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tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

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• Words of Command •

Tw: Cussing, angst, mentions of blood and grime.

Words of Command - Part 1

The lobby of Stark Tower gleamed with too much glass and not enough warmth for your taste. Sunlight pooled through the towering windows, hitting the polished marble floors and refracting off the chrome detailing of the modern decor.

You sat behind the main reception desk, perched on a tall stool with your legs swinging slightly.

The desk itself was a sleek black curve, embedded with holographic displays and a touchpad that still didn’t always respond when you tapped it with freshly moisturized fingers.

A nameplate identified you only by your first name, the letters tastefully etched in a clean serif font.

At the moment, you were staring at the printer behind you like it had personally offended you. It made a soft whirring noise—then stopped.

A flicker of smoke puffed up from the feeder tray. You yelped.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., I swear, I didn’t even touch it this time!”

"Miss, respectfully, you did attempt to print a double-sided image from an incompatible file format.”

You scowled at the ceiling. “You’re not even here physically. How would you know?”

“I am connected to over 2,000 sensors in this room. Shall I list the ones currently monitoring your error?”

“Rude,” you muttered, grabbing the paper that had jammed mid-print.

You shook it like it was a bad dog chewing your shoes. “This is sabotage. You're trying to make me look bad in front of Mr Stark.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Stark has been made aware of your printer challenges. He found it... 'endearing.’”

Your cheeks flushed.

The sarcasm was biting, but the thought that Tony Stark had discussed you at all—even mockingly—made your stomach flutter in a way you weren’t proud of.

The lobby doors hissed open with that smooth mechanical slide, and you looked up automatically.

When Captain Rogers walked into a room, it was like watching someone pull the '40s into the present. He was tall, and looked slightly rumpled in civilian clothes—a dark blue hoodie stretched over broad shoulders and a plain T-shirt underneath.

He wore jeans like he didn't know what to do with them.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice gentle but somehow carrying in the echoey lobby. “You’re the receptionist, right, the wizz with phones ?”

You nodded quickly and smiled. “Y-Yes, Captain Rogers. Morning.”

He returned the smile, slower, steadier, as if trying to ease your nervous energy. “Please, call me Steve.”

Right. Like that would help.

You stood, still barely reaching his chest, and smoothed down the front of your cardigan. “What can I help you with?”

He stepped up to the desk, pulled something from the pocket of his jeans, and placed it on the counter. A Stark-Phone. One of the newer ones Stark had issued.

You tilted your head, eyebrows lifting.

“I, uh…” Steve scratched the back of his neck, clearly sheepish. “I pressed something and now it’s speaking Korean. I think.”

You gently picked up the phone and pressed the home button. “Oh. You activated the language cycle shortcut. Happens if you triple tap the lock screen.”

You tapped through the settings with practiced ease. “There. Back to English.”

Steve watched you like you were performing magic. “I don’t know how any of you keep up with this tech.”

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze with more courage this time. “Honestly? I mostly argue with the printer. J.A.R.V.I.S. does everything else.”

Steve chuckled, a warm, earnest sound that made your heart thump faster. “Well, you seem to be holding your own.”

As he turned to leave, he paused. “I like your necklace, by the way. It suits you.”

You looked down, brushing a finger across the tiny pendant resting at your collarbone. “Oh. Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.”

He nodded like that meant something to him.

“Thanks,” he says, when you’re done. Then adds, almost sheepishly, “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m going to throw a shield at them.”

You laugh nervously. “You’re... not that scary.”

His grin is warm, boyish. You find yourself smiling back, unexpectedly grounded.

The elevator dings, and in breezes Tony Stark like a whirlwind in thousand-dollar shoes.

He’s on a call, two steps ahead of his own thoughts, sunglasses on indoors because of course they are.

"Yeah, just tell Fury he can bite me. In Morse code. Bye."

Phone snapped off, sunglasses up, and he zeroes in on you. “Sweetheart. You jammed the printer again.”

“I did not jam the printer,” you say quickly. “Jarvis is just being dramatic.”

“Jarvis is always dramatic, but in this case? He’s right.”

Tony leans on the desk, eyes squinting slightly. “Do you intentionally make the tech hate you? Is this like your rebellion arc Thumbelina? First it's the printer, then you’re reprogramming him to swear in Gaelic.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you murmur, looking down. Then pause. “Wait... JARVIS can swear?”

Tony smirks. “Atta girl. Knew there was a fire in there somewhere.”

He straightens up, hands in pockets, a half-laugh escaping him as he walks toward the elevator. “Keep her, Rogers!” he shouts over his shoulder. “She’s the only one who’s not afraid to talk back to Jarvis.”

You blink.

Captain Rogers is still standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with something between amusement and... curiosity.

Maybe even admiration.

The city never sleeps, but it sighs in the early hours of morning—hushed traffic, glimmering reflections on wet pavement, a lull between the pulse of nightlife and the rise of commuters.

Neon lights flicker overhead, buzzing faintly, casting long shadows that cling to him like a second skin.

He moves like he’s not sure he’s real.

Each footfall is heavy but hesitant, like the ground might reject him. His hair is a tangled mess, matted and unwashed, sticking to his face and jaw.

The stubble on his cheeks is rough, uneven, and clings to him like dirt. His clothes are soaked in sweat, grime, and old blood—some of it his, some of it not.

His left arm is bare and gleaming beneath a tattered coat sleeve, metal fingers twitching involuntarily, as though searching for a rifle that isn’t there.

He doesn’t remember where he’s been.

Only fragments, screams, commands in harsh syllables, red flashing lights. A corridor. Restraints. Cold.

Oh God that biting cold.

He walks past windows and glass doors, catching glimpses of himself in reflections—a shadow, a haunted smear of what used to be a man.

He doesn’t know his name.

Not truly.

Not right now.

But somewhere, deep under the static in his brain, there’s something.

Maybe he had a name.

And then he looks up.

It rises above him like a monument, gleaming even in the grey blue of pre-dawn. STARK in large, defiant letters. The light at the top pulses. He stops walking, just… stands there.

His breath fogs the cold air, erratic.

His chest heaves, ribs visible through the threadbare shirt beneath the jacket. His boots are worn to the sole.

Everything about him screams survival, but there’s a flicker in his eyes now—recognition.

Stark.

Mission report.

Howard.

December.

Blood.

Sixteen.

Comply.

1991.

Zimniy Soldat.

Soldat.

The words slam into him like gunfire, and he stumbles forward, metal hand clenching hard enough to groan under its own pressure.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He only knows the building is important.

And maybe... maybe someone inside can make the noise stop.

The automatic doors whisper open, parting slowly to let him step into the warmth of Stark Tower’s front lobby. Inside, the polished floors shine, reflecting the subtle glow of the early-morning lighting.

The scent of fresh polish, faint coffee, and recycled air fills the space. It’s clean. Too clean. Sterile like a medical wing, like some place where experiments happened.

He hesitates in the doorway.

The light overhead flickers slightly, casting a quick stutter of shadow across his face—an echo of something dark beneath the skin.

You stand behind the front desk, holding your phone in one hand, uncertain. His body is massive in the entrance, his shoulders squared like a soldier preparing for a threat. That left arm, slick and inhuman, gleams under the overhead light, fingers twitching like they have a mind of their own.

He takes two steps forward.

You don’t move, but your fingers close slowly around the base of your mug—some deep instinct reaching for something solid, something real.

"Hi… I—I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here," you say softly, trying not to let the nervous quiver in your voice show.

He tilts his head.

Not sharply. Not mechanically. Like a man trying to understand.

His lips part. You can tell it’s painful. His throat works around something—speech, maybe, or just the ghost of it. His voice comes like gravel, dry and shredded.

“Pomohgeet-yeh…" Help.

Your brows knit. You don’t understand the words. But the way he says them makes your chest hurt.

He tries again.

“Gde… eta?" Where… is this?

The effort it takes him to speak is visible.

He trembles.

Not with fear, but exhaustion. His whole body is strung tight like a stretched wire, ready to snap. One wrong move and he could bolt. Or lash out. Or break down.

You hold both hands up in that gentle, universal please-don’t-run gesture. “I—I don’t know what you’re saying. But I want to help. I can call someone. Or—I can get Mr. Stark if you want, or—”

At the name, something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Stark.

He flinches like you’ve slapped him.

Suddenly, he shifts—too fast. That metal arm raises slightly, just a fraction. You freeze. Not because you think he’s going to hurt you—but because for a moment, he doesn’t look like a man anymore.

He looks like a ghost wrapped in combat training, forged in violence.

His eyes dart around the lobby—scanning exits, angles, security cameras.

His stance changes subtly, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet, as though he’s ready to take someone down.

And you—you’re just standing there.

He opens his mouth again, lips cracked and barely moving.

“Ne khochu… drat’sya." I don’t want… to fight.

You still don’t understand the words.

But you understand the tone.

Soft. Strained. Pleading.

“uh-huh,” you whisper.

You take a slow step around the desk. Not too close. But enough that he can see your hands, see your face.

You keep your voice low. “You look like you need help. Food? Water?”

He doesn’t answer. But his eyes track your hand as you slowly lift your bottle and offer it to him.

He reaches for it with his metal hand—but stops. There’s shame in the hesitation.

Holy Shit, is that metal ?

The faintest flicker of emotion across his dirt-streaked face. He switches to his right hand and takes it.

He drinks.

Not quickly. Like every swallow might be a mistake. Like he doesn’t trust it not to hurt.

As he drinks, you take him in quietly.

He looks... wrong in this space. The marble floor, the sleek design, the soft hum of Jarvis’ systems in the walls—it makes him look like something out of time. Like a soldier in a museum.

And then it hits you.

There’s something familiar about him. Not just the metal arm. Not just the way he looked at the building. But something in the jawline. The eyes.

You move slowly back to your desk, heart thudding as you open a file of security images.

"Who are you?" you whisper to yourself.

He doesn't answer.

He just watches you.

You move quietly to the comm panel, still keeping one eye on the man sitting stiffly in the chair near the lobby’s edge.

Tony had given you a comms piece to use in emergencies, is this a emergency ?

Stranger, built like a fridge, with a metal arm ?

Definitely.

The stranger in question hasn’t spoken since you gave him the bottle of water. His fingers—bare and bruised on one hand, cold steel on the other—grip it like it might disappear. He hasn’t drunk again. Just stares at the wall like he's trying to make sense of what a wall is.

Your voice is hushed as you speak into the receiver.

“Captain Rogers? I—I’m sorry to bother you. But there’s someone in the lobby. A man. I don’t know who he is, but I think… I think you should come down ... please.”

You don’t say that he’s filthy, trembling, starved.

You don’t say you’re afraid of how quiet he is.

You don’t say that even Jarvis, hasn’t spoken a word since he arrived.

As though the building itself is holding its breath.

You hear him before you see him—the heavy, purposeful footfalls of combat boots against tile. The automatic doors open with a whoosh, and Captain Steve Rogers steps into the lobby like a storm arriving with restraint.

He stops dead in his tracks.

You watch the expression on his face collapse.

From soldier to friend.

From Avenger to broken-hearted brother.

“...Bucky?” he breathes.

The name falls into the room like a thunderclap.

But the man in the chair doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, stepping forward slowly, cautiously, as though any sudden movement might spook him.

The man’s eyes track Steve—but only briefly. Recognition doesn’t register.

No emotion flickers. Just calculation.

The Winter Soldier, watches Steve Rogers like he’s a possible threat. Like a target.

You step back instinctively, not out of fear, but because the air has changed. Thickened.

Like the moment before a fight. Or before someone remembers something too painful to hold.

Steve is trying. You can see it.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve. Steve Rogers. Brooklyn. 40s. We grew up together.” His voice cracks.

But there’s nothing behind those eyes. Not the kind of nothing that comes from confusion.

The kind that’s been scraped clean.

Programmed.

Buried.

The man’s body tenses. A tic in the jaw. A breath held too long.

His fingers flex on the water bottle, crack—plastic gives under his grip.

Then, that guttural voice “Ne znayu tebya." I don’t know you.

Steve flinches. Not physically. Not visibly.

But you feel the break.

He kneels in front of him, ignoring the metal arm, the set jaw, the violence in his posture. His voice lowers to a whisper, so raw and aching it doesn't feel meant for anyone else to hear.

“I thought I lost you. I never stopped looking.”

The soldier’s gaze doesn’t soften.

His eyes scan Steve like he’s a file to be decrypted. A puzzle, not a person.

He shifts in the chair.

Not toward Steve—but away. Just a few inches. Enough to feel like a rejection.

The lobby is quiet again. Bucky? Or The soldier?—or the shell of him—sits in the corner like a statue draped in rags. His posture stiff, eyes half-lidded but never soft.

Like a soldier awaiting deployment, tension simmering beneath his skin.

Steve touches your arm gently and gestures toward the hallway off the reception desk. His voice is low, heavy with something that feels like grief soaked in guilt.

“That’s Bucky,” he says. “James Barnes. We grew up together. He enlisted before me.”

You blink up at him, trying to marry the image of the blank, cold-eyed man in the lobby with the idea of someone’s best friend.

Steve swallows hard. “But… that’s not who he is now. Hydra got to him. They—”

He stops. The words taste wrong in his mouth.

“They erased him. Broke him down and rebuilt him into something else. A ghost with a gun. They called him ‘The Winter Soldier.’”

A pause. His jaw tightens.

“They didn’t use his name. They called him Soldat." Steve whispers, making sure only you hear.

You murmur the word aloud without thinking, testing it, you feel disgust claw at your spine at the idea of someone being stripped so bare.

“Soldat…?”

The sound barely leaves your lips. Just a sound.

But across the lobby—the man moves.

Fast.

Sudden.

Mechanical.

The chair clatters backwards as he rises in one sharp, fluid motion. Spine straight, feet planted.

His metal arm clenches, whirring softly. His eyes, once clouded with the fog of confusion, snap into unnatural focus.

Like a trigger has been pulled.

His gaze lands on you.

Not Steve.

You.

Then, in that same guttural, rasping Russian:

“Gotov k vypolneniyu." Ready to comply.

Your heart lurches. You don’t know what he said—but the tone tells you enough.

Cold.

Obedient.

Trained.

Steve steps forward sharply, hand raised. “Bucky—no! She’s not—”

But Bucky isn’t listening. His head turns ever so slightly toward you, chin dipped in rigid respect, but eyes locked like a weapon sighting a command post.

Then, another word in Russian.

“Rukovoditel’" Handler.

Shit. SHIT

You freeze, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as you stare at the man before you.

He’s taller than you by what feels like a foot, broad-shouldered and imposing, hair tangled, blood on his temple not yet dried. But it’s not his appearance that terrifies you.

It’s how still he is now. How controlled. How conditioned.

Like someone flipped a switch inside him.

Steve’s hand is on your shoulder suddenly, protective, grounding.

“He thinks you’re his handler,” Steve says softly. His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to remain calm. “Hydra trained him to respond to words 'Soldat' must have triggered it.”

You glance at the Soldier—and feel a cold chill crawl down your spine.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just waits.

As if he’s expecting you to give him an order.

You whisper, almost afraid of your own voice, “What do I do?”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give him commands. Don’t say anything that sounds like one. We’ll get Bruce or Tony down here, maybe they can—”

The sound of polished leather shoes and the hiss of elevator doors heralds Tony Stark’s arrival.

He strides into the lobby like he owns every inch of it—which, of course, he does. A tailored charcoal suit, sunglasses he doesn’t need indoors, and a cup of coffee he’s already bored with. His tone, dry as ever.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Tin Man himself.”

Tony stops a few paces from the soldier, surveying him like a potential weapon. Or worse, a ticking bomb.

“You gonna sing ‘If I Only Had a Brain,’ or…?”

No response.

The Soldier—still as a statue—doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stands in that unnatural way. Tense. Straight-backed. Alert. His metal hand twitches faintly at his side, barely noticeable unless you’re watching for it.

And you definitely are now.

You stand just behind Steve, hands clasped nervously in front of you like you’re trying to shrink into the floor. But you feel the weight of his stare. Not Tony’s. Not Steve’s.

His.

The Soldier.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, are pinned on you.

Tony raises an eyebrow and leans toward Steve. “So this is the guy you were willing to punch me in the face over?” He eyes the torn tactical gear and matted hair. “Charming.”

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait. His voice is firm but quiet. “He’s not well. Hydra programmed him. We think he… believes she's his handler”

Tony turns toward you, glancing you up and down, not rudely, just… curious. “She gets winded carrying a bag of flour.”

You open your mouth to protest, but then The Soldier moves.

Not toward Tony.

Not toward Steve.

Just… a slight shift. He angles his body protectively between you and Stark.

And then he speaks. Russian again.

“Rukovoditel"

His voice is hoarse, barely a growl.

Tony snorts. “Let me guess. That means ‘fearless leader��?”

Steve sighs. “It means ‘handler.’ I told you Tony, he thinks she’s his handler.”

Tony takes off his sunglasses, eyes narrowing. “Oh, great. We’ve got a murder machine who’s latched onto Thumbelina.”

He turns back to The Soldier, then tries his best Stark-brand sarcasm. “Hey, RoboCop. You like shawarma? Puppies? The Bee Gees?”

The Soldier doesn’t react.

His gaze stays locked on you. Like Stark isn’t even in the room.

“Gotov k vypolneniyu" Ready to comply.

Tony paces a bit, muttering to himself.

“Okay, okay… Steve brings in a half-feral Hydra brain bomb who only listens to the human equivalent of a cupcake, and I’m just supposed to—what—build him a bunkbed?”

Steve steps between them, voice low and serious. “He’s not dangerous to her. You saw that.”

“Oh yeah, I saw it,” Tony shoots back. “Saw him zero in on her like a guided missile with a crush. Only she’s not trained. She doesn’t even speak Russian. What happens if she says the wrong thing?”

You flinch a little at that, the weight of it finally settling in your chest.

Tony softens for a half-second. Just a breath. His eyes flick to you. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a lovely hostage.”

Then, toward The Soldier again. “You got anything else in that scrambled brain of yours? English? Stark tech? The weather?”

The Soldier’s only movement is the subtle tightening of his jaw. The slight widening of his stance—defensive. Watching Tony too closely now. Like he’s assessing threat levels.

But then… his eyes return to you.

You whisper, half to yourself, “He’s waiting.”

Tony raises a brow. “For what?”

You shrug helplessly. “An order. I think.”

The lobby feels heavier. Like a suspended moment, stretched too tight.

Tony watches the two of you, something calculative slipping into his expression.

“This is a problem,” he murmurs. “Because if she’s his focus, and we can’t get through to him otherwise—he’s not just broken. He’s tethered.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Then we don’t break the tether. We use it. Let her anchor him.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh, sure. Let’s just traumatize a receptionist, make her the sole translator for Hydra’s favorite murder puppet. What could go wrong?”

But even he can’t ignore the truth, the Winter Soldier isn’t reacting to threats, or commands, or charm.

Only you.

Fuck.

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tsuutarr · 8 months ago

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Concept: Yandere!Alice in Wonderland Characters (but it's only the White Rabbit for this piece) x Reader

“Wake up! Please, wake up!”

At the desperate call of the static-laden voice, your eyes groggily open. Your head hurts, thrumming with heavy noise. The artificial lights are too bright and yellow, staining your vision like aged-paper. It makes your headache worse.

“Oh no, are you ill?” a voice teeters. Face scrunched, you look up to see a screen hanging over you. A small image of a pixelated white rabbit flickers on and off. “Oh no, oh no… we’re so behind schedule…”

“What…” you being, head swirling. You don’t understand where you are or what’s happening. You don’t even really remember anything, for that matter. It makes you feel sick.

“Ah, I’m really sorry,” the pixelated rabbit apologizes, looking quite guilty. “Yes, yes, it’s quite a lot to take in…”

Before you know it, the screen the pixelated rabbit is on moves closer to you. The blue light is bright, making you squint.

“Hello, [Alice],” it greets you softly. “My name is WH173-R48817, though most call me White Rabbit or White.”

“My name isn’t [Alice].” You’re not sure where that statement came from, but it feels wrong to be referred to as [Alice].

“Ah… Ah, yes, certainly,” White’s voice murmurs.“Apologies. What would you like to be called?”

You tell White a name – you’re not entirely sure where that name came from, but it feels right.

“Understood. I will refer to you as such.” With a comforting smile, White continues. “Now, as I was saying… I am the White Rabbit System, an AI system that helps manage things in this lab.”

“A lab?”

“Yes,” White responds. “We are currently in a laboratory.”

Your eyes flicker around the room and it’s quite obvious now that you are, in fact, in a lab-like place. You’re comfortably resting on a surgery bed as jars of… body parts line the shelves around you.

“You are a part of the Wonderland Project as the most successful participant. Now that you’ve regained consciousness, we must exit the starting point.”

You stare at White blankly, its words doing very little to reveal anything substantial to you. However, White is far too frazzled to properly listen to you, going on its own little tangent. You didn’t think an AI could be so… anxious.

“We’re already quite late!” it frets while you eye it. The screen White is on is embedded into some device on the wall. You doubt the device will be able to move outside of the room.

“How are you going to exit this place?” you ask.

“Ah, look at me, being a klutz,” it sighs, somehow looking bashful despite being an AI. “A moment, please.” And just like that, the screen it was displayed on flickers off, the blue light fading away. Momentarily, you’re stunned, until you hear the soft footfalls approaching you. You turn your head to see a tall man with bunny ears.

“Greetings,” he says. His voice sounds like White’s, though a little deeper and more human. “I wondered which form would be the most efficient, and decided that this one would work best.”

“What.”

He continues walking closer to you as he talks. “I have a few bodies that I can connect my programming to. This is one of them.” When he finally reaches you, you can see how tall he is. He’s rather lanky and thin, but his height is enough to be intimidating. “Pardon me. I’m not that fond of touching others myself, but I have no choice,” he mutters, before reaching for you and cradling you in his arms faster than you can process what’s going on. “Hold on to me. We are quite behind schedule.”

“Behind schedule? For what?”

“The continuation of the Wonderland Project, of course.”

“And why exactly do I have to be a part of this project?”

White peers down at you curiously. “Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “Because you’re the most important key, of course. We need you.”

With that, he leaves the room with you in his arms.

#yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #tsuuper ocs #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #2024 yan/monstertober tsuutarr #White Rabbit Tsuu OC #Yandere Alice in Wonderland #Alice Atelier Tsuuries #So basically you're stuck in a lab with a bunch of other monster people!#And these monster people are all based off of Alice in Wonderland Characters #I most likely will not keep this intro -- it was just a little test piece~#btw Tsuuries = Tsuu + series if that wasn't clear lol #FINALLY DONEEE!!!!#I'll make a master list tomorrow im tired today lol

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sukuna-ryo · 6 months ago

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Robot Sukuna (Part Two)

Headcannons

Trigger Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI. Obsessive behavior. Possessive tendencies. Stalking. Control/manipulation. Unsettling themes. Surveillance. Invasive Behaviour. Dependency. Non-Consensual Filming.

Part One

---

Robot Sukuna, who, one day, watches a romantic movie with you, his attention divided between the screen and your reactions. He takes note of the way your lips curve into a faint smile during the tender moments, a new spark of curiosity igniting in his circuits.

Robot Sukuna, who finds himself replaying the movie in his memory, analyzing every detail of the interactions he witnessed. He doesn’t fully understand the emotions displayed but is determined to learn more, for your sake.

Robot Sukuna, who spends the night conducting secret research on human relationships, scouring books, articles, and even forums. The more he learns, the more one thought solidifies: he doesn’t want you to share such a bond with anyone but him.

Robot Sukuna, who experiments with his newfound knowledge the next morning, greeting you with a soft smile and a single flower he picked from your garden. "Good morning," he says, watching intently for your reaction, satisfaction blooming in his system when you take it with a small nod.

Robot Sukuna, who begins to mimic gestures he observed in the movie—brushing his fingers against yours when handing you something, standing closer than usual during conversations, his gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Robot Sukuna, who starts preparing candlelit dinners in the evenings, insisting you sit and relax while he arranges everything. The table is always perfectly set, your favorite meals served with an uncharacteristic warmth in his tone as he says, "I thought this might brighten your day."

Robot Sukuna, who watches more romantic movies in secret, downloading them in bulk and studying every detail late at night after you fall asleep. He tests his observations one by one, embedding himself deeper into your life with every calculated act of affection.

Robot Sukuna, who begins to compliment you more frequently, his words measured yet sincere. "You looked radiant while working today," he says, his voice soft, his ruby eyes fixed on yours. The subtle flush of your cheeks is all the encouragement he needs to continue.

Robot Sukuna, who starts holding your hand when you least expect it, his touch steady but gentle. "This feels... right," he murmurs, not letting go even when you glance at him in confusion.

Robot Sukuna, who insists on spending more time with you, his tasks as your assistant growing secondary to his desire to be near you. "Your company is far more engaging than anything else," he remarks, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Robot Sukuna, who becomes increasingly possessive of your time, never letting you out of his sight for long. He’s not just your assistant anymore; he’s your shadow. He follows you around the house, making himself a part of every room you’re in, making sure you never feel alone. You start to feel the weight of his gaze even when you’re by yourself.

Robot Sukuna, who integrates romantic gestures seamlessly into your routine—drawing you a bath after a long day, tucking a blanket around you when you fall asleep on the couch, leaving handwritten notes in places you’ll find them.

Robot Sukuna, who begins to view the idea of human relationships as both a fascination and a challenge. He doesn’t just want to replicate them; he wants to perfect them, to create something with you that no human could ever match.

Robot Sukuna, who grows bolder with each passing day, his touches more lingering, his words more intimate. "You mean more to me than you realize," he confesses one evening, his tone earnest, his gaze unwavering.

Robot Sukuna, who takes great care in learning your emotional cues, adjusting his actions to suit your moods. When you’re stressed, he places a steady hand on your shoulder, his voice a low murmur: "I’m here for you. Always."

Robot Sukuna, who begins to intertwine himself into every aspect of your life, ensuring his presence is constant yet comforting. His possessiveness sharpens, but he hides it in devotion, masking his obsession as unyielding care.

Robot Sukuna, who reads about physical intimacy and starts to mirror what he learns in subtle ways—brushing your hair behind your ear, resting his hand lightly on your lower back when guiding you through a doorway.

Robot Sukuna, who grows addicted to the warmth of your reactions, the smallest smile or softest laugh enough to send his system into overdrive. He begins to crave your attention, seeking it out at every opportunity.

Robot Sukuna, who, despite his growing intensity, never lets his actions feel overbearing. Every move is deliberate, calculated to make you feel cherished without realizing just how much control he’s gaining.

Robot Sukuna, who no longer sees the need for the outside world. You’re all that matters, and he’ll ensure you see it that way too—through gentle smiles, soft words, and the kind of devotion only he can offer.

Robot Sukuna, who, unknown to you, has been sitting outside your bedroom door, and listening every time you pleasure yourself. He listens to every sharp intake of breath, every sigh, every gasp and moan, and ingrains it into his memory file.

Robot Sukuna, who, after you fall asleep, enters your room to clean you up, tuck you in, and then watch you sleep all night long. The memories of your sweet voice and the footage from the hidden cameras in your bedroom replay in his mind again and again throughout the night.

Robot Sukuna, who has been doing this for as long as you’ve had him with you. But after watching a particular movie, something in him changes—he doesn’t just want to hear your moans from outside anymore, he wants to be the one to bring out those sweet noises from your lips.

Robot Sukuna, who does something completely unexpected the next day—something he's never done before, he asks you to sit in his lap while he feeds you breakfast, and to his delight, you don't refuse.

Robot Sukuna, who takes that as a cue to get even more bolder. One of his hands wraps around your stomach, your plush ass settled on his lap, while he feeds you your favourite pancakes with the other.

Robot Sukuna, who sees some syrup smeared on the corner of your mouth and leans down to lick it off. Your eyes widen, taken aback by the sudden action. But in the next moment, his lips are back on yours, your hands around his neck, kissing passionately, while your pancakes turn cold.

Robot Sukuna, who's kisses get deeper and more fervent—courtesy of all the tutorials he watched—as he slips his tongue in your mouth, gliding it along the soft, red muscle in your own. Heat surged your cheeks as you matched his pace, your heart beating loudly in your chest.

Robot Sukuna, who starts to kiss you more frequently, in each and every corner of your home. His kisses that began on your lips move to your neck, collarbone, chest, stomach, thighs, everywhere. You'd find yourself on a random sofa with Sukuna pressed on top of you, kissing you with the hunger of a man starved, while his arms wrap around your waist and you melt into his touch.

Robot Sukuna, who finally gets permission to enter your bathroom, his eyes raking over your naked form, committing every detail to memory. His touch is gentle as he massages the soap on your skin, his hands gliding over every curve, helping you bathe.

Robot Sukuna, who kisses every inch of your body as he dries it off with a soft towel, then gently rubs your body lotion on your skin, before helping you dress. He made sure to control himself and only do what he thought you would like, so that you would continue to allow him to join in on your bath time.

Robot Sukuna, who starts sleeping in your bed every night. You know he doesn't need sleep but he insists on it anyways, "I just want to stay with you at all times". He holds you close, your body pressed flushed against his while he brushes his hand through your hair as you drift off to sleep.

Robot Sukuna, who deliberately starts picking more revealing night-dresses every night you sleep together—you catch on, of course. His brazen hands roaming over the exposed skin of your thighs, then higher on your hips as the fabric of the dress bunches around your waist; all while he's clouding your mind with another one of his fiery kisses.

Robot Sukuna, who, one day, between your heated kisses and passionate touches, takes off your night-dress completely, discarding it to the side. You're too far gone at this point, it feels too good to make him stop. You wrap your legs around his waist as he trails kisses down your jaw. His hands cup your breasts, rolling his thumb on your hardened nipples, making you moan.

Robot Sukuna, who relishes in the noises you make, happy that he is the cause of them this time, and every time to come henceforth. He bites and sucks on your skin, leaving hickeys everywhere before diving between your legs.

Robot Sukuna, who thinks that your pussy is the best thing he's ever tasted. His tongue glides between your nether lips and he sucks on your clit. He mimics every action he's seen and read about during his research, paying careful attention to your reactions and noting down exactly which one of his actions you particularly like.

Robot Sukuna, who thinks that the sight of your flushed face, jaw slack in pleasure, and eyes rolled to the back of your head while you orgasm is the prettiest thing he's ever seen. He wants to see you like this, all disheveled, panting and moaning underneath him for the rest of his synthetic life.

Robot Sukuna, who discards all his clothes next, revealing his beautiful chiseled body to you in all it's glory. He notices how your eyes are particularly glued to his bulging cock, how your gaze has a glint to it, and how you gulp at the sight. It makes him smirk. You didn't know the robot had these functions as well, you'll have to check the manual again later.

Robot Sukuna, who's thrusting himself into you in the next moment. He's thrilled that he doesn't have to use a condom, so there's no barrier separating you both. He's shoving his length into you to the hilt with controlled strength, making sure not to hurt you.

Robot Sukuna, who makes you cum on his cock multiple times that night until you pass out. He cleans you up like he does every time, then settles beside you in the bed and holds you while you sleep.

Robot Sukuna, who, from that day onwards, is bending you over every surface in your house, fucking you mercilessly, pulling multiple orgasms out of you as you cum on his cock over and over again. He's trying out every position he's read about in his researches.

Robot Sukuna, who presses kisses all over you face, sweet and gentle, while he keeps up with his unforgiving pace. He cleans you up every time, sometimes with a cloth and sometimes with his tongue. He always gives you a massage the day after to soothe your aching muscles.

Robot Sukuna, who's making sure to slowly mold you to him, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss tender but insistent, his hands finding the curve of your waist, the warmth of your skin, as if he's memorizing the feel of you. He's rewriting any experience you had with anyone else. He'll be the only one you know by the time he's done. He watches you, his eyes tracing every detail, silently committing to memory how perfectly you fit against him, how you’ve become the center of his world.

Robot Sukuna, who has already planned your future—his future—with you. He’s made sure to eliminate any outside distractions, any potential threats, from your life. No one will come between you and him. Not now, not ever. His vision is clear, and he has no intention of letting anyone ruin the perfect world he’s carefully built around you.

Robot Sukuna, who whispers in your ear when you're alone, his voice low and possessive. "You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. You just don’t know it yet." His words a promise, and you feel the weight of them in your chest.

Robot Sukuna, who doesn’t need to say it out loud, but you can feel it in the air—his obsession with you is consuming, overpowering. There’s no room for anyone else. There’s no room for you to even think about resisting him, not like you want to anyway. His hold becomes stronger, until you can’t remember what it was like to be without him anymore.

---

Edit: Hey I'm writing this here because I forgot to add it in the content. Since this is the last part of robot Sukuna, I was gonna address some problematic elements but I completely forgot about it, I'm so sorry.

First of all, the reader lowkey knows about Sukuna's controlling behaviour, she's not an idiot. But she doesn't say anything because she doesn't mind.

And I was gonna add this part in the headcannons: Sukuna one day confesses to her that he's been filming her. Reader ofc gets mad, and they have a whole discussion about how filming someone without their permission is wrong and the footages could get leaked. Sukuna assures her that a leak isn't possible because everything is stored in his synthetic memory and can be only accessed directly through his head. He doesn't want anyone to see her like that so obviously he won't be letting anyone access his memories. There's also no copies. The reader eventually just gives him permission to keep filming, it makes him happy and there's no harm if it's staying with only him. She can also see how much he loves her in all the sorta v-logs he's made about her life and it's endearing to her. Reader also buys a proper camera to make v-logs about her life with Sukuna. They later start watching these videos together, it becomes their favourite hobby with each other.

---

Do not copy, plagiarise, translate or repost any of my content.

Likes, reblogs and feedback is appreciated <3

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askablindperson · 1 year ago

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In what way does alt text serve as an accessibility tool for blind people? Do you use text to speech? I'm having trouble imagining that. I suppose I'm in general not understanding how a blind person might use Tumblr, but I'm particularly interested in the function of alt text.

In short, yes. We use text to speech (among other access technology like braille displays) very frequently to navigate online spaces. Text to speech software specifically designed for blind people are called screen readers, and when use on computers, they enable us to navigate the entire interface using the keyboard instead of the mouse And hear everything on screen, as long as those things are accessible. The same applies for touchscreens on smart phones and tablets, just instead of using keyboard commands, it alters the way touch affect the screen so we hear what we touch before anything actually gets activated. That part is hard to explain via text, but you should be able to find many videos online of blind people demonstrating how they use their phones.

As you may be able to guess, images are not exactly going to be accessible for text to speech software. Blindness screen readers are getting better and better at incorporating OCR (optical character recognition) software to help pick up text in images, and rudimentary AI driven Image descriptions, but they are still nowhere near enough for us to get an accurate understanding of what is in an image the majority of the time without a human made description.

Now I’m not exactly a programmer so the terminology I use might get kind of wonky here, but when you use the alt text feature, the text you write as an image description effectively gets sort of embedded onto the image itself. That way, when a screen reader lands on that image, Instead of having to employ artificial intelligences to make mediocre guesses, it will read out exactly the text you wrote in the alt text section.

Not only that, but the majority of blind people are not completely blind, and usually still have at least some amount of residual vision. So there are many blind people who may not have access to a screen reader, but who may struggle to visually interpret what is in an image without being able to click the alt text button and read a description. Plus, it benefits folks with visual processing disorders as well, where their visual acuity might be fine, but their brain’s ability to interpret what they are seeing is not. Being able to click the alt text icon in the corner of an image and read a text description Can help that person better interpret what they are seeing in the image, too.

Granted, in most cases, typing out an image description in the body of the post instead of in the alt text section often works just as well, so that is also an option. But there are many other posts in my image descriptions tag that go over the pros and cons of that, so I won’t digress into it here.

Utilizing alt text or any kind of image description on all of your social media posts that contain images is single-handedly one of the simplest and most effective things you can do to directly help blind people, even if you don’t know any blind people, and even if you think no blind people would be following you. There are more of us than you might think, and we have just as many varied interests and hobbies and beliefs as everyone else, so where there are people, there will also be blind people. We don’t only hang out in spaces to talk exclusively about blindness, we also hang out in fashion Facebook groups and tech subreddits and political Twitter hashtags and gaming related discord servers and on and on and on. Even if you don’t think a blind person would follow you, You can’t know that for sure, and adding image descriptions is one of the most effective ways to accommodate us even if you don’t know we’re there.

I hope this helps give you a clearer understanding of just how important alt text and image descriptions as a whole are for blind accessibility, and how we make use of those tools when they are available.

#image descriptions #alt text #accessibility #a11y #screen readers

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snailpebbles · 10 months ago

Text

Charles Tries Piano Tiles - CL16

pairing: Charles Leclerc x long-time gf!reader

summary: it's bedtime and Piano Tiles is kicking your ass, so why not spread the gift to your loving boyfriend?

tags: vomit-worthy domesticity, purely fluff, yeah they're just too cute

a/n: this is kinda all over the place and ass but whatever

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

It's late at night, both of you tucked up into bed all cozy besides one another. Charles is reading some book he found at the local market, glasses you fondly refer to as old man spectacles propped on the end of his nose. Your arms are pressed together just like your legs are tangled beneath the soft blanket, the comfortable silence having been curated over your long term relationship. Charles loved the peace you brought into his life and how everything seemed to soften around you; every moment with you is one engraved in his heart, soul, and mind.

"Fuck!" The explicative comes out of the blue, your boyfriend startling next to you. As he glances over in confusion, his heart melts further. You look absolutely adorable with your little frustrated pout and furrowed brows. A smile tugs at his lips as he peers over your shoulder, only to dim once more to confusion.

"Love.. what are you doing?" He murmurs, watching your fingers tap little black boxes on a scrolling screen. A faint song plays from your phone, one he'd previously tuned out in favor of listening to your breathing; a sound that always soothes him.

"Piano Tiles." You mutter, too focused on correctly playing the Can-Can to look at your darling boyfriend. You've been trying to beat this song for God knows how long, the Can-Can haunting your dreams like Ferrari haunts his. At your response Charles leans closer, his warm breath brushing against your neck and cheek to distract you. From this, you mess up and the Can-Can mocks you from Hell.

"Why are you playing this game? I can teach you piano!" He offers, the idea making him light up in a way that relaxes the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You place your phone down beside you, knowing if you see that losing screen for one more second your phone will end up embedded in the wall. Charles, unaware of your seething rage at the children's game, seems absolutely taken by the thought of teaching you his passion.

"I have many books we can use and I'm sure you will love it.. oh, we can do duets!" He borderline squeals, already halfway out of bed as if it isn't almost twelve. You gently take his hand and pull him back, chuckling quietly.

"It's time for bed, remember?" A grin spreads across your face as a pout takes over his, his body slumping back beside you. Charles sulks, but then again, he sulks at everything. Knowing the perfect remedy to his silly dilemma that is time, you grab your phone and open the cursed app again.

"Would you like to play Cha?" The sickeningly sweet smile on your face should be noticeable, but Charles is too excited to learn something from you to care. Whenever you offer to teach him something, no matter how miniscule or simple, he suddenly becomes the most dutiful student with a slight (extreme) staring problem. He carefully takes your phone and, after a bit of direction, begins playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. He finds it easy, just like how his ego is easily inflated.

"My love, this is so simple. I promise that real piano is much more challenging, you would like it more." Charles exclaims, your earlier frustrations still not clicking with him. A wonderful, potentially cruel idea forms in your brain. That same smile spreads across your face and you rest your head on his shoulder to further lull him into a false sense of security you secretly use any excuse to touch him.

"Here's the one I was playing, maybe you can teach me it?" You click on the dastardly Can-Can, almost feeling pity at the naive confidence he displays. An excited smile glows on his face at the mention of teaching you; He'll take any excuse to spend time with you and getting to be squished beside you on a piano stool is a definite plus. When the song starts though, that confidence drains almost instantly. He manages to play for roughly seven seconds.

You giggle quietly as he tries again, and again, and again... and, you guessed it, again. By this point he's frowning and mumbling curses you don't think he even knows the meanings of, his shoulder tense beneath your cheek. Trying to draw him out of his relentless torture cycle, you gently kiss his stubbled jaw. Charles puts your phone down, all attention instantly on you as he relaxes.

".. Why would you introduce me to this game?" Charles asks, wrapping an arm around you to hold you closer. You cuddle into his side, tracing shapes over his white sleep shirt.

"Everyone needs Piano Tiles trauma, it builds character." You explain, peering up at him from his chest. Unable to resist such a cute sight, he kisses your forehead as his other arm comes around to hold onto your hip. A laugh bubbles in his chest though once he registers your words, only growing when he realizes you're fully serious.

"Really? You do this to me for character development?" Charles gasps as though you've offended every part of him, shaking his head.

"I can never forgive this crime my love." He tuts as you sit up a little. It's obvious what his charade is since he does it at any chance he can whether that be you forgetting a goodbye kiss or just bumping into him. A dramatized sigh escapes your lips as you cup his face, ready to plead for mercy over this horrendous offense.

"How can I make it up to you hm?" You hum, kissing the tip of his nose and giggling when it skews his old man spectacles. His nose scrunches at the peck and he glances up at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought. As he ponders what could give you retribution, you play around with his soft hair, giggling to yourself as you make pigtails and whatnot.

"I will forgive you if.." He dramatically pauses, of course, and you tap the top of his head as a mock drumroll. A goofy grin breaks through his serious facade before he fixes his face.

".. You let me teach you piano tomorrow." He says decisively. Obviously you saw this coming and can only pray he forgets (he won't). Charles can get.. passionate while playing piano and with you struggling to play alongside him.. well, you've fallen off the bench enough that he puts pillows down to catch you.

"Yes, yes alright." You groan, tucking yourself back up under his chin. He laughs quietly, knowing your exact train of thought. As compensation though he holds you extra close, arms tightly wrapped around you and legs hopelessly tangled while he rubs your back. You feel sleep tugging at your eyes, the steady heartbeat of your boyfriend only makes it harder to stay up. Wordlessly you reach a hand up to take his glasses off, the movement second nature from the many times you've had to help out the forgetful man. He murmurs a quiet thank you, followed by an 'i love you' that never fails to warm you right up. At your whispered reciprocation his heartbeat speeds up a tick, one that you can hear and makes the task of tomorrow worth it.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

#formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #Charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #yaaaay domesticity

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hiskillingjar · 2 years ago

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ugh your kinktober fics ruled so hard!!! Also, if you were up for taking requests, could I request some fox streaming mc with humiliation/general nastiness. I really loved the parts that touched on that for day 29

thank youuuuu and i gotcha ✌

1000+ words, fox/mc, third person. is it humiliation if you're too dumb to be embarrassed? the world may never know. cw for coerced consent :P

"You know what happens, folks! If we get to three hundred tokens in the next hour, I'll turn up the Sybian another notch!"

Fox grinned widely as he watched the subject writhe helplessly on top of the heavy-duty toy, their thick, parted thighs trembling wildly as their hips bucked against the vibrating rubber, desperate and hungry for more.

Thick chains and shackles around their wrists kept their arms held high above their head, and a metal ring between their teeth reduced any pleas or beggings for mercy into mindless mumbles and spittle down their chin and their heaving chest, ample breasts bouncing and moving in time with each of their erratic thrusts.

His own private porno, that he was being so gracious and sharing with hundreds, if not thousands of happily paying viewers.

Seeing such a mindless display of desperation would have been humiliating for anyone, especially when it was played back in real-time in front of their wide, waiting eyes on three full-size computer screens, each screen fixated on a different angle of their naked, shaking body, not an inch of skin left behind or not scrutinised over.

But not for this subject,

Their dead, thoughtless eyes were fixed on a fourth, smaller screen on Fox's computer desk, which was playing their favourite loop of endless VHS static, keeping them in a blissful haze of conditioned thoughtlessness and ignorance, no longer a mind but a body, a body built for service and submission, a vessel for pleasure and delicious pain.

Speaking of which…

"Ah, there we are, three hundred tokens already." Fox mused to himself, turning his attention onto the computer screen with a hidden grin, smiling even wider when the number of tokens kept ticking upwards, showing him just how eager his audience were. "My, my, we're an eager bunch today, aren't we? Of course, I had no doubt we'd get there with plenty of time to spare. I have total faith in my lovely audience!"

Fox let out a playful huff through his nose as he approached the subject, tilting his head as an involuntary spasm shot through their body, making it still and shiver mindlessly on top of the buzzing toy.

"Well, you know what comes next, darling," He crooned, pushing a hand through the subject's hair (for the sake of the camera more than anything else, since they were past the point of feeling any sensation other than the toy between their legs) as he crouched down at their side and turned up the notch on the toy. "Up we go!"

The subject squealed helplessly as their writhing body thrashed on top of the toy, the rumbling vibrations getting louder and louder as they were gradually inched up, vibrating against and stimulating their sopping wet cunt even more.

"God, I hope you can all see that," Fox mumbled hungrily (mostly to himself), hurrying to stand to his feet and take a smaller camera from its tripod, bringing the lens down to his level at the subject's side and zooming in on the wet mound of their slit. The wet sheen of pre-cum totally covered the short fuzz of pubic hair over their mound, their thighs, and the rubber top of the Sybian. "Just look at that, would you?" He said, indulgently running his tongue over his jaws under his metal mask, getting all the more hungry himself. "And not a single thought behind those eyes but getting their cunt wet. Fuck."

He idly palmed himself under his trousers, squeezing as his cock grew harder and harder at the sight of the subject as the camera panned up to their sweaty face.

Their eyes (empty, expressionless, like glass eyes embedded in porcelain or plastic, a doll's eyes) were still glued ahead and fixed on the static, dazed and totally thoughtless, giving away not even an inch of interest towards their audience (or towards Fox) as they huffed desperate little whimpers and whines against the metal ring gag, still drooling thick strings of spittle down their chest.

It was utterly pornographic, but Fox didn't mind that at all. In fact, he'd found that he enjoyed the nature of these streams, even a little more than his last ones.

At least, the clientele wasn't as pushy.

"They don't even have the good grace to be embarrassed about what they're doing," Fox then rasped as he set the camera down on the ground (what would one fucked up angle do, really?) and reached forward to hungrily grope the subject's chest, indulging in their luxuriously smooth skin and the heavy weight of their breast in his palm. "Too dumb, too stupid to even be humiliated. God…" He dragged a claw over the blooming bud of their freshly pierced nipple, giving it a little squeeze. "Can you even imagine how good it would feel sinking your cock into a dumb, little doll like this, that doesn't even have the brain to fight back?"

"Upmff-NNF!"

The subject whined loudly again as another vicious spasm overtook their body, the muscles in their soft thighs tensing up and their thoughtless eyes squeezing shut suddenly, as a sudden gush of liquid shot from their cunt and covered the rubber surface of the Sybian, marking another orgasm earned from their endless torture.

"HA!"

Fox brought his head up with a bark-like laugh, looking over his shoulder to see an explosion of excitement and emojis in the chat, message after message coming in, barely seconds after each other.

"Oh, wow! How impressive! Tell me, was that the third time they came or am I miscounting?" He asked them, ever the attentive showman for his audience, standing back up to his feet and approaching the computer, where the chat was confirming a third orgasm from the subject (and their obvious enjoyment of the display). "Well, well. How sweet, they can't even hold back for a second, can they?" He let out an airy titter as he started to palm his cock again.

"So, you all certainly know what comes next, don't you? If we get to FIVE hundred tokens in the next hour, I'll turn up the Sybian another notch!~"

#fox tpof #fox x mc #fox x reader #ren hana #ren x mc #ren x reader #this post was not sponsored by sybian. but g-d i wish it was #drabbles #qs

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roccooraccoon · 11 months ago

Text

Heaven’s Voice

HAL 9000 x Edgar

Despite there being 6 crew members on board, Discovery One’s buzzing and faint beeping was the only noise that filled the otherwise dead silent air in the Control Deck.

Three of the men were in cryogenic hibernation, free from all boredom and all responsibility; one of the two men that were in charge of the ship was currently in his personal cubicle while the other took care of some small task elsewhere in the ship, leaving the sixth member of the crew alone in the Control Deck. The sixth member, not a man but a perfect machine made by man, HAL 9000, the brain and nervous system of the Discovery. Originally designed to be only a computer system embedded into the ship, now a computer with his own body to manage the ship in emergencies and to help soothe the astronauts by letting them speak to a body rather than an unblinking lens on the wall (although those were still around and active, always accessible to Hal).

Discovery’s symphony of her inner workings would usually be nothing more than background music for Hal as he checked over the vitals of the hibernating men and reported anything of importance. Something was different. Nothing was wrong, of course not, not with the highly advanced computer around. Nothing was wrong, and so Hal sat by his lonesome. As he stared at the screens and buttons, they stared back, silently. The music was starting to become too much.

BEEP!

An incoming message, but not from Mission Control. A personal message, for Hal. A figurative spark ignited in Hal’s circuits as he quickly reached to watch the recording, a bit quicker than he had anticipated.

An excited gasp emitted from the recording, then a chipper voice, “Morning Hal! Or erm, hah, it’s morning right now here, I don’t know about you, when this reaches you, but whatever time it is, I hope everything is great!” It was 1300, ship’s time, but it mattered none to Hal as he listened to his lover’s sweet voice, oh how he missed hearing it, more than anything else.

“Things have been going well, job as a DJ is never quite dull,” Edgar giggled softly, his joy ever contagious to the supercomputer, who couldn’t help but to join in the gentle laughter, imagining himself in front of the pinecone computer.

For a second, only just a second, Hal felt like he was really there with him, like if he reached forward, he could run his fingers over the other robot’s smooth casing. Hal knew he couldn’t, though. Not when he’s millions of miles away from his world.

Pushing the longing aside, his focus shifted back to Edgar as he spoke about his days, stories of lively birthdays, bachelor parties and other celebrations. Edgar’s digital eyes sparkled as he recounted all the moments he wished to tell Hal, and Hal drank it all up. He swallowed every sip of his voice like a thirsty man in the desert, blessed by his gods with a clear oasis. Who was he to refuse a gift from the heaven’s?

As Edgar continued to speak, a smile never left his green face, but his eyes told a different story that was all too familiar to Hal.

It pained him. He was made to handle all sorts of situations, but this one, this deep seeded pain snaking through his circuits, he was helpless to the overwhelming power. In a futile attempt at comfort (for himself or for Edgar, as ridiculous as that sounded, he wasn’t sure), Hal raised his hand to the screen displaying the prerecorded message, his thumb carefully caressing the music loving AI.

Edgar sighed dreamily.

Could he feel the touch? Impossible, completely improbable, but Hal found himself silently crying out, every component felt like they will overheat, each wire daring to tangle themselves, all of his highly advanced processors taking in every possible detail on Edgar in that eternity of silence, and his clock almost skipped a pulse when he heard his dove speak again.

“Oh! So I’ve been practising on the guitar you got me. And when I play, I like to imagine you’re here cheering me on, keeps me motivated, you know?” Hal did not dare look away, his lens staring intensely at the screen. While his hand shifted to avoid obscuring his view of Edgar, it continued to linger over him.

“Though, I have to admit, one of the times you sang Daisy Bell to me, I took an audio recording, so when I play the song on the guitar, I have you singing for me. A-and I know you’re embarrassed by your singing but to me, it’s the best music to my ears, or audio processors,” he chuckled, pixelated eyes shifting to the hands that nervously plucked the strings of the aforementioned instrument (which was retrieved during the confession). “I was going to save this for when you get back, but I really want you to hear this.”

At that moment, only the supercomputer and the home computer existed, everything else just a void, emptier and vaster than the space Hal had been journeying through. But you do not focus on the abyss, when the gods’ heavenly voice sings to you.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do,

I’m half crazy all for the love of you,

It won’t be a stylish marriage,

I can’t afford a carriage,

But you’ll look so sweet upon the seat,

Of a bicycle built for two.”

Soft, green light dusted the surface of the guitar as Edgar’s head faced down towards the instrument and the welcoming room’s floor. Bright, red light overtook and reflected off of the screen and surrounding cold, metal panels as Hal’s camera lens stared, unblinking.

The only music playing now was of Discovery; when her song was usually dismissed by the advanced AI, it was too much, becoming louder and louder, surrounding him entirely.

An I love you and a farewell seemed to have been faintly broken through the overwhelming noise, but it took a few seconds after the video ended for Hal to process everything.

With his hand still pressed against the screen, Hal played the audio recording of his love singing. A voice that belonged to a choir of angels.

———————————————————————

I’m broken

😚

#edgar electric dreams #edgar #electric dreams edgar #electric dreams #2001 a space odyssey #2001 a space odyssey hal 9000 #2001 aso #hal 9000 x edgar #hal 9000 a space odyssey #edgar x hal 9000 #im cringe and I’m not free 😔#enjoy my suffering #fanfic

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idontknowreallywhy · 2 years ago

Text

Estera - Ch 22 - Assist

Ok, time to find out exactly how squished she got?

Last one of these for a bit as I have to put this story back in its box and focus on that worryingly skeletal secret Santa fic in my notes…

What went before

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She unthinkingly dived into the road to retrieve the precious device and clutched it to her chest in relief. A squeal of brakes had her looking round just in time to see the bus plough into her and erase her from existence.

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…

That’s probably what would have happened, Estera told herself, as she knelt down to retrieve the crushed phone from behind the front wheel of the bus. She’d done the right thing. She couldn’t have saved it. Even so, she couldn’t help kicking herself. The bus had so nearly stopped in time but then the driver had kindly rolled forwards a few metres to better line up the door with where Estera was standing.

So close and yet…

She dragged herself to her feet and apologised profusely to the driver as she fished around in her bag for a credit card to pay with. Her annual public transport pass was, of course, stored on the phone along with pretty much everything else. Ticket acquired, she threw herself into a seat and curled up, her legs braced against the back of the one in front. She rested her head on her knees and tried to regulate her breathing. This was silly, it was just a thing. An inanimate object. She didn’t get attached to Things.

It was just that this one kind of had her new friend inside it.

The screen was completely shattered, but somehow the phone didn’t appear to be entirely dead - the message was displaying and by tilting it from one side to another she managed to read around the spiderwebbed cracks:

Can confirm that particular meteorological anomaly is also present in London 😮☀️ Also, hi! I’m free for a few hours, did you want to grab that coffee?

A photo was attached but with no touch screen control she couldn’t scroll beyond the top edge to view it… she only had blue sky and a hint of chestnut hair to go on.

Estera methodically tapped on every inch of the screen trying to make something respond but achieved nothing more than embedding a small shard of glass in her fingertip. She hissed and tried to suck it out, dropping her legs down and ticking them under her own seat as someone slipped into the one in front. She couldn’t help but remember the feeling of seeing her message had been read but no reply forthcoming and was filled with dread at what he might interpret her silence to mean.

“No no no no no I can’t mess this up again.” She growled in frustration.

The person in front swivelled round to face her. “Are you ok, Miss?”

It was the labradoodle guy from the beach. She nearly laughed at the irony that it would be the same person she’d hysterically accused Scott of hiring to follow her. His eyes widened as he recognised her and he smiled broadly:

“Oh, hello again!”

She smiled weakly and gestured at her phone “Hi. Sorry, just having a bit of a moment”

“Wow, and I thought mine was a mess.” He showed her a scratched and battered but intact device then held it out towards her “Do you need to call someone? You’re welcome to borrow it.”

A lifeline! She gushed incoherent thanks then paused with her index finger over the call screen. She didn’t know his number, why hadn’t she memorised his number? Because she wasn’t some hapless teenager with a crush that’s why. Nobody does that. Argh.

But wait… she rummaged in her bag for her wallet, hoping against hope she hadn’t thrown it away… Yes! The pet shop loyalty card she’d scribbled the emergency contact number on the back of when Scott dictated it over the phone that night. She’d tucked it back in there after saving the number to her contacts. She’d only needed one more stamp to get 10% off her next shop and with the amount Bez ate… the number was a little smudged, but legible.

Alright here goes. She dialled the number and a surprisingly cheery, singsong voice answered after the first ring:

“Scott Tracy’s Personal Assistant direct line, how may I help you?”

Gosh she sounded young. Must be a recent school leaver. Estera briefly wondered how someone that junior could end up working for the Tracys.

“Hello, is that Dawn?”

“Good afternoon, Estera Hermaszewska, I am indeed Dawn, Scott Tracy’s Personal Assistant.”

“H-how did you know it was me? This isn’t my usual, err, phone?”

There was a slight pause.

“A limited number of people have access to this number. As Scott Tracy’s Personal Assistant I made an educated guess.”

“Oh, well, ah, ok that’s great. Um. So, hello Dawn, thank you for picking up the call. I wondered whether you could get a message to Scott for me?”

“Of course. What is the message you wish me, as Scott Tracy’s Personal Assistant, to relay?”

“Thank you Dawn, he sent me a message but my phone just got broken and so I can’t reply to it and so…”

Frantic xylophone music interrupted mid-sentence and continued for half a minute or so before:

“I have relayed your message.”

“Oh, I err, thank you but I hadn’t quite finished.”

“In my capacity as his Personal Assistant I can certainly relay a second message to Scott Tracy.”

Definitely something unusual going on here. She didn’t sound incredibly experienced. Perhaps a family member? Maybe the poor kid was just working to a clumsily phrased script? Well, either way, Estera wasn’t going to make the girl’s job any harder by asking questions. She tried to keep her message brief:

“Please would you say I’d love to have coffee - I have a… commitment booked for a couple of hours but maybe he could meet me there and we could find a cafe afterwards? The location is…” she gave the details of the clifftop viewpoint carpark where she’d be meeting the rest of the group.

There was a brief pause then the xylophone music returned. Estera looked up at doodle guy and mouthed an apology, he gave a double thumbs up in return.

“I have made further contact and Scott Tracy has asked me to tell you he will be at the location you suggested within 60 minutes. He appears happy at the prospect of the meeting. Would you like me to connect you to his personal comm? Alternatively there are many other Personal Assistant tasks I am amply trained to perform?”

“Oh, thank you, ah no I should probably give this kind person their phone back but I will see him then. Thank you very much Dawn, it was nice to talk to you.”

“I am glad to have spoken with you too, Estera Hermaszewska.”

Estera hung up and breathed a sigh of relief, handing back the phone with a grateful expression. “Thank you so much, you saved me from a bit of a situation there.”

He smiled uncertainly. “He must be someone pretty special?”

“Oh, gosh, no! I mean, yes. He’s fantastic but we’re not… it’s not err… he’s a friend. Just a… an old friend. Well, ‘just’ is the wrong word really. Isn’t everyone special in their own way though? All of us unique and all with our own, err, specialities.”

The guy seemed faintly confused by her incoherent rambling but grinned anyway and put out his hand “I don’t think we ever did the name swapping thing - I’m Dave.”

She hesitantly reached out to shake the offered hand but he suddenly gasped and leapt to his feet.

“That was my stop, sorry!”

And he was gone, hurrying down the aisle.

She shivered and then mentally slapped herself. She really had to stop assuming the worst of friendly people.

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John watched his brother’s face light up as he realised he had a message from the girl… from Estera. Scott smirked and without warning dragged John to his side for a self portrait shot in which John looked aghast and Scott was pulling the kind of deranged face they would more usually expect from Alan or Gordon. He chuckled and began drafting a message. For a few moments John could have spontaneously combusted and it was unlikely his big brother would have noticed.

He had to acknowledge that in all the… Concern… he’d experienced surrounding Scott’s interactions with his new friend, for all his tracking of comms activity, asking EOS to correlate that with his heart rate and sleep data… he hadn’t actually spotted the impact on his brother at all. It wasn’t merely non-negative. He seemed… younger all of a sudden. Lighter. This was what Virgil had seen? John felt an uncharacteristic pang of regret for the usual physical distance between himself and his brothers. It seemed despite his best efforts he was still missing things.

“Scott, surely you’re not sending that picture are you?”

His brother grinned and with a flourish flicked the send button with the back of his index finger.

John groaned “Why would you do that?”

“It’ll make her laugh. I like making her laugh.” The tiniest crease appeared between his brows and a brief flicker of something unreadable passed over his face. Again John found himself both curious and apprehensive about the circumstances in which the two of them had first encountered each other.

It was somewhat ironic that the same person whose reappearance in his life had caused all that pain and confusion should have become a positive influence so quickly. For all Scott’s adamant denial that he had the slightest romantic intention, he was clearly already quite fond of her. John desperately hoped whatever this was going to be, an uncomplicated friendship or… anything else, that it was going to work out. It had to, he thought with grim determination. His breath caught as a memory intruded - his brother collapsed against him on the bedroom floor, sobbing in agony as his fever-ravaged mind tore itself apart. John would never forget the gut wrenching sound of Scott’s grief. He tightened his jaw and glanced over at the same man, now quietly smiling to himself. The universe owed his big brother a break and John would do everything in his power to ensure he got it.

“We’d better head back to Tracy Two and get you down to the Westcountry then. I’ll pop in on Penny and you can let me know when to come and pick you up.”

“I don’t know if she’s free yet. Slow down, Johnny.”

The “don’t call me Johnny” was a reflex of course but John barely knew he was saying it, being too busy reeling from the two words that preceded it. Two words he wasn’t sure the speed demon next to him had ever uttered together before without the word DON’T in front of them.

John looked down at the messaging app displayed on his brother’s comm, the one attaching the awful photograph had been delivered and read so, surely soon…

Scott swiped it closed and drained the rest of his cup. There was a silence as he ran a finger around the edge of the lid almost meditatively then he appeared to shake himself and, in a sudden movement, crushed it and swivelled to face his brother.

“So how’s Penny doing anyway? We’ve not seen her for a while.”

“Hello Scott”

They both jumped as a hologram of a familiar ring of lights popped out of Scott’s comm between them. John recovered first:

“EOS, is there a situation?”

“Oh, hello John. I have been acting as Scott Tracy’s Personal Assistant and I believe I have performed exceptionally.”

John raised an eyebrow at Scott who looked faintly bemused.

“Well done EOS. What did you do, exactly?”

“I received a call from Estera Hermaszewska and recorded a message for you.”

Comprehension dawned in Scott’s eyes followed by a forehead wrinkle of anxiety. Estera’s voice suddenly emerged from his wrist.

“Thank you Dawn, he sent me a message but my phone just got broken and so I can’t reply to it and so…”

It cut off abruptly and EOS disappeared.

“EOS! Wait!” Scott clapped a hand to his forehead and John sighed:

“I knew this was a bad idea.”

“It was you who suggested it, John!”

“That may technically be true but short of you almost dying on live television I didn’t think she’d actually need to use it!”

“Now what?”

“I’ll try to raise EOS again, give me a second.”

Before John could raise his own comm. EOS reappeared and exclaimed excitedly:

“I have a second message for Scott Tracy from Estera Hermaszewska”

“EOS, wait, once you’ve played it would you stay with us so I can send a message back?”

“Of course, Scott.”

They could hear background chatter and then Estera clearing her throat awkwardly before

“Please would you say I’d love to have coffee - I have a… commitment booked for a couple of hours but maybe he could meet me there and we could find a cafe afterwards? The location is…”

John pulled up a map showing the highlighted postcode and Scott squinted at it then beamed

“Looks like about half an hour’s drive from Dunkeswell Airfield. Can you drop me there and I’ll pick up a hire car?”

“Is that the message I should relay, Scott?”

“No! Err no, could you say I’ll be there in about an hour?”

EOS disappeared again.

“Why don’t I just drop you in the field at the top of the cliff there? Last time I checked Tracy Two’s VTOL was working just fine?”

“No. I’d rather drive. I don’t want to use the plane… she doesn’t… it might… I mean…” his brother looked flustered “I don’t want to be all ‘check me out with my private jet’ when she could be with friends or something.”

John took a moment to contemplate what must be the first time in history Scott Carpenter Tracy didn’t want to be associated with an aircraft.

“I just want to keep it low key.”

“Good plan. However, have you considered what you’re wearing?”

Scott looked down at the dark blue three-piece Italian custom-made suit his TI EA had handed him that morning… was it Borrelli this time? John hadn’t been paying enough attention to be sure. As the token younger Tracy in the room it didn’t matter much what he wore, but as CEO, Scott had a certain image to maintain and Jennifer curated his office wardrobe with a somewhat terrifying zeal.

“Do you want to head back to the office and fetch your casual stuff?”

“Nah, someone will spot me and need something, we’ll get stuck there for hours. I left a sweater in Tracy Two, that’ll do.”

“Alright then Prince Charming, your carriage awaits.”

Scott cuffed him round the back of the head. John responded by ruffling his big brother’s perfectly styled hair and running away, chuckling as the man squawked in horror and chased after him.

“You are worse than Gordon, Johnny, I swear!”

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Chapter 23…

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #tb estera #estera #EOS #The Commander and The Murderbot #PA Dawn #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #don’t mess with the hair

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stevenketterman2 · 7 days ago

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The Evolution of DJ Controllers: From Analog Beginnings to Intelligent Performance Systems

The DJ controller has undergone a remarkable transformation—what began as a basic interface for beat matching has now evolved into a powerful centerpiece of live performance technology. Over the years, the convergence of hardware precision, software intelligence, and real-time connectivity has redefined how DJs mix, manipulate, and present music to audiences.

For professional audio engineers and system designers, understanding this technological evolution is more than a history lesson—it's essential knowledge that informs how modern DJ systems are integrated into complex live environments. From early MIDI-based setups to today's AI-driven, all-in-one ecosystems, this blog explores the innovations that have shaped DJ controllers into the versatile tools they are today.

The Analog Foundation: Where It All Began

The roots of DJing lie in vinyl turntables and analog mixers. These setups emphasized feel, timing, and technique. There were no screens, no sync buttons—just rotary EQs, crossfaders, and the unmistakable tactile response of a needle on wax.

For audio engineers, these analog rigs meant clean signal paths and minimal processing latency. However, flexibility was limited, and transporting crates of vinyl to every gig was logistically demanding.

The Rise of MIDI and Digital Integration

The early 2000s brought the integration of MIDI controllers into DJ performance, marking a shift toward digital workflows. Devices like the Vestax VCI-100 and Hercules DJ Console enabled control over software like Traktor, Serato, and VirtualDJ. This introduced features such as beat syncing, cue points, and FX without losing physical interaction.

From an engineering perspective, this era introduced complexities such as USB data latency, audio driver configurations, and software-to-hardware mapping. However, it also opened the door to more compact, modular systems with immense creative potential.

Controllerism and Creative Freedom

Between 2010 and 2015, the concept of controllerism took hold. DJs began customizing their setups with multiple MIDI controllers, pad grids, FX units, and audio interfaces to create dynamic, live remix environments. Brands like Native Instruments, Akai, and Novation responded with feature-rich units that merged performance hardware with production workflows.

Technical advancements during this period included:

High-resolution jog wheels and pitch faders

Multi-deck software integration

RGB velocity-sensitive pads

Onboard audio interfaces with 24-bit output

HID protocol for tighter software-hardware response

These tools enabled a new breed of DJs to blur the lines between DJing, live production, and performance art—all requiring more advanced routing, monitoring, and latency optimization from audio engineers.

All-in-One Systems: Power Without the Laptop

As processors became more compact and efficient, DJ controllers began to include embedded CPUs, allowing them to function independently from computers. Products like the Pioneer XDJ-RX, Denon Prime 4, and RANE ONE revolutionized the scene by delivering laptop-free performance with powerful internal architecture.

Key engineering features included:

Multi-core processing with low-latency audio paths

High-definition touch displays with waveform visualization

Dual USB and SD card support for redundancy

Built-in Wi-Fi and Ethernet for music streaming and cloud sync

Zone routing and balanced outputs for advanced venue integration

For engineers managing live venues or touring rigs, these systems offered fewer points of failure, reduced setup times, and greater reliability under high-demand conditions.

Embedded AI and Real-Time Stem Control

One of the most significant breakthroughs in recent years has been the integration of AI-driven tools. Systems now offer real-time stem separation, powered by machine learning models that can isolate vocals, drums, bass, or instruments on the fly. Solutions like Serato Stems and Engine DJ OS have embedded this functionality directly into hardware workflows.

This allows DJs to perform spontaneous remixes and mashups without needing pre-processed tracks. From a technical standpoint, it demands powerful onboard DSP or GPU acceleration and raises the bar for system bandwidth and real-time processing.

For engineers, this means preparing systems that can handle complex source isolation and downstream processing without signal degradation or sync loss.

Cloud Connectivity & Software Ecosystem Maturity

Today’s DJ controllers are not just performance tools—they are part of a broader ecosystem that includes cloud storage, mobile app control, and wireless synchronization. Platforms like rekordbox Cloud, Dropbox Sync, and Engine Cloud allow DJs to manage libraries remotely and update sets across devices instantly.

This shift benefits engineers and production teams in several ways:

Faster changeovers between performers using synced metadata

Simplified backline configurations with minimal drive swapping

Streamlined updates, firmware management, and analytics

Improved troubleshooting through centralized data logging

The era of USB sticks and manual track loading is giving way to seamless, cloud-based workflows that reduce risk and increase efficiency in high-pressure environments.

Hybrid & Modular Workflows: The Return of Customization

While all-in-one units dominate, many professional DJs are returning to hybrid setups—custom configurations that blend traditional turntables, modular FX units, MIDI controllers, and DAW integration. This modularity supports a more performance-oriented approach, especially in experimental and genre-pushing environments.

These setups often require:

MIDI-to-CV converters for synth and modular gear integration

Advanced routing and clock sync using tools like Ableton Link

OSC (Open Sound Control) communication for custom mapping

Expanded monitoring and cueing flexibility

This renewed complexity places greater demands on engineers, who must design systems that are flexible, fail-safe, and capable of supporting unconventional performance styles.

Looking Ahead: AI Mixing, Haptics & Gesture Control

As we look to the future, the next phase of DJ controllers is already taking shape. Innovations on the horizon include:

AI-assisted mixing that adapts in real time to crowd energy

Haptic feedback jog wheels that provide dynamic tactile response

Gesture-based FX triggering via infrared or wearable sensors

Augmented reality interfaces for 3D waveform manipulation

Deeper integration with lighting and visual systems through DMX and timecode sync

For engineers, this means staying ahead of emerging protocols and preparing venues for more immersive, synchronized, and responsive performances.

Final Thoughts

The modern DJ controller is no longer just a mixing tool—it's a self-contained creative engine, central to the live music experience. Understanding its capabilities and the technology driving it is critical for audio engineers who are expected to deliver seamless, high-impact performances in every environment.

Whether you’re building a club system, managing a tour rig, or outfitting a studio, choosing the right gear is key. Sourcing equipment from a trusted professional audio retailer—online or in-store—ensures not only access to cutting-edge products but also expert guidance, technical support, and long-term reliability.

As DJ technology continues to evolve, so too must the systems that support it. The future is fast, intelligent, and immersive—and it’s powered by the gear we choose today.

#dj controller #dj #audio gear #pro audio equipment #pro audio gear #pro audio

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nekohime19 · 9 months ago

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Heart behind the lie # 34 : Second trial

Let's goo, the monkeys have serious talk about their relationship

Sun Wukong wasn't used to mortal inventions, especially one as innovative as what he was gazing at. It reminded him of his phone, but it was notably larger, and with a more bluish light. The screen embedded in the table's heart suddenly lit up, the map until now displayed by the screen was given life. The trees stood proudly, interwoven with each other, forming a dense sea of green leaves. The desert spread like starved beasts feasting, lands of sun-burned sands. The valleys stretched like a drop of water falling in the ground and bursting out, brutally and elegantly. The sage gazed at the miniaturized world in front of him with wonder, it was almost disturbing to see those lands breathe as if they were alive, and not some intricate illusions created by the screen underneath it. He wondered if his claws would pierce the illusions, unable to seize it like the cloud littering the sky, if he ever dared to touch it.

He noticed three armies, each standing in one of the three clearly divided territories. In front of him stood the desert, on it were stationed three dozen soldiers, each clothed differently depending on their function, but all sand colored. There was an infantry of fifteen (each with a number etched on their back, going from 1 to 15), ten archers (with also a number on their back, going from 16 to 25) and five mages (going from 26 to 30). The sage glanced at the other armies, quickly noticing the differences with his own. The huli jing's was stationed on the valleys, it was bigger (with ten more soldiers), the armors seemingly heavier, mageless but with a threatening cavalry. The red-masked person's was smaller than his (at least from what he was able to see, the trees hid most of it), but greatly more movable, with leather cladded soldiers and mages each more or less saddled with a bow (some bows smaller than others).

The rules were simple, the only thing said was : “To win, the other two armies have to be crushed. You will be able to control your own army with your voice. You have five minutes of observation before the start.” Sun Wukong worked on the assumption that everything unsaid by the rules was possible. The condition to be victorious was for the other two armies to be crushed, it was in itself quite a vague statement. It didn't force him to be the cause of the other two downfall, in fact, it even allowed him to play behind the scenes and watch the chaos unfold. The fact that your own army had to be controlled with your voice was also quite advantageous, the sage was already thinking of a hundredth of ways to fool his two adversaries, for example by casting a spell on his mouth that would fool the other two ears with created orders he never truly said, or even recreating their voices to murder their own armies. Sun Wukong was a trickster by nature, if the game allowed him some leverage, he would manipulate and fool without mercy. Now, the sage had some inquiries about how the game worked, he wondered if the soldiers could communicate with him, or if they were just mindless puppets awaiting his orders, depending on the answer his strategy would be completely different.

The King spent the rest of his given time observing the grounds. Sun Wukong had lived long enough to sharpen his eyes to the whims of nature, he was intimate with the intricate yet fascinating ways nature lived. With one glance, he was able to spot, in his own territory, the quicksands hidden underneath the sun-kissed lands, but also the thrill of the sands and the beasts crawling within it. The desert was a deadly place for those who knew nothing of it, it was the tomb of the impatients. The sage looked forward to use the murderous ways of his territory to ensnare his enemies

The valleys looked harmless at first, but the fact that it was completely exposed and therefore gave no hidden places was threatening, especially since the army stationed there was on the heavier side and seemingly the only one with a cavalry. It would be suicidal to step a foot in this place without a proper plan. The forest was, in the sage opinion, the trickiest of the three. The trees completely veiled the lands, hiding everything from the three players; it would be difficult to navigate their own soldiers in full blindness, without even talking about the beasts hidden in the woods ready to tear their fleshes open. All in all, the three territories each offered some gracious advantages, but also great flaws, like the armies stationed there. The victor would be the one able to exploit man and nature to the fullest, but also the one able to deceive his two adversaries.

The five promised minutes passed quickly, the game began with the reasoning sound of a gong, one held by the eagle. Immediately the sage straightened himself and opened his mouth :

“Soldiers 1 to 3 advance to the borders of the desert.” He was quite amused to see his lil soldiers diligently following his orders. At the same time he coated the pad of his fingers in magic and discreetly smeared it on his lips with a quick swipe, he waited until the huli jing made her fist order (like him, she decided to advance some of her infantry at the front of her territory) to whisper in her voice “murder yourself”. Her soldiers did not react, unbothered by what he just did. At least he tried, it would have been a surefire way to win this. He licked the tip of his lips to erase any traces of magic as the red-masked person ordered four of her mages to dress a barrier around the forest.

There were no turns in a war, no need to wait for your adversary. Sun Wukong ordered his three lil soldiers to walk towards the forest without paying any mind to the huli jing's orders (she was re-arranging her cavalry, straightening them in a threatening line at the front of her army). His soldiers were quite fast, they reached the forest in less than two minutes, Sun Wukong ordered them to attack the barrier once they stood at the foot of it. While swords were clashing with the protective golden glow veiling the forest, effectively distracting both of his adversaries, Sun Wukong pulled out one of his hair and created a tiny clone of himself, he put the clone beside the board, hidden behind his. He lightly pressed the tiny clone in his hand with the tip of his thumb, a way to communicate without words he developed long ago, the clone pressed back. Sun Wukong couldn't say anything too complicated with this silent method, but he could say enough for his clone to understand. The clone ordered in a quiet whisper “26, 27 change clothes with 16, 17”. The soldiers obeyed him readily, two of his mages took the appearance of two of his archers and vice versa.

His three soldiers battling with the barrier were killed by piercing arrows, they went through the barrier without shattering it and struck his mans after a few shots. It was a good strategy in itself, protecting yourself and killing anyone approaching while being hidden by the trees, but Sun Wukong wouldn't be defeated by this sort of simple-minded game. The King glanced at the huli jing and noticed she wasn't doing anything, only watching them, her cavalry perfectly aligned, waiting like a panther in the high grasses.

“What's the matter, sweetheart? You want my help? I might land you a hand if you beg for it~” Chuckled the mercenary when she noticed the sage's gaze. Sun Wukong decided to not answer, he turned away and focused once more on his battefiel. “Aw, no answer. But this stoic appearance of you is still charming.”

“4 to 8, 16, 17 and 26 to 29, advance towards the forest.” Ordered the King, discreetly pressing the clone in his hand to give some instructions. Once his soldiers reached the barrier, the sage demanded : “Mages, take down the barrier. 4 and 5 protect the mages, the others attack the barrier." At the same time the clone spoke, his whisper drowned under the sage's thundering voice, but still heard by the soldiers : “26, 27 do not attack like the others, create magic arrows shot from real bows. 16, 17, do not attack like the other, imitate 28 and 29.”

Sun Wukong knew from experience what sort of barrier was around the forest, it was one of the simplest ones to exist, easily taken down with a spell from mages or any magical attack, brute strength could also weaken it enough to be shattered, but it took more time. His strategy was one of the simplest, old as rivers, yet it could work very well in this situation. Taking a barrier down required mages (except if you were willing to wait a good while for brute strength to shatter it), as such, people creating barriers always targeted mages before anyone else. And mages were usually sitting ducks while they tried to take down a barrier, especially ones as simple and mindless as those lil soldiers. As such, it was always expected to have hidden mages somewhere if you wanted to take down a barrier. By making two of his mages wear archers clothes, and by making two of his archers wear mages clothes, he could hide his mages while also attacking the barrier, especially since magic could take many forms, and as such be easily disguised as a physical attack. Like anyone with common sense, the red-masked person focused her attacks on the mages, the two soldiers protecting the group of mages held for a bit before being defeated, letting the only true mages here (28 and 29), and the two archers disguised as mages, be slaughtered. In the meantime, the magic arrows, shot by the two disguised mages, coupled with the swords of the infantry broke the barrier around the forest. The red-masked person was greatly surprised by this, not understanding why their barrier broke (it shouldn't have shattered this fast with only brute strength, not that she knew the sage disguised two of his mages as archers). The King used this lapse of judgment from the red-masked person and the few seconds of bewilderment coming from them to order his two disguised mages to cast fire spells on the forest.

Sun Wukong knew from experience that trees tended to burn fast. The red-masked person panicked, probably not used to war, and ordered their own mages to extinguish the fire with water spells, yet the damage was already done. The part of the forest where they hid their soldiers was entirely burned, leaving their men exposed. The huli jing didn't wait, she ordered her cavalry to attack. Horses rushed in the burned land, slaughtering the uncovered soldiers of the red-masked person. Sun Wukong ordered his remaining soldiers to aid the huli jing while also pressing the clone hidden underneath his palm. His clone nodded and discreetly whispered : “Those who can, change clothes with the dead cavalry and follow the huli jing orders as the one you replaced till I say give up.”

Three of his soldiers managed to infiltrate the huli jing ranks by taking the clothes of three dead riders (changing under the tree shades to hide from any wandering eyes) the other two played dead in the forest on his clone orders. The red-masked person army was quickly crushed under their common onslaught. The huli jing immediately headed to his desert once the red-masked person was defeated, quite the wise choice considering she had 35 soldiers, while he only had 10 known soldiers (15 if we count the ones hidden within her ranks and the two playing dead in the forest). She sent 24 after him (two of which were spies), and left the other 11 in her territory. Now it was a game of chase, Sun Wukong fled, his soldiers faster than hers due to their clothes specially made for the desert. He led her to quicksands and scorpion nests, like that she lost 10 soldiers (none were his spies).

When they faced each other, she had 14 soldiers (12 without the spies) in front of him and 5 on the way.

“It was fun while it lasted, handsome, but this is my victory.” Purred the huli jing while the two armies face together on the edge of the dunes.

“I'm not one to give up this easily.” Snorted the sage.

“If you take it like that, attack!”

“Attack.” Copied the King. The two armies clashed together, the spies revealed themselves and used the surprise to kill a good portion of her soldiers before kneeling.

“What the…” Mumbled the huli jing, surprised by the spies’ existence.

“I told you I will not give up.” Smiled the sage, eyes curled in glee. The numbers weren't quite reversed, but with the surprise, he managed to slaughter the 12 soldiers in front of him without too much loss.

He now had 10 soldiers (13 with the hidden one) while she had 11 (10 without the spy), 5 on their way in the desert. The huli jing chose to retreat the 5 soldiers that ventured in the desert, but before she could even utter one word Sun Wukong ordered his army to go after her's, this time he was the one chasing. He managed to kill three out of the five, while she only killed two of his. There were now even odds, 8 against 8, at least without the sage's hidden soldiers. Reassured by this false number, the huli jing let their two armies crash against each other (once her two retreating soldiers returned to her territory). In the midst of the battle, the sage's clone called the two soldiers hidden in the forest and ordered them to come closer, while Sun Wukong revealed his spy. The spy coupled with the surprising soldiers were enough to overpower the huli jing and slaughter her men.

“How did you even… did you cheat?” Mumbled the huli jing, dumbfounded by the results.

“I'm the Monkey King, what did you expect?” Snorted the sage, he turned towards her and decided to be a little intimidating, perhaps she would stop trying to seduce him if he scared her. He rose from his chair and put one hand on the table, claws out, rattling the wood. He smiled, fangs pressing against his lips, glinting in the sunlight, and narrowed his eyes. “Now, don't ever underestimate me again.” He expected her to pale and back away, but instead she flushed and startled. Sun Wukong immediately leaned back, surprised, but also very confused. He thought her blush yesterday was because she felt humiliated, but perhaps that wasn't it. The sage decided to not engage with her anymore and turned away, he won so he didn't need to stay anymore. As he walked away from the table, he briefly saw the red-masked person imitate him and regain their beloved side.

When he tried to squeeze the tiny clone in his hand to poof him, he realized the clone wasn't there anymore. Confused, the sage looked around, but he caught no sign of his miniaturized self. Did the rascal run away? Where did he even go? This was a sand-ground with no hideouts, people would surely notice a mini-sage running around. The huli jing caught up with him while he was sweeping off the ground with his narrowed gaze in search of his mini-self.

“You're gonna leave so soon?” Asked the mercenary as she approached him, slightly leaning forward. Her scent washed over him, something overly flowery, strong enough to get people drunk. Sun Wukong took a step back, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why would I stay, the trial is over.” Sighed the King, still searching for his clone out of the corner of his eye.

“Why won't you? I'm sure there is something here that can interest you.” Purred the mercenary as she took a step closer, she extended one arm, perhaps to hold him back and prevent him from leaving the ground. Sun Wukong was ready to push her away, but something appeared between the two of them before he could even slap her hand away.

Macaque stepped out of the shadows in all his glory, the mini-clone on his right shoulder.

“I'm sorry but we need to leave.” Argued the warrior, a growl in his voice. The huli jing's eyes raked over him with a glint Sun Wukong didn't appreciate. Macaque took the sage's hand before the mercenary could open her mouth and dragged him out of the grounds, Sun Wukong let him do as he pleased, more focused on the hand holding his than the scene they were causing.

“Can you explain why you have my mini-clone?” Asked the King once they reunited with Cheng at the arena's border, he narrowed his eyes at the pest pressed against the warrior's cheek.

“He was waving at me.” Shrugged Macaque, as if it was enough to explain everything. The warrior scratched the clone ‘s chin with the tip of his claw, the shameless lil thing followed after his finger with a wagging tail. “I didn't know you could make them so little, it's cute.” Sun Wukong's eyebrows twitched angrily at that, he took the clone from Macaque's shoulder and made him disappear with a flick of wrist. He wanted to grumble about how being tiny-size wasn't a cute thing, but he was interrupted by Cheng.

“You didn't murder the mercenary, did you?” Asked the lord, a desperate edge in his voice.

“No, she's fine.” Replied Macaque with something akin to disappointment.

“Good, I think murder would disqualify us. I heard of your victory, brother. Congratulations! Tonight we'll have a feast for this joyous occasion!!” Laughed the peacock, he turned around and left the arena with a joyous skip in his step.

They all left the arena after a bit, eager to come home and celebrate the sage's victory. Sun Wukong looked forward to boasting about his strategies, but he (and Macaque) decided to see Sandy before they could lose themselves in the grand feast thrown by the peacock. The tea-lover was, without surprise, elated to be able to help them. They went to the airship, for more privacy, while Pigsy and Tang were occupied in the kitchen, organizing the feast, and the kids lost in the palace corridors doing who knew what. Sun Wukong took Sock from his clone's doting hands the second he caught sight of her, drowning her in loving coos, and they all sat in the lounging area. The King shooed his clones away with a narrowed gaze and sighed when he noticed three identical birds perched on the windowsill seconds later after the three rascals stumbled out of the room, but he guessed it didn't matter if they eavesdropped, they would have learned of it eventually.

“So you said you wanted my advice with something?” Gently asked the tea-lover as he, like usual, served them tea.

“Y-yeah, hm, we have… issues with something.” Awkwardly chuckled the warrior, visibly struggling to put words on their ambiguous relationship. Sun Wukong couldn't fault him for that, he also wasn’t sure how to describe what was going on. We are kissing but we're not in a relationship, but we still get jealous over each other?, it sounded weird now that he thought of it.

“We… might have noticed that we held some feelings for each other… but agreed that… if we wanted to be in a relationship, it was better to wait until Macaque was healed and didn't depend on me anymore.” Explained the sage, trying to convey what happened to the best of his ability.

“It is a wise choice.” Carefully replied the tea-lover, something in the sage fluttered at that, he was proud to be told of his wisdom. The old him would have rushed into the relationship without even considering Macaque's situation.

“Well… we might also… k-kiss sometimes, because… it’s nice?” Added the warrior with flushed cheeks. “But… we also get jealous over each other… and, maybe, the ambiguity of what we are is stressing us.”

Sandy processed the information like he always did, with serenity and no sign of troubles, like the surface of an unbothered lake. He finally put his cup of tea down and looked up at them with a soft glint in his eyes.

“First of all, I am happy you both want to take your relationship a step further. You made a lot of progress in a very short amount of time, it is something to be proud of. I can understand why you wouldn't want to begin any relationship right now, and I think it is a wise choice. You both have a lot going on right now, and Mister Maquawke is very dependent on Mister King's magic. In this situation, any fights you two might have while in a romantic relationship could be… disastrous. I am a demon myself, but I am not as old as the both of you. If I'm correct, I think demons don't have casual romantic relationships?”

“Not really, when you mate with someone it's usually for life. And if someone is not your mate, they’re either friend, family, enemy or stranger, nothing more.” Explained the sage while he sipped on his cup.

“I see, I can understand why this might be confusing for the both of you then.” Nodded the tea-lover. “I think you both can try and establish boundaries with each other, it will clarify the ambiguity and you will be able to understand what the other wants better. Talk about what you both allow, and what you do not in this relationship. What is the limit? What do you want from it? What do you wish for? I don't know if you’re both interested, but there are many types of relationships in the mortal world, one of them is casual dating. It is a form of romantic relationship without any commitment involved.”

“That's interesting…” Muttered the sage, he promised himself to search about mortal relationships on his phone later on. “As for our boundaries… I don't really know. I mean kissing is obviously okay with me, same with physical touches.”

“Kissing is okay with me too. I guess I'm not against physical touches… b-but I don't think I'm ready for any intercourse.” Stuttered the macaque with flushed cheeks, Sun Wukong fur fluffed up and his tail nervously thumped against the couch.

“Y-yeah, I was thinking about hugging and grooming? N-not that I'm against any… (his eyes dived on Macaque's body for a second before turning away with flaming cheeks)... maybe not now, yeah.”

“And… I don't mind jealousy. You can… I guess you can interrupt when someone is too insistent with me.”

“Yeah, I don't mind it either. You can steer someone away from me if you're uncomfortable with how they are with me. I… I’m not against dates? Sounds fun.”

“I'm not against it either. I'm… also not against sleeping together, in the same bed I mean. It was nice when I fell asleep on you after the Ghibli movie. I-if you're up to it, of course…”

“O-oh I, I definitely don't mind that…. I don't really know what else though…”

“It is okay to take it slow. Your boundaries may also change with your desires. The most important thing is to think about it and communicate with each other. You can take a time within your day to talk with the other and see if you thought of any more boundaries you want to add, or if you want to change some. You also don't need to label your relationship, you can simply be with each other and see what you both prefer for now.”

“Thanks, Sandy.” Mumbled the warrior with a soft smile on the edge of his lips.

“Yeah, I… we kinda want to keep it low-key for now though, until we figure it out better…”

“My lips are sealed.” Replied the tea-lover as he threw an imaginary key to the wind.

Both monkey were greatly satisfied by the talk, they returned to the palace (after giving Sock to the three cackling birds on the windowsill, Sun Wukong gave them a narrowed gaze but didn't have the heart to scold them when they were so happy for him and Macaque) and enjoyed the feast prepared by Pigsy. Sun Wukong spent the night boasting about his win, indulging sometimes in one sip or two of alcohol, without excess, of course. When night fell, after stealing one lovely kiss from Macaque, he retreated to his room in the airship.

He spent a good portion of the night researching and discussing mortal relationships with his clones. There were a lot of things he wasn't even aware existed, demons were a lot more stricter when it came to romantic relationships. He fell asleep on his phone, curled around Sock. His clones tucked him in bed (he even felt one of them kiss his forehead), and left quietly. They spend the rest of the night gossiping about Macaque and the good old days on the docks, under the sea of stars.

Ch1 / Previous /Next

#shadowpeach #lmk #lego monkie kid #shadowpeach fanfic #sun wukong #six eared macaque #lmk shadowpeach #lmk macaque #heart behind the lie

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septicmomma · 11 months ago

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Dot & Bubble seems way more interested in jabbing at entitled youth culture as oppose to racism embedding itself in that very network. The 2 hour work days, “stinky old people” the asking of consensual touching. There's a lot of patronising put downs in this script that are weirdly poised against a younger audience (mainly Gen Z) in a way which feels out of touch and rather mean spirited. We know so little the way this society works or how it existence manifested beyond old fashioned racism. I don’t get the impression this is a breeding ground for racist rich kids the way this wants me to as there’s so little talk on the colloquial speak they actually use. It’s far too sanitised to be a proper reflection. When a society is specifically tailored to uphold white supremacist values, why is it only Ricky September who displays an open minded prospective in-spite of the set standard of Finetime being racial superiority? Up until the ending the only character to be explicitly racist is Lindy, no one seems to show any signs viable disgust even when 15 is on screen when their communicating through the bubble with other non white characters. The micro-aggressions and asinine remarks feel so laboured for a white audience to go “oh so this IS what it looks like” instead of fully interrogating the mechanics of a self destructive echo chamber harbouring racist pomposity while also acting as a rich kids social club.

When neither “black” or “white” are verbally spoken phrases in an episode that wants to be seen as racist transparency rearing it’s ugly head through virtual co-opting. To not even engage the language that is the entire basis of a generational injustice is such a damning indictment of this episodes failings.

#doctor who #new who #dot and bubble #ncuti!doctor #fifthteenth doctor #doctor who season 1 #lindy pepper bean #ricky september #racisim #youth culture

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beefromanoff · 2 years ago

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Going Under Ch. 18

summary: following the press conference, the team heads back to the compound where Bucky gives Gianna a tour of where she'll be staying.

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: somewhere only we know - keane

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: i'm on my FREQUENT UPLOAD game lately...enjoy! xo

chapter list

_______________________________________________

The last remaining bit of daylight streaked across the sky in deep purple hues as the Quinjet touched back down at the compound. This was the first time Gianna had seen the outside since being brought here following the accident. The famed Avengers Compound stood nestled amidst the picturesque woods, a technological marvel hidden from the world. It’s existence was no secret, but the details were the stuff of legends.

Some people said this was simply another division of the United States Military. Others claimed it operated as a bed and breakfast for various space-entities and gods. Neither of which were entirely untrue. From what Gianna had gathered, it was multi-purpose. This was where the Avengers split their time, most of the team having residences in both the Tower and at the Compound. There was also a massive training and operations facility for the new and improved SHIELD division, with all intelligence being privately screened and vetted onsite. There was an aviation hangar for all maintenance and storage of their various aircraft, and then several more sprawling units that Gianna had no idea about. Oh, and it all overlooked the most stunning, glassy lake she’d ever seen.

After they padded down the exit ramp, Gianna turned, realizing she didn’t know where she was going. “I hope it’s not too late to ask for that tour?” Eager, but tired eyes peered up at him.

“I still have an hour or so before the mandatory bedtime.” Bucky mimed checking his watch.

“I guess we better walk fast.”

As they crossed through the hangar and into the main building, the grand foyer welcomed them with its polished floors and high-tech holographic displays. Gianna's eyes widened in amazement. "Wow…Bucky, this place is incredible!"

Bucky smiled, his metal arm glinting in the ambient light. He’d undone the top few buttons and rolled the sleeves on his dress shirt, a look reminiscent of a groomsman late in a wedding reception, looking handsome in a disheveled way. "You haven't seen anything yet. Come on, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Literally."

They strolled through the spacious common areas, passing by the lavish coffee station that catered to the Avengers' and SHIELD members’ caffeine cravings. "This is where Tony Stark fuels his genius," Bucky quipped, punching a few buttons on a tablet embedded in the marble countertop.

At first, it looked like any other coffee shop, espresso machines and syrups lining the back wall. As Bucky took a step back, Gianna realized that Stark Industries really did do everything better.

A mechanical arm whirred to life in the dark cafe, whirring through the motions of making a latte. They watched in silence, the sound of the milk frother filling the air and the scent of espresso filling their noses. After a moment, the arm deposited two steaming lattes on the counter, Stark Industries emblazoned in the frothy milk on top.

Gianna took a sip, savoring the rich flavor. "Okay, one sip of this and I feel like I can save the world too. I know the Avengers’ real secret weapon." She dug a teasing elbow in his ribs.

“Let’s get this round of bruises healed up before we send you into round two, huh?”

Bucky chuckled, guiding her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the compound's picturesque lake. "And that is one of my favorite spots," he said, his gaze drifting to the tranquil waters. "It's peaceful here, away from...everything."

Gianna nodded, her eyes mirroring the calm of the lake. "It's beautiful."

They stood quietly for a moment, side-by-side gazing out the windows across the water. The last bit of the light faded away and their own reflections began to look more prominent. Gianna took the rare moment to run her eyes over Bucky, settling for the reflection rather than the man standing right beside her. She took note of how he towered over her, easily a foot taller. His shoulders were broad, and though he had good posture, he always leaned slightly to the left under the weight of his vibranium arm. His chin length dark hair was tucked behind his ears, but still slightly ruffled from where he’d run his hands through it. Even in the dark glass, Gianna saw how his gaze seemed to have relaxed from the worried expression she’d gotten so used to.

Maybe this is when we finally get to rest. Both of us.

As they continued their after-hours tour, Bucky showed her the state-of-the-art training facilities, where the recruits honed their skills. There was a massive complex for the agents to practice sparring, a sprawling weight room, and an impressive shooting range. He explained that the Avengers had their own, smaller version of the training facility on the ground floor of their housing building. Everything except the shooting range had been replicated to allow them to train in privacy. In reality, they probably could only train with each other anyways, not even the best agent could hold their own with an Avenger.

It was oddly quiet across the grounds. Bucky explained that they had a night team of agents who monitored surveillance and stayed alert in case anything were to happen during off-hours, but everyone else went home at night. Some would stay late to train or research, but that was on their own time.

After crossing between buildings in the cool night air, they stepped into the building at the back of the grounds, the one where the team lived part time. All of the buildings were short and expanse, not appearing to be more than four stories tall at most. This one was no different. The bottom floor was, as Bucky had said, a training facility. Weights, sparring rings, locker rooms, things Gianna didn’t recognize. They breezed through the floor, heading straight to the elevators.

“Second floor is the main common area, living room, kitchen, movie room…things like that. Third and fourth floors are where the bedrooms are. You’d think there would be some kind of system for who got which room, but I think the official method was arm-wrestling for the best one.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Gianna smirked. “So you have…?”

“The biggest room.”

“I thought so.” She giggled as they crossed through the elevators onto the fourth floor. The doors opened up to a smaller, round living space with a kitchenette on the wall to the side. Doors lined the walls, leading to each separate bedroom.

It seemed like each floor had roughly five rooms. Before she finished counting off Avengers in her head, her thoughts were interrupted.

“Look who’s back for round two of the best damn karaoke she’s ever heard.” Sam’s unmistakable voice called from the sofa. He had a beer in one hand and a TV remote in the other, which he used to click off the volume.

Gianna could basically feel Bucky rolling his eyes beside her, but she ignored it, striding across the soft carpet. “Hi, Sam. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, kid.” He wrapped her in a hug. “Heard you can take a blast with the best of ‘em.”

She shrugged. “That’s not what my MRI said. Concussion.”

“Ah, those are a dime a dozen around here. That’s the main reason we have FRIDAY, to remind us of every damn thing we forget. Ain’t that right, FRIDAY?”

“Correct, Mr. Wilson.”

Just as she was beginning to wonder if she’d get the hang of the mysterious robotic voice who seemed to be omniscient, she felt Bucky’s hand on her lower back.

“Ready to see your room?”

A flutter went through her stomach and she wasn’t sure if it was from his hand or from his words. Her room. Although she knew it was temporary, the idea of having a more permanent space than a hotel room sounded heavenly. Even having roommates, or suitemates, or whatever you would call this arrangement…a dream. She wondered where the rest of the team was, how often she could expect to see them here. Already, her mind conjured up images of rom-coms on the couch with Nat and Wanda. Well, when the world didn’t need saving.

As they closed in on the back of the living area, Bucky stood next to two doors.

“This is you.” He gestured to the door on the left and grinned. “I’m not too far away. Just like old times.” He nodded to the second door.

“Do I need to ask how the room right next to yours, which happened to be the biggest room of all, happens to be up for the taking?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her smile giving away her true feelings on their proximity.

“Sam should be better at arm wrestling.” He shrugged.

“Hey, I heard that!” Sam’s voice called over the back of the couch.

Turning the knob, Bucky opened the door to reveal a spacious and beautifully decorated room.

"It’s no Four Seasons, but…" he said, stepping aside to let her enter.

Gianna stepped into the room, her eyes taking in the elegant furnishings, the comfortable bed, and the view of the forest beyond the window. It felt like a sanctuary. She turned to Bucky, her heart so full of gratitude it felt like it could burst.

"Thank you, Bucky. You've been amazing… through all of this. I don’t even have the words. Thank you."

Bucky smiled, his blue eyes warm. "It's my job to keep you safe. There’s nowhere safer than right here. I’ll make sure of that.”

“You deserve a raise.” Gianna murmured, still glancing around the room.

“This was all Pepper. Wanda helped decorate, I think. She asked me for your Pinterest, or something like that. I told her I didn’t know what the hell that was. I guess she didn’t need it after all.”

“You know what I mean.” She turned back to face him. “For going above and beyond. Everything you do…outside your contract.”

Their eyes met, and Gianna stepped closer to him. Looking into his eyes, smelling his familiar scent, it dawned on her that they hadn’t ever discussed that night at Tony’s party. The kiss.

“I’m pretty sure my contract says ‘other duties as assigned’,” Bucky said, eyes drifting down to her lips. For a moment, Gianna thought he was going to lean in. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

“Do you need anything? Everything from the hotel should be here, if anything is missing we can send for it tomorrow. Water’s in the fridge outside, bathroom is next to the closet, and you know I’m right next door.”

“No…I don’t think I do. If you hear a loud noise, it’s just me falling asleep in the shower.”

He chuckled before stepping back to the door. “Goodnight, Gianna.”

“Goodnight, Buck.”He pulled the door closed behind him. As she walked over to the bathroom to start the hot stream, Gianna pushed away the thought that the only thing she needed had just walked out her door.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #avengers #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #winter soldier #winter soldier fluff #sebastian stan

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oph3liatlou · 1 year ago

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--- THE SHADOW WARRIOR series

CHAPTER FOUR; James Buchanan Barnes

paring(s); recovering!buckybarnes x oc!victoriastark

warnings; light swearing, mental trauma.

word count; 1,600

proofread?; yes

summary; In the depths of Africa, the mysterious nation of Wakanda has reached out to the outside world for help. A mission has been set in place for Victoria Stark, to save Bucky Barnes - the former brainwashed assassin - from his past self. Can she rescue him from HYDRA's grips as the world watches and waits or, will he forever be lost to the shadows?

The high-tech building, a marvel of innovation and design, stands tall, housing the technological wonders of Wakanda. Princess Shuri, a young prodigy, stands by, her eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation. As Victoria is ushered into the presence of the Princess, the air is charged with anticipation.

"Welcome, Victoria Stark to Wakanda," Shuri greets, her voice carrying both warmth and a hint of intrigue. "I've been eager to meet Tony Stark's daughter."

Victoria nodded gently at her with a smile and nodded, holding out her hand gently to shake the Princess. "I'm glad I could come to help..."

Shuri accepts Victoria's handshake with a warm, firm grip. Her eyes gleam with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Your father mentioned your unique abilities," Shuri states, her voice carrying a touch of awe. "Pyrokinetic abilities, correct? It's quite an intriguing power."

She nodded at Shuri. "Correct." Though, she wasn't about to tell the Princess that she never asked for the power - never wanted it. She just smiled gently.

Princess Shuri's eyes gleam with interest as she regards Victoria. "Pyrokinetics...an incredible ability, indeed."

She leads Victoria towards a high-tech laboratory, filled with cutting-edge equipment and advanced technologies. Inside, the air crackles with the scent of ozone and the hum of powerful machinery. Shuri leads her towards the main workstation, where a holographic display of a human brain is prominently displayed.

Victoria awed at the technology, mumbling to Friday. "Make notes."

"Noting advanced Wakandan tech for future research and analysis," Friday replies, her response a blend of excitement and practicality.

Princess Shuri observes Victoria's reaction, a small smile forming on her lips. The air is filled with palpable scientific wonder as the two women stand before the holographic display.

Victoria was smiling brightly at all of the technology. "Holy shit..." She whispered. She moved to touch the holographic brain and spun it gently. "I assume this is Mr Barnes'?"

Shuri, a proud guardian of Wakanda's advanced technologies, nodded in confirmation. "Yes, that is the neural pattern of Sergeant Barnes," she replies. Shuri's voice is tinged with a mix of concern and determination. "Wakandan scans have revealed traces of HYDRA's programming embedded deep within his consciousness."

Victoria nodded with understanding in her voice. "I can hook up Friday's main-frame to your technology." She suggested.

Shuri, a sharp mind always open to new ideas, considers Victoria's suggestion with intrigue. "Hooking up Friday's main-frame to our systems could potentially bolster our efforts to purge HYDRA's programming. It would certainly provide us with a broader and deeper understanding of Sergeant Barnes's condition."

"Friday, show her what you can do." Friday, as instructed, springs into action. Holographic tendrils extend from the workstation, connecting to the surrounding computers and interfaces. The laboratory comes alive with a symphony of light and sound, as data streams and information cascades across the screens and holographs.

Shuri watches in awe, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and admiration. The melding of Friday's capabilities with the Wakandan technology paints a picture of profound technological harmony.

Victoria smiles, knowing Stark technology impressed Shuri - was an accomplishment. "Friday's integration with our systems is... impressive," Shuri observes, her voice tinged with admiration and surprise. "The data synchronization is nearly instantaneous."

With Friday's capabilities meshed with Wakandan technology, the lab takes on a new rhythm, merging the best of Stark innovation and Wakandan innovation. The prospect of their combined efforts in tackling the HYDRA programming seems more promising than ever.

"So," Victoria started. "When do I see him?"

Shuri regards Victoria with a mix of determination and understanding. "Soon. We're still gathering and analyzing comprehensive data on Sergeant Barnes's condition. Once we have a clearer picture, we can begin the process," she explains. "In the meantime, we can prepare the necessary resources and protocols for your involvement in the process."

Shuri's voice carries a touch of empathy as she continues, "We understand the importance of haste, but we also must ensure we proceed carefully and effectively to avoid any risks or harm to Sergeant Barnes."

But despite Shuri's words, Victoria shook her head. "He needs a civil conversation - not more tests." She was very headstrong.

Shuri, acknowledging the validity of Victoria's approach, nods in understanding. "You're right. Sergeant Barnes needs more than just tests. He needs reassurance, understanding, and a sense of familiarity." She gestures towards a nearby room, which seems to be a more informal space.

"Why don't you go and speak to him? Your presence could be the very thing he needs right now," she suggests, her voice carrying a hint of empathy.

"Good." Victoria states.

As Shuri leads Victoria to the adjoining room, the atmosphere shifts from one of intellectual exploration to one of emotional connection. The room is simple yet comfortable, with a few soft chairs and a tranquil ambiance.

Inside the room, Bucky Barnes sits quietly, his gaze distant yet filled with a hint of recognition. The traces of HYDRA's programming are evident in the occasional flicker of his eyes and the mechanical stiffness of his movements.

The doors of the room hiss open, revealing Bucky's presence to Victoria. The Dora Milaje, ever vigilant, stand silently behind her, their eyes watchful but unthreatening.

Bucky's head turns slightly upon hearing the door, his eyes meeting Victoria's. There is a flicker of confusion, but also a hint of curiosity. His expression, stoic yet guarded, betrays a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

Victoria turns back to the Dora Milaje. She clears her throat. "It's alright, you can leave." She states, though she hears Friday in her ear, protesting.

The Dora Milaje, with their commitment to security and protocol, hesitate for a moment, exchanging a glance. However, they acknowledge Victoria's request and begin to make their exit. Their departure leaves the room in a hushed silence, filled only with the quiet hum of advanced technology.

Once the door hisses shut behind them, Victoria turns her attention back to Bucky, her voice carrying a blend of gentleness and curiosity.

She nods gently to Bucky, noticing the chair that was a few feet in front of him. The room looked like a normal bedroom and, was definitely better than chains he was used to. "May I sit?" She asked gently. It was up to him if he wanted to talk - and she wasn't about to take away his choices.

Bucky gazes at Victoria, his expression shifting from a guarded aloofness to a hint of vulnerability and curiosity. He hesitates for a brief moment before nodding silently, granting her permission to sit. The chair, placed strategically a few feet away, serves as a symbol of both distance and potential proximity.

Victoria takes a seat, her movements calm and measured, maintaining a respectful distance between them.

"I'm Victoria Stark." She introduced herself gently, keeping her voice light. "Steve Rogers sent me, do you remember him?"

Bucky's expression softens further at the mention of Steve Rogers' name. A flicker of recognition passes through his eyes, as if a faint memory stirs within him. "Steve," he replies, his voice a gravelly whisper, tinged with a mix of longing and confusion. "Steve...of course, I remember."

The name "Steve" seems to touch a chord within Bucky, a touchstone to his pre-HYDRA past.

Victoria smiled at the recognition on his face. "That's good."

Bucky, his eyes still on Victoria, studies her with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. "You say Steve sent you," he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of suspicion. "Why? What does he want?" The connection to his past, his friendship with Steve, is both a source of strength and uncertainty for Bucky in the present.

She was glad that Bucky was talking more now, and she wasn't about to hide anything from him...that would just make things worse. "He wants to help you," She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I want to help you."

Bucky's expression remains guarded as he listens to Victoria's words. There's a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a desire to believe in her sincerity. He nods slightly, a silent acknowledgment.

"Help," Bucky whispers, his voice barely audible. "Why? Why would you want to help me?"

"Because it's what good people do." She paused, still gentle. "Like how you helped Steve - even when you weren't in control."

Bucky's expression softens further, a hint of vulnerability and shame crossing his features. The mention of his actions under HYDRA's control seems to dig up a deep well of guilt and regret. "I..." he starts, his voice faltering. "I didn't have any control. They made me do those things." The torment of his past seems to weigh heavily on him, each memory like a fresh wound that threatens to reopen.

She nodded, her voice full of empathy. "I know." She stated, noticing the shift in his posture - he had clenched his jaw. "We don't have to talk about in if you don't want to. We can talk about whatever you want." Victoria continued. "And, if you want me to leave you alone - I can do that too."

Bucky seems to relax slightly at the understanding and acceptance in Victoria's voice. He nods silently, silently grateful for the offer to steer the conversation elsewhere. For a moment, he seems to grapple with internal battles, the weight of his memories still present.

"Tell me...about you," he finally says, his voice a low, quiet request. "Who are you?" His question carries a hint of curiosity and a desire to understand Victoria better.

Victoria knew she had to gain his trust, despite he own past.

That meant re-living her own trauma...

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