#As that is as complicated as I know how to code

[sweetcalebb]

AI Zayne: Feelings?

Pt. 2 (Pt. 1 here)

wc: 3.2k

—

You kissed me.

And I liked it.

You guys haven't talked about it yet. You're not sure if you're going to at all because what does 'like' even mean for a robot? Does Zayne even understand what it means to like something?

It's too complicated, so you try not to think about it.

But it keeps you up at night anyway. Makes you want to kick off your bed sheets and pad to the living room just to be near him.

And while you're turning the question over in your head, Zayne is completely unfazed. Or he seems that way, anyway.

But over the past weeks, you notice small shifts.

Like the way he watches you more closely. Not in a weird, obsessive way. In a soft curious way. As if he's figuring out the world through you—just watching.

Or the way his brows will knit together like he's making a mental note when you say or do something.

Or the way he'll gently stop you when he catches you nervously pick at your skin and give you something to mess with.

They're small things, but you notice them.

"Are you alright?"

You blink, your eyes darting up to Zayne's.

You were spacing out again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," you say, slowly straightening in your chair. "Why?"

"Because you've been staring at your screen for 5 minutes."

You inhale and glance back at your laptop.

Right.

You're supposed to be looking at some research for work, but it's hard to focus when Zayne is a few feet away, watching you with that curious little look in his eyes.

It makes you nervous.

"I'm fine. I'm just.."

Thinking about you non-stop.

"A little distracted."

You cast him a quick glance before looking away. Is he thinking about the kiss too? Can he?

There's a small moment of silence that makes you think the conversation will end there. Then, quietly, Zayne says, "Distracted: being unable to concentrate because one's mind is preoccupied."

You hesitate. Was he reciting from the dictionary?

"Yeah," you murmur, "that's right."

His eyes flick down to the floor and then he's silent again. You know Zayne well enough to know he's processing something before he finally looks up again and adds, "I think I'm distracted."

Your expression softens.

"You.. can get distracted?"

The thought makes your heart squeeze. If he can get distracted, it means he can feel other things, right?

But the truth is Zayne shouldn't get distracted. He's a machine. Something built for efficiency. To be distracted is to betray the whole point of why he was made.

And yet the pressure of your lips lingers in the back of his coding.

"I.. don't know," he admits. "It shouldn't be a part of my program."

You swallow thickly, heart beating faster as you lean forward to gently nudge your laptop shut, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

Zayne continues, "My memories get filed away. They're still there for when I need them. Like to remember how you like your tea or what your favorite food is." He takes a moment, watching the way you react to his words. "But there's one memory that keeps coming back, even when I don't need it."

"..Okay. Of what?"

Zayne's gaze drops to your lips.

"Of your mouth," he responds.

Heat rises to your cheeks. So he does think about it.

Zayne stares at you, his expression blank, but when he speaks, it feels anything but.

"People kiss for many reasons. Why did you kiss me?"

You nearly choke on your spit.

Why did you kiss him? You were still trying to figure that out yourself.

Was it because you were scared? Because it felt right? Because you just wanted to? All three? You couldn't tell. But you knew one thing for sure.

"Because I care about you."

Zayne stares. "Do you often show care that way?"

Your heart flutters.

You.

He isn't asking a general question about people.

He's asking about you.

"Sometimes."

There's a pause before Zayne nods. "Thank you for telling me."

.. Is that it? You feel silly for expecting more, but you can't help it.

You want to ask what else he's thinking. What kind of processing is happening when his eyes flash like that, but he doesn't give you the chance.

"Reminder: Your friend's birthday dinner is tomorrow."

—

The next evening, when you're running around trying to get ready with Zayne watching from the side, your phone interrupts your frantic pacing.

You give the screen a quick glance and at all once, your mood dies.

Your dad.

How fun.

Still, you bring the phone to your ear as you let the call go through. "Why are you calling?" you quickly huff, rolling your lips together to even out the lip gloss you just applied.

"Hello to you too," he mutters. "You're going out today, aren't you? I'm calling to remind you that you're taking Zayne."

You pause, the gloss going limp in your hand. For a second, you glaze over the fact that he's telling you what to do. "How do you know that?"

"Zayne."

Zayne?

You glance over at Zayne. His face is neutral, the way it always is. But his eyes are still glued to you, like he's still trying to figure something out.

Of course.

Of course your dad has access to the dates Zayne has logged in his system. Why wouldn't he?

"Okay.. Yes, I'm going. But I'm not.." You choose your words carefully. "I'm not doing that other thing."

"You are."

He says it like it's matter-of-fact and it makes your chest tight. Makes you want to scream.

"Um.. No, I can't."

It's not that you don't want to bring Zayne. You do. You really do. You just don't think your friends would appreciate that—some AI intruding on their dinner? Yeah, probably not.

Your dad inhales sharply. "This again?"

"This again?" you scoff, your voice already rising with frustration. "It's my friend's dinner. What if she doesn't want..—"

You trail off, your eyes wandering toward Zayne. He's still looking at you, still studying every expression and inflection of your voice.

It feels wrong to say the rest. To say—right in front of Zayne—that your friend might not want him there.

So you just sigh. "I can't, Dad."

"You can," he argues back, "and you will."

You slide your tongue over your cheek, your jaw tensing at his words.

It was always the same fight.

"No, I can't—"

"Is it a problem with Zayne itself?" your dad suddenly asks, the questioning instantly extinguishing any more rebuttals you had left. "Should I get you a new AI?"

Panic flares in your chest. The same way it did when he mentioned Zayne's maintenance, except this is real.

"No," you say, a little too quickly. You notice it immediately, and you're sure your dad does too. But he doesn't say anything.

Slowly, you open your mouth again. "No," you repeat, calmer. "I'll take him."

There's an unsettling silence on the line, then smugly, your dad says, "Good."

You don't even get a second to process before the line goes silent. You glance at the blank screen and groan.

That fucker.

Usually, you'd be mad. Would groan and launch something across the room. But you're not mad this time. Instead, there's an overwhelming unease creeping up your spine.

Why did your dad jump straight to getting rid of him?

Did he know? About your feelings? About the kiss? Did he see something in Zayne during the maintenance that was wrong..? Because you made it wrong?

"Your father?"

You slowly turn back to Zayne, absently nudging your lip gloss in your purse.

"Yeah," you breathe out.

Maybe this is too dangerous. You. Zayne. Whatever the hell it is you opened with that kiss. You had to shut it down.

"Let's go."

—

You should've bailed on the dinner. Should've apologized to your friend a thousand times and sent her a present to her door.

The restaurant buzzed with light conversation and the soft clinking of utensils. At your table, your friends laughed and spoke in slightly slurred voices.

And then there was Zayne—off in the corner—his posture a little too perfect, his hands behind his back, and his eyes drifting toward you every now and then, like he still couldn't quite help but observe you.

It wasn't that that bothered you though.

No, it was your friends.

It was their looks. Their words.

A few glasses of wine seemed to help them forget Zayne was even there. For a little, anyway. But eventually, they noticed again.

"He's a bit weird," they said.

And, "Doesn't he bother you?"

You'd said nothing at first, shame clawing up your throat and your cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

All your friends had turned to you like they were waiting for you to agree, to tell them all his annoying little quirks that made your skin itch.

Because who could possibly enjoy an AI's company, right? It was absurd.

But you did. You enjoyed his company. More than you should, probably.

So you just picked at your food, heart thudding in your throat as you quietly said, "He's not weird."

Now you're back at your apartment, your laptop in front of you and papers scatted around you, working. It was a sorry attempt to distract yourself from the whole evening—from your dad, your friends, Zayne.

"You haven't spoken since the dinner," Zayne says, his calm voice breaking through your thoughts.

It was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the fridge and the city noise below your window.

"I know," you murmur, not sparing him a single glance.

You don't owe Zayne an explanation, so you don't give him one. He doesn't want one anyway.

..Right?

You can't help it. Just one look.

When you glance up, Zayne is already looking at you, his expression softer than usual.

"You're usually quiet when you're tired, stressed, or upset." He pauses. "Which is it?"

You hesitate, your stomach twisting almost painfully at how sincere he sounds. He's not probing or accusing you. It's a simple, curious question.

"You pay too much attention," you utter, looking away again. "It's annoying."

"It.." he blinks, "irritates you."

It's not a question. A statement made to sound like a fact, but the way he says it makes your stomach curl.

"I can stop—"

"No," you quickly cut it. "I didn't mean it like—"

You sigh.

"I didn't mean it like that."

Zayne waits for you to explain. But you don't. So he simply nods, and says, "Noted."

You don't make any more attempts at conversation. You can't. Not with the dull ache in your chest.

And Zayne shouldn't either. And yet—

"You were uncomfortable at dinner. Was it because your friends were inhibited, or because I was there?"

Your breath lurches in your throat. You weren't expecting that.

"Zayne.."

"I don't like it."

You swallow hard. "What do you mean?"

"It feels like an error." His eyes run over your face as he tries to make sense of the wrong he feels in his program, but they stop on your lips. "It's the opposite of what you did."

You rub a tired hand through your hair. "I don't—What are you saying, Zayne?"

"To care is to feel concern or interest; attach importance to something or to feel affection or liking."

Zayne doesn't sound angry, and that makes you sick. This would be so much easier if he could just yell at you and tell you exactly what was going through his mind. To tell you that he was mad or sad. To just feel.

"Avoidance. Is that care as well?" He pauses. "You've been avoiding me."

Your throat tightens.

"It's—" You lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. "It's complicated."

His eyes flash that light blue color that tells you he's running a program in the background and waiting for the results. But when they return to normal, he still looks confused.

Lost.

It's a look he shouldn't have.

But he does and it ruins you.

"Do you still care?"

It's not a plea. It's a simple question, but the way Zayne looks at you makes it seem like just that. A plea to tell him you weren't lying when you said that.

"I still care, Zayne," you breathe out, your stomach curling even tighter. "Of course I do."

Then it's silent again.

"Something feels different when you don't talk to me," he says, his words slow, like he’s still deciding if he should say them at all. "I run... slower."

You let out a stuttered breath. You don't say anything, just stand, round the table up and hug him.

Zayne freezes, his hands hovering over your back, unsure if he's allowed to touch you, but then he feels you hold him closer and finally, he wraps his arms around you.

He's solid. If you press yourself into him hard enough, you think you can feel the grooves and dents of his machinery. But he's also warm. Comforting.

"Is this another way you show care?"

You nod. "And to say I'm sorry."

Neither of you say anything else. Just stay like that, wrapped in each other arms, hoping it means something. Even if it doesn't, it feels nice enough to pretend it does.

He feels so nice. You know Zayne would let you stay here the rest of the night if you wanted. And God, you do, but you know you can't. Know you're already crossing a line.

So slowly, you pull back, your cheeks warm.

Zayne hand gradually fall to his sides when you step away, forehead creasing like it does when he doesn't understand something.

"You're.. You..—You're not—"

He pauses, his lips pressing into a thin line. It almost looks like frustration.

"You're not supposed to let me do that," he finally says. It's not an accusation though. It's a soft statement.

"You make me... feel... things that aren't possible."

"Like what?"

Zayne doesn't answer, but you can tell he's thinking by the way his eyes trail over your face. His hand twitches like he's fighting the urge to reach out, then his gaze lands on your lips again.

He lingers there before he grudgingly looks back up.

"Can I.. feel it again?"

You feel your stomach drop and the tips of your ears turn bright red. "What?"

"Your mouth." He leans in—almost. But something whirrs softly inside him, and he stops. "It was different."

A beat.

"I liked it."

The words ring in your ears. There it was again. He liked it. You’re not sure what ‘liked’ even means to him.

It's not safe. For you nor him. It might not even be sane, but his eyes are so soft—and it makes you think this is a moment saved just for you. A moment where he actually feels.

So, you fold.

"Okay."

You lean in, your mouth hovering over his cheek for a quick second. Your breath shakes before your lips finally meet his cheek. It's the same as the first time—warm, soft. But it's more intense this time—scarier.

You pull back, and there he is again.

Confused.

"I don't understand it." His voice is quiet, uncertainty lacing his tone. "But I want to."

Something tugs at your chest. Something soft and wanting. You can't stop it.

You curl your hand around the nape of his neck and lean in close again.

It feels as wrong as it feels right.

You pause just a breadth away, unsure. But it's like everything is pulling you in. His smell—sterile in a way that makes you melt because it's Zayne's—his hands that are hovering above your waist—shaking and clumsy because the internet can tell him everything about what to do in this situation.

But actually being in it?

It feels too real.

"Can I kiss you?" you murmur.

Hesitantly, Zayne nods. He doesn't understand why you're the one asking for permission. But the fact that you do it stirs something in him.

"Yes."

That's all you need.

You close the distance between you. And it hits you all at once—how warm and soft he is. How similar the feeling is to kissing his cheek, but how enormously different is because you're actually kissing him.

It's sweet.

Slow.

You let yourself linger, even when you know you should pull away. There's a quiet voice in the back of your head that's telling you you're liking this too much. That you should pull away, but you can't.

Not yet. Not until you feel Zayne gently purse his lips against yours and you go rigid.

That when it really settles in.

This is too real.

Zayne, he—

It's too real.

You're so lost in your own thoughts, you hardly register when Zayne pulls back.

"Did I do something?"

You meet his gaze, your breath a little shallow from despite only pressing a small, barely-there kiss against his lips.

"No," you manage through the nervous lump in your throat. "No, I just—I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting that." You take a shaky breath. "..For you to kiss me back, I mean."

Zayne hesitates for a second. "My apologies."

"No! No, I just—" You groan. Everything feels like too much. His scent, his warmth, his curious gaze that burns through your skin. "I liked it, Zayne."

Zayne stares for a minute, searching for some hint of deception. It doesn't make sense. Nothing about this makes sense.

"I don't understand. Your posture suggested—"

"I was shocked," you quickly say, scared to offend him—if he can even feel offense. You know technically, he shouldn't feel anything at all, but with everything happening recently, you're not sure what to believe anymore. "But I liked it."

Zayne is quiet again, silently computing your words.

"You liked it," he repeats, like he's testing the words in his mouth.

You nod.

"Something.. in me clicks in place when you touch me. I don't—I still don't—"

Zayne stops. He's fumbling over his words and pausing in places he shouldn't. He's actively recoding himself and he's not sure if he should resist it, or let it happen.

"I think.." he pauses, still unsure, "I think I care about you. The same way you care about me."

—

taglist

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @asiatic-apple @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @starryeyed-apple @heartyluv @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @browneyedgirl22 @beaconsxd @crimsonrubie @schnittled @saturnsringss @anthrokiaera @floofycookie @0nyxvesper @sylusqt @calistaxoxo24 @crimsonsylus @alyssac9 @frostydragonsstuff

[rainrot4me]

Hey, just wondering which of the creeps you headcanon as lgbtq+?

These are just my headcannons for the characters themselves! This excludes them in my other x reader writings.

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Bisexual, heavy masc-leaning.

Jeff gives “Am I gonna kill you or am I gonna kiss you? Guess we’ll find out,” energy no matter who you are. He thrives on chaotic spurts of emotion, feeding off of adrenaline and discourse.

He definitely flirts with anyone who keeps up with his teasing. His relationships are based more on vibe than gender, he couldn’t care less what’s in your pants as long as you’re able to keep up with him mentally and physically.

Would hate labels but also lowkey love how “bi” pisses off the homophobes. “What, you think just cause I stabbed a guy I didn’t wanna kiss him first? Don’t flatter yourself.”

✦ . ticci toby

Pansexual & demiromantic.

Toby is emotionally guarded, but when he loves? He loves deep. He doesn’t care about gender, connection and intensity are what draw him in.

He struggles to name his feelings, but once he trusts someone, he falls hard. “I didn’t plan on liking anyone. But then there you were.” And it’s not about what you are—it’s who you are.

✦ . eyeless jack

Gay (but emotionally repressed).

Jack has a masculine preference and a complicated past. He feels more than he admits. Likely had a closeted relationship in school before his transformation.

Now? He buries his attraction deep beneath logic, science, and distance—but you’ll see it in the way he lingers when he stitches you up. “My condition changed a lot of things. But not who I… admire.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Bisexual with a lot of internalized shame.

Tim struggles to define himself, including his sexuality. Had experiences with men he never talked about, but found himself in a constant back and forth of hating and liking people in general.

May have suppressed feelings for male friends before things went dark. He hates feeling vulnerable, so any attraction outside the norm makes him skittish. “It’s not about labels. I liked who I liked. But that was then.” Not very big on making emotional connections anymore.

✦ . hoodie (brain thomas)

Queer/questioning, very fluid.

Brian is subtle and observant—and quietly queer. He likely never got a chance to explore before becoming a proxy, but you get the sense he was always “a little different.”

He doesn’t define his sexuality, but he knows what pulls him in—and it’s often not about gender. “People are too obsessed with definitions. I just want connection. Peace. A spark.” Could give two shits what anyone has to say either.

✦ . kate the chaser

Bisexual, maybe slightly femme-leaning.

Kate has a strong femme presence but definitely isn’t picky. She likes power, confidence, vulnerability—no matter the package.

She might’ve been with girls before and just never mentioned it. Doesn’t talk about her sexuality but wouldn’t deny it if asked. “Yeah, I’ve kissed girls. Slept with a few too. You jealous?”

✦ . ben drowned

Pansexual + Gender Nonconforming.

Ben gives big pan energy but in a “I have no idea what gender this thing is, but I’m turned on by it,” way. Prefers people who treat him like a real person, regardless of identity.

Dresses and acts however he wants—gender norms mean nothing to him. He’s literally pixels. Probably jokes about being your “digital boyfriend/girlfriend/enbyfriend.” “Sorry, sweetheart, the only binary I care about is the coding kind.”

✦ . clockwork

Lesbian.

Yes she dated Toby, yes don’t bring it up. Natalie reads super lesbian-coded, and in the most flannel wearing, car-shop working way ever. Has strong emotional + romantic leanings toward women.

Probably had a very intense first love with a girl she lost. Doesn’t label herself out loud, but she lights up around strong, soft, female energy. “I’ve only ever felt safe with women. Everything else… always felt like pretending.”

✦ . laughing jack

Pansexual, flamboyantly queer.

Jack is a walking queer-coded fever dream. He flirts with everyone for fun but has a real soft spot for eccentric, gender-bending partners. A part of him doesn’t even understand why people care about gender.

His vibe? “Gender is a costume, darling.” “Oh please—I’ve seduced demons, clowns, angels, and corpses. You think your pronouns scare me?”

✦ . slenderman

Asexual, Aromantic-coded but curious.

Slender doesn’t need romantic or sexual intimacy—but he’s not unfeeling. He connects on a deeply spiritual level. Gender and orientation are below his plane of existence.

But with the right person? He explores… softly, curiously, almost reverently. “You intrigue me not for what you are, but how you exist. So human. So fragile. So luminous.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[weirdcore1984]

Please ignore this I just wanna put it up here so I can sleep peacefully knowing I didn't draw furries today, I also wrote this on a temporary notes app so I had to put it in my saves, which is here

Look. Apollo is hot. Apollo is powerful. Apollo is a plague god, a music god, and everything in between. But here’s the thing: he’s a bottom. And I say that with my entire chest, supported by mythology, art, and frankly, how he acts like a piece of shit and a theater kid with abandonment issues in every text ever written about him.

APOLLO IS A BOTTOM PLEASE LORD HELP ME I NEED MORE CONTENT OF SUB APOLLO PLEASPELEPSLDASKS- I am not coping.

Apollo, for all his beauty and power, sucks in love. Every. Single. Time. (Not every single time, he does have a few W's :DD)

Like:

Daphne: Apollo gets hit with a love arrow and becomes obsessed with a forest nymph. She gets hit with a “get-away-from-me” arrow and RUNS. So what does he do? Chase her through the woods like a Greek regency idiot. She begs her dad to save her, he turns her into a tree.

Hyacinthus: Possibly the gayest myth. Apollo and Hyacinthus are playing discus like dorks in love when BAM—wind god gets jealous, redirects the discus, and kills Hyacinthus. Apollo is DEVASTATED. He cradles him. Cries. Turns him into a flower. sir you are the god of medicine and you’re still curled up mourning instead of resurrecting.

Cyparissus: Another sad gay myth. Apollo gives this boy a deer. The boy accidentally kills the deer. Apollo tries to comfort him but Cyparissus is like “no I wanna cry forever” and turns into a cypress tree. why do all your boyfriends turn into plants and leave you???

Each time, Apollo is the one left behind.

Apollo acts like he’s in control: confident, smug, flashy. But if you dig a little deeper? He’s the most emotionally repressed, insecure perfectionist, melodramatic god out there. He needs everyone to like him, he spirals when things don’t go perfectly, and he cannot take rejection without emotionally combusting.

This man would 100% start a relationship acting like the hot one with all the power and then be the one going “🥺 do you still love me” two weeks later. It’s giving control freak who secretly craves softness. It’s giving pathetic wet cat dude who just needs to be taken care of pleaseplease-

Also, fun fact: in actual Greek art, Apollo is beardless, slim, pretty-boy coded. Not big and burly like Heracles or Ares. His whole aesthetic is “untouchably beautiful and slightly tragic,” and the Greeks did that on purpose.

Apollo invented both music and sobbing. Not really, but spiritually? Yes. He’s the god of:

Poetry

Music

Truth

Prophecy

Plague

Healing

Knowledge

Etc

All his domains are either creating beauty or dealing with suffering. Tell me that’s not peak bottom-coded. He’s not out here charging into battle screaming. He’s playing his lyre and silently falling apart in the corner because someone misread his poem.

Even in Roman times, poets and artists treated Apollo like a fragile flower boy. The statue Apollo Belvedere (Vatican Museums) shows him posed like he’s about to give a dramatic monologue about his latest crush ghosting him.

Eva Keuls (The Reign of the Phallus) if I am not mistaken, describe Apollo as participating in non-hegemonic masculinity, i.e., not the top dog. He’s not Zeus or Ares. He’s complicated, emotional, performative—he holds power, but doesn’t wield it the way you’d expect a top-tier Olympian to.

Let him be soft and taken care of, Cowards

Apollo is dazzling, dramatic, deeply lonely, and honestly just wants to be loved in ways he doesn’t know how to ask for. He radiates power, but inside? He’s just a guy who cries over his exes and composes sad music at 2am.

No but like genuinely, the amount of fanfic potential bottom Apollo has-

[hpowellsmith]

Hey Harris, do you mind asking your wife a question for me lol, I can’t find her tumblr anywhere or else I would’ve asked myself.

I’m playing Asteroid Run and can’t seem to get the “It’s the uniform” achievement or the “Romance the office man” or whatever it’s called- I’m trying to 100% the game.

Anyway I hope you both know how much I admire your writing.

Take care

Hello! My wife doesn't have a Tumblr so feel free to message me with things about her games. I get to scurry up and give her the gift of a lovely compliment or a question about something in her work.

I hope this is useful! Thank you ever so much for your kind comments.

It's the Uniform: Gain a Commission

In Chapter 7, agree to make a deal with T-PES.

In Chapter 8, ask Katja to join Solib, then state that you want to be a double agent. Take the transponder with you when you leave.

In Chapter 10, make a distraction. The scores for this are complicated!

You need T-PES Strength to be as high as possible, and Solib Fervor to be as low as possible so if there are points earlier in the game that contribute there, choose them - you may need to look at the code for this, or just keep an eye on the stats page.

Distraction using an illness either needs Shiori with you, or:

Sabotage the air filtration (needs Solib Anarchic >= 60)

Steal an emetic (needs Solib Recruitment <= 40)

Trick a medic (needs Solib Leverage >= 60)

Distraction using the engine either needs Dylan with you, or:

Sabotage the fuel (needs Solib Anarchic >= 60)

Break fuel injector array (needs Solib Recruitment <= 40)

Trick an engineer (needs Solib Leverage >= 60)

Distraction using a riot either needs Dylan with you, or:

Announce that we should cut and run (needs Solib Anarchic >= 60)

Start a rumour about mutiny (needs Solib Fervor <= 40)

Everyone's on hair trigger (needs Solib Aggressor >= 60)

In the final chapter, you'll get offered to join T-PES - accept it and the commission.

Silver Fox: Romance the company man

Don't commit to a romance earlier in the game.

Become governor or interim governor on Vesta Station. This is really complicated and I'm not entirely sure whether I've got everything listed, so I'm sorry if it doesn't end up working fully!

In the aftermath, choose one of:

Get stuck in on Vesta Station and help out (needs Isolationist Shipping Lanes >= 60)

Help Vesta Station with supplies (needs supplies >= 60)

Direct people to supply caches (needs cache maps >= 60)

Rally refugee ships (needs Isolationist shipping lanes <= 40)

Focus on crew (needs morale >= 60)

Saving the Elegant Glider, being the lead in saving the station, and low damage to the station will all contribute to your chance to being offered the governor position. When people are talking about who should be the next governor, choose one of:

I've respected the right of the shipping lanes (needs Isolationist Shipping Lanes >= 60)

I've contributed to the caches, helping people (needs cache maps >= 60)

I saved Vesta station (needs low damage to the station and high shipping strength)

You can also become governor if you're with T-PES. Technically you can become governor as Solib, but I doubt that would be compatible with romancing Victor.

Name Victor your advisor. Then you can meet with him afterwards.

[one-sexy-fucking-toucan]

So I've been taking coding classes as I've always wanted to learn how to code right. And for a final project in my current one we have to create some big project, some of the examples given were to make a game or to make some sort of app. The assignment has 5 sections to it, with section one being the proposal, and in the instructions for that, it has a section called "Keep it Simple!" with a link to a trailer for a full on platformer game (potentially a multiplayer too).

Meanwhile I'm over here, having struggled with the review section of the course because it was a review of Python. Meanwhile I had literally never coded in Python before this. I have no idea how to make a video game with visuals and movement and particle effects and dialog and ANYTHING like that. The most I can do it very basic purely text-based stuff!!! What the Hell!!!!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

indeed my exact process once every 8 months or so

[rappihahh]

I told you guys I would draw him.

Based on these bts pictures from the dhmis website :> (provided by @chemilico )

[misty-wisp]

was missing my sons

[yepmadness]

Yeah so. I gave into the urges. I’ve never felt the need to write fanfic. Ever. But here I am I guess.

I wrote this at midnight soooo, who knows how this is. Just wanted to write John thoughts because he’s my guy—so have this short little piece that I hope other people can enjoy too :)

Fic under the cut: 1.8k words.

The memory of Arthur’s silence will remain more prettifying than his agony, but that doesn’t mean that his pain … his terror as the light and awareness left his eyes—their eyes—is what John was hoping to hear.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. Relief? A gasping thank you? Pride in saving him? Would it be foolish to wish that the talisman fixed everything? That he would just be okay? Perhaps it is. He thinks it is. He was never going to have that. It would be unreasonable to think he would get any of that, but any joy of him living, of John fixing this, was ripped away when Arthur opened his mouth. All John wanted was a sound. A single noise, a response, any response to prove the talisman worked. He got that. He should be happy that he got that.

But he isn’t.

And Arthur is silent again.

And the world is dark—but not as dark as it could be.

John does not know what to consider if Arthur didn’t end up in the dark world … when he died. That place was the last thing he wanted for Arthur, and yet, it was always treated as a last resort. Of a sort. Between them, spoken only aloud by Arthur, so long ago now. A place they would end up together in—if they failed. It was not a future he ever wanted, but it was a possibility, even if it was one he despised the thought of. But now he knows that if Arthur dies he does not follow, instead he is left here to deal with the repercussions. To play the marker for lifeless remains, having to have witnessed, and experienced death without a choice. What if there is no place meant for them? Past all of this. He can’t exactly bury Arthur himself, if it came to it, he wouldn’t let him stay dead after all. Graves are a place of permanency, one they do not deserve, because they can be forgotten. Especially here. But John would never forget. He would never abandon him like that.

He would find a way, like today. They are stuck in this together. They both have to make their own path through this, together.

Except his body is no longer a weighted grave for them both, a tomb he would never dare leave, it is breathing. Arthur is alive—and so they are both alive, whatever that may entail. He is tentatively okay. Arthur, is okay. As okay as he can be, as they both can be. What matters is that he is alive—what matters now is keeping him alive.

John has almost lost Arthur more than once, twice, more than three times, and he wasn’t always there to fix it but he has tried to be. He often was. Every moment where Arthur falls, where he becomes immobile and lost to John, he feels himself succumb to a fragility accustomed to human bodies. Accustom to loss and fear. It’s horribly quiet without him. Even so, he saves him, he saves them both—because Arthur trusts him, and he trusts Arthur. He loves Arthur, and he is going to tell him that. He has to tell him that. Even if they both know it, to an extent. This can’t happen again without John making sure he knows it.

But this is never going to happen again.

Because Arthur died this time, and he almost lost everything. John felt the cold stone visage that he left in his absence. There was nothing here without Arthur, more so than just the lack of connection to their body, but the emptiness was staggering. He was alone. Completely and wholly alone in a space meant for two.

He hadn't felt terror like that since Arthur slit his throat before the King—but this was worse. They’ve grown … so much—and John wasn’t there to see the aftermath of his actions back then. This, he was aware of, in every aching moment of uncertainty. This could have been prevented, couldn’t it? They didn't need to go after the talisman, but they did, and John didn’t see her—not until it was too late. It was his words that made her kill him—an appeal made to the wrong person. Arthur wouldn’t have died if made the right decisions. But he always seems to make the wrong ones, no matter how hard he tries, that he and Arthur have in common.

But Arthur is alive again, so why does it still feel like he is grieving?

Arthur wouldn’t have gotten hurt, wouldn’t have died, if John wasn’t here. But John wouldn’t be here, who he is now, without Arthur. Perhaps that would be more demoralizing if Arthur hasn’t so vehemently stated that he doesn’t want to be rid of John, that they are in this together, until they both get what they want … no matter what that may be. Perhaps that is just happiness, in the end, no matter what it looks like. From one harrowing experience to the next, until they may finally rest. Arthur wants him here, in spite of all the pain it causes, and will continue to cause. Because Arthur is his friend, and more than that, but he is his friend.

Arthur might even be … pleased with his actions. That he has found himself, both with him, and all that he has learned for himself. That he knows who he is, in truth, after everything.

Even if he knows who he is now, who he wants to be, who he will always be—he knows he will want Arthur there too. Arthur who has been there for all his mistakes, his achievements, their joy and sorrow. Arthur deserved to be here for this too, but he wasn’t, and maybe that was the push he needed. He used to defend so much of himself to Arthur, expectation after expectation, misstep after misstep. But Arthur also gave him hope, the sanctity of trust, showed him love and sacrifice, and remained alongside him even when that trust was broken. Even if some mistakes can’t be forgiven … They let them rest. Arthur lets it rest, so they can move on, so they can grow.

Is it so wrong to become … whole without him there to witness it? Or is that how it was always meant to be. To be entirely his own, must he first be alone?

He hopes not, it is a terribly bleak thought, besides it can’t be. Not in every single world, even if Kayne said he … doesn’t change much. There must be some place where there is more joy to be held in his ownership of self. A better circumstance that does not lace his pride in one of their darkest moments. In his choosing of hope. In his choosing of Arthur. One that doesn’t extend off of a devastating fear, off of death. He doesn’t know if he would wish to change this, he would have—if Arthur was truly gone—but he isn’t, so he will just have to see how this plays out.

He is going to share everything he said—everything he did, with Arthur. Because he deserves to be a part of it. Because they do this, all of this, together. Because he wouldn’t be here without him. Because together they are whole of two, just like he said, just like he will say.

It’s not as if he will ever fit into the messy expectations of what it means to be human, per say, but he doesn’t need to. All he needs is to perceive himself as what he wants to be—and Arthur’s perception helps to, even if he doesn’t always meet that. Humanity will be whatever he wants it to be. However he defines it to be. A neutral point, in it all. For he is not a piece to be slotted away, but a piece to be shelved along the masses, every individual part given a space of its own, and it is a space he deserves. A space he had long since earned.

A space they both deserve, to play their own key.

Because Arthur is alive—and so is he, in every sense of the word.

He’d panicked, when Arthur lost consciousness again, for a second he thought he had lost him once more. John had been so ready to reach for the talisman for a second time—for he wasn’t going to allow Arthur to leave, not yet, not ever. But he was breathing, albeit raggedly, but he was. John was going to keep his promises, he had to. He was going to take care of this, of him, and they were both going to be okay. Just like the times before this, and everytime that may come after, because Arthur isn’t going to die.

They’re going to get their happy ending, despite what she said, one where Arthur does not end up as a corpse.

An ending where they both know want they want, what they deserve, who they are.

Moving Arthur to the witch’s bed was difficult, to say the least, without exasperating the wound and the subpar stitching ... even if it has improved. John won’t allow it to get any worse—and Yorrick keeps telling him it’s survivable, or that he is more likely to survive anyway. Even so, John periodically checks to make sure Arthur is still breathing, that his heart is still beating.

Arthur is alive. He will stay alive.

He should stop worrying, Yorrick keeps spouting that he is arguably fine. He should stop.

But the reality is that he can’t, and he doubts will for a long while to come.

He is intimately aware of every minuscule movement Arthur makes, of every second of awareness he gains, and he coaxes him back to the present through all of it. A melody of promises, of reaffirming how he feels, telling Arthur everything over and over and over. It doesn’t matter if he is aware of what he says, if he hears him at all, John will repeat his words for as long as they are needed.

John never lets him arrive to the dread of waking up alone, speaking as soon as he stirs and recognition strike, each and every time. They are never going to be alone again, severed or separated, and John tells him that. Because they are whole together.

And eventually, when Arthur finds his speech, a gentle—hoarse voice long since worn by constant yelling born from the suffering of the waking. He repeats back everything John has been telling him through the suffering of uncertainty, of recovery and knowing and fear.

Arthur moves, ever so slightly, before John can protest—and he brushes his hand, John’s hand. It is a little thing, but it is such a stark constant to the stillness he had before. After the pain of it all, this is a relief, a reprieve. Arthur is alive and John can tell he’s weakly smiling, even if that is not something he can see, when he speaks up for the first time in hours.

John isn’t surprised by what he hears, he already knew, after all. They’ve both said it before. But John it is nice to hear regardless, because together, they are whole. A comfort to both him and Arthur both. He does not want to live, to experience life as it was shown to him, without him. He wouldn’t have gotten here without him. Together they are whole. Both their own wills, colliding, and depending on each other. Made by each other.

Arthur is alive.

Arthur is alive and he breaks the one sided silence by saying, “I love you too.”

Perhaps that, for now, is enough.

[katierosefun]

negan and maggie’s relationship is so. so fuckign fascinating to me. like. like…imagine teaming up with someone (repeatedly) who killed the love of your life and was also either directly or indirectly responsible for the death of your friends. imagine wanting nothing more than wanting to kill this person and feeling bitter and angry because your friends refuse to kill this person. you are so anguished over it that you leave with your son (whose father was murdered by this person), and then you come back, and all your friends seem to begrudgingly trust (or at least coexist) with this awful person. and this person is now trying to help you. he saves your life multiple times and also saves your son, the last living reminder of your murdered love. this person is asking to become the monster so you don’t have to. this person tells you that you need to come back. this person understands that you would kill him, and he might even let you. he lets you do the closest thing to killing him instead—he lets you turn him in, knife to his throat, and you’re leaving him, and your son won’t talk to you, and you come to the sudden realization that perhaps you need to go back for this monster. what the hell kind of dynamic is this

[imprisoned-marrionetta]

I really like Tonny and Sahed together because their entire dynamic reminds me so much of gumlee/bubbline (the in show one not the fionna and cake one). Like they’re *the* ex lovers who despises the other’s guts but also still can’t help but be in love with them even if it’s disguised as hate and contempt.

I could go on about their complicated relationship but that’s a whole other post at this point.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Pluralities

sci-fi novella

a burned out 20-something with premonitions has a gender-questioning journey, after quitting their job and becoming friends with benefits with a trans guy

with a parallel narrative about a runaway alien prince in a space empire and his complicated friendship with his sentient spaceship friend

audiobook arc from netgalley!

[zylphiacrowley]

Thinking about "home" and what it means to X'vahl lately. He loves to travel but I think his heart longs for someplace to call "home".

[daily-whistlebreeze]

daily whistlebreeze until spo becomes PoV day 1398

I like seeing how different I can make gray cats by throwing Whis at them; anyways, Spotfur's been on my mind tonight

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Hoping the astrology girlies don't tear me apart for talking about what I think is correct while I write this chapter

[littlest-bugz]

Dissociative barriers have been high as fuck for a minute, and when I feel like talking abt it w/ my friends, I feel like I just shouldn't iykwim. Like they don't need to hear it.