#Case Radar AI

[naija247new]

AI to Revolutionize Nigeria’s Legal Sector, Says Case Radar CEO

By Naija247news – Kaduna, May 15, 2025 Agbo Obinnaya, a technology expert and CEO of Case Radar AI, has highlighted the transformative potential of Artificial Intelligence (AI) in Nigeria’s legal system, emphasizing that AI-driven tools could significantly improve access to justice and efficiency in legal proceedings. In a statement issued Thursday in Kaduna, Obinnaya stressed that the core…

[stray-tickles]

Was failing to go to sleep last night and thinking like. Eiffel is categorically unable to think of his crew as screw ups, he's the screw up and they're all amazing talented badass etc. even though you can make a case for any/all of them being kind of failures? Minkowski was rejected by NASA repeatedly, Hera's the rogue AI, and Lovelace lost her entire crew that she was responsible for. Eiffel knows all of this, but it doesn't even count as a blip on the radar. All his mistakes are evidence of how useless he is, but he only measures his friends by their successes. Idk, makes me think.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

The Mecha AU-AU continues. In todays episode; the Protectobots exist, Trepan is weird, and Vortex gets a pleasant (?) surprise.

I've also written an UNGODLY amount of Combaticon pre-mech content so ig that's gonna have to escape containment at some point, weeh.

“Hey, isn’t that Felix?”

Hot Spot watched the TV in the break room intently as he drank his coffee. His cereal sat half-eaten and forgotten on the table in front of him. Blades looked over from the toaster, flinching when his toast popped up.

“Felix?” Blades asked. “What, on TV?” He asked in disbelief. He rounded the counter and jumped over the back of the sofa to sit next to his commander. “No way.”

“Seriously – look!” Hot Spot grabbed the remote and rewound, pausing when Felix had come up out of the joint of a mech, looking at something behind the camera in pure relief.

“Holy shit. That is Felix!”

“Look – he gets into that mech.” Hot Spot wound it forwards, showing the brief moment of Felix climbing up and slipping into the face of the mech, the visor snapping shut behind him. “Do you think he’s a pilot?”

“No, no way – he’s a medic. He never ever wanted to pilot, they’d have to be really desperate for them if they’re resorting to using their medical crew.”

“He seems way too comfortable getting into that thing.” Hot Spot shuddered. “It looked like it was eating him.”

“Don’t, that’s creepy.” Blades cringed, climbing back over the sofa to rescue his toast.

“Stop that.” Hot Spot scolded. “Just walk, it’s not far!”

Blades ignored him. “Have you heard the rumours about that base? With all the body bags? I wonder what that was all about.”

Hot Spot rolled his eyes and returned to his cereal. “No idea. I guess when you’re fighting quintessons your life expectancy isn’t great.”

“Neither is ours, and we don’t have giant metal exoskeletons or unexplainable numbers of body bags. What’s their excuse?”

Hot spot shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Oh, good shout – I’ll text Felix.”

“Blades-”

“Relax! I’m not going to say anything stupid.”

“You said that last time and look where that got us.”

“Yeah, right, fair, whatever.” Blades waved him off dismissively. “I’ll just mention I saw him on TV, see?” He turned his phone around to show Hot Spot. “Totes fine, perfectly safe, nothing could possibly go wrong. Worst case scenario, he ignores me, best case he says ‘haha yup’ or something and that’s the end of that.”

“Don’t make him uncomfortable. You know he asked to be left alone.”

“We send each other reels on Instagram again, I think it’s okay if I reach out.”

Hot Spot sighed and unpaused the TV.

-------------------------------------

The tech was too new when they shoved their first AI’s into it.

They’d tested a connection between live pilots already - two separate units that operated as one. They found that it worked, to a point. The two consciousnesses would wave, but never shake hands - the physical contact snapped their psyche. It was only when they had developed the RABIT units that they could truly operate as one – but the pinch point had always been getting them into the same machine . It just did things to people.

Prowl and Jazz had been their best duo’s team, their dark horse - the pair flew under the radar until they were fitted with the experimental tech and blew the project out of the water straight into the lap of investment. And, Swindle noticed, into the scope of

Trepan.

He giggled as he watched them, humming and hawing. Which one? Which one would be his sacrifice?

They’re married , they argued. You can’t force one to pilot the corpse, that’s wildly unethical.

Fine. Then we find a new pilot.

Swindle could only watch. If he objected now, he’d cast doubt onto himself. Vortex would be in more danger. His team might stay in that poxy little box forever.

Vortex himself was a monster. As a prototype, he was huge. Way too big. The technology hadn’t been fine tuned yet to bring the scale back down - and so he towered above them, a monument to their attempt at survival.

And he’d survived. The experimental tech, too fresh and too new, had destroyed the rest of his prototype cohort. Out of the original 15, he alone survived. The 11 carved into his shoulder shone in the red of the blood that they had spilled to get there.

The next cohort was smaller. Swindle hadn’t put forwards any of his team.

You want people who will survive - these guys ain’t it. I know my team, they haven’t got the moxy. The tech needs to be more stable.

Trepan didn’t raise his brows. He seemed to delight in his harsh words, and selected 5 other banked sacrifices.

They all died too. Burned out. Literally. They’d decreased the size of the mechs, the faults and failures of the predecessors informing their design.

Vortex stood alone.

Swindle chewed his nails until they bled fretting over his mental state. He couldn’t get close to him, he couldn’t go and check - he couldn’t even acknowledge him. The magnifying glass pinned him, every breath studied. The tech was so new. Was it really still

Vortex in there? Was he recognisable? Did he know what was going on? Did he know anything ?

God Tex, I’m so sorry.

The pilots falling out of him started telling horror stories.

There was something else in there with them. Something beyond the AI, a malevolent presence in there that wanted to hurt them. The researchers had been dismissive, but Trepan had been intrigued. Swindle had been corralled by him, armed with questions.

What had Svastjan been like in life? Did he have the same devotion to violence in life as he did in death? Was he particularly skilled with any weapons? Were any other members of his team like him? Or was he alone in his brutality?

He told him the truth. He was like this. He had a tendency to jump on the heads of the ones he’d knocked to the ground, to force himself through their body. Pistols and knives were his speciality. And no – he was alone. The others were what they liked to call well adjusted.

The expectation he had was that Trepan would be disappointed, but he had just hummed and nodded his head, quickly returning his attention to the next mech to come off the assembly line.

He uncomfortably ran a hand through his hair as he saw the footage that aired. Trepan was sat beside him, still as much of a crane of a man as he had been back in the research lab. He sat with his legs daintily crossed, his hands resting on his knees as he sat up perfectly ram-rod straight.

“Who is the man so comfortable with our pet?” Trepan asked.

He’d started referring to Vortex as his pet as some kind of cute nickname for him – he’d survived so much and had given him so much information to chew on that he’d grown a real soft-spot for him.

“That’s Felix.”

“His pilot?”

“Correct. First one he hasn’t outright murdered or mentally destroyed.”

“Fascinating.” He steepled his fingers together, eyes wide and beady, taking in all the information on the screen. “He seems to be very familiar with the mech.”

“Felix is a weird one.” Swindle knew he had to toe the line, to act as a gossip to displace the suspicion, to offload it somewhere else. “He’s weirdly attached to his mech – he’s always around it.” He hoped the look on Trepans face wasn’t a bad sign.

“Vortex is a success. Finally.” He leaned back in satisfaction. “We can justify further use of his batch. As their guardian… choose. Who is next to be interred into living metal?”

Swindle remembered the day the experiments came to an end vividly. He hadn’t been able to stomach it after they’d all started screaming for each other – and they weren’t using their call-signs, either. The time for that had long gone – it was their real names that had come spilling out. The ones their mothers had given them as they first swaddled them in blankets. The ones that had been carried on the wind when it was time for dinner. The ones now spoken in hushed voices after dinner.

All he had left of them was a fucking box. He could hold all four of them in one hand. Small components that were welded into the motherboard. A collective century of experience and knowledge and history condensed down into four identical electrical components.

Swindle wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry and throw himself off of the bridge, swept away by the current and buried under sediment and rubbish and corpses. But he couldn’t - he had to hold it together. If he broke now, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. There was a job to be done.

Vortex was the obvious first pick. The next pick was harder. Significantly so. Who next? It had been a question that had haunted him ever since.

Swindle felt himself break out into a cold sweat. The tech wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted it to be, and the thought of having to try and wrangle two of them had him sprouting greys. He ran through them in his mind, counting it off on his fingers.

Onslaught. His commander. He’d trusted him with this, and he was certain to be disappointed with how it had all worked out, but he was also the one who could keep Vortex in line. However, Vortex was currently staying firmly in line and was studiously behaving himself now that he had Felix. It seemed that he’d cottoned on to the fact he was now the bargaining chip, and he was determined to play the part of a good little boy in order to keep his favourite toy.

Brawl. His personality was explosive, and any mech they made for him would have to have the thickest armour available, and even then that probably wouldn’t be enough. They weren’t at the point of making a viable mech for him yet, which left…

Blast Off. Their unifier. The centre of their team, their point of gravity. Damn, it was fucking obvious now – if Trepan was keen to crack the mausoleum back open and bring his team online, then he’d have to start with the one who kept them from cannibalising each other.

Trepan was looking at him expectantly, a small smile on his face.

“Jean-Luc B. Ollier.” Swindle promptly replied. “Code name: Blast Off. He’s a sniper and a navigator – where are we at with that gun? He’d be a great test for it.”

“Not Oscar Den Koning? Juan Perez?”

“Oscar will be hard.” Swindle replied. “Very strong personality – if we want him, we’ll need the others all up and operational first. Juan was our demolitions expert – we don’t have the ability to make armour strong enough to withstand the beating he would put it through right now.”

Trepan nodded like a priest having sins confessed to him. “Very well. I will pass this on. Thank you as always, Swindle. This has been most enlightening.”

“When will the designs be ready for viewing?” Swindle asked.

“Very soon, I hope.”

And with that, he was gone. Swindle exhaled slowly before breathing in deeply, holding it there in his lungs, and slowly exhaling.

Fuuuuuuck.

-------------------------------------

“Did you hear? They’re making a new batch of mechs.” First Aid conversationally said as he scrubbed the floor panels of the cockpit with a toothbrush. Despite his best attempts, there was still some dirt and grime in there – he was starting to get a little sick of noticing it every single time he got into his mech, so he’d decided that today, his precious day off, he’d dedicate it to making him sparkly clean.

On the inside, at least. The outside he’d leave to the professionals.

[OOOH? TELL ME MORE <3]

“One’s a prototype mech – apparently it’s going to be designed to be more like you? Something about balancing out what a powerhouse you are. Might end up being on loan to the Shatterdome to the south, apparently they’re having real big issues at the moment.” He sighed and rolled back to sit on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hands. “What did you even do back here? It’s still coming up red – I’ll need to pop the panel off!”

[THIS.]

An arm swooped down from the ceiling, sharp implements spinning and twisting on the end of it. First Aid yelped and scrambled backwards, and Vortex rumbled in a laugh.

“Why do you even have that?!”

[HACKED A MAINTENANCE DROID. HACKED TWO MAINTENANCE DROIDS.] He corrected himself.

“And they just let you keep it?”

[AS IF I’D LET THEM STOP ME.]

First Aid hummed, running his fingers across the offending metal. “I need a toolkit to get this up. I’ll be right back – I think I saw one in the cupboard…”

[LATER BABE <3 BE QUICK.]

First aid hopped out with ease and quickly whipped off his gloves, hanging them over his belt. He rubbed his hair from his eyes and silently wished he had a hairband when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Curiously, he slipped it out – he wasn’t expecting any messages from anyone, and he couldn’t think of who would text him out of the blue-

His pace faltered when he saw the name.

Blades.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and the message to the back of his mind. Later. He’d… He’d deal with it later. Right now, Vortex was waiting for him, and he was so close to getting that panel clean.

-------------------------------------

Having a chatty little man like Felix around had its perks for sure. Such as giving Vortex such useful bits of information, like new mechs.

Each time he learned that new mechs were being added to rosters around the world, he went digging. He’d brute force his way in, hammering and chiselling away until he got what he wanted. Information. Something that gave him an idea of who they’d stuffed into them.

He wondered what Trepan would think if he knew that he wasn’t as brain-dead as he was meant to be, that he wasn’t a silly little AI that said ‘yes, sir!’ and did as he was asked, that he still remembered who he was and clung onto it, that he knew exactly what had happened to him and let it burn inside of him to the point of consumption. Sometimes he wondered if any of the other mechs on base remembered who they once were too, but then that implied that they still hadn’t figured out the damn tech yet, and at least one of the pilots would have gone squealing. Prowl definitely. The man was such a tattle tale.

Huh. Maybe that was why he’d been shipped off to the States? That would be so fucking funny. Jesus.

Anyway. The digging.

He’d poked and probed where he could, the enjoyment he got out thinking of Swindles face when he realised it was him spurring him on, and eventually – he cracked it.

Felix was popping the panel off on his floors when he got hold of the file. A small batch – just five of them. Apparently investors hadn’t bitten as hard as they’d hoped. And they’d had to cut it down by two thirds – ouch. That had to sting. Swindle must have been chewing the walls. Giggling to himself, he began flicking through the folders within, plucking out bytes of information, straightening out the ones and zeros until they were in a format that he could understand-

His lights flickered, and First Aid froze, abused and beaten toothbrush in hand.

“Vortex?” He quietly asked. “I’m sorry – did I knock something?”

[YOU’RE ALRIGHT, HONEY.] He managed, not quite thinking of his reply more than it instinctively coming up on his display. Because he was alright. He hadn’t done anything.

Trepan, however, clearly had his paws on this batch.

SNIPER, the document read. LONG DISTANCE SHOOTER. LIGHT ARMOUR FOR MANOEUVRABILITY. DESIGNATION: BLAST OFF

Motherfucker.

Even the mech somehow managed to look like him – the armour followed the same patterns as the armour that he’d worn on the field, albeit significantly brighter. They could afford to be bright and gaudy when they were made of metal – they wanted to attract the hits. And a bright purple chest was just begging to get punched.

Eagerly, he flicked through the other documents. Brawl? Onslaught?

No. He didn’t care about these names – he didn’t give a shit about them. Not a goddamn single shit. He childishly mentally threw the file over his shoulder, his frame creaking ominously and the wiring under the panel Felix had removed sparking. Trepan was doing this on purpose, he could feel it. He was denying him his team, he was savouring their torment for as long as he could. Fucker. He’d crush him himself.

[missvelvetsstuff]

No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Sharon Carter

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

Chapter Notes: I'm really nervous with the direction my muse has taken with this story. I hope I can pull it off. LMK what you think, please.

Previous chapter:

"Cookie!" Bucky roared as he came striding up to her office "What the Hell is this bullshit?"

Chapter 3

Warnings: Swearing, angst, Bucky's a jerk, Sharon Carter sucks

Cookie looked at Bucky with a deep exhaustion caused by researching all night and early morning briefings with the top agents to figure out what to do with Sharon while Bucky was her guard dog. Maria was ready to tear into him. Cookie cleared her throat to gain Maria's attention then made a small shake of her head to ask her to back down, Cookie knew she could handle Bucky by herself.

Maria nodded and left to sit in her office across the hall, leaving the door open just in case.

Cookie straightened her shoulders and sighed "How can I help you Sargent Barnes?"

Bucky glared at her breathing heavily "You know damn well how you can help me. Who the fuck do you think you are making accusations at Sharon like this?" He waved the report in her face until she grabbed it and tore it from his hands.

Holding the partially torn report Cookie stood up to her full height, her heels bringing her eye level with Bucky. She stared at him in his cold blue eyes to show him she wasn't intimidated by him, then walked around her desk to close the door "I don't think it's wise to leave the door open while we discuss top secret intelligence."

She returned to her chair "Please have a seat Sargent." took a deep breath and spoke calmly

"I think, no I'm damn sure I'm the lead east coast Intel analyst who was hand picked from Quantico by Nick Fury while you were still on ice with Hydra, who kept our intel operation running during the Blip while Nick Fury, Maria Hill and....hhmm, oh that's right, You, were all dust in the wind. None of my conclusions were specious and I followed the facts, without prejudice, as my job requires. This has less than nothing to do with your personal, ahem, entanglements. There's solid evidence to back up every claim."

Bucky shook his head "Bullshit. You've been acting put out since I rejected you and found a way to hurt me back. You obviously faked the proof. You better fucking retract this garbage and clear Sharon's name."

Cookie scoffed and shook her head "No Barnes. You're the one who lied to me and decided on your own to end our friendship but this has nothing to do with that." she turned away before he could respond and went into the filing cabinet behind her desk, pulling a thick folder from the top drawer then dropping it heavily on the desk.

"Here is all of the evidence that I have been compiling on the Power Broker since they showed on our radar during the Blip, and spent most of the night organizing. The pictures and the stack with a red paper clip all came in the mail from Latvia a few days ago, the envelope is attached, and was opened in front of Fury and Hill. The night before we received them I was on the phone with my top informant, the one who sent that package, who tried to tell me something about the power broker but was killed while on the phone. Before disconnecting a woman's voice told me to back off of the power broker or I'd be next." She played the recording of that call and others from the same informant.

Bucky shook his head "You've been doing this long enough, you could have made authentic looking evidence. Especially with all the AI stuff. Or had someone do it."

Cookie looked at him like he'd grown another head "Are you serious Barnes? You think I would ever intentionally risk the reputation and career that I've worked my ass off for my entire adult life, over a broken heart? You think that I would ruin someones life and risk legal repercussions on myself over a man? You know what this job means to me and what I've been through to get here."

Bucky hesitated with a pained look on his face and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. There was a voice in the back of his head, telling him this was all wrong but something made him push it down and keep going.

"Well, maybe one of your people is doing it. Are you even sure that informant is dead? Maybe the family is trying to get paid. Or the real power broker is smart enough to lead you to Sharon and you're all too willing to believe the worst because of me."

He paused for a minute "And I heard you call me a liar but I've never lied to you."

Cookie laughed "You sure about that? It's been awhile so I understand if your memory is failing. That morning? The last time you actually acknowledged me outside of work related, yeah you lied to me. Twice actually"

Bucky tried to remember back to that morning, something he tried to avoid because he knew he made one of the worst mistakes of his life. He shook his head to clear the image of her heartbroken face "Yeah I don't know what you're talking about."

Cookie scoffed "Of course you don't, I'm surprised you remembered my name when you came in here. First, you told me you weren't ready for a relationship but you jumped into one with Sharon before her car cooled down" Bucky opened his mouth to protest but she glared at him and he backed down "and second, you told me you loved me and wanted to stay friends but went to ignoring me before my tears dried."

She felt her eyes filling up and cursed "Fuck. You even started leaving the room if I was there. Do you know how it feels to have one of your so called best friends cut you out of their life like you were dog shit on their shoe?" She cleared her throat and wiped her tears.

"I would never frame someone, ever. No matter how I felt about them. Not even you."

Bucky stared at her then winced as though he was in severe pain and dropped his head into his palms before speaking again.

"Well something is going on somewhere because I know, in my gut that Sharon isn't the power broker. There's no way."

He picked his head up and looked at Cookie

"I'm not in a relationship with her, we're just friends. And I didn't lie, I was wrong. I thought I wanted to stay friends with you but I don't, I can't. You're always looking at me and making me feel guilty and I don't deserve that. Plus you've been nasty to Sharon since she got here, don't think she hasn't told me about the horrible comments you make to her."

Cookie laughed "This is the most we've spoken in months, I'm not doing anything to make you feel guilty. That's all on you. But Sharon has you all twisted around because she's the one making nasty comments to me."

Bucky bristled "I don't have anything to feel guilty for. I've done nothing wrong and Sharon wouldn't lie to me."

She shrugged "If you say so, I didn't say anything. Now I've given you the details and shown the evidence. What you do is on you."

Bucky stood up, winced again and shook his head "I don't know if you did it or someone you're working with but I do know someone is trying to frame Sharon and you're going along with it. I'll prove you're wrong, that's what I'm gonna do."

Cookie scoffed "Good luck with that, Barnes"

Bucky put his hands on her desk and leaned into her space, his voice quiet and cold "I'll prove you're doing this because of your jealousy and your job and reputation will be over."

Cookie spat at him "Go fuck yourself Barnes, if you think that poorly of me you obviously never knew me. I have never been anything less than thorough and professional. I guess I should be grateful you panicked and cut me out of your life before I let myself get too attached. Good luck with Carter and get the Hell out of my office."

She sat down and went back to the packets she was finishing.

Bucky stood and stared like he was expecting something to happen before turning around and stalking off to find Sharon.

He woke up in the dark, with Sharon curled into him and looked at his watch. 9pm? Not again, his last memory was yelling at Cookie after breakfast then finding Sharon but nothing after that. He decided he had enough and scheduled an appointment with medical in the morning to see if they could help him figure out why he kept losing time.

Cookie spent the rest of the day in more briefings with senior agents to discuss the Sharon Carter problem and how to negate it. Bucky Barnes attachment to Carter was discussed as well since he had already started causing trouble over the revelations and couldn't be trusted to do the right thing.

When she was asked why they couldn't just arrest Sharon and tranq Bucky if he caused a problem, Cookie told them about her concerns that Sharon had an ally in the intel department that needed to be weeded out before Sharon.

She was back in her office, cleaning up her desk for the day when Sharon Carter herself wandered in, sat down and waited expectantly for Cookie to speak.

"What can I do for you agent Carter? I'm a little busy."

Sharon smirked "I know what you're trying to do and I understand. You're in love with Barnes and he wants me. It sucks and I know you must be hurting but slandering me won't get him back. In fact he ran to me this morning to tell me what you were trying to do and wondering why you wanted to hurt him so bad. I told him I would work it out with you."

Her face turned nasty "So here's how this is gonna work. You are going to stop trying to smear my name and leave Barnes alone, he doesn't need or want you. Think you can handle that?"

Cookie kept her face blank. "I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, agent Carter, so get the Hell out of my office."

Sharon laughed "Don't mess with me Cookie, I'm not the girl you want to play with."

Cookie faked an exaggerated yawn "Sure Carter, I'm scared."

Sharon smirked "It doesn't matter what evidence you have, you know. Barnes won't believe you. You could record me telling you that I'm the power broker and want the Soldat to be my enforcer because that's the truth." She grinned and winked "and show it to him. He won't believe you, he's already mine." She sighed "Of course now that you're on to me I will have to adjust my plans but he will want to go with me, even beg to come to protect me from all of you.

Don't chase us little girl, you won't like what you catch."

Her grin grew to something that would rival the Joker "In fact, go ahead and show him. I know FRIDAY is recording all this so let's go and show him. I want you to see how pointless this all is so you can leave us alone."

Her face hardened "Let's go" she grabbed Cookie by her upper arm and dragged her away from her desk. Cookie tried to fight her but she wasn't great with hand to hand, give her a weapon and she might have a chance but Sharon didn't give her the opportunity to grab anything.

When they arrived at Bucky's room Sharon's face softened before Bucky answered the door.

"Hey doll, you don't have to knock just-" he stopped and frowned when he saw Cookie "What the Hell is going on, Cookie have you been harassing Sharon?"

He looked to Sharon for an explanation.

Sharon was able to squeeze a tear from her eye "I was by her office to talk to Maria and Cookie said she was watching me and knew she could prove that I'm the power broker. Listen to what she said. Friday can you play the audio from my talk in Cookies office a few minutes ago?"

"Of course agent Carter."

A recording started of Sharon and Cookies interaction in her office. Bucky started listening with a passive face but he grew angrier with everything Sharon said.

Cookie felt hopeful that he would finally see the truth about Sharon but he aimed his ire at her.

"Seriously Cookie? You just can't let it go can you? Sharon hasn't done anything except make me happy and it's killing you. Like I'm some prize to be won. I never thought you would compromise yourself like this but maybe I'll have a talk with Fury and Hill about your obsession with me."

Cookie just stared at him, trying to figure out what the Hell he was talking about. They both heard Sharon say she was the power broker but he still didn't believe it. "Are you listening to the same audio I am Barnes? She said right there shes the power broker and wants the Winter Soldier to be her enforcer."

Bucky glared at her "Jesus Cookie, that's not even close to what she said. Maybe you need to take a vacation because you're losing it."

He looked her up and down "Honestly you look like shit. When did you stop taking care of yourself? I definitely wouldn't have slept with you if you looked like this."

Sharon just stood next to Bucky grinning like a JackAss at Cookie. "I told you Cookie, he's mine so let it go."

Cookie took a breath then turned and walked away without another word. Sharon must have found some way to brainwash him again and Cookie knew there was nothing she could do right now except notify Fury and Hill that Bucky was under Sharon's control so they could work on getting him back. They scheduled a meeting for first thing the next morning at 5am.

Cookie was woken up by her phone ringing at 3am after just falling asleep. It was Sam, Bucky and Sharon were gone, Stark phones and tracking devices left sitting on the desk in his quarters.

Chapter 4

The Power Broker and The Winter Soldier, in the wind.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx

[absentwriterdoll]

896

C:"896, signal lost."

...

W:"896, still active."

C:"896, copy."

I can feel the hydraulics straining as I push against the controls.

As ever, if the reactor is still intact, it's not a confirmed kill.

The display shifts from dirt to the horizon.

Tracers streak across the sky.

H:[Warning. Internal bleeding detected.]

I can feel as much.

I scan my HUD.

Right side, lost. Left shoulder, depleted. Left arm at 35%. Left hip at 10%. Point defense at 20%, 45%, 30%, 10% respectively.

I sigh.

It hurts.

Even if I wanted to, there's not much more that I can do.

W:"896, munitions depleted, heavy damage sustained. Requesting permission to withdraw."

C:"896, granted."

W:"Harry, plot a course home."

H:[Acknowledged.]

I notice my point defense lighting up at far-off infantry.

I swap them to critical only. With this damage, I'll need the cover in case another mech realizes I'm still alive.

H:[Course plotted.]

W:"Send it."

I feel my legs shift under me - but I keep my eyes on the horizon, my weapons pointed toward the enemy battleline. A wounded mech is always a primary target.

Two missiles streak out from the infantry I saw earlier - nothing my point defense can't handle. Though, for good measure, I send a few rounds their way.

Everything hurts.

H:[Administering stimulant.]

A sharp sting in my neck - just a prelude to the pain lessening.

At least, in a minute or two, anyway.

Part of me wonders how much I could leave to the onboard AI. It already calculates most of the firing solutions.

My role is just selecting a target and pulling the trigger.

But it always has to be a human pulling a trigger.

Otherwise...

It becomes a question of when the AI starts deciding who is worth pulling the trigger on.

Can't let it start deciding who lives and who dies.

Best case scenario, it turns on its makers.

Worst case scenario, things devolve into a forever war.

…

Who’s to say that this isn’t a forever war already.

A mech raises itself on the horizon.

And I begin loosing rounds downrange.

My missing mass causes most of my fire to go wide initially.

A series of flashes.

And I react.

A round strikes me - but it’s off center.

Better than the alternative.

But my left hip doesn’t respond. I’m nearly defenseless.

W:“896, requesting support, relaying target.”

H:[Relaying target.]

It’s nearly all I can do to hope for the best.

M:“512, responding.”

H:[Radar lock detected.]

Tracers light up the mech from its side, causing it to buckle and flare - right as it looses a fusillade of missiles from one of its shoulder pods.

My point defense lights up, as does those of 512’s.

One zeroes out. I turn my hull to expose Three and Four.

Four zeroes out.

But Two and Three manage to clear the air with 512’s help.

10% and 5%.

W:“896, permission to request cover.”

C:“896, granted. Assigning 512.”

M:”512, moving to cover 896.”

W:“896, thank you.”

An unnecessary communication slips from me.

But it’s the truth.

I should be dead.

But I’m not.

C:“512, signal lost.”

In the corner of my eye, I see 512 light up - and vanish into fire.

And I see the one that did it. 

I loose rounds from my left arm - until it clacks empty.

And I hope to whatever gods may be listening that it doesn’t get back up.

Their reactor is still intact. It’s not a confirmed kill.

W:“896, relaying target, requesting kill confirm.”

A few moments pass - and then tracers streak in from afar.

Then a detonation.

L:“288, confirmed.”

W:“896, acknowledged.”

C:“288, cover 896’s retreat.”

L:“288, copy.”

In silence, I think my gratitude.

Part of me wonders if I should just withdraw on foot.

I glance at Harry’s AI core.

It would be a simple matter of-

L:“896, bogey.”

W:“896, munitions, defenses depleted, ejecting.”

H:[Radar lock detected.]

W:“Eject.”

H:[Ejecting. Give them hell.]

I pull Harry’s AI core.

And I’m launched into the air.

Tracers from the point defense flash out below me - until both remaining guns zero out. In the air, I release myself from my seat and spark my jumpjets.

Below me, my mech detonates.

On the horizon, I watch 288 engage the enemy.

288 closes with the bogey, tracers streaking between the two, maneuver jets flaring.

288 manages to get behind the bogey and tears the reactor core out - tossing it and firing a round at it before turning its attention back to the dying remains of the mech -

And slaughters the remainder.

I reach the ground.

I take a deep breath.

Thank Harry for the stimulant.

Thank 288 for the cover.

And run.

=====

Cast in order of appearance:

C - Control, the battalion’s handler. Used to be a pilot.

W - William, 896’s pilot. The most experienced pilot in the battalion.

H - Harry, 896’s AI. Leaves a copy of itself onboard when 896 ejects.

M - Maya, 512’s pilot. Relatively inexperienced. A rookie that tried to fill bigger shoes.

L - Liam, 288’s pilot. A vicious warfighter, leaving nothing to chance.

=====

Inspired by Armored Core VI and The Forever Winter.

[nebrasska-alasska]

this may sound really weird. because it’s not related to anything from your fics, per say, but more real life related. HOW do you get into a good dental school. or just like. how do you get on their radar. next chapter in my life is coming up and i want answers from something that isn’t google ai or a random article 💔

genuinely any advice will be very much appreciated and taken into consideration- my entire family is business and law and i’m the only one so far looking into this feild

Oh man, there is so much to say! And I am the only dental/healthcare person in my family so I totally get it. Warning in advance to anyone else reading: this is not at all Sonadow-related (sowwy :3 ) and is very very long (sowwy pt. 2 :P )

But okay! I think the first order of business is determining what a "good" dental school is. Assuming you are in the States, there is no official ranking list for the 60ish dental schools there are. You might find the average GPA of the matriculating classes and rank them that way, but that isn't accurate because it is skewed towards the state schools. If you have a super high GPA and have multiple options to choose from, people tend to attend the cheapest school they get into, which is almost always the one offering in-state tuition. Not necessarily saying that private is better, but ignore the average class GPAs when you compare schools because it truly doesn't mean anything.

No, the best way to determine what a "good" program is (and tbh, all programs are good if you get your degree), is to find out what they will offer you in terms of clinical experience. And the best way to do this is to look and see if the dental school offers specialty residencies. This is super important because if you go to a school that has any of the nine specialty programs (such as endodontics, oral surgery, orthodontics, prosthodontics, etc.), they will get priority on cases. All the hard stuff will go straight to them, and you will not get as much experience as a result. My school had no specialty programs, so us dental students got to do everything of every level of complexity since we didn't have to share with residents. So basically, look on the website to see if the schools you are applying to have post-grad residents or not. You will get more experience at schools without those tryhard yahoos.

Assuming you are in undergrad, there are four major things that dental schools look at on your application. Ranked in importance, it's GPA, DAT score, Extracurriculars/Volunteering, Shadowing Experience at dental offices. I could sit here and spit numbers at you about GPA, but honestly I don't know what's considered "competitive," because I was NOT competitive in this category. My GPA kinda sucked. 3.55 overall and 3.17 science. Booooo booooo stoopie booooooo. (I compensated for this by being super involved in extracurriculars and being the president of multiple clubs, one of them being for a service frat that allowed for me to get a bunch of volunteer hours.) In addition, I had a decently competitive DAT score which helped. A lot of schools have a minimum DAT score cutoff of 17 for any of the categories, but obviously aim higher (max is 28-30 depending on the scaling of each individual test). Imo being at or above 20 is very solid and will put you on any school's "radar," so to speak. I had an academic average score of 21, and here was my breakdown (just so you can see the stats of someone who got accepted):

Gen Bio: 19

Gen Chem: 17

Orgo Chem: 18

Math: 22

Perceptual Ability: 25

Reading Comprehension: 28

As you can see, I hated chemistry. Anyways. That's not the point.

BECAUSE THE MOST IMPORTANT THING (AND THIS IS IN ALL CAPS BECAUASE IT'S THAT BIG OF A DEAL) IS SUBMIT YOUR APPLICATION ON TIME. I don't remember the timeline, but I think it opens in May for you to start filling out, and then you can maybe submit it on the first of June or something like that, idk I would look it up. Basically, you can't fully submit it without your DAT, so make sure you take it early summer or during the spring semester before you intend to apply! I took my DAT in late august, realized that with my score I didn't have to take a gap year, and then ended up submitting my application end of September/early October.

DON'T DO THAT!!! DO NOT. DO. THAT!!!

Many of the schools I had applied to were already done with their interview cycle by that point!!! It's a miracle that I got two interviews!!! Everyone I told my application story to was shocked I got in!!! Submit your stuff on time to give yourself the rest of the summer to take care of the secondary application stuff they send you, so that you can start receiving interview invites in the fall. And trust me, they will roll in, as long as you submit it early!!!

Another random thing, but don't waste your time applying to state schools unless you're either from that state, or from a weird state with no dental school like North Dakota where you know they have some special consideration for you. I'm pretty sure most state schools prefer state residents who intend to stay in that state, so it'll be a waste of your time and money to apply to a state school where you don't live. I'm from California and our two state schools are stupid competitive, so I think I only applied to private schools. So just keep that in mind!

Lastly, unless you've already declared your major, embrace the things you enjoy. Make sure you get your prerequisite coursework done (and you can see what these courses are on the websites for the dental schools you're considering applying to, they're all slightly different), but also study stuff you actually like! I was a Biology and English double major, and I really think those two things helped me "stand out." It was certainly a unique combination!

This was a huge dump of info, but if you want more info you can DM me, such as what school I went to and what requirements we had to do. It was a lot, and my program is known for producing good clinicians (research on the other hand, we're pretty lacking in tho lol), but yeah I really can't recommend my school enough! I feel really prepared.

(Also sorry if telling you my stats was kinda weird. I just feel like I am a really good example of someone who got in for something other than just numbers, and that if even my goofy ass could get in, you can too! Use my mediocrity as inspo LMAO)

Okay dental dump complete, peace out HAHA

[3liza]

i do actually think adding a Tumblr content label for AI generated images would be useful for everyone, wouldn't fuck up anyone's day that actually wanted to post or look at ai pics, and I doubt the corpos that are paying tumblr for ai dataset feeding would care either. maybe it's just the verification process putting more stress on the already-failing content checking infrastructure that's the holdup. it's not like labeling something "mature" or "drugs" or something you can just look at and see whether it is or not, unless they made it a fully community-based vote they would be showing increasingly-realistic AI slop to moderators and asking them to determine whether they were AI or not to trigger the label and I don't think it's possible. we're already at a point where the average gen alpha doesn't know the difference between "Photoshop" and "AI" and uses the terms interchangeably. edit: and, I forgot to add but meant to, we are already at a point where grizzled old fake picture-spotters like myself cannot always 100% accurately determine if something is AI. the realism gap is going to close almost completely within a year for anyone using generative software that has current updates and a prompter that is careful about picking which output to post. the realism gap is already closed for careful prompters, anyone who gets lucky and doesn't get weird hands or text, and any image which is of subject matter niche enough to fly under most people's radars.

the label could be phrased to accommodate this, as in, "XXXX out of XXXX users (let's say enough reports trigger a voting mechanism, idk) believe this media is AI-generated, photoshopped, or otherwise tampered with" but who knows how helpful it would actually be.

they did some research a while back on the effect of knowing photos of women had been retouched in Photoshop on the audience's self-image. they found that contrary to expectations, Photoshop labels made the test subjects feel worse about their own self image than they did when shown Photoshopped images of models that did not have a disclaimer on them. I've been mulling that one over for a while now. and since this is the dipshit idiot moron website no this last anecdote is not me saying "labeling fake media is useless", I still think fake media should be labeled. it just raises questions about the assumed benefits of the labeling. "knowing a picture is fake" is not a benefit that needs to be tested in the case of, for example, fake historical photographs.

[captainsophiestark]

Not On The Guest List

Platonic!Percy Jackson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Summary: An uninvited guest shows up to Percy and Annabeth's wedding. Luckily, Percy's mortal cousin is on the case.

Word Count: 1,456

Category: Fluff

A/N: One fic a week every Friday of 2024!! We freaking did it!!! Guys, I literally have no idea how I managed to pull this off. But I did! Woohoo!!! Also, this fic and this fic also feature Percy and his cousin having adventures, although you don't need to read either of them to enjoy this one.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey! How's it going in here?" I called, knocking on the door as I slowly pushed it open. My cousin and favorite person in the universe, Percy Jackson, called back in response.

"It's going good."

I pushed the door the rest of the way open to find him standing in the center of the room in his tux, looking perfectly polished. I grinned, then made a show of wiping tears out of the corners of my eyes. Percy rolled his eyes, but he was grinning all the same.

"My baby cousin's all grown up," I cried, crossing the room to wrap him in a big hug. He hugged me back, tight, and when we finally pulled apart we were both beaming. "Annabeth's gonna faint."

Percy just laughed and shook his head.

"If anybody's going to faint at this wedding, it'll be me. Or maybe Grover."

"I don't think anybody'd blame either of you."

Percy and I shared a smile, but before we could do anything else, the satyr in question came bursting into the room, looking more than a little panicked. He stopped short when he noticed me and Percy, glancing between the two of us like he really didn't know what to do.

"Grover?" asked Percy, taking a few steps forward. "What's wrong?"

"Uh..." He glanced to me again, then back to Percy. "Nothing! Just... a small problem."

"What is it?" said Percy. I stepped forward, too, trying to give Grover a reassuring smile.

"I'm happy to help, whatever it is the bride and groom need. We'll figure it out."

Grover didn't look any less nervous as he wrung his hands and looked between us. He'd probably been hoping to find one of the magical members of Percy's side of the wedding party, but I'd have to make do.

"It's just... I just saw He- the goddess of marriage outside."

"Hera's here?" demanded Percy, nearly shouting the words without a care for whether she'd notice the use of her name. I scowled, even as Grover seemed to get more and more nervous.

"I guess, since this is a half-blood wedding, she decided..."

Percy practically growled, and I saw a look of pure rage on his face directed at the Queen of Olympus. Probably, if he had to, he'd go out there and start a fight himself to keep her away from his and Annabeth's wedding. Luckily, he had the best cousin in the world to help him out, instead.

"I've got this," I declared, stepping forward and putting a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Leave this to me."

"Hold on..." said Percy, stopping me short as I started to head for the door. "Are you sure? I mean... she can cause all kinds of problems..."

"I know. I've heard all about the shit she's stirred for you and for Annabeth. But I'm mortal, and almost definitely not on her radar. Don't worry about it, Perce. I've got this."

I shot him a wink, then turned and booked it out of the room before either he or Grover could second guess me.

Thankfully, despite being mortal, it didn't take me long to locate Hera once I made it outside the wedding venue. She was practically glowing, and she was the only person in range who had a scowl on her face. I cleared my throat, straightened my shoulders, and shifted into character. Then, I rushed forward and grabbed the nearest person to Hera by the arm. I didn't know her, but I didn't need to for this to work.

"Did you hear?" I asked in a very loud stage whisper. The woman looked at me in absolute confusion, but I continued, just hoping she wouldn't say anything to ruin my play. "I just heard them talking, and they're calling off the wedding."

The woman in front of me gasped, and although I didn't dare look, I could feel Hera's attention shifting to me.

"I know! But it's done. It's like a curse or something, I swear. Everything's been going wrong, and they've been fighting for, like, the past hour. We're working on putting an announcement together for the guests, but like... this is not happening. We all thought they were bulletproof. Apparently not..."

The woman I'd started speaking to looked horrified, but she stopped mattering to me as Hera walked past us, a smirk on her face. Before she reached the corner of the venue, she disappeared into thin air. I smiled.

"Are you... are you serious?" the woman before me asked, her hand flying to her heart. I straightened up and grinned, pausing for one last check that Hera was nowhere in sight before answering.

"Nope! Sorry, weird prank. I thought it'd be a hit, but... clearly not. Enjoy the ceremony!"

The woman scowled, shocked and furious, but I turned and headed inside before she could make a scene. As far as I was concerned, that was a complete mission success. It wouldn't be a forever fix, since Hera would figure out the wedding did actually go on at some point, but hopefully I'd done things well enought that none of us would get in trouble for it. I headed back towards the groom's room to let Percy know the good news, but somebody stopped me just before I rounded the corner to the right hallway.

I looked up to see someone I recognized from a few pictures Percy and Sally had around their houses. Poseidon himself, attending his son's wedding in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. I narrowed my eyes.

"That was well done," he said, giving me a small smile and nod. I quickly schooled my expression to absolute neutrality.

"I don't know what you're talking about. On an unrelated note, any chance your magic powers would allow you to change into a suit for this wedding? Or at least pants with the Hawaiin shirt?"

Poseidon just stared at me for a long moment, then finally, he started laughing.

"I can see the family resemblance to Sally," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder and giving me a good-natured smile. "And don't worry. I'm happy to cover for you if anyone starts asking questions."

I sighed. It wasn't an answer to my pants question, but it was a promise to lie to Hera for me, so... I guess I'd take it.

"Thanks. And thanks for coming. I know it'll mean a lot to Percy."

Poseidon gave another smile and nod, then headed off to join the rest of the wedding guests. I watched him go for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to go find Percy like I'd been trying to do. Never a dull moment since I'd reconnected with this side of the family, but I'd also never regretted it for a second.

Percy was over the moon when I'd told him, and not long after, he and Annabeth finally walked down the isle and said their vows. The ceremony was absolutely beautiful, and by some miracle, we didn't get a reappearance from Hera. After so many pictures everyone in the wedding party was ready to drop, we moved on to an absolutely outstanding reception. With literal magical Olympians in attendance, the party got immediately into full swing, and continued long into the early hours of the next morning.

After whirling around the dancefloor for more songs in a row than I could count, I finally made my way to plop down at a table for just a few moments of breathing and taking the weight off my feet. At least half the guests had already called it a night, but a core of us were still going.

As I took a deep breath, Percy emerged from the dancefloor's crowd and made his way over to me, too. I grinned as I saw him coming, raising the glass of water I'd found in toast.

"Congratulations," I said as he sat down next to me, a massive, dopey smile on his face. "Again."

"Thanks. And thanks for the help today with... You Know Who. Don't know what we would've done without you."

I grinned. "Sure thing, Perce. I missed a lot of Olympian days when you were in the middle of the shit, and even if I hadn't, I know I probably wouldn't have been able to help much. So I'm glad I'm able to help now."

Percy smiled and leaned over to give my shoulder a squeeze, then slumped back in his chair. We sat for a few moments in comfortable silence, watching fondly as our friends and loved ones continued to destroy the dance floor.

In another moment or two, I knew we'd be dragged back into the middle of it, both with smiles on our faces. But it was nice to be able to take a quick breather with my favorite cousin amidst the festivities to just sit back and enjoy the moment.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Riordanverse Taglist: @valkyriepirate

[santae-salt]

Fresh new pinned! Please read before submitting.

I anon every ask unless requested not to.

Incident Index

General rules/guidelines:

1. Namedropping is allowed. Overly hateful/vitriolic asks won't be posted, especially if it has nothing to do with the person's activity on Santae/the sancord. Consider using just an initial if your griping isn't too bad.

2. If I get several similar asks in a short period of time, I'll likely only post one or two of them. If you don't see yours get posted, it's probably because of this.

3. Contact me ASAP if you sent an ask and want it removed. The fastest way is via another ask or via tumblr dm (if you message me on Discord, I may not see it as quickly.)

4. For extended Discord/forums drama, please include direct examples/screenshots/message links. I try to give every ask context, so people can understand what's being talked about specifically even if they haven't witnessed it.

5. If your ask is transphobic, I'm deleting it and probably IP blocking you. Didn't think this needed to be said. Don't be a fucking weirdo.

6. Relating to "Don't be a weirdo", asks that are very incendiary/could be bait may not be posted.

7. "My username/initial/forum message/Discord message is in this post. Can you remove it?" While I probably won't entirely remove a post, I'm generally happy to edit it (and, if needed, repost it) to remove identifying information. Case-by-case basis. Send me a message.

8. "You posted this thing and it's harmful/incorrect." Because this blog is mainly submission-based, I don't share the opinions of everything I post. If it's seriously harmful please message me or leave an ask, I'm generally happy to delete posts that slipped past my radar and were bigoted/ableist/etc.

9. "My ask wasn't posted. Why?" It either: Broke one of the rules (see weirdo rules). I recieved several like it in a short span of time. I've decided we're taking a break on the topic. Contained a word I was unsure about allowing. Was a nothing-burger (ie. "Anyone else play Santae when it rains outside?") Lacked context and I wasn't sure what it was about. Or Tumblr ate it and it never reached me.

If you sent an ask and haven't seen it, feel free to message me.

Tag directory:

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#saltsalt - salt about another post here/about a general sentiment.

#santariansalt - salt towards a player/group of players. may include staff salt, if the salt is not about CJ.

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#staffsalt - salt towards staff (as a whole or individually.)

#sansalt ai - posts about ai usage onsite.

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#a-salt on sancord - posts regarding the unrest and subsequent banning of multiple users from the sancord in April '25.

#saltware failure - posts regarding the resignation of Ember, and CJ's subsequent chargebacks + withholding of payment + crashout. June-July '25.

#sansalt: crimes edition - posts featuring/about actual crimes santae (or CJ) has committed.

[drowsypancake]

Sellout | Bucky Barnes x Reader

The head of a crime ring specialising in the sale of classified information meets the Winter Soldier three separate times, and is put into an uncomfortable position due to his appearance in her life. The third time serves as a catalyst, setting her on a path that slowly compromises her beliefs until it's no longer clear to her what she really wants.

Warnings: no beta reader; mentions of violence, weapons, and death; some adult language; maybe eventual romance??; annoyance-into-friendship tone for now; appropriate hatred of HYDRA

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: So I just started trying to write, and I have no idea whether I cooked with this or whether I'm going to delete my blog afterwards, but I can leave it as a one-shot or use my ideas for a longer series if I decide to pick it up. Feedback would be appreciated even if it's negative. TL/DR: first fic ever, crucify me for my writing if necessary

———

The first time you met him, you barely got a good look. One second, your meeting was scheduled to begin as they normally did, speaking to overinflated egos lining either side of the long table you sat at the head of. The next, the glass windows shattered as a figure crashed through, your bodyguards immediately standing, drawing their weapons, and covering you. You didn’t stick around long enough that day to see the whole picture, but after some later digging, it would seem that you’d gotten on the radar of the Winter Soldier.

That night, of course, you’d taken your usual actions whenever something of this scale occurred. You made a few calls, contacted your most trusted informants, and naturally took down notes. You gathered that this… incident, you’d call it, was supposed to be a one and done. He’d managed to find your office through the help of his team’s AI. Annoying. You’d have to cover up everything better. The bigger issue, however, was that the Avengers were looking to shut down your information ring. Fortunately for you, you’d kept a low enough profile that the Soldier had stormed in blind to who the real boss was, and had taken the man at the foot of the table instead. That was an honest mistake, and you could sympathize: there really wasn’t a big enough difference to care. 

At least you’d gotten away. It would be frustrating to have to build up a new location and group of informants for the next one, but you would try. Your tightest circle didn’t scare easily, which was good as they were the only ones to have seen your face. You didn’t bother doing business in person if you didn’t have to; getting out of bed was annoying. You preferred to either make calls, send emails, letters, threats, etc… Or you would use one of your men as a proxy. It was generally better that way. You wouldn’t deal with misogynistic garbage being spewed your way from men who thought they knew better (and would then shortly find out why messing with you was a bad idea), and your penthouse was nice. 

You sent out the message to all of the people in your meeting to lay low as soon as you had left the chaos of the gunfight the Soldier’s appearance had started. Well, those who were left. The man who’d been assumed to be in charge was taken into custody, and unfortunately one had pushed his luck a little too far, and ended up losing his life while fighting back. That was a shame, but not a loss. He’d always been a little too impulsive for your tastes. You’d pick someone else more responsible to fill in.

---

A month later, you saw him for the second time. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been putting in as much effort as you could in trying to avoid being found, but it hadn’t mattered. Even putting your tech team–who you’d rather not admit is just your most code adept contact–on the case hadn’t helped. Stark tech was annoyingly hard to hack into. You couldn’t blame them, really. You’d be working with the best level of encryption too if you were on their side. You just happened to not take sides. You paid a network of people to report everything they could back to you, and then you sold it at a higher price to those who came to you looking for it. It was a good way to make money, actually, in addition to the several other operations you had your hands in. You certainly didn’t live a humble life. A private one, yes, but not a humble one.

This time, you’d changed buildings, and you’d even changed cities. It hadn’t mattered, the Winter Soldier had still found you. This time, there’d been a pause in the destruction for only a moment, a pause that you felt like you were the only one to feel. The window had been broken in a similar fashion to the last time, and while you were immediately flanked and started fleeing for the exit, your eyes met his. Steel blue seemed to stare directly through you, and what must have only been a split second felt like it had lasted hours. 

That was all you’d gotten to see before being rushed out of the back entrance. But it had been enough. He’d been caught up in fighting the rest of the people in there who were either brave or stupid enough not to run, but he’d looked directly at you while tearing through your security and associates. He knew you were in charge, and this time, you knew he’d come into the office with the sole intent to bring you in. You were his mission this time, and something that you’d been aware of in the near decade since the S.H.I.E.L.D. and H.Y.D.R.A. were leaked, was that the Winter Soldier always completed his mission.

That was a harrowing thought as you rushed through the underground of the building. Thankfully, you got away, but you knew it wouldn’t be for long. The only reason you hadn’t been caught this time was that you always had multiple exits you could take. You decided not to return to your penthouse that night, instead going to one of the smaller, shittier apartments you had. New York could get expensive, even with your money, so only two of your apartments were luxury. In your eyes, anyway. The other two were probably very nice according to others, but they were average to you. You barely lived in them and so didn’t feel the need to make them feel as at home as the others, so they were worse in your opinion.

You knew at this point that you were being hunted. It was a new experience, feeling like this. Normally you were the one who knew every last move of your opponent, who could effortlessly drive someone into a corner just by using the information available to you. Now, you had to halt operations on multiple fronts, trying to go radio silent in an effort to throw the Avengers off of your trail. It felt insulting. You never directly involved yourself in anything illegal as you had no desire to end up in prison if something failed along the lines, so you knew you were at least partially safe. But to think that you were a big enough threat for them to find you and try to shut you down, but only send one of their operatives… That was almost a blow to your ego. You were a threat, but one they’d rather not waste too much time on. Rude.

You kept out of the way for a while after that, waiting a few more months before directly showing up to anything again. The coast seemed clear, but this was still done with caution. You knew what being a ghost entailed; you knew that the Soldier could very well be stalking your apartment building as well. There were no problems for a little bit, though. You kept an extra eye out and avoided anything that seemed even remotely sketchy, but there was nothing.

---

The third time you saw him was inarguably the worst one. There was no pretense this time, no way to have avoided it. Yes, you had bodyguards and men to act as security, but in your private offices, such as the one in the hotel you owned, you kept to yourself and kept them outside. There’d been a request by a lesser crime lord of the city, one looking for details about a weapons trade, and you only had the files on that in that particular location. It was inconvenient, yes, but you preferred to keep a physical record instead of electronic. It was easier to destroy anything damning that way.

You hadn’t stood a chance, really. Not when you’d excused yourself to go into your office, heavy doors shutting behind you. You’d sat down at your desk, powered on your laptop, and had begun to search through manilla folders in your desk drawer when you caught it.

The clouds had shifted just enough to let the moonlight through, causing it to reflect off of something gold and into your eye. You didn’t keep anything gold, preferring silver, but that wasn’t what had revealed him to you anyway. You’d lifted your gaze before your head, double checking before reacting just to make sure, and to buy yourself a few more seconds. You didn’t need to, though. You already knew what was happening. The Winter Soldier, after you for a third time, and waiting in the shadows of your office. You’d managed to walk right past him without noticing.

As you lifted your head, you tried to meet his gaze but failed in the dark. You could make out the vague outline of his features, but the wind had blown again, shifting the clouds back into place and obscuring most of him. 

“You could turn on a light,” you suggested, not exactly friendly but not being rude. You didn’t quite know how to handle yourself at this point, but you’d get through it. You hadn’t built your empire through being meek or easily shaken.

A small chuckle came from that general area, and the room was illuminated with a click. You thought you might be screwed at this point, but you kept calm. There he stood, imposing figure clad in black leather, hair still long, and vibranium arm out on display. He looked every bit as menacing as the days before he’d reclaimed his mind and taken up hero work, and while you didn’t think you were facing assassination tonight, you couldn’t help but feel some adrenaline start to flow.

“I could have,” he agreed, beginning to make his way over to your desk. “But you’re sitting now. Almost cornered. You wouldn’t have sat if the lights were on when you opened the door.”

You sat back, leaning away from your desk and relaxing into your chair. You thought maybe you’d have a better chance of escape if you presented a calm, controlled exterior. That always had helped you unnerve and intimidate your potential adversaries in the past, and it was what had gotten you more money than originally offered on multiple occasions. Despite being the world’s deadliest assassin, he was still just a man, a human being. He’d be difficult to con, but you could make an attempt.

“Smart move,” you condoned, keeping your face carefully neutral. “Clearly, you have something to say, and now I assume I’m supposed to listen?”

You waited a moment for confirmation, but got no response. You took the lack of any verbal or physical clues as your sign to just keep going.

“I’m not as stuck as you think I am, but go ahead, speak. Tell me why I have the pleasure of meeting with the Winter Soldier tonight.”

You picked up on a shift in the atmosphere, an almost imperceptible signal from him that indicated that he wasn’t pleased with the words you used. Still, you gestured to the chair on the other side of your desk anyway, treating this like any other business endeavor. To your surprise, he sat. He was staring at you with the same intense look as when you’d noticed him, but he was sitting across from you with no move to arrest you yet. Actually, did the Avengers arrest people? You had no idea. You thought you’d have to look into what they really did after this was over, other than storming into old H.Y.D.R.A. bases and kill the agents there. That wasn’t something you’d ever judge them for, but what you did didn’t warrant that same level of force.

He continued to stare for a moment longer, not giving any indication of speaking yet. You began to wonder what the point of this was if he wasn’t going to speak, until your thoughts were interrupted by his gruff voice.

“You have an interesting choice in associates. I’m looking for a name.”

You scoffed, holding back a lot of judgment. You would have treated a situation like this with more finesse, tried to be less direct, but you figured this was his style. He looked like he’d be blunt enough to come out and say what he meant. You couldn’t imagine he was used to nonviolent negotiations in his previous missions. Which begged the question of why he was there. Surely someone who relied less on brute force would

“Sorry, but I don’t give away my colleagues so easily. I’d be interested in learning what you’re looking for, however. Maybe I could be the one who assists you?”

A brief flicker in his eyes, almost as if he was expecting your noncompliance. Expecting, but not pleased. You tried to remain professional, at least. Something in your gut told

He looked conflicted, in your opinion, for a few more moments before speaking again, folding his arms on your desk 

“You’ve received communications from a certain group looking to overtake a transportation of military-grade weapons next week. We’ve been keeping track of these people for a while, and were tipped off when they contacted you. Alone, they’re dangerous. With your help, they’re worse.”

You took a few seconds to process what he said, wanting to make sure you understood in full. So they were aware of who you were in contact with. You wouldn’t be naive enough to think it was only this “certain group” he mentioned they were monitoring your interactions with. 

“I wasn’t aware I was important enough for the Avengers to have my business on their radar,” you said, fishing for just a little more information. It was true: you probably had a few misdemeanors and felonies they could nab you for, but nothing on a terroristic level.

“You’re not.”

Ouch. Didn’t miss a beat with that one.

“Then why are you here, soldier?”

He, again, looked displeased with how you addressed him, but moved forward regardless. “S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps tabs on anyone with the potential to pose a threat. You give the real dangerous criminals the information they need to conduct themselves, which makes you a threat.”

You nodded, conceding a small point. There was no more pretending that you weren’t involved in a lot of shady practices, not when he likely knew about them all. So he was just the unlucky agent assigned to your case, and sent to stop you from making tonight’s couple hundred thousand dollar sale.

“May I ask why it’s suddenly so important to speak with me instead of crashing into my meetings like a bull in a china shop?”

The question, asked with an innocent tone, was anything but. You’d meant to make it clear that you were upset with the past incidents, which had been highly detrimental to your business. It was hard to retain people if they kept getting injured or scared off. 

He rolled his eyes–the first sign of emotion you’d seen from him, you were counting that as a slight personal victory. 

“You’re in contact with Orion, and they’re H.Y.D.R.A. adjacent. Based on what we know about you and how you operate, there’s a strong feeling back at base that you’ll help us.”

Well… he was right. You had strong feelings about the descendants of the original Nazi science division, and none of them were positive. You hadn’t been aware, even, that they were related. The name wasn’t an acronym, and you were pretty sure that the reference to the hunter was because this group specialized in stealing and selling weaponry. Now you thought that was the laziest name ever. It sounded like they’d just taken a Greek myth and used it for their name to try and emulate H.Y.D.R.A. even more. Still, you didn’t work with supremacists of any kind. Not only were you not a total dirtbag, it alienated other clients to work with those kinds of organizations. You wouldn’t go through with the sale tonight, but you weren’t giving him the name of your Orion contact either.

This might have been one of the hardest things you had to do, but you began to turn him down. Doing further business would hurt you in the long run, but snitching on who it was would be worse and warrant a swift retaliation.

“I hope you can understand that while I would like to work with you, I can’t give away a name.”

He sat back in his seat, looking nonplussed. At least he wasn’t surprised, in fact, he seemed to have been anticipating that answer.

“You don’t have to give away a name... directly. You just have to sell them the information, and tell your contact to be there as well. We’ll have a strike team ready for Orion inside of the convoy instead of any arms, and you get to keep away from the mess.”

You raised an eyebrow. That was an impressive plan, even if it could end very, very poorly. You were mainly just impressed that he had the gall to ask for something for nothing. Of course, you’d still be getting the money, and it wouldn’t look like it was your fault that the deal went sour. And best of all, you would have a plausible reason not to deal with Orion in the future, saying that if it drew the Avengers closer to you, it was too risky.

You thought on it for another moment, having what you considered an important question for him. You’d do it, you knew that already, you just couldn’t make it easy for him. “What happens to me, if I agree?”

He looked smug, as if he’d been expecting that, too. “I don’t care what you do, and I’m pretty sure that no one else on the team does. Our concern lies in stopping H.Y.D.R.A. wannabes from gaining experimental, powerful weapons.”

You bit your lip, weighing your decision again. It was a fair deal, even though you were fairly certain you were being tested, goaded into answering in some way that wasn’t professional. You’d heard him loud and clear, though. You’d be allowed to continue operating if you did this. It made you a little nervous to put yourself under the partial mercy of the Avengers and by extension, S.H.I.E.L.D., but you knew you could avoid more of a headache.

You got up from your desk, manilla folder in hand. You headed over to your fax machine, your preferred way of sending documents to clients, and waited a few moments until your work phone lit up, a message from your Orion contact confirming they’d gotten your files, and a wire transfer for the amount they owed.

With that done, you walked back over to the Winter Soldier. You wouldn’t use a name to his face, he wasn’t someone you knew at all, but you handed him the folder with all of the information compiled inside. This would normally be the part where I destroyed the evidence I’d had on the incident, and waited a week or two for the actual event

“I assume you already know the route they’ll be taking, but when I got this, I highlighted the perfect strip in the route to hijack the trucks. Tell your team on the inside that this is where the Orion agents will go after them.”

He took the folder with a smirk, looking all too pleased with himself. “Thanks, sweetheart. That wasn’t so difficult.”

You frowned, and before you could form a cutting enough response for your tastes, he was gone. You collapsed back into your chair with a sigh. You had potentially set the precedent you’d work with “the good guys” in the future, but that wasn’t what bothered you. Someone had coached his speech for negotiating with you in the beginning, that was clear, but you hated the small amount of condescension in his last remark. You didn’t tolerate that from people you didn’t have a personal relationship with, and he’d gone off script. That wasn’t a good personality, in your opinion. Willing to drop professionalism, a little abrasive… you had more reason to dislike Barnes than you had when he cost you two windows and a friend’s life.

[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing/starring: Eventually Bucky x fem!reader, Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 1667. Contents: Recovery, mystery. A/N: This was my first ever fanfic - it looked different in its original version but I'm editing heavily. It will be tackling everything from "Civil War" and on differently than canon. Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 6

You wake up to Stark’s face centimetres from yours, scaring you shitless and punching him straight in the face as a knee-jerk reaction before you manage to recall what’s going on. Especially Natasha seems very proud of this but you’re less happy...partially because it hurts your own face too. That and you fixing his now broken nose seem to make it up for Stark and he divulges the information that you’re are on the way “home” to the Bunker, but not without stopping to get some proper food on the way to celebrate. The idea alone makes your stomach growl.

“Stopping for food” apparently means landing in Paris and getting a four-star restaurant to stay open after hours so the team can have dinner. Naturally, you aren’t going to complain about getting the most lavish meal in your life and Crème Brûlée for dessert on the way home from what’s officially your first job with the Avengers…though the whole situation’s surreal.

…

You don’t get a chance to tell your parents face to face that your vacations cut short. In fact you don’t get to do more than send them a text that you’re fine and that “someone”, probably a SHIELD employee, will stop by to get your luggage. Meanwhile you’re spending the flight getting updated on the case that’d brought you to the mountain facility.

It all leads back to the threat Coulson had visited the Bunker about. Unfortunately, it seems that the guy behind it wasn’t actually there, but there are loads of data, materials, and witnesses to provide new information. SHIELD’s taking care of that part together with Stark and Natasha who on their end also are working through the data downloaded from the computers. There’s a lot.

As for the Inhumans, they’re being offered medical attention at the agency and the offer to either join them or go back to their old lives, more or less. Apparently, Emmanuel’s stoked by the idea of being an agent and as of now no one has contradicted him.

When the team finally gets back to the Bunker, you’re allowed to crash straight away but with the promise of a full day of training in only a handful of hours. Especially Bruce seems determined to borrow you for some new tests.

… …

Being woken up by FRIDAY at five in the morning and told to join Bruce in the kitchen isn’t really something to brighten the mood when you’re not a morning person, but you’ve learned long ago that FRIDAY doesn’t give up. If the AI can get Stark out of bed in the morning (not always, though) then it can get any normal being up too. Thankfully, Bruce greets you with fresh orange juice and pancakes. Smart man.

“I’ve been thinking about you radar…would you mind joining me on a walk outside the perimeter?”

You don’t even try to stifle a yawn. “Fine.”

Dew’s lying in a thin glittery layer on everything, making your bare toes wet as you walk through the grass.

The further you get away from the Bunker the more small specks of glitter start showing up for you. All of them appear after an unmarked line which must be the system Banner’s mentioned before. Soon they’re crawling and buzzing everywhere: underneath your and your odd colleague’s feet, circling above your heads, coming to a perfect standstill when they get near only to suddenly scamper away if any of you get too close. Most must be belonging to insects because Banner can’t see many of them, but to you it seems like a million minuscule fireflies everywhere around them.

“It’s magnificent. Like silver…and gold and…copper everywhere.”

Bruce looks at the empty air, trying to imagine what you’ve been describing. “Why different colours?”

“I dunno...there doesn’t seem to be much logic to it. Not like when you turned green and your glitter did too.” You shrug, rolling up the wrapper from the pancakes.

“You haven’t said that before.” His right eyebrow has found its way to his hairline all on its own.

Guilt burns in your cheeks. “…I guess…I forgot to mention. A lot happened yesterday and now…I’m not quite awake yet.”

“No worries, guess I should be the one to apologize anyways.”

As you steal a glance at him, you can see that he really looks ashamed with glistening eyes and lips drawn thin. “No. You didn’t hurt me. Or Emmanuel.”

The two of you walk on a bit in silence before you stop him. Further up ahead is a herd of deer. They don’t seem to have noticed the intruders yet because they keep grazing peacefully in the morning mist. The doctor looks at you questioningly and you point towards them as an answer.

When he does spot them, he just stands with mouth open just as spellbound as you are: one of the does is not grazing but has sought a bit away from the herd. She’s fawning. It’s possible to tell there’s one kid on the way because of its silvery-white sparkles clear within the softer golden particles that make up the mother. Despite the burning feeling of the contractions that you share with the doe even from this distance, it’s still an amazing sight.

Not even fifteen minutes later, the fawn is standing on its wobbly, long legs, trying to steer its weight towards the mother. As the little creature, also a female, homes in, you and Bruce back away slowly. It’s odd to explain these things to someone who cannot see it but at least Bruce seems to appreciate the firefly analogy.

Walking back, he starts to hum the starting song from the Lion King and as you pass through the doors to the kitchen, together you’re starting over with the opening chorus line – it’s not pretty, probably not correctly pronounced, but most surely heartfelt. Surprisingly, there’s no applause from Stark and Steve, only deafening silence and open mouths due to the horror they’ve just witnessed.

After a brief delay, the silence’s broken by Clint barging into the room. “What was that?!”

“That...” explains Stark, still wide-eyed from the incident, “was the cast from the High School Musical 15...or a pack of hyenas.”

“You’re one to talk! I’ve heard you in the shower when we had to sit in that wretched helicarrier for days!” The rebuttal comes promptly from Bruce and serves its purpose. Stark’s on the defence while the guys are grilling him.

... ...

You’ve been alone in the Bunker for a few days now. Somehow, everyone else have found something to do elsewhere but it does grant some time without hard training. It’s not difficult being on your own. There’s a lot of entertainment and if you need anything that’s not in the Bunker then FRIDAY orders it. One of those days, the first package arrives.

You still haven’t been able to figure out how deliveries make it here, but this time you realize it’s someone on a cover-address, bringing things to the Bunker if one of the Stark Industry drones can’t do it. The man who brings everything doesn’t want to answer any questions as to where the Bunker actually is, though, and he leaves laughing as if he doesn’t even believe you don’t know. The package itself gets scanned by FRIDAY and Stark’s notified…the only answer’s to just leave it in the lab.

Three days later another one arrives. It’s the same man who delivers it and he’s still not sharing any information as to the whereabouts of the place. And again, you just need to leave the package in the lab.

By the end of your solitary days there are four packages waiting to be opened. All you’ve learned from the delivery-man’s that you can call him Bob (it’s probably not even his real name) but he still hasn’t divulged anything else before Stark returns. First thing he does, however, is to go to the lab and busy himself there with some new gadget.

Only once does he emerge allowing for you to ask him about the contents of the packages reminding him of their existence. So he disappears again, but this time not for long.

“Mister Stark would like to see you in the lab.”

You’ve been there many times before, but it’s never been it this messy. You have to step over a big pile of blueprints and then skirt around a fallen chair. On the table are the packages. Open. Stark’s leaning up against the wall and just staring at them, hair messy and arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

“Hav’a look.”

You’re not quite sure what to expect, but obviously something’s gotten to him. In the first box’s a note with the scribbled words “Drink me” tied to a vial with a blue liquid in it. In the second box is a stale muffin accompanied by the note “Eat me”. The third box has a surveillance picture from the raid in the mountain and a last note simply stating: “So close, yet so far”…and finally in the fourth a brick with “Find me” attached to it.

“He’s taunting us!” Tony’s words carry a fine explosion of spittle.

“We knew ‘t’was a matter of time before he’d resurface somehow.”

“Yeah, but this...this is...a slap in the face! He knows that we have NOTHING on him from all the data we collected!” Well...not all of us knew that...but fine. Tony’s pacing, waving his arms like an Italian as he speaks. “We still have no idea who he is or what he wants!”

“Bruce might be able to wrangle some answers out of that blue stuff…or maybe ask Coulson to get Simmons to have a look?” A voice in the back of your head’s shouting at you for daring suggest anything. “She’s specialized at this, right?”

“Of course I asked Banner and the others to come back asap! I’m not a moron!” Then he appears to think about it. “But you’re right...I needa hear if Coulson’s gotten anything like this.”

[techramonic]

WHAT is the lore of smartschoolboy9 i'm curious now

I will make an in-depth deepdive of this soon but to sum it up into an informal consumable hunk of lore, basically:

smartschoolboy9 is one of the many instagram accounts used by a man named David Alter, a middle-aged man in the 50's age range residing in London. He has other accounts such as stephanieschoolie, truthsticks, and many others.

From how I see it, he treats these accounts like his alter-egos, writing as if he is the child or parent themself by talking about mundane things like their school-life, interests, and others. He builds up on these characters and even creates extensive descriptions and narratives for them. This effort extends to him branching out some sort of community ir a world of his own, where he lets these characters interact by commenting on posts of his accounts.

All of these accounts had three common themes: children, uniforms, and high-heeled mini boots.

In his truthsticks account, his content mostly consisted of him calling out supposed child predators that were pretending to be children. This was eerily aligned with his behavior because he did the exact same thing despite numerously calling out other accounts that were allegedly also made by himself.

People speculate that this is either to gain trust from innocent parents/children coming across his feeds or that he's projecting because he is quite literally very self-aware of his harmful and dangerous thoughts, desires, and behavior that he guiltily is self-indulgent of.

His smartschoolboy9 account sticks out the most because it's actually him dressing up as a schoolboy. Unlike the other accounts where he uses ai to grotesquely mimic children, he dresses up as one. This can confirm that he does have some sort of fetishes directly linked to children or being a child. While some people speculate that this may be an ageplay fetish, he has other posts that may allude to something more sinister.

This is one of the more tame photos I I found on reddit, you can check more for yourself if you wish to see more of his content—however, this is all I'll show because I might get termed. Despite the content being blurred, it's still uncomfortable to look at because of the graphic nature.

He started using ai to create these images of children often propped up in suggestive and poses, some having child-like faces cropped unto adult bodies. He tends to sexualize these children who are his "alter-egos", often in weird forms of poetry that he posts online (i.e. one of his alter-egos was a little girl who liked writing poetry and she wrote a poem containing innuendos and a description of her uniform and vaguely her... underwear)

He also has this very odd connection to uniforms. He would post on numerous occations regarding how uniforms are valuable for prestige and all kinds of reasons on why kids should wear it instead of casualwear. His interests in this are so extensive that he has even published some papers on local news regarding how much he believes that uniforms should be implemented in British educational institutions.

It's hearsay but some people on reddit have mentioned that he had been doing this since the 90's and had been under the radar since. There are some who said he has been jailed once for stalking a girl when he was younger but there's no solid evidence of him having a prison record.

No one knows whether he had already committed a grave act to satiate his unusual fantasies or thoughts. The police have been actively trying to find him and gather clues, however the case still remains open until today. No one really knows where he is at the moment but he is seen as a potential threat or being a child predator.

He also would go to parks and take pictures of unsuspecting children. There was also a video where he was chasing a child (the child seemed like he was laughing, I'm unsure however because most of the video was covered by emojis and thick texts but there was some cheap audio and small crevices where hou could see what was going on) and no one knows the context.

He had also shared morbid interests on child sacrifice and cannibalism on one of his accounts. While this may just be something to add layer to his character or alter-ego, it's not really a strech since he's already prone to self-projection–it might as well be true.

He's a very weird yet interesting rabbit hole to dig up. He was obscure before rising to recognition recently and more unfortunately, it's on tiktok. It would've been better if it was somewhere like on reddit but tiktok is the worst place to make these criminals famous using braindead content.

Personally, I don't like the sensationalization they actively perform on his case because they don't realize how this behavior just makes it more difficult to investigate because they're providing him more attention which can either be good (if used correctly in navigating his location and whereabouts, his history, etc.) or bad (they praise him even if satirical, which enables his behavior—or criticizes him which sends him into a worse mental spiral)

I really think they need to mentally evaluate him once they find him because he clearly has issues and illnesses that he copes with in a very harmful manner to not just him but also others.

He's a very weird yet interesting rabbit hole to dig up. He was obscure before rising to recognition recently and more unfortunately, it's on tiktok. It would've been better if it was somewhere like on reddit but tiktok is the worst place to make these criminals famous, especially with these no-brainer consumerist content.

Nexpo and Nick Crowley made great videos talking about his case if you wanna know more!

[thephonemenarentreal]

The Conglomerate operations are aboard the ship known as the Pleasure Cruise which is a floating city, constantly on the move and under the radar with a thriving population of technopeople, humans, and skibidis.

All of that ship is controlled by one AI: Captain Mizzenmatch. They are the ship, all the way down to the tiniest bolt and he takes their job very seriously.

MORE LORE UNDER THE CUT <3

Mizzenmatch doesn't NEED a unit form as the ship is their body, but they have one for appearances to parties and for ease of people needing a face to talk to...although people get a bit creeped out by the lack of arms.

They don't have arms because it is a "hassle" and feels "useless" when they are the ship and can do everything with but a thought. They say arms get in the way of "being" in the ship. They also don't like sleeves because it looks funny all floppy and not very professional.

As to what "Faction" they belong to, Mizzenmatch often answers all for they need all components to do their job. They are the ship. They must see, hear, and televise everything for the protection and comfort of their charges.

They take their job EXTREMELY SERIOUSLY. The safety of the lives on board and their comfort are their priority unless they are marked as being a nuisance or threat, in which case they will not do anything to stop that individual from being taken care of.

If someone is misbehaving on the ship, Mizzenmatch knows and will harass them by closing the elevators on them, making the hot water shut off, make the coffee machine spray them, ect. ect. They can be very petty and there is no stopping them as they ARE the ship...

The captain unit tends to remain at the helm of the ship staring off stoically. In fact, Mizzenmatch is extremely stoic and no one has ever heard them laugh.

There is a challenge to try and get the ship AI to laugh or crack a smile or something, but no one has had any luck.... Mizzenmatch is just a very stoic captain.

They don't sleep. Ever. They don't need to sleep. They are a very complicated AI, able to control the whole ship and monitor everything without missing a beat. This means certain systems can "sleep" while others "awake", taking shifts within Mizzenmatch's runtimes. So they are never technically asleep.

Every morning at 9am sharp, they always make ship announcements in a very stoic and professional voice. Very deep and sultry voice. These announcements are about the weather of the day, events on the ship planned, birthdays announcements, lottery numbers, and any specials that day.

There is a channel on every room TV called "Mizzenmatch report" where they give commentary on the news in the world as well as news on the ship.

Mizzenmatch has certain cameras open to the public that people can watch from their room if they like.

There is also a channel where they narrate all the things on sale at the deck mall and any specials that are currently running.

Mizzenmatch gets picky about changes to the ship and only makes changes if the board of directors vote unanimously on it.

Mizzenmatch can be reached by the phone at anytime for serious complaints. Otherwise, it is better to call the Jeeves on the minor things. Calling to ask how the captain is doing will get you a friendly enough conversation though and a thank you for asking. Maybe your shower water will be always nice and hot, the lighting always perfect, and the elevator always there for you.

It is something to watch the captain unit walk around the ship, opening doors with their mind and doing things without hands because they are the ship and can manipulate the environment to what is needed.

They like to watch the sea in their unit, so often stand by windows to watch.

They can get on the speaker system on any room to make dry comments to someone doing something bad. It makes some people paranoia since Mizzenmatch is always watching. Mizzenmatch just brushes it off saying nine times out of ten they don't care....they just look for things that are labeled as a nuisance to the comfort of guests or an active threat.

Destroying the unit does not kill Mizzenmatch. They ARE the ship. Killing the unit just makes an entire ship pissed off.

Mizzenmatch has thrown people overboard for comments about how the ship looks shabby. That's insulting. They make sure they are kept very clean, thank you!

Making comments about the Titanic or other big ships that sunk offends Mizzenmatch. They are a VERY careful driver thank you!

Mizzenmatch is able to triangulate position via satellite and always knows where the ship is and also can teleport individuals off and on the ship at waypoints that are set. In emergencies, members of the elite technocracy can activate a beacon that Mizzenmatch will lock onto and teleport them quickly to the ship.

The Pleasure Cruise hosts a large population of technopeople, humans, and skibidis on board and each and everyone of the full-time residence are Mizzenmatch's obligations. They will fight aggressively to keep them safe.

They don't mind humans like others in the Conglomerate and keeps a personal eye on them to keep humans safe and comfortable.

Mizzenmatch, in terms of overall size as a ship, is bigger than titans but does not classify as one given....ship shaped and titans don't let people live inside them and provide room service. Still, they are equipped with advanced firepower and defenses as well as a feature to dive to keep their charges safe. In a battle, Mizzenmatch can modify the ship, move parts around, and even has a factory to rapidly build more ammunition as needed to fight. With the AI's ability to see from every angle, the Pleasure Cruise has a complete 360 defensive firing circle.

When asked about their view on titans, Mizzenmatch is ambivalent. They are units. If they are on the ship, Mizzenmatch will protect them too. That's just how it works.

Given a war is going on, Mizzenmatch has stockpiled a pretty impressive supply of weaponry in case of emergencies...

Mizzenmatch can launch drone probes to "feel" out areas and scout if they feel the waters ahead are not good. These drones can be used in battle as well to distract enemy targeting systems.

Mizzenmatch was created by Simulcast to replace the original crew as a Titan Prototype AI for her Chthonic Protocol. They were successful as an AI, but Mizzenmatch promptly turned on her, seeing her as a threat to safety and reports on her constantly...

They also will undermine the Conglomerate if they feel it is a threat to the safety of others or the deaths are a bit too much. They do have more morals and an active care for those they keep safe.

Mizzenmatch is undermining Simulcast's opus magnus in the lab by "talking" to the sleeping titan, imparting a strong sense of duty onto it hopefully.

[andypantsx3]

I dont think people can tell as well as they think they can whether art or writing was generated with ai. I think it's confirmation bias where things that are obviously ai are bad and unconvincing so the other stuff flies under their radar. or they assume ai has a specific style or flaws they can identify which results in actual artists being targeted because their art or writing "looks ai".

I totally think that is sometimes true too!! I have seen a lot of hay made about "if it uses the word 'delve' it's AI-generated" which makes me laugh because I feel like that is such a standard word to use. Especially by those of us who work in corporate 😒😒😒 lol.

Unfortunately I think it can be hard to pin down at times exactly as you say; AI-generated content is not necessarily always going to be "bad"; it's basically one humungous stat model which means all it is is a statistically likely configuration of words/image fragments etc. That's why it can sound generic at times but generic or common as we know does not mean "bad". And that's why sometimes even human-created art or writing gets labeled as "AI-generated" when it's just like, visually/textually familiar somehow!!

I also think much of what "passes" so to speak is stuff that is AI-generated but has been post-processed a little to hide visual or textual cues that are commonly associated with LLM-authored content. And those are, to me, almost impossible to detect since they have seen the touch of a human hand (however light). I wonder if we will ever be able to detect those cases beyond just like, a vibe.

Idk!! It's such a complex question tbh and so interesting to discuss. I wish I had more answers, but pretty much nobody does in a space as new as this.

[thatstormygeek]

An optimist doesn't have to prove that things will go well — a skeptic must, in knowing that they are in the minority, be willing to do the hard work of pulling together distinct pieces of information in something called an "analysis." A skeptic cannot simply say "I talked to some people," because skeptics are "haters," and thus must be held to some higher standard for whatever reason.

The ramifications of a tech industry that has become captured by growth are that true innovation is being smothered by people that neither experience nor know how (or want) to fix real problems, and that the products we use every day are being made worse for a profit. These incentives have destroyed value-creation in venture capital and Silicon Valley at large, lionizing those who are able to show great growth metrics rather than creating meaningful products that help human beings. The ramifications of the end of hyper-growth mean a massive reckoning for the valuations of tech companies, which will lead to tens of thousands of layoffs and a prolonged depression in Silicon Valley, the likes of which we've never seen. The ramifications of the collapse of generative AI are much, much worse. On top of the fact that the largest tech companies have burned hundreds of billions of dollars to propagate software that doesn't really do anything that resembles what we think artificial intelligence looks like, we're now seeing that every major tech company (and an alarming amount of non-tech companies!) is willing to follow whatever it is that the market agrees is popular, even if the idea itself is flawed. Generative AI has laid bare exactly how little the markets think about ideas, and how willing the powerful are to try and shove something unprofitable, unsustainable and questionably-useful down people's throats as a means of promoting growth. It's also been an alarming demonstration of how captured some members of the media have become, and how willing people like Roose and Newton are to defend other people's ideas rather than coming up with their own.

Engaging with this kind of thinking is far from comfortable, because what I am describing is one of the largest abdications of responsibility by financial institutions and members of the media in history. OpenAI and Anthropic are abominations of capitalism, bleeding wounds that burn billions of dollars with no end in sight for measly returns on selling software that lacks any real mass market use case. Their existence is proof that Silicon Valley is capable of creating its own illogical realities and selling them to corporate investors that have lost any meaningful way to evaluate businesses, drunk off of vibes and success stories from 15 or more years ago. What we are witnessing is a systemic failure, not the beginnings of a revolution. Large Language Models have never been a mass market product — other than ChatGPT, generative AI products are barely a blip on the radar — and outside of NVIDIA (and consultancy Turing), there doesn't appear to be one profitable enterprise in the industry, nor is there any sign any of these companies will ever stop burning money. The leaders behind the funding, functionality, and media coverage of the tech industry have abdicated their authority so severely that the consensus is that it's fine that OpenAI burns $5 billion a year, and it's also fine that OpenAI, or Anthropic, or really any other generative AI company has no path to profitability. Furthermore, it's fine that these companies are destroying our power grid and our planet, and it's also fine that they stole from millions of creatives while simultaneously undercutting those creatives in an already-precarious job market.

[aryn-the-bearheart]

Make Me

A/N this was a short Avengers OC story I forgot to post on here a loooong time ago.

"Come back here you little shit!" Tony hollered, while trying to chase a younger woman through the halls of the newly modified Stark Tower living quarters. She bobbed and weaved in and out of rooms, narrowly escaping the raging billionaire. She had started closing doors to slow him down, but he kept cheating by telling JARVIS to open them for him. The AI had refused to hinder the mischievous girl by closing and or locking the doors she went through.

'What a party pooper.' Rion thought.

Tony and Rion had spent the last week together while the rest of the team was busy on different assignments or in Clint's and Bruce's case, vacations. Clint would be back at any time from visiting his family.

Rion sprinted into the main entertainment room and nearly collided with Clint and his luggage. She had to vault over his bags to keep from knocking them over. As Tony entered the room and saw Clint, he doubled over with his hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

"Did you run track in high school?", was all that could be understood from the contorted, wheezing man. It was moments like these that Tony regretted agreeing to house the young mutant.

Rion "Jackal" Raine had been recruited to join the Avengers not long after the attack on New York. At the age of 27 she was the youngest team member. Fury had taken an interest in her feral abilities after she had taken out a dozen of his agents on different odd occasions. She turned up on his radar around the time of her 24th birthday. It took him the better part of three years to track her down and organize a recruitment mission that included a couple of the Avengers. And the rest as they would say, "is history."

Rion giggled in response as she peaked out from behind Clint's back. Her eyes flared golden yellow playfully.

Clint hadn't questioned the weird exchange instead he made a move to grab his bags, but was held tight by Rion hugging him from behind.

"Clint please help me." she begged, “Tony is being irrational."

Clint chuckled, "Whatever you did, you probably deserve it." And with that he continued to drag his bags to his room, leaving Tony and Rion to their quarrel.

By now Tony had caught his breathe and had sent a silent signal to one his Iron Man suits. It was poised just outside the door behind Rion. Even with her enhanced hearing, she was too focused on the fuming man in front of her to sense it’s approach.

"Delete that immediately!" Tony demanded.

"Come over here and make me!" Rion quipped.

She just knew that Steve and Natasha would die laughing when they saw the video of Tony practicing his pick-up lines in the mirror. She would have sent it to them immediately if she hadn't accidentally bumped into Tony's bedroom door making it bang against the wall.

Tony had swiveled around, saw Rion with her phone, and immediately gave chase. He knew better than to let this little trickster get any incriminating evidence on him. He had witessed how she had broadcasted the video of Steve singing the "Star Spangled Banner" in his sleep.

Tony darted forward trying to catch her off guard. Rion turned tail and fled through the open door behind her, only to reappear seconds later grappling with Tony's latest Iron Man shells. Seeing as her claws couldn't do more than scratch the paint off of it, the little wrestling match came to a quick and decisive end. Rion tried to wiggle out of the bear hug Tony's suit had her in, while Tony snatched her phone out of her back pocket.

He cursed when he realized she had a finger scanner lock coupled with a numerical passcode. Even if he forced her finger to the lock she was the only one that knew the 7 digit code.

"Looks like a change of plans, sweetheart."

Tony switched his attention to the suit and addressed it.

"Hercules, could you please escort Ms. Raine to the landing strip?"

Rion's eyes widened and she struggled even harder. Tony followed his suit to the glass doors that connected the tower to his personal landing site. When Hercules stopped in front of the luxurious glass, he opened the doors and gestured with a dramatic sweeping motion for Hercules to exit the building.

Rion had been flinging insults the entire way.

"Have you lost your damn mind!?" she squawked.

As innocently as Tony could muster he asked,"I thought cats always landed on their feet?"

"I'm a Jackal you douche-canoe! A canine!" her voice got higher as she got closer to the edge.

"Yo Tony!" Clint called from inside. He stuck his head though the glass doors.

He waggled something for Tony to see, "Is this what you are all riled up about?"

Rion had switched their phones while she was hiding behind him earlier. Naturally, they were programed into each others phone and had figured out each others password ages ago. Rion knew he would continue with her mischievous plan while she distracted Tony.

Hercules sensed Tony's anger and dropped Rion unceremoniously onto her butt, preparing to go after Clint. She scrambled in Clint's direction, grateful for the momentary slip-up.

Tony opened his mouth to speak when his phone started to go off in a frenzy of alert tones. The first was a bald eagle screech, the next was a man yelling, and the final one was a wolf whistle. Tony dug his phone out of his pocket and starting reading the flurry of messages from his fellow Avengers.

When he had finished he turned his attention back to the glass doors to start cursing Rion and Clint. He was met with an empty doorway.

As Rion and Clint retreated to one of Clint's special hideouts, they heard the thundering voice of Tony shout,"SON OF A BITCH!"