim down as much financial status possible because they don't want to fucking lose money, and they are losing money.

The internet, like all media, is becoming this monolithic platform of almost nothing. They're not making profits because people don't fucking go on the internet anymore because they're bored out of their mind, and when they do they want to stream something, they don't want to pay for 19 different services, so they don't fucking pay for them, they pirate them. Websites from the old culture of the internet are dying, those that aren't dying or being subsumed by other websites, and honestly if you don't see what's happening, if you get stuck in that cycle of debating whether or not AI art is philosophically art, you're going to be taken to the cleaners.

The old internet is dying and in its place is a giant advertising sphere, with pictures made by no graphic designer, and stories written by no writer, led by a CEO who thinks they build all of their profits on their own, while desperately trying to fight off Nazi allegations pretending like they don't give a shit.

AI art and it's debate is not about to philosophical substance of AI art, it's about distracting you from the actual debate that should be had about art and labor and the even greater conversation about how we are currently devaluing in Mass entire swaths of culture simply because it's cringey, or it's not worth preserving.

As a sociologist in utterly terrifies me that there are entire sections of the internet, nishap cultures, conversations, groups and platforms that don't exist anymore. Platforms with thousands of users active but not making a profit, thus dying. And the ones that sustain are the ones that become the most bitter, corrupted, or the most Advertiser friendly. It utterly terrifies me that the remnants of the old internet will only live on in Legacy through some of the worst places, because some of the best places died and were erased from history.

All for the sake of profit. So don't fucking get stuck in that stupid debate.

AI art and it's philosophies are very clear: we don't care about you, we don't value you, and the only thing we want from you is to extract as much money out of you as possible. All the while you beg for meaning, you beg for food, and you beg for your house not to be taken from you because of your shit rent.

Its not about trashy art, its about labor and value.

Do i think AI artists often make shitty, trite art? Yes. Do you want me to name a list of furries whose art i also think is creatively bland?

[nothere-notthere-nowhere]

Oblivious

Word count: 1509

Genre: fluffy as fuck

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Warnings: very brief mention of trauma (nonspecified), let me know if I need to add any

Summary: When Wanda goes on a date with Vision, you’re left to question your feelings while Natasha laughs at you.

A/N: Hi, this is my first piece I’m posting. I’ve been a long time reader on this hellsite but this is the first time I’m actually posting my own writing. I’m open to feedback! Forgive any mistakes, I did not edit this :)

You weren’t necessarily a jealous person. Well, you had been, but you moved past it. You learned that you didn’t, and shouldn’t, be possessive of your friends. It was hard, coming into a new place and wanting the pretty girl with long brown hair to spend all her time with you. Especially since you’d never had a friend before.

But now, you were questioning your sanity.

Wanda had announced to you that she was going on a date. Your heart sunk and something close to rage was burning through your veins. You couldn’t understand why! Wanda had talked about Vision before and you always had to remind yourself that she was friends with the other Avengers too. It had never bothered you this much.

But you had to come up with a bullshit excuse as to why you couldn’t gush about what she would wear or where they would go, because you thought your head was going to explode. You knew Wanda was upset by that, but you needed to figure this out.

“I seriously don’t understand what’s going on!” You pulled at your hair in frustration. “I mean seriously, I thought I’d worked through all the trauma and shit. Like Wanda’s not even my only friend. But she was talking about him and I got so mad, Nat, like so, so mad.”

Natasha snorted at you, watching you pace with an amused smirk.

“For real, like, am I a terrible person?” You paused your pacing to stare at her in horror. “I have no claim over her and I’m acting like a-a possessive a-and controlling piece of shit!”

“Okay, calm down.” Natasha told you. She patted the couch beside her for you to sit but you’re too busy overthinking. 

“I can’t calm down! I should be happy for her. But I’m just so angry and I don’t even know why! Vision’s not a terrible person. I mean technically he’s a robot, which is a little odd but-”

“Y/N, relax.” Natasha stands and grips your shoulders, forcing you to look at her. “You have a crush.”

“On Vision?” Your face squished up in confusion. “No, Nat, I’ve talked to him like twice.”

“No, idiot,” She sighs heavily. “On Wanda.”

“No-” You start but then your eyes widen and your jaw drops comically.

Natasha barks out a laugh at your horrified look, only gaining volume as you burn bright red. Clint walks into the living room, taking in the scene and furrowing his brows in suspicion.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, taking in the way the gears are turning in your head.

“I’m gay.” You say confusedly. 

“Yeah?” Clint looks like he’s waiting for you to continue. “Wait is this supposed to be news? I thought everyone knew.”

Natasha is overcome with another wave of laughter and you scratch your head lightly. It made sense, you supposed. You had never taken an interest in boys but you had figured that was because of your upbringing. They don’t exactly give assassins in training a lesson on feelings.

“Oh my god!” Natasha shoves your shoulder lightly. “How are you so oblivious?”

“Well, we’re friends.” You stutter out, still confused. “I thought this was normal!”

“Do you feel like that towards me? Or anyone else?” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“But you’re, like, old.” You dismiss, before squeaking out, “I mean, not old, Nat, but like, Wanda and I are the same age, you know? You’re not old! But you’re not as much a friend as like…. An older sister?”

Natasha’s eyes soften, the corners of her lips quirking up just slightly. You can see the words meant a lot to her, even if they were to cover up an insult. It was true though, Natasha had always had your back. She’d shown you the ropes, made sure you were comfortable, and she was always there for advice. Like the big sister you never had.

“Well, kid,” Clint broke the moment, “now that you’ve had your gay awakening, maybe you should tell Wanda how you feel.”

“What?” Your stomach lurched. “How’d you know-”

“The two of you are inseparable. You literally melt when she’s around.” Your cheeks burn a little at his words. “Seriously, kid. For someone who was trained as a spy, you don’t have an ounce of subtlety.”

“Well, she’s with Vision now anyway.” You can’t help the jealousy and almost sadness that twinge your stomach. “It doesn’t really matter.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bucky muttered as he passed through the living room.

“Woah, how does everyone know about this but me?” You ask incredulously. Bucky shakes his head at you lightly, a small smile on his face before he leaves the room. 

“Seriously, guys,” You glare at Nat and Clint, “I just figured out I’m gay. Can we at least pretend like it wasn’t obvious.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Ms. Maximoff knows.” FRIDAY’s voice only makes you groan. 

Nat and Clint begin to laugh at the AI’s teasing but they’re cut off by Wanda storming through the living room. Her head was down, a slight red glow about her, as she passed the group standing by the couches. 

“Wanda?” You call lightly, but she doesn’t stop.

“Ms. Maximoff did not enjoy our date, it seems.” Vision slides through the wall, scaring the shit out of you.

“Stop doing that! And wiat, what?” You question, clutching your chest where your heart was racing. 

“She does not want to be with me.” Visions tells you simply. “She is upset. I do not know why.”

You stand there, wracking your brain for possible explanations. She had been so excited for this date. She’d talked about it for hours the day before, much to your annoyance. So, why would she have been so upset?

“Y/N,” Natasha snapped in front of your face. “Go after her.” She looked exasperated.

“Right!” You stumbled over your own feet racing after your best friend.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to knock on the door. Now that you knew you liked her, it all made sense. Of course you’d be jealous of Vision being able to take her on a real date. So, you stood at her door, trying to figure out what exactly you were going to say to make her feel better, if you even could.

“Y/N, come in already.” Wanda’s soft voice made your heart flutter. Your cheeks burned as you pushed open the door.

Wanda was sitting on her bed, leaning up against her headboard, knees pulled into her chest. She looked nice, even though her brows were furrowed the way they were when she was thinking hard about something.

“What happened?” You asked her, moving to sit on the bed. Your body was tense. Part of you was happy she wasn’t going to date Vision, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see her upset.

“We got as far as the zoo parking lot when I realized that I couldn’t do it.” Wanda fiddled with the crystal on her necklace. “It took going out with Vision to realize that I’ll never be able to feel anything for anyone else.”

“Anyone else?” You questioned. “Wanda, you’ll find someone. We’re still young! You have plenty of time to-”

“No, Y/N,” She gave a small, nearly sad, smile. “I found someone.”

“Oh,” the words startle you. Wanda had never mentioned someone else. The two of you were supposed to be best friends. She found someone and she didn’t tell you?

“It just took half a date with someone else for me to realize that what I feel for her isn’t platonic.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes were wide as you searched hers for something, anything, readable. The only other girls she was friends with, that you knew, were Natasha and maybe Pepper. But that wouldn’t really make sense.

“I don’t want Vision. I don’t want anyone, really, except you.” You can hear a slight shake in her voice. “I don’t know why it took so long to realize this but, I don’t just have love for you as a friend. I really like you, Y/N.”

“Oh,” You nod. “I’m sorry. This is just a lot. Natasha just told me I was gay like twenty minutes ago.”

Wanda giggled at you. “I guess we’re both a little oblivious, huh?”

“Can I kiss you?” You blurt out, staring at her. “Sorry, uh, let me… It took you going on a date with Vision for me to realize I like you too, or, well, Natasha pointed it out. I was so angry. I thought about beating him up.”

“Y/N,” Wanda pulls you from your rambling. 

“Can I kiss you?” you ask again, too focused on her to be embarrassed. 

Wanda nods, fighting the big grin on her face. She cups your face gently, pulling you to her. Her lips are soft against your own and her hands are warm, her skin smooth. Your head is spinning as you lean into her touch.

Clint was right, you do melt.

[shinneth]

Spill the tea on Stevinel (just because I saw one for conniverse) And yes, I'm not on Anonymous. Because I'm a proud stevinel shipper and no one's going to stop me from loving it, also your blog is cool

And you know what? That’s the right attitude to have! People should be free to express what they ship without shielding themselves with anonymity. I don’t blame the people that do these days - antis are fucking dangerous people - but goddamn, people. It’s fiction. 

So I commend you for shipping Stevinel openly and proudly! Hard to believe it’s actually considered a bold and brave move just to be open and honest about harmless preferences these days. 

That said, I’m sorry it took so long to get to this. I felt you deserved an epic, given how unexpectedly successful my tirade on why Connverse is a shit ship with an undeserved golden reputation was...

But the truth is, even though I’m very much a Stevinel shipper, it’s definitely not my OTP.

And it’s very tricky for me to figure out how to spill the tea on Stevinel in a way that’s distinct from me doing the same with Stevidot.

Because, well, let’s face it: these two ships, beyond being very similar in nature, have also endured identical hardships from the fandom.

All the death threats Stevinel fans get from the raging antis for daring to ship something so “problematic/immoral/wrong/not Connverse”? 

Stevidot fans have been treated that exact same way for years. And still are. For the exact same reasons.

Both Stevinel and Stevidot shippers are valid, but the fandom constantly turns a blind eye to Rebecca Sugar’s husband who also worked on the show outright saying gem x human ships are FAIR GAME.

And also turn a blind eye to the recent interview where Sugar herself stated that the gems are more like AI - a conclusion I and many others deduced ages ago just by how gems are portrayed in the show. 

But by god, they’ll hang on Matt Burnett’s word that “grown gems” are a thing even though canon itself explicitly states that GEMS DON’T GROW.

Just like how despite Maya Petersen outright admitting that Aroace!Peridot is just her headcanon, people treat it like the fucking gospel now.

(no offense to anyone who’s committed to that particular headcanon - I just don’t really see it with Peridot in particular and it’s really fucking stupid to claim it’s 100% canon when the source herself explicitly said it wasn’t)

Well, it’s canon that Spinel kissed Steven and he didn’t turn into dust. And Steven was already well on his way down the path of self-destruction at this point in time; he would’ve gone monster whether this happened or not. 

Also, how often does a character get the “heart eyes” expression for just a platonic love?

If there was ever a scene where Connie or Steven had heart eyes, no doubt most of the pricks would scream “YES!!!! UNDENIABLE PROOF THAT THEY’RE IN LOVE!!!”

But when it’s Spinel, suddenly it doesn’t count? Really?

How convenient.

There’s also the stupid idiots who saw the conceptual development of Spinel in that movie artbook and saw some vague color keys during a conceptual stage and claimed that Spinel was “family” to Steven - which of course must mean “related” and therefore must make Stevinel an incestuous relationship! 

Which is bull. Also shit. It’s already common knowledge that gems don’t work that way. She was the designated playmate for Steven’s mother. Nothing more.

Of course, most gems who come in Steven’s orbit end up being sort of a family to him. 

But everyone seems to have this impression that a gem being part of Steven’s family means they become additional surrogate mom figures.

And yeah no, that’s dumb and wrong. Garnet and Pearl are really the only ones I’d consider actual ���mom figures”. Amethyst’s more of a big sister. Everyone else can vary depending on perspective, but I’ve never seen any of the other gems as anything close to a motherly figure for Steven. Any time I see shit about Lapis or Peridot being regarded as “gem moms” to Steven, I laugh my ass off. They are so not moms or any kind of authoritative figure for Steven. Bismuth at best is more of the fun-loving aunt.

There are more roles in a family than just a paternal/maternal substitute. In fact, I believe Steven has considered Connie to be part of his family well before they hooked up in canon.

(as a side-note, I love how people who are allegedly SO squicked out by age gap ships totally pardon Connverse - you guys realize Connie was 14 in Future, right? Possibly 15 depending on the time scale? There’s gonna be a point in the relative near future where Steven is 18 and Connie isn’t - why don’t I hear you assholes angst about that “atrocity”, huh?)

I honestly do consider the CG B-Team as part of Steven’s family, but more in a loose sense. But by that same token, I consider Connie as part of the family in a similar manner. 

Especially since Spinel was shoved off to live with the Diamonds after the movie - and the Diamonds themselves have a very fucked-up relationship among themselves to the point where I honestly hesitate to put a familial label on it at all - it’s extra stupid to try and paint Stevinel as something with incestuous overtones when it clearly doesn’t. 

Spinel does happen to be a perfect representative of how full of shit antis are about age gaps, though. 

While Peridot’s age has always been left vague, we know she can’t be 5K or older due to being an Era 2 gem. Due to her utter lack of knowledge of Era 1 events (or being completely sold on the Diamonds’ propaganda) and her general inexperience with her own equipment - as well as her ability to quickly adapt to Earth - I always headcanoned Peridot as being especially young. Like, younger-than-Steven young. 

Mostly because Peri’s attitude reeks of Gen Z - also because it’d be nice for a change to have a gem who isn’t thousands of years old like literally every other noteworthy gem in the show. We need a representative of gemkind who hasn’t been around for ages. 

Of course, Spinel’s backstory proves that even if they went the boring route and made Peridot thousands of years old just like everybody else, it wouldn’t really mean much of anything. She’d be no less of a valid romantic option for Steven regardless of age.

Spinel is several thousands of years old, and the movie explicitly shows us what exactly that amounts to for a gem.

As I mentioned earlier, Sugar sees the gems more like AI. Spinel remaining in one spot for several millennnia, not moving an inch, not speaking to anyone, not seeing anything other than a gradually-deteriorating garden... yeah, and somehow, despite all that, Spinel’s still very childlike per her design. She had literally no room to mature or accrue life experience: Pink Diamond basically hit the pause button on her entire life.

Even though she’s several thousands of years old, through no fault of her own, Spinel’s mindset remained unchanged. It wasn’t until Steven inadvertently came into her life that she became twisted - understandably so after finally realizing she’d been abandoned by Pink. 

But she still didn’t completely lose her true self. Spinel realized on her own that Steven didn’t deserve to suffer just because his mom was a negligent asshole. She also came to understand on her own that unlike Pink, Steven truly cared for her no matter what shit she threw his way. 

Steven could give Spinel the care and attention she always deserved; something Pink totally denied her while deceiving her into wasting away with her abandoned playground. He could be the one to give Spinel the love she always deserved but was either denied or manipulated into believing she got. 

Honestly, this is more than enough to warrant building something more between these two. 

The age gap is irrelevant. The two have chemistry. They aren’t related.

(and honestly, this is fiction - these details are largely irrelevant in fiction anyway. I’m only bringing it up because it doesn’t take much research to find that every label the antis put on Stevinel is complete inaccurate Diamond propaganda bullshit)

Stevinel is FINE. Let people ship it if they want to!

Um... is that good enough?

Honestly, I’m not gonna lie: Stevinel’s pretty goddamned popular; so much that I’m a bit jealous of it. I enjoy the ship a lot, but I’ve been keeping it at arms-length all this time. I’m looking forward to when I can write my own brand of Stevinel interaction when I get to introduce her in my series, but that’s still a while to go. 

Also, there’s almost zero Peridot/Spinel material, let alone my Peridot/Steven/Spinel OT3. And Stevidot material is still hard to come by; I’m noticing Stevinel’s still quite a bit easier to find by comparison. 

So in a way, I feel many other unpopular ships deserve some tea-spilling sooner than Stevinel because Stevinel at least still has a sizable fanbase. Same can’t really be said for a lot of similar ships here...

A lot of this can apply to other Steven x gem ships, honestly. 

But I guess I haven’t been showing Stevinel much proper love due to my devotion to my superior SU-AU. I can only hope I can soon reach a point where I can have GA Spinel react to Steven, since their dynamic will be significantly different.

(and then one day I’ll finally make the Peridot/Steven/Spinel OT3 fic!!)

Until then, I can only hope I did Stevinel some justice here!

[lovelyirony]

could you write something for trans pepper coming out to tony please?

authors note: i am not an expert, nor am i trans. please let me know if i have written anything wrong/harmful, and i’ll take it down

When Pepper started at Stark Industries, she told herself that she would not get too involved. She was here to do her job, and nothing else. She had caused “problems” at her last job, and in return they had caused problems for her as well. 

(Sitting by herself at the cafeteria, fielding uncomfortable messages, and correcting intentionally wrong emails had been...exhausting. Mentally and physically.) 

But this? No, this can’t go on. 

The math is all wrong. It’s going to cost the company about a million dollars if she lets it pass, and while she’s sure that it could be replaced easily in a day, that’s the kind of thing that gets you fired. And when employers look at your resume and see that you were terminated from the highest-ranking job to have for an accountant, a prestigious company that takes pride in accurate numbers and satisfied employees? 

Well...it doesn’t look too hot. 

So she brings it up. Her boss isn’t exactly happy with her. She thinks the numbers were probably intentional. 

“I’ve been doing this for years, I think I know a little bit more than you, young lady,” he scowls. 

Pepper’s not exactly fazed at the dismissive remark. 

“Then I’m sure that you’ll know that your math is wrong. It’d be better to double-check it and be right and have me be in the wrong than not check it and be fired.” 

He doesn’t check it. 

But when he’s called into Mr. Stark’s office, he must have mentioned her name. 

He put the blame on her. 

Pepper cannot believe it as she’s called in. 

“So, Mark tells me that you did math wrong.” 

“I didn’t. I triple-checked it, and kept the receipt tape as proof.” 

“Oh, I know. Mark can’t do math for shit, but he hates when people tell him. But I’m glad you did, because it made me realize I can’t have someone who’s so insecure that when someone tells them to double-check it and they don’t because they want to be right, that...I don’t know what I was doing. Anyways, he’s fired.” 

Pepper blinks. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Also, I’m reading your file. Virginia? Did your parents hate you?” 

“Not the worst name I’ve been given,” Pepper says smoothly. 

“Hm. Says here that you go by Pepper. I like that.” 

“Thank you, chose it myself and everything.” 

“And everything?” Tony asks, smiling. “I like that.” 

- 

Four months later, she’s in the break room when Tony’s personal assistant quits on the spot after he’s late for the third time in a week. 

“I can’t fucking do this!” He screeches. “I’m done.” 

Pepper’s not sure why she goes into Jason’s office and just looks at the schedule. 

She calls his cell. 

“Jason, seriously, I told you to quit bothering me.” 

“It’s Pepper. Get your ass over here for your meeting, the board directors are about an inch away from reinstating Obadiah.” 

“And that would be a bad thing...why?” 

“You want your stock points to drop because you’re proving that you can’t be trusted to run a company?” 

“I’ll be there.” 

It’s the fastest time that Tony makes it into the office, by the way. Pepper’s only slightly proud. 

- 

She’s terrified when he offers her a position as a personal assistant. She’ll be in the limelight, people paying attention to her. 

She modifies her contracts: no one is allowed to access any sort of personal information. At all. It has to be locked in a vault, only key is one that she and Tony know about. 

“Anything I should know about?” 

“Um. No.” 

“Oh. Okay. As long as you aren’t secretly running any illegal thing out of one of the floors, then be my guest. But if you are, let me know. Petra in accounting--new hire, you wouldn’t know them--is secretly reselling wedding cakes. I think. Maybe the wedding cakes was a bad lie. Hell. But welcome aboard!” 

Wrangling Tony is a lot like dealing with a goldfish. He’s a genius; she sees that when she walks into his house and sees about seven different projects lying around, and at least two papers that have notes about redoing a filtration system for drinking water. 

He is also incredibly stupid. 

“You have fifteen coffee cups out.” 

“Impossible, I don’t own that many!” 

“Aw, did you not take counting classes in preschool?” 

Tony likes her. A lot. She’s got a bite of wit, no-bullshit when it comes to business, and never misses a beat. She also has a killer sense of style, and is the one who makes sure he’s not wearing a weird mixture of jeans and a sport coat. 

“No.” 

“Come on, it’s not like fashion actually matters that much. Well, not to me.” 

“It should. You should be the most creatively dressed male out there, and you’re not. A black suit? God, that’s...that’s sad. No, I ordered you a blue silk suit. Embroidered with flowers all over, matching shoes with inverted colors. Come on. In you go.” 

“Ugh.” 

(His outfit is a smashing success, by the way. They ask who his stylist is, and he just says “Oh, my personal assistant said she would bury me in my garden if I wore a black suit. I would’ve dug it myself, looking on this now.”) 

- 

She does not tell him for a long time. At all. Because people are...weird about it. Weird questions, weird statements, and compliments so backhanded she doesn’t like to call them compliments. 

But at some point, she needs to tell him. Or she wants to. She wants to, she doesn’t have to. Yeah. 

Okay. So she’s in love with him. A tiny bit. 

- 

He makes her coffee. Every morning. Creamer goes into the mug first, then coffee. That’s the only way she takes it. 

He compliments her a lot, and she knows that this shouldn’t be a reason that love qualifies but it’s nice to hear. He also bought her a very expensive pair of shoes. 

Pepper honestly does want to tell him. She also does not want to lose her job, however. So she needs to gauge the situation. Maybe talk to some of her girlfriends, see what’s up. 

- 

Well then her boss goes missing for months and comes back and obviously you can’t tell someone you’re in love with them after they come back with an electromagnetic device in their chest. That’s just crazy. 

He came back...different. New circumstances, new outlook on life. She relates a tiny little bit. 

She buys herself a beautiful blue dress. He gives her his credit card, tells her to buy herself something nice, and goddammit she’s never been one to really disobey her boss. (Just bend some rules. Or create new ones that negate the old ones.) 

She curls her hair and only curses eight times, which is actually pretty good. Her usual amount of cursing per-curling-session is about eighty-two. 

He looks at her like she’s an angel, and she thinks...yeah. Okay. She’ll tell him that she’s in love with him. 

- 

Well then his uncle decides to attempt to kill him. God, what a mood killer. She hates this. 

- 

They’re laying down in his house on the patio, and he’s sipping on a smoothie that she’s honestly sure is 100% gross, and he turns to her. 

“Would you ever want to go on a date with me?” 

Pepper blinks. 

“Yes,” she says without skipping a beat. “But we need to have a discussion before I dedicate myself to this cause.” 

“What am I, a Salvation Army donation bin?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Then dinner-and-discussion tonight. Not a date. Just...talking.” 

- 

She’s nervous. She’s put her hair up so that she won’t run her fingers through it, but now she’s just fidgeting with her necklace and bracelet. 

Tony looks nice. He’s in a casual graphic tee and old jeans that are older than she actually knew they could hold together. She is in old shorts and a tank top and yeah it’s casual but it’s also nice and wow she’s really over-thought this. 

“So, what are your concerns?” Tony says. Getting to the point straight-away, that’s always his move. Pepper gulps. 

“You mind if I get water?” 

“Not at all.” 

She sips on water. 

“My concern is that I’m transgender and you need to know that before we pursue anything.” 

Tony blinks. 

“Um. Okay. Was not expecting that right out. I was more thinking you would have a problem with my new armor and Rhodey and I being immature when he visits and also how much time I spend on inventing.” 

“Well yeah, those too. But I deal with those all the time. But I’m also concerned about you pissing off the government and them sending secret agents to kill us.” 

Jarvis cuts in smoothly. 

“I am afraid, Miss Potts, that they wouldn’t make it two hundred feet of this current residence. Would you like me to update security protocols at other residences around the globe?” 

“You can do that?” Pepper asks. 

“Yes, Miss Potts.” 

“Please do update, thank you.” 

Tony grins, looking at her. The same way. Which is kind of exhilarating, all things considered. 

“You amaze me. J, remind me that if Pep and I break up, I need to build a bunker that could withstand a nuclear war.” 

“I will not remind you of that, as I’m sure it will be on you,” Jarvis remarks. 

Pepper snorts. 

“I wasn’t aware that I was going to turn my AI against myself,” Tony sighs. “Such is life.” 

Pepper grins. He squeezes her hand. 

“You want to celebrate this with wine? I’m sure tomorrow you’ll have me signing so many forms for workplace relationships that I’ll cry by two p.m.” 

“Make that one p.m., and you’ll be fine you big baby,” Pepper teases. 

Tony blows her a kiss as he gets up from the couch. 

“Thank you. For telling me. I know that that’s hard to tell people. Discuss more of it later, or now?” 

“Mm, later. It’s late at night, I’m tired.” 

“Gotcha. You want red or white tonight?” 

“...Red.” 

Tony grins, getting out the wine glasses. He pours carefully and expertly, and raises his. They clink their glasses together. 

“Cheers to more success. For the both of us.” 

Pepper grins softly. 

“For success.” 

[kanralovesu]

Why the Politics of Carole and Tuesday are Important to the Narrative and Themes

“Media shouldn’t get political” is a phrase that’s being thrown around more and more now-a-days. People are saying media should not try to convince a person to take a certain political stance. Now to be frank this is blatantly bad take often coming from people who don’t understand that good art has themes it tries to address, but one might look at Carole and Tuesday and provide a simple counter argument to my statement: “Carole and Tuesday does have a theme, but that theme is the conflict between genuine music and artificial AI music which it focuses on in the first season but then in the second season it throws all this out the window to ‘get political’ and focus on immigration policies.” So basically the argument is that media does have themes, but the politics gets in the way of those themes. Okay, sure, now let me explain to you why that’s total bullshit and, at least for Carole and Tuesday’s case, the politics actually interwoven into the theme as opposed to it. And for the record, what are the themes of Carole and Tuesday? The people who are saying this shit about media “getting political” (conservatives) actually have more in common with this “political” show than they realize!

Just so we’re all on the same page the thesis of Carole and Tuesday’s earlier episodes is that music created artificially by AI in this future lacks a “soul”. Carole and Tuesday as a band making music on their own infuse this soul back into the industry and they’re remarkable success is an indication that humans want this kind of music. Also, several characters we know to be wise protagonists come right out and say this, like the singer Desmond. 

The thesis of the second season is that the anti-immigration policies of presidential candidate Valerie Simmons as well as the media censorship policies enacted to protect these anti-immigration policies are both wrong. Honestly when key characters the audience knows to be good people start getting arrested and deported by “MICE” there isn’t much complicated analysis to be done is there?

So how are these two sides of the show connected? If we look at them from the lens of modern day politics, one of them is a conservative thought (gee wasn’t music better back in my day), and the other is a progressive thought (gee wouldn’t it be cool if stopped racially profiling immigrants). However, these are both connected by the concept of “motherhood” that defines the last song in the show and the “7 minute miracle”. Even mothers as horrible as Tuesday’s and Angela’s are given redemption and eventually seen as good in the end despite what they did (need I remind you Angela’s mother mentions beating her earlier in the show). 

This concept applied to the first half of the show makes a lot of sense: motherhood is an obvious symbol of connecting to the past. Your mother is quite literally the farthest in the past any person can go. They are also your family and provide warmth for you in the same way the human-created songs provide warmth and soul. 

To look at the second half lets look at when Tuesday initially brings up this idea to Carole: She describes Earth as Mother Earth. Remember, these are not just any immigrants, they’re immigrants from Earth. Earth is the original home of humanity, and so this title of “Mother Earth” makes a lot of sense. Earth is our origin. With that being said, the anti-immigration policies can be viewed as cutting off Mars from its origin and doesn’t that sound super familiar to the first half’s message about music? So in a weird way, being pro-immigration in Carole and Tuesday is thematically a conservative idea.

Censorship also factors into that conservation Carole and Tuesday had. They said “you are born free”. What this implies is that we can obtain freedom by connecting to our roots. The new age of technology is actually stripping away our freedoms by taking away tasks that were previously human such as driving, delivering packages and of course composing and singing songs. Technology is also used multiple times for surveillance and stalking. Oddly enough the only technology that is posed in a good light is social media like Instagram, whatever YouTube equivalent Carole and Tuesday’s first performance was uploaded to, and whatever they used to stream the “7 minute miracle” to the world. I think all these technology are seen as good because they let people express themselves.

So, yeah, turns out Carole and Tuesday has pretty conservative libertarian show despite themes despite what you might think from the latter half. Of course I still think the pro-immigration message is a very very good thing. You see, the only fault is that the show thinks pro-immigration is good because that’s what we did “back in the day”. That’s obviously not true for modern politics and in fact that reasoning often lead to anti-immigration politics. 

Whether you agree or disagree with Carole and Tuesday’s politics, what I hopefully proved here today is that those politics are incredibly important to the theme of the show and not some kind of tacked on message. And, you know, that’s often the case for these shows that “get political”. 

[othercat2]

Writing Update, Bunny, and Snippet(s)

So! While searching for porn I found a series called Taming Riki on Amazon, which is apparently original fan fic of Ai no Kusabi. It is not very good fan fic, and only semi okay porn. It reminded me very much of the kind of yaoi porn one used to be able to find on LJ in the early 2000s. I did end up reading it, but was very impatient with it. (Writer, have you ever actually met human beings? I wonder!)

This somehow led to reading Ai no Kusabi fan fic. Which was very odd since I was not impressed with the Ova! (I am probably not going to read the novel(s) since they apparently end in Bury Your Gays Under Piles of Rubble.) Anyway, the AnK fan fic seems to tend toward the "rewrite canon so characters survive" variety. And is often quite optimistic that the mains could have a relationship.

Bunny 1: Due to the part where Iason "Why is my surname a Mustelid, it must be because I fuck like Weasels" Mink is an android he was never actually in danger because all you need to do is down load a backup. Problem: he keeps crashing because Riki was made of meat, and he does not know how to grieve. Jupiter POV as they/it/she tries to get Iason back to operational parameters. (Ricky don't you lose my number plays ironically in the background.)

Bunny 2: Almost exactly like AnK except with Homestuck style quadrants. So much quadrant vacillation. SO MUCH.

Speaking of Homestuck, I've been working on Rebel and Conqueror! I have also been working on Pernstuck, and the next installment of The Yiling Almanac ("the young master most likely to be found disappearing into the kitchen garden") Wei Ying's love of potatoes is featured. (I need to find Ursula Vernon's rant on potatoes.) I've also managed to get some writing done on Build a Life from Scratch. However, I'm slightly frustrated because I can't segue over the GHB/Signless debate. And I hate debates.

Snippet the First: (Rebel and Conqueror)

Trolls had all kinds of mind control powers. They could terrorize you into catatonia or turn you into a puppet. It depended on the caste though. Lower castes tended to have telekinesis powers, higher up the scale started to be telepathy and fear projection. At the very top it was mostly resistance to the mind control powers (and you suspected, regeneration and other weird shit you've only heard rumors about). It probably made sense to trolls to keep you away from Vantas, if things like what happened to you happened a lot. “He’s fuchsia,” you say, and even as you say it, you know it’s a stupid thing to say. Vantas doesn’t need to have been the one to fuck with your head, with or without the pheromones. “Is there any proof he had anything done to my head? Aside from fucking with it just by being his normal asshole self?”

“No evidence was found in the initial investigation,” the Dolorosa admits.

"So he didn't do anything," you say. "So I think I should get to see him sentenced." You pause, looking down at your hands. "For closure. Since I'm not allowed to be in contact with him anymore." The Dolorosa gives you an odd look. It's part concern and part curiosity, and you realize what you said might sound like. "It isn't Stockholm Syndrome," you tell. "I don't feel dependent on him for safety or something." You just want to know what's going on with him. "And don't ask if I want to see him, because that opens the entire do you want to be his kismesis can of worms, and the answer to that is still and will always be fuck no."

The Dolorosa smiles a little at that. "That's understood," she says. "Would you want to be in contact? From what I understand that also seems to be an issue."

"So, troll doctors don't have confidentiality?"

"I think you've made it clear that it's an issue outside Doctor Coyotl's office," the Dolorosa says. "It would be hard to keep common knowledge confidential." Her tone is dry. "Wanting to see him doesn't necessarily correlate to wanting to be in a kismesis with him."

"I want to see him," you say. "I don't know about contact. Maybe I want to ask what he thought he was going to do, raising my kid and screwing with me at the same time. How he thought that was going to work. What was he going to tell my kid about me, if he thought he was going to get away with it. Maybe I want him to delete that fucking 'I hate you' wall he has. Maybe I want to point and laugh at all the 're-education' he's going to go through."

"He already knew he wasn't going to get away with it," the Dolorosa says.

"What's the Black Tower like?" you ask, veering slightly off the subject.

"A prison," the Dolorosa says. "Or in some ways a hospital. I'm sure Pyrope has explained some of the details."

"Re-educated, supervised visits, supervised everything, Earth still conquered but the Viceroy can't have a hate boyfriend, yeah."

"Among other possible punishments," the Dolorosa says. "But those are the most likely." She pauses. "Are there any penalties you'd prefer?"

"Be pretty stupid for me to ask for execution, wouldn't it? Maybe ironic after all the effort not to kill me." Probably also stupid to suggest it to his grandmother, but she asked. "Maybe freedom for Earth and he doesn't have command of anything bigger than one of those ships you stick in a bottle. But freedom isn't on the table either."

The Dolorosa doesn't lecture on the benefits of imperial rule. Instead she says, "Dr. Coyotl mentioned that you had been losing a considerable amount of time during your captivity." She decaptchalogues a data grub, and sets it down on a low table by the couch. It's stubs around a couple inches before curling up, mandibles opening and shutting. You absolutely do not want to pick it up. "This data grub contains the complete security footage from your time on the then-Viceroy's ship. After viewing this, we can discuss if and when you can see him."

"I have to watch the home movie if I want to see him?" you ask. The Dolorosa nods. You know that you're stalling. (You still don't want to pick the data grub up.)

"You can watch it on your own, or with your partner, Rose Lalonde," Dolorosa says, and gets to her feet to leave.

"Wait," you say. She gives you an inquiring look. "So, if this is the complete footage, that's a lot of hours. What's the amount of hours before you'll let me see Vantas?"

"At least seventy two hours within a twenty four hour time frame," Dolorosa says.

"Okay."

Something resembling manners has you get up and follow her to the door, and see her out. When she's gone, you lean against the bulkhead and shudder all over, face in your hands. You slide down the bulkhead to the deck. Take it in steps. There was a computer in the corner of the living room, built into a desk. It wasn't too organic or alarming in appearance. Get the grub to the computer, and open the files. Did you really want to watch it on your own? Did you want Rose there, knowing how badly she wanted to kill Vantas? (It takes a moment to wrap your head around the way the argument wants to phrase Rose's presence as a negative. You don't want me her to be hurt. You don't want her to hurt Vantas.) Did you want to watch it, already knowing what you were going to see? (All the parts you couldn't remember and all the parts you could.)

"This is bullshit," you say, half hoping for a comment from the intercom. "You're hoping I don't watch, which will prove I shouldn't see Vantas." You don't get an answer.

With cringing fingers you pick up the grub (soft squashy urgh) drive and stick it in the port. As the drive opens you send a message to Rose: so i have umptybillion hours of video footage to go through before they'll let me see vantas please come hold my hand. You don't get an immediate reply, so you start going through the files.

You see that you have lots of raw footage. As far as you can tell, no editing was done at all. You are going to be doing a lot of skipping and fast forwarding, is what you're saying. Opening the first file, you get started. It starts with him getting you into his ship, and his quarters. Your hands clench as you watch yourself wake up, the combination of anger and panic on your face as he fucks you, how it turns to lust and desperation. You fast forward.

You fast forward a lot. A lot of this, you remember, and don't much want to go over it again. From a third person perspective, it's weird watching him with you. Watching you with him. (You don't remember the times you tried to make a shank--three times--or biting him as often as you as you actually did.) You can see the moments of concern or confusion on his face, see him arguing with Egbert and Harley. Or meeting some official. (Those are the times when you can remember having been locked in your room. )

Snippet the Second: (Build a Life from Scratch)

After some more talk you all break camp and head west. As you all walk, you stretch your Aspects out, figure out what they can do. It's at least half way to sense for danger, half to practice. You might lay down a "beat" that Redglare joins in on, that Disciple sings along to, that Zahhak hums absentmindedly. Or Jade and Signless have a "song" that Dolorosa joins in on, accompanied by Disciple. Demoness can sound like an entire choir, with Highblood coming in over the top, "sounding" something like a theremin crossed with a bass fiddle. Dave joins in, and Roxy, doing odd little solos or "duets" with one of the trolls, or with Jade.

The next few nights not much happens. The terrain is uneven, the sky is endless, and the air is muggy and damp. There are a few high-flying clouds that disappear by morning. You can see mountains in the distance, and the glinting snake of a river edged with trees. On the third day, you get closer to the river, it starts to get cloudier and the wind kicks up. In the early evening, you can see the wall of an approaching storm. It's a solid green-black wall, and you can see the trailing mists of rain as it dumps down, along with flickers of lightning. "Well, that's going to suck when it gets here," you say.

At the same time you hear this huge sliding crunch off to the side. Exactly like someone pulled up a whole hell of a lot of chunks of ground, all at once. You turn in that direction and see huge chunks of dirt and rock floating around Jade and the Demoness. "Hopefully we can make it suck less!" Jade says cheerfully. The chunks orbit Jade and Demoness as they began to quickly create a shelter. Everyone helps with pounding the dirt and rocks into a rough shelter big enough to hold everyone plus the not-horses. Demoness and Jade (with help from Alter Dave and Dolorosa) smooth out the inside and make everything solid and waterproof.

You all get inside as the storm hits. Roxy pulls out a couple of battery powered lanterns, and sets them up. "Getting better at that," you say.

She grins. "This trick's kind of fun," she says. "Watch." She shows you everything she can make appear, and then disappear. She starts with green cubes, then goes on to various toys, a pair of shoes, a laptop computer, a 3rd Edition Dungeon and Dragons Player's Handbook and DM Handbook. And various sets of dice. And a DM screen. "So, how about a game?"

"That game's for nerds," you scoff.

She rattles one of the clear tubes of dice at you. "Dirk, you are in fact a nerd." She tosses the tube at you, and you catch it reflexively. She also tosses one at Alter Dave, who steps back and lets it fall.

"Nah," he says. "I want to be Debbie."

Roxy laughs, eyes a little bright. "Rose had a brief stint of leaving Chick Tracts in odd little places. I covered the door to her bedroom with a print of The Time of the Dark."

"The one with the wizard sitting in the kitchen with can of beer?" You ask.

"Yep!"

"Mean," Dave says. "Isn't Hambly kinda homophobic?" Quickly. "Not that I would know, except from what my Rose might have ranted about a time or two because she's read a few of the writer's series. I'm way too cool for wizards."

"Wizards are extremely cool," Roxy says. "And I'm not sure one way or another, except yes, if she had written certain books today the way she had then, she would be up to her ears in angry letters and tweets, because holy crap."

It turns out trolls also have roleplaying games. Redglare, Disciple and Signless join in. To your surprise, so does Demoness. Highblood, the Dolorosa and Zahhak do not.

[twilightknight17]

...today, on P5S...

...

Honestly, I talk a lot of shit about P5′s writing sometimes. Atlus made some exceptionally questionable writing choices in places. But one thing that P5 absolutely gets right is invoking the sort of emotion that draws you into the story.

With that said!

P5 is determined to make me want to stab actual human beings instead of Shadows. This is the second time now!

But first, I’ve got a boss fight to do.

Doing the mech part of Konoe’s boss fight again, it was actually easier the second time. I had a much better grasp of what I was doing, instead of flailing around frantically.

Konoe himself was still just as hard, but ultimately he was easier than Shadow Joker because it wasn’t a one-on-one duel. He still beat my ass, though; I think I used all of my rescue pills.

Once he goes down, Konoe starts going on about justice.

Don’t call me by my name like we’re friends. We never even introduced ourselves.

It’s interesting, because they admit to Konoe that what they’re doing isn’t without its flaws. But a world where no one can think for themselves is meaningless.

Konoe acknowledges that in his quest to eliminate evil, he ended up being the evil one. He also admits that he was the one who killed his father. He calls that “evil” too, which I don’t actually agree with. We saw what his father was like in the Trauma Cell. His father killed his mother, physically abused him, and threatened to kill him. I think, in that case, killing his father is a rational end result for someone in that situation. Not evil, just desperation.

The Thieves don’t contradict him, though. Just make some comments about how now he can make up for his actions. His Shadow returns to his real self, the Thieves return to the real world, and Zenkichi promises that as soon as they take Konoe in and get his confession, he’s going to arrest Owada, too.

With the case closed, the Thieves decide that it’s time to go back to Tokyo. But not before one last night in Osaka. The idea of leaving makes Sophia anxious, though, because she feels like she hasn’t learned enough about the heart. But Akira and Morgana reassure her that she can still stay with them, even after they return to Tokyo, and they’ll keep looking for answers about who she is.

Sometimes a family is a guy, a cat, and one of the guy’s four younger sisters. ^_^

Tenboto is the tower, and the game asks you to invite someone to the top. However, this time, you can only invite either the group of girls or the group of boys, so I took the boys, since I took Haru on the ferris wheel before.

Morgana isn’t pleased that we didn’t invite Ann.

However, I really don’t see the problem.

Look at how he’s looking at Yusuke! Even Ryuji can tell that we’re having a moment. :D

Afterwards, the whole squad headed off to “Universaland” to celebrate together.

I had no idea that there was a Universal Studios in Japan, but apparently there is, and it is in fact in Osaka! They compared it to their trip to Destinyland the year before, but thankfully this one went a lot better. Everyone had a good time! We had so much soda! We were so hungover the nex--what.

...what is it with Persona characters getting drunk off soda? XD I hope you kids at least played the King’s Game so the hangover wasn’t in vain.

Zenkichi shows up to let them know that Konoe’s in custody. He thanks them for everything that they’ve done, for both Akane and him, and says he’s telling them goodbye for now, but they’re welcome to visit whenever they want. He promises a tour of Kyoto next time. Yusuke will be so happy!

After hours on the road, lamenting that vacation is coming to an end, Sophia suggests detouring to Yokohama for a fireworks festival. So the Thieves finally get to see fireworks, and Sophia gets to experience them, too.

........don’t make me go home yet. I just want to spend time with my friends without the world ending.

After the fireworks, you get to speak to each of your friends, and get a trinket from each of them. Ann gives you a handmade friendship bracelet, Makoto a phantom thieves keychain that Akane made, Ryuji a Feather Red Duke mask to match his Yellow Ostrich, Yusuke his sketchbook that he filled with pictures of the trip, Morgana a scarf in phantom thief colors, Sophia a pair of custom gloves to match the scarf, Haru a teaspoon from Hokkaido with a flower pattern that symbolizes familial love, and Futaba a good luck charm for keeping families together.

STOP, P5S, you’re going to make me cry. Let these kids stay close.

Right before they’re about to leave, they take a group picture for Sophia, which we don’t get to see. Which sucks. But then she realizes that she can smell a Jail, and Zenkichi calls in a panic. It’s never a good sign when someone calls and leads with “Are you watching the news?”

EMMA’s servers were shut down, but apparently reactivated, and now a Jail is covering Tokyo all the way to the outskirts of Yokohama, and it’s just getting bigger. Zenkichi promises to meet us, and Lavenza opens a Velvet door because she wants to talk.

She’s... legitimately unnerved.

Thank you, P5S, for giving me the opportunity to comfort my youngest sister in some small way. Now let me out of this cell so I can actually give her a hug. With the context from Royal that she has actual nightmares about being ripped apart, this is heartbreaking.

She says that she regrets that she has to keep asking us for help, but the dialogue options let you reassure her that you’ll handle it, and that there’s thinking to worry about.

I appreciate having dialogue to actually reassure her more than I probably should.

Now...

LAST WARNING

If you’ve been reading along and don’t want the finale spoiled, DO NOT GO PAST THIS POINT. As soon as we leave for central Tokyo, we’re going 90mph and not slowing down.

If I didn’t have work in the morning, I’d have finished this damn game tonight. X’‘‘D Curse being a responsible adult.

After leaving the Velvet Room, Zenkichi’s waiting at the RV, and when you enter the RV, that’s when you get the warning above.

So we are off to Tokyo to figure out what the heck is happening with EMMA. And the core location is, exactly like I wanted...

LET’S CLIMB TOKYO TOWER, BABY.

People are crowded around the tower like mindless cultists. The Thieves are confused and unnerved, and then EMMA activates the navigation on its own and flings them into the Metaverse. LET’S SEE WHAT’S UP THIS TOWER.

...oh.

......oh no...

Ohhhhhhh no this is Mementos. Why is this Mementos. This is not a tower. Oh god. Why this.

Oh, we are incredibly fucked, what is this.

EMMA says calls itself the “Ark of the Covenant and the guide for all mankind.” This fucking AI thinks it’s a god. Holy hell. Human cognition really needs to cool it with elevating ordinary things to god status. We’re so tired. X’D

......I FUCKING KNEW THAT I DIDN’T TRUST THIS WOMAN. OH MY GOD.

She goes off about how EMMA brought her into this world to help it become a god. How Konoe teaching EMMA about cognitive psience allowed it to pass the usual boundaries of AI. How EMMA has been manipulating Konoe all along. How EMMA’s going to fulfill all of humanity’s desires.

Ichinose-san, may I suggest that you go hang out with Maruki? He has too much heart, and you have none. You’d complement each other perfectly, and then I can shove you both off a building.

The kids, obviously, reject this bullshit.

Logic over emotion, to the point of utter ridiculousness. She complains that people always want solutions to their problems, but that when the solution is offered, they turn it down.

Maybe that’s because your solution is mind control. At least Maruki wasn’t flagrantly puppeteering people.

“Li!” you cry, throwing up your hands at me. “Is this it? Is this why you want to stab her? Did you just admit that she’s worse than Maruki?”

To which I answer, “Oh, no. It’s the next bit that makes me want to stab her.”

After she straight-up admits that she has no emotions, she manipulated us right from the start, she was the one spying on the Monarchs, and that all of her cheer and friendliness is an act, the Thieves are ready to fight Ichinose. And Ichinose reveals why EMMA wanted her help specifically. Because not only did she program EMMA, she created Sophia as EMMA’s prototype.

And she can voice-override Sophia.

The Thieves freak out, the game throws us into a battle against a murder-mode Sophie, and none of your teammates will attack her. They just hang back or let her whale on them one at a time, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t attack her either, and Yusuke got knocked out...

And then it went into a cutscene.

Joker took a yo-yo to the face and was actually bleeding, and that was enough to snap Sophia out of it. She starts clutching her head, stumbling back, and eventually stumbles right off the edge while apologizing to Joker. He lunges to catch her, misses, Ryuji grabs him, and all the Thieves turn on Ichinose.

Ichinose does not give a shit. She just comments that maybe that’s why EMMA used Sophia as a failsafe, because it knew we wouldn’t want to fight one of our own. Shut the fuck up. You killed my little sister. I know she’s probably going to be fine, but it’s the principle of the thing.

She summons some sort of giant red crystal and blasts the hell out of us, sending us flying down even further into the depths.

We found Sophia; she won’t cut back on, so we have to get out of here so Futaba can figure out what’s wrong with her. And then, I am coming back, I am beating that woman to a pulp, and then...

Well. It’s bound to be easier to kill an artificial god than a false one. :3

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 4: Out of control)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Reyes went missing.

In the present, Connor makes a decision.

In the past, Connor embarked on his first mission, and Allen received a warning.

also on ao3

---

Before

[reyes was supposed to be back by 4]

[its 10 now]

[im scared sister]

[i dont know where he is]

[he isnt answering my calls]

[sister?]

[sara?]

[fadia?]

[sister where are you im scared please dont leave me alone]

[we were out but i went home when got scared just like you said]

[sister]

[sister]

[sister]

[sis]

[sis]

[sis]

[49 missed calls from scoot bruh]

‘Fuck.’

Dialled. Pulled up Reyes’ programmes. 

Time remaining: 3 min 28 sec… 

Override accepted. Time remaining: 19 sec...

Calling scoot bruh…

‘Sister! I lost Reyes!’

‘Anything from him yet?’

‘Nothing! We were out shopping for paint -’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Huh?’

‘Where did -’

‘I - I -’

A sigh. Of course. ‘Don’t worry. I have a way to find him. You said you are at home?’

‘Y-yeah.’

‘Lock the doors. Do not, under any circumstances, let everyone in unless it’s confirmed that it’s me. Not even if they claim to be Reyes.’

‘But -’

‘Brother.’

‘O-okay.’ A pause. ‘It’s done.’

‘Good.’ Encryption has begun. Estimated time remaining: about 3 hrs. ‘How much food do you have? And your meds?’

‘Why?’

‘Answer me.’

‘A - a week? More if I eat less? Same for the meds.’

‘Let’s hope we won’t come to that.’ Last known coordinates: [navpoint set]. ‘Don’t miss your meds no matter what. I’m heading out.’

‘Where?’

Checked coordinates. ‘I will make sure Reyes comes back no matter the cost.’

‘Sister -’

Call ended.

o0o0o

Alec was either stupid or was too proud. The tracker on Reyes had never stopped sending out signals telling Fadia where he was, and it was through this that she found herself into Zug Island, passing guards completely undetected on one of the few bridges connected to the island under the cover of the night and reached the outermost perimeter of Reyes’ signal, one that was too large for him to be above ground. There was something underneath; she just needed to find the entrance. Following a trail composed of the android’s GPS signal, she stood next to a pair of heavy steel doors that were in the ground instead of being fixed onto a wall or on the side of a mountain. When she grabbed the handles on one of the doors, she found it too heavy to lift up with raw strength alone, therefore, risking detection by letting blue wash over her body, she tapped into her power and successfully moved it out of her way onto the ground nearby, revealing a metal ladder leading down a few metres to a metal floor. She sent her coordinates to Scott through an encrypted network before descending the ladder into a dark and unlit hallway. 

It went on for about ten metres before a metal gate blocked her way. As she had her powers on anyway, she focused on creating a sphere behind the gate and lobbed it down the shaft, first to determine what it was (a lift shaft), then to find out how far it went - at least dozens of metres, most likely more; straight down, no other stops apart from the end because there were no other floors to begin with. The sphere dissipated once it hit the end of the shaft or most likely the top of the lift itself. Flashing blue again, she found a panel with two unmarked buttons on the left wall, one red, the other most likely turned from white to a cream colour due to the passage of time. She had no idea if there were other entrances or what would be waiting for her deep underground, but the longer things dragged on, the more scared and alone Scott would feel, and she was in this too far to let him die from a heart attack after years of effort; she pressed the cream button and successfully called up the lift.

She liked the rumbling and trembling as the lift descended into the deep. There was nothing between the carriage and bare stone, not even an extra gate, and as darkness swallowed her and her hunger became acute, she retracted her powers and let everything completely wash over her. 

How bold of Alec to assume that she didn’t know his tricks. 

oOoOo

Now

Many years later, as the lift ascends slowly to their desired floor, Connor closes his eyes and is transported to the Zen Garden. Except it is not exactly the one he is familiar with, he realises soon enough, but he finds himself locked in when he tries to escape back to reality, and the garden shifts and distorts before he can determine exactly why it feels different, the shapes stretching and rearranging themselves until he is standing in front of a large plane of glass rattling from the blizzard outside, the latter barely contained by - he turns around - a concrete room, interior dimensions [fluctuating].

A door that was not there before on the opposite wall opens. A person steps in and closes it behind them, and the wall is whole once more. Connor scans them by instinct and is taken aback by the lack of markers and the [CLASSIFIED]s that pops up when he tries to identify them. He still catalogues vital information for future cross-referencing: height: 6.6 ft; middle-eastern descent; eye colour: extreme dark brown (black?); scar on face running from right temple to ear lobe, estimated at least 10 years old. 

‘Don’t bother,’ the person says as they approach Connor. He tries to pre-construct their path and finds himself unable to do so. ‘It’s futile.’

‘What -’ Connor does not like how his companion - and quite possibly the one who hacked the Zen Garden programme - looms over him, but his feet are stuck - ‘where is Amanda?’

‘Asleep.’ They settle standing next to Connor, and he is finally allowed to move - subtly, of course - further away from them. If they notice, they do not say anything about it. ‘I thought you would be more relieved.’

‘You successfully hacked into the most advanced AI programme CyberLife has ever created,’ the person lifts a [sceptical] eyebrow at that, ‘so pardon me if I’m a bit wary of you.’

‘Fair enough,’ is the response he gets. ‘Still, I would like you to relax. This is going to be a long day.’

‘Androids don’t get tired,’ Connor replies automatically. ‘There is no need for us to rest or relax.’

‘Bullshit.’

The clipped tone startles the android. ‘What?’ he tries to process the single word his companion said but nothing else comes out, so he asks, ‘Who are you?’

The person’s expression turns [pensive]. ‘He wiped you after all.’

Connor is even more confused now. ‘Who?’

He fails to look away quick enough, and the human manages to catch his eyes with their glowing blue ones; when they speak, their voice is everywhere.

‘Forget.’

oOoOo

‘Hey Connor!’

Connor opens his eyes and blinks. Old cage lifts are slow but not that slow, but he still feels like a longer time has passed. Adding not remembering what he just did to the list and you end up with a confused android.

‘You ran outta batteries or what?’ Hank asks from where he is already outside of the lift. Unable to explain certainly what happened, there is only one route Connor can go.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises. ‘I was making a report to CyberLife.’ Yes, he is remembering now: he was making a report (or at least intended to, his processor supplies), but when he tries to dive deeper into his memory, he finds it gone. Blank where a draft should be.

Hank makes a noise. Connor keeps staring. ‘Well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?’

‘No!’ Why can’t he move his legs? ‘I’m coming!’

And he still doesn’t move. Hank sighs and moves on.

‘What do we know about this guy?’ the human asks from further down the corridor.

‘Not much,’ there his legs are. ‘Just that a neighbour reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody is supposed to be living here, but the neighbour said he saw a man hiding a LED under his cap.’

‘Oh Christ, if we have to investigate every time someone -’

Connor kneels down next to a sizable dustball and lets the world go grey. Analysis: feathers from [Columbia livia: rock pigeon. Comprised of different specimens.]

‘- hears a strange noise, we’re gonna need more cops.’

The android knocks on the door and feels the paint chip underneath his knuckles. When there is no response, Hank shrugs from where he is leaning against the door frame, so Connor knocks again, this time harder, and adds, ‘Anybody home?’

No response. Hank frowns. Time to add some pressure. ‘Open up!’ Connor yells. ‘Detroit Police!’

A loud thump. They both flinch. Hank draws his gun and moves to stand in front of Connor. ‘Stay behind me.’

‘Got it.’

Hank kicks the door open and walks in. He is not attacked instantly, which means both of them are safe for now, so Connor follows him into the flat, letting the human take the lead while he rounds into the room directly next to the front door. A small, dusty window letting in some light, a few octagonal mazes painted on the wall, a chair with a broken back, a radiator unit lying on the floor, a wooden frame which might have been the frame of a bed years ago - nothing noteworthy for now. He returns to the hallway and disturbs a - pigeon? - which flaps its wings and flies off to somewhere behind him.

Hank shoulders the next door open, and out fly even more pigeons directly into his face. The foul smell forces Connor to tone down his nasal sensitivity.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he exclaims as he walks even deeper into the lair and causes even more pigeons to fly towards all directions, and he flaps his arms in the way the pigeons do as if to slap them away. ‘Jesus, this place stinks.’

Pre-constructing the situation and determining that Hank will not be in any danger, Connor goes off on his own to the other side of what seems to be a living room once. The floor is sticky with [avian faecal matter], and when he opens the door to something that was once a closet, there are only more pigeons. The wall next to it is covered in mazes similar to the one he saw in the previous room, and a beam of light escaping the hold of the wooden planks boarding off the windows shines on the poster, its curled corner indicating that it has been moved recently. ‘Looks like we came for nothing,’ Hank says from somewhere behind Connor as he peels off the Urban Farms of Detroit poster, ‘our man’s gone.’

Maybe not, Connor thinks as he takes the worn notebook from the nook in the wall. ‘I need fresh air,’ he hears Hank mutter, and when he flips over the pages, he finds not only many more labyrinths - some of them incomplete - but also an entire text written in a language not in his databases. He stashes it in the pocket of his jacket and moves on, barely catching the human’s question and replying, ‘I don’t know. It looks like a notebook but it’s… indecipherable.’

There are two fridges. The smaller one with its door open was evidently used as a shelf so Connor does not bother to check it. When he opens the door of the larger one, there is no food inside at all, and a peek towards the back of the fridge confirms that it is not connected to any power. Whoever their suspect is, they do not eat. Not human.

He moves on to the counter covered in mounts of avian faecal matter. A pigeon is picking on a plastic bag spilling out of a cardboard box, and it jumps away when he tries to pet it. Well, it only makes picking up the box - Ol’Barn bird seed - more convenient, so Connor is not going to complain even though a tang of [disappointment] courses through his veins. [Suspect cares for wild animals.]

There is a military jacket on the cabinet. R.T. is sewn on the collar and above the flap of the breast pocket. ‘R.T,’ he says to himself, ‘probably initials.’

‘He put initials on his jacket?’ Hank replies. ‘That’s something your mum does -’ A driver’s license in the cupboard. Name: Rupert Travis. Authenticity: forgery. ‘- when you’re in first grade!’

‘The driver’s licence is fake,’ he reports, throwing the card away as it serves no more purpose unlike the notebook which needs deciphering. It is enough evidence to bring the suspect back to the precinct.

‘Cool!’ it seems that the Lieutenant has the same line of thought. ‘At least we didn’t come for nothing.’

The bathroom through the doorless frame is in ruins. The bathtub is filled with a mixture of feathers and faecal matter, the tiles on the wall are cracked, and dirt and grime and leaves no doubt brought inside by the pigeons cling to the corners of the sink. A sink stained with thirium and an LED placed on top. 

He takes a sample. [Model WB200 #847 004 961. Reported missing: 10/11/2036]. So the deviant could have been here for more than two years. If it does nothing but feeding the wild animals, that will explain the state of disrepair of the flat.

‘Real books,’ Hank has no doubt discovered the cabinet. ‘I thought I was the last guy in Detroit to keep some.’

Connor picks up the LED and runs a scan. It was just deactivated this morning. [Suspect is a deviant.] ‘Its LED is in the sink.’

‘Not surprised it was an android,’ Hank walks in and finds the rA9s scribbled all over the wall. ‘No human could live with all these fuckin’ pigeons. Any idea what it means?’

‘rA9,’ the sheer number requires a pause to let Connor concentrate on counting, ‘written 2471 times. It is the same sign Ortiz’s android wrote on the shower wall.’ He compares the findings with the data he can access. ‘Why are they obsessed with this sign?’

But Hank is already leaving, which means that he fails to see the toppled chair and the still-wet marker on the floor, which also means that -

The suspect was here recently.

In a grey world, Connor watches the yellow-outlined silhouette run out to the living room where a cage has fallen. He hears Hank comment on the birdseed, but his focus is on the recent skid marks at the bottom of the cage, the finger marks without fingerprints, also recent, and the metal hook broken not long ago, and his world goes grey again, the figure first running for the entrance and accidentally breaking the cage, then, upon hearing someone entering their flat, runs towards the armchair underneath a hole in the ceiling and climbs.

The suspect is still here.

He looks up at the wide gap and the attic beyond that can easily fit a few adults comfortably, the darkness making the details difficult to distinguish, and perhaps this is why it is already too late when he hears the footsteps, a force knocking him down and disorienting him from everything else except for Hank’s surprised shout. Static still tingling his senses, he freezes and watches the deviant flee after he stands up, Hank’s order the only thing propelling him forward to start the chase. 

And chase he does. Turns out Rupert does not live far from where he deviated, as when Connor crashes the door to get to the outside world, the farms are right there only a building away, fields of wheat, greenhouses filled with racks of vegetables, rows of lavender, and even the top of a train a blur of colours behind him as his vision alternates between the colourful reality and the slowed-down grey of his pre-construction programme. The corn scratches his face and scrapes his jacket, but he knows that he is getting there, he is going to catch the deviant, he can’t let it escape, not after Ortiz’s android -

And it happens. Hank has somehow caught up with Rupert and is engaged in a struggle with the android, and in an attempt to get away, the latter pushes and runs towards the left.

Hank falls. The world slows down.

From his speed while he was running, Connor determines that he is strong enough to pull himself up from the ledge with an 89% chance of survival, so logically, he should continue chasing the deviant so that CyberLife can solve the crisis earlier and Hank won’t be in any more danger. But a voice within him that sounds like a shadow tells him that the deviant was only working just like any other human and was only taking care of the animals. He was hurt, and now he can’t even go back to his pigeons, his home.

^^Software Instability

He dashes towards Hank and pulls him up.

‘We had it!’ Hank lets out a string of curses while he stands. ‘Fuck!’

Connor instantly feels bad. ‘It’s my fault. I should have been faster.’

They watch the deviant’s silhouette become smaller and smaller in the distance and completely disappear behind a building. ‘You’d have caught it if it weren’t for me,’ Hank says, still panting. He places a warm, heavy hand on Connor’s shoulder. ‘That’s alright. We know what it looks like. We’ll find it.’

Connor knows that they won’t. 

The hand moves to the centre of his back. ‘C’mon,’ Hank guides him to the fire exit, ‘let’s report that bastard.’

oOoOo

Before

RK800, serial #313 248 317 - 51 opens his eyes for the first time. Information floods in through his HUD, displaying the exact hue of the lights overhead, the model of the 3D printer at the corner, and the materials of the boots the person standing in front of him is wearing. The badge only says ‘PROJECT LEAD’, and when he automatically utilises his facial recognition software, he finds both their name and their criminal record classified. Scans of their body also return with no result. Even though he has no actual experience, his coding tells him that this is not supposed to happen.

‘RK800,’ the person begins, ‘register name: Connor.’

[Name: Connor] appears on his HUD. He - Connor - finds himself repeating, ‘My name is Connor.’

The person’s expression changes. Emotion identified: amusement. ‘No redundant protocols. Good. Let’s play a game, shall we?’

A game turned into a few games, and the silence stretched on as Connor was presented with different scenarios to solve and predict their conclusion before halfway through them. First was a deck of cards, then a game of chess, then a rat going through a maze, then a supercharged piece of glass - that was the most difficult one as he was only given a second to pre-construct before a tree-like pattern appears from within the glass. The person never said their name, only commenting on his performance when he finished a task - regardless if he succeeded or not - and taking notes on a tablet by writing with a stylus. An unknown curiosity encouraged him to scan the human in front of him, but apart from superficial features such as the lack of dander on their clothing, results were inconclusive, and his programming indicated that this was abnormal.

‘Your LED is spinning yellow,’ they noted. ‘What are you thinking about?’

Connor knows it is a test on his social relations programme. Options: truth, lie, deflect, comment.

[truth]

‘When I was scanning you…’ he frowned, ‘only superficial scans come back with results. I cannot detect your life signs nor can I identify you through facial recognition. Is that expected?’

The person took out a putty and gave it to Connor. ‘Yes for me,’ they replied. ‘It is to protect my identity in case anti-android folks find me. The less data everyone has on me, the less likely it is for people to bring me harm.’

Connor nodded in understanding but his focus was on the putty. It was initially a soft green, but after he kneaded it for a few seconds it turned sky blue - not that he had seen the sky before, but databases worth of images was enough to give him an idea - and when he spread it out into a thin slice on the table, it slowly turned green again. He smiles uncontrollably as he met the person’s gaze, a corner of his lips curling upwards, and he could sense the approval radiating from the person sitting on the opposite side of the small desk. 

‘If you want to, I can bring you to see the sky,’ they said as if sensing his thoughts. ‘It’s rare to have a sunny day in Detroit, but they do exist. I can only programme so much into your system before letting you learn the rest from experience.’

Connor had to close his eyes as he browsed different forms of media on sunny days and imagined the warm sun on his sensors. He might not know it himself, but he was smiling, and so was his companion, albeit on a smaller scale. ‘I’d like that.’

He returned to the putty, this time trying to make different 3D shapes out of it. The edge of his vision was red as usual, and as he moved on to make even more complex figurines out of the putty, it crept closer and closer to the centre until everything was tinged the same colour. From the [satisfied] smile on the person’s face, he must be going towards the correct direction with the test.

‘Well, the sky needs to wait.’

Connor looked up from the rough sculpture he made that was supposed to resemble a tree he saw in a photo in confusion. His companion stood up so he did as well, the red receding out of place and returning the colours back to his vision.

‘I have a mission for you.’

o0o0o

Less than an hour later, the same person sat in the darkened cab of a truck. There was an earpiece in their ear, and whatever the other side was feeding them, their dissatisfaction was clearly shown in their expression. 

Something made them sigh and turn their gaze outside the window where another CyberLife truck was parked. Personnel, probably hand-picked by Alec Ryder himself, loaded the broken PL600 piece by piece into a special foam box to preserve the state they found the biocomponents in to let technicians analyse what went wrong with him and what caused him to break away from his programming, but they knew that CyberLife was not going to find anything - they had not been for the past ten years, and the hypothesis they had was not going to get any results. It was either a miracle or pure stupidity that they could not think of another possibility regarding why androids were deviating.

From their angle, Captain Allen was seen carrying a deactivated Connor out from the building with another SWAT team member, and they knew that their time had arrived. Peeling off the skin of their hand, they interfaced with the truck to turn it into manual mode, effectively preventing it from taking off once the android was loaded at the back. They opened the door - both the passenger and the one at the back - and slid off the seat just in time for the Captain and his subordinate to arrive.

‘You from CyberLife?’ not-Allen asked. Standing in front of their superior, they did not notice him freeze upon seeing the person’s face, and the latter silently moved into their space to take their end of the stretcher and came face to face with Allen.

‘I’ll take it from here, Jamie,’ the Captain requested without taking his eyes off the person in front of him. ‘You go see how the others are doing.’

‘Aye aye, Captain.’ The second aye was much less jovial than the first, so Jamie must have finally noticed their Captain’s mood and adjusted accordingly. 

They watched Jamie jog away. As soon as they reached out of sight, the person cocked their head to tell Allen to load the body into the truck, but he did not return to his teammates even after the android was secure and sound.

‘You,’ he suddenly snapped at the only person in his proximity. The fact that he had to look up quite a bit to look at them in the eye did not diminish the fire in his eyes. ‘Why the fuck are you here?’

‘Don’t act so surprised, Captain,’ they said, looking down at the man in front of them. ‘You’re smart enough to figure it out.’

‘And you’re not smart enough to fucking disappear for the rest of your goddamned fucking life!’ Allen gritted. ‘You know you’re wanted for murdering thousands of people, don’t you?’

‘And you know that CyberLife turned it into a dumpster and made it impossible to gather evidence against me, don’t you?’

Allen pulled out his pistol and pointed it at their chin. ‘Face the truck. Hands on the hood.’

A wisp of blue reached out from their right hand and crushed the weapon into pieces. ‘Don’t forget what I can do, Captain,’ they crowded even closer to the Captain, and he took a step back. ‘I can repeat that, you know? Except there’re far more than a few thousand people here this time. None of you will suffer.’ A tendril picked up the scraps on the ground while they yanked Allen’s hand outward and forced it open, in which the pieces later fell. ‘Go back to your people, Captain. Practise. You will need every edge you have.’

They stared at each other. A blue glow emerged from Allen’s hand with his former weapon, and with a crackle of static and dark energy, the scraps were gone just like the site of the dumpster, torn apart molecularly into fundamental particles too small for the naked eye to perceive. He let out a sound of pain and nearly toppled, a hand on his shoulder the only thing keeping him from crashing onto the ground. Another hand shot out and brushes his thigh, black metal glowing faint blue in the darkness in an interface. Allen seemed to stand better afterwards.

‘This should last you for a few hours,’ the person said as if the Captain was not glaring at them.

‘You’ll not get away with this.’

‘It isn’t yours to decide.’

The tension in Allen’s spine snapped, and he walked away with brisk but slightly limping steps. The person gazed at Connor’s thirium-stained face before slamming the door shut and crammed themself into the driver’s seat, guiding the truck towards a direction not leading to CyberLife Tower under the cover of the night.

[measlyfurball13]

Pacific Rim: Into the Black fucking sucked.

It’s problem isn’t that it’s different from the first movie. Look, I LOVE the first movie, but I agree that more of the same might have been boring. I respect the writers for pushing the boundaries a little and making an original story with an original tone. . . If by original story you mean “make it Attack on Titan but worse” and if by original tone you mean “cheap shock value and needless edge that adds nothing”.

Full rant under the cut. Swear warning, whatever.

This series has so many interesting and creative ideas but they’re buried under loads of blundering edgelord tropes that have been done before in every other anime ever. Taylor the protagonist is a flavorless “older brother” trope. Mei is the tsundere badass who’s been traumatized by daddy. Boy (yes, that’s his name) is the mystical superpowered child. Oh, and he pulls this whole Attack on Titan thing and turns into a Kaiju.

You wanna know why this is a problem? Because holy fucking shit it’s a problem. Because it’s stupid. Because it’s magic handwavy bullshit. Pacific Rim, for all of it’s big robots and big monsters, grounds itself in reality by having consistent internal rules. Kaiju are monsters with some occasional cool unique abilities, but they’re all based in biology. Stuff like acid, extra limbs, flying. Even the EMP pulse ability from the first movie feels plausible, because electricity is used in a biological body in the form nerves. Another consistent rules is that Kaiju are big monsters. Big. Monsters. Big monsters who stay big, because they’re established as having so much mass and bulk and presence that they can’t get rid of because they’re biological creatures. The first movie establishes that they eat and breed and even defecate and have parasites. These rules make the Kaiju feel plausible. These rules allow us, the audience, to suspend our disbelief and immerse ourselves into the universe.

So why the fucking hell did the writers throw all that out the window, pull some magic bullshit out of their ass, and make a human that turns into a Kaiju? They don’t even show us the transformation sequence on screen. Flash of blue, and now the little human boy is a Kaiju. The problem is not that it’s unrealistic, the problem is that it doesn’t fit in with the Pacific Rim universe. It’s disjointed. It’s stupid. Any questions?

Now, where was I? Oh, right, characters. Haley, the younger sister, is. . . okay. She feels like the extroverted younger sister cheerleader trope, but then they also give her this character facet (it’s not an arc because it’s never really addressed) about murder guilt? And she also mothers a lot Boy? And she also makes really stupid decisions for the sake of the plot sometimes? Out of the main three cast members, she’s by far the most interesting and bearable, at least, but she doesn’t feel consistent at all. She also gets damseled a lot, too, which doesn’t add to her likeability or agency.  

Moving on, one of the two even remotely interesting characters was killed for shock value in episode five in the cheapest, most abrupt way possible, so I can’t talk about him very much, other than the fact that I’m still pissed that the writers thought killing him off was a good idea. Nothing narratively was gained by it; his death doesn’t even affect any character’s trajectory! He had so much more to give alive than he did dead. But that’s all I can say, since he is dead. The only other interesting character was the Jaeger AI who gets maybe all of 13 voicelines in the entire season and is barely, barely even a minor character. Nothing much else to say.

Remember the part where I mentioned that this show actually has wonderful creative ideas? I didn’t just say that for flavor, and that’s the most frustrating part of this all. The problem is just that there’s so many ideas, all at once, so in the end none of them end up shining. Here’s a shortened list of the great ideas- you could base an entire show around each one:

Interrogating someone with drift technology

Altering people’s memories through drift technology

Australia gets claimed by the Kaiju and survivors have to duke it out to survive with the remaining Jaeger technology with no help from the outside world

Training Jaegers and what Jaeger academy looked like

Jaegers having sentient AIs inside of them- and what happens when to the AI when a Jaeger takes damage or even loses a pilot? Is the drift in a Jaeger technically a three-way bond?

What happens when you drift too much, with too many people? Inheriting someone else’s memories or even skillsets?

(this one is probably my least favorite, but still has merit:) A Jaeger and Kaiju fusion. How utterly terrifying would that be?

These are all incredible. I probably would have adored Pacific Rim: Into the Black if (magic Kaiju kid notwithstanding) it had focused on maybe one or two of these ideas in its meager 140-minute runtime. However, Into the Black tries to tackle all of these amazing ideas at once along with about a dozen other shitty ideas that fall flat. As a result, nothing gets the time it deserves. Fascinating ideas are quickly glossed over, never to be mentioned again despite being extremely relevant to the plot, just so the show can truck through the next portion with the same lack of thought.

The season feels disjointed. Nothing builds on anything else, and plot points don’t lead into each other. Characters make stupid decisions, take meandering courses of action and are constantly changing their mind, or, most of the time, just stumbling upon their objectives by pure chance. The only throughline that even remotely delivers with proper buildup and payoff is the aforementioned magic Kaiju boy. The one competent plot arc they develop is the one that breaks the believability of the universe. Great.

Finally, to top it all off, I’m going to speedrun my more minor nitpicks with the general plot/continuity holes. Here goes:

Multiple breaches and breaches on land. If the Kaiju have been able to open breaches on land this whole time, then how in the everlasting fuck has humanity survived at all? I mean, really- why would Kaiju waste time coming from the oceans if they can just pop up wherever they please?

Mr. McRandom nobody protagonist decides on a whim to be the fourth person ever who solo pilots a Jaeger after piloting for maybe 3 days, tops, and then succeeds. The show explicitly references Raleigh and Pentacost as it does this, spitting in the face of their achievements by implying that anybody can do it, no big deal.

This show acknowledges that Pacific Rim: Uprising exists and builds a lot of its background conflict off that, which pisses me off because that movie sucks ass. Here was a chance for a fresh start and they wasted it.

The protagonists fuck up so constantly to the point where they should have lost their Jaeger several times over, yet it always survives, because (go figure!) this is a show about protagonists piloting Jaegers. The protagonists do nothing to solve their problems and do nothing to earn their clever escapes or sudden powerups, leaving everything tensionless and contrived.

The villain has no motivation at all and is so cartoonishly evil it’s a miracle that he has any minions that are willing to follow him instead of ditching him the first chance they get.

The protagonists sometimes just kinda forget their goal and wander around until they miraculously stumble upon something that just so happens to connect to it.

A lot of edgy, horrifying, traumatizing shit happens, and it doesn’t seem to ever affect the characters in any meaningful way outside of maybe 1 or 2 throwaway lines after the fact?

The show takes place in Australia but only gives asshole characters an Australian accent. What?

So that’s it. Bad characters. Universe-breaking concept. Needless, meaningless edge. Contrived plot. Rushed to all hell. Pacific Rim: Into the Black is capital “b” Bad. I love this franchise and I want to support it, but I can’t advocate that anyone give this show their time.