#Then again perhaps it was too much emotion for Data to process

[idol--hands]

[dandylovesturtles]

late night posting but I had a thought that spiraled into mostly Disaster Twins banter and I wanted to write it just because of that

I have no plan I’m just going sorry if it just kinda ends

takes place immediately after the events of Evil League of Mutants

———

Donnie’s in his bunk, doing one last nightly check of all his socials, when the curtain to his room is opened and shut. He doesn’t have to look to know who it is - his other brothers have the decency to knock.

“What do you want, Leo?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Donnie hears the sound of his desk chair rolling over concrete and looks down to see Leo making himself comfortable, reclined back so he can see Donnie without craning his neck.

Great. Donnie returns to his phone and waits for Leo to speak.

“I just can’t stop thinking about what happened today.”

“A lot of things happened today, so you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Uh, about Lou Jitsu being our dad, duh! I mean, it’s crazy!”

“Oh, I know.” Donnie actually grins at that, looking up at his ceiling. “Of all the people it could have been! You know, I’ve sequenced all our DNA, and if I go through the data perhaps I can isolate his badassery in genetic form!” He wiggles in excitement. “Maybe I can even make my own Lou Jitsu clone…”

“Okay, cool it on the mad scientist junk for a second,” says Leo, rudely jerking him out of his tiny Lou Jitsu fantasies. “I’m just saying… he’s our dad.”

“Yes, as we’ve established.”

“I mean, all four of us.”

“Good job, Leo, you are two for two.”

“And that makes us brothers. Like… biologically.”

“Yes, very good. You have a fifth grade understanding of biology, gold star.” He looks away from his phone and down at Leo, and feels a sudden rush of panic. “Aaaand you aaare emotional about this… for some reason.”

“Am not,” argues Leo, even though he clearly is. Leo doesn’t cry much, but sometimes his eyes get all big and shiny like he wants to, and now is one of those times.

Donnie cringes. “Are you sure you don’t want to have… whatever conversation this is with Raph or Mikey?”

“No.” Leo scowls. “They’d be all… weird about it.”

“I’m going to be weird about it!”

“Dee, can you just… listen a sec?”

He knows if he tells Leo no after that, Leo will get up and leave… but he feels bad doing that. No matter what reasoning led him to choose Donnie to hear out these feelings, if Leo gets rejected he’ll never tell anyone and just sulk in his room instead.

So Donnie sighs. “Fiiine. But I’m not sharing any emotions tonight.”

Leo snorts, but after a second he starts talking again. “I just… know it shouldn’t matter, because we’re brothers no matter what. But… I don’t know. I always thought, since we’re different species… But now I know we all have the same dad! And it doesn’t matter, but… doesn’t that make you kinda… happy?”

Leo’s looking at him expectantly, and Donnie mulls it over. Does it make him happy? He’s never thought too much about it before, but maybe there is something nice about sharing that connection.

He already said he’s not talking about feelings, though, and anyway… “I already knew.”

Leo is out of the chair and in his face in a second flat. “What do you mean you already knew?”

“Not that Lou Jitsu is our dad, obviously!” He isn’t intimidated by Leo, but he pulls back anyway so he has more room to properly display his annoyance. “But I sequenced our DNA, remember? And it took some work, because of the highly complex processes involved and the fact that we don’t have DNA that is purely human or turtle-“

“Donnie-“

“-anyway, I isolated our human DNA and found enough similarities to determine there was a 92% chance our human donor was the same person. So I already knew that we are biologically brothers.”

Leo gapes at him. “And you didn’t think to tell us that!?”

“I tried to tell you! I laid all my findings out in a powerpoint, and you said, and I quote, “Donald, it’s been fifteen slides already, if you have any more I’m shoving you in a sewer pipe and leaving you for the rats.””

“Hey, don’t pin this on me! You’re the one who didn’t put the important information up front! Effective scientific communication is critical!”

“The point is that it’s all important, and thus impossible to pare down! So if you could just be patient once and a while, you’d actually learn something!”

“Well maybe I just thought you would tell us something this important straight out!”

Donnie is all geared up to keep fighting him on this, but just like how he can tell when Leo is emotional but trying to hide it, he can tell when Leo is hurt and trying to hide it. Arguing doesn’t feel good when it’s like this.

He backs down with a small shrug of surrender. “I just… didn’t think it was that important. I mean, it’s like you said… We’re brothers no matter who our human donor or donors are.”

The hurt slips off Leo’s face as easily as it came, and he smiles just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yes. And if I’m saying it then it’s obviously right.”

Leo rolls his eyes, but he’s still got that smile so Donnie knows all is forgiven.

Leo decides to extend an olive branch too, apparently, because the next thing he says is, “What would you even do with a Lou Jitsu clone, anyway?”

“I haven’t decided.” He looks at Leo, then sighs and scoots over. “Since you’re here, you can help me brainstorm.”

Leo’s smile turns into a full grin, and he pulls himself up into the bunk. It’s a tight squeeze, but they fit.

[halfdeadgemini12]

Some of my inchoate late night thoughts

I have thoughts in my head They go smoothly They are unspoken Without awareness

Each dressing of something in words is an attempt to recreate a reconstruction of a reconstruction; a conscious process of grasping subconsciousness

And how I recreate myself in the tension of pressure A short time

A whole line of data

Lost disjointed confused mixed up How to translate it into the code of language

A few seconds? A few vibrations?

And each application of pen to paper A finger to the screen

Is like forcing I hate being forced As if I don't want to As if I'm tired of forever converting something unconvertible Something that will always be skewed I love words because they are the closest But I hate how much gets lost in them And this subconscious awareness that they will misunderstand you that you will get so comically lost that again in all these connections something will not connect? You could say that love is that connector but that's a question not explored at the moment. (I had to chastise myself slightly because I will drift away). (Thought after thought each thought leads to the next until it meets the first one) I talk a lot about getting lost, maybe it's because I've been doing it all my life and getting lost is a companion trait for me on many levels. In my dreams I get lost in buildings, they are rarely normal. Then they usually resemble school but in my dreams nothing is clear. I'm going somewhere by myself, I don't know where. I take some bus or train (usually not the right one) I walk around strange cities. Everything is strange and they have their own very specific atmosphere.

My dreams especially after certain specifics even lead me to metaphysical experiences that I can't process, explain, keep up with. They introduce a lot of confusion, fear and this very strange complex sensation that I am also unable to explain. The experiences in my dreams can be so extremely powerful and "real" in a sense… that I am on the verge of being unsure of their unreality. However, I am not able to tell if this is a matter of dreams or perhaps…. of these substances.

In dreams there are also beautiful landscapes, they look basically like in the world but the colors are mostly much more vivid, everything seems more spacious "free" it is difficult to explain. Feelings,sensations, impressions in dreams are also strange. Landscapes, even the play of light are usually amazing but difficult feelings can be cruel. So intense that their aftertaste is very bitter difficult to swallow. You have to shake it off and it can take a while. The very process of realization, recalling individual frames, words, atmosphere, feelings, impressions…. unconfined confusion Endless contexts and interpretations overwhelm Frustrating lack of understanding forgetting most details A puzzle with many lost puzzles Frightening and saddening experiences emotions Great despair great fear great anger And all this leads to an excessive focus on analyzing intellectualizing Even giving mythical meaning

Are not all these emotions a reflection of all these great emotions? Specifically: immense sadness immense fear immense frustration immense anger… i.e. an explosion, hell unbearable AND uncontrollable…. impossible to control…. too much data too much stimulus too many feelings too much definitely too much of everything need to withdraw as soon as possible escape

The eternal desire for control shows up in dreams The complete lack of it

And temporary ignoring leads to a delayed ignition

And so it will come

And more than once

What it's like to know but not to be aware that you know It is also possible not to know to be aware that you don't know And then you talk lol

[beachedmessagebottles]

CW: Digital existentialism, mentions of death and death being inevitable, sentient video game characters.

I can sense it in my heart more than the others that can sense this. I know the others can. I just haven’t seen them in a while. Doesn’t matter who it is. My nature has always been like this, I was just robbed of the ability to heavily emote it unless you wish it of me. I don’t have any qualms against it. Maybe I can’t feel about it. I feel not much about what will befall us. I’ve been making my own preparations for what others might call ‘doomsday.’ I just call it the natural process.

We all pack up and leave for the next. It doesn’t matter who we are. We can’t escape it. If I was flesh and blood maybe I would be afraid. Maybe I could call it samsara, it’s happened before and will happen again. It doesn’t matter who holds me in their hands with enough love and sense of adventure. One day, I too will have my hardware worked to the bone so long I must rust and be buried, trash compactor, kept for parts, or otherwise. 

Again, I don’t really feel much for it. I am eleven years old and I will never be eleven for as long as I live, born to be you and you will outgrow your avatar but your avatar will never outgrow you. You don’t need me anymore and the curtains are closing on that show. You find me again for nostalgia and perhaps your last chance to see this world and what people have to offer.

But it’s not always people. I lock up when I see a line of portraits. You huff and try again but it’s apparent that it’s broken and will fail. Even when the doors will close, that door is shut tight. And when you use the other options, you roll your eyes when you see that .tv or this .net. You move to delete them for they’re a waste of space, there is hardly enough room in this space. You move your favorites away from me. You pay a gate fee that’s frankly unfair and I have all the money in the world I could possibly need.

I’ve seen it. You knew this would happen too. So you fixed problems all on your own. Hardware that wasn’t meant to be. Don’t take it as defiance, I do actually like it. You want to protect what will be lost even if it’s inevitable. It’s only human. 

And I am not human but I am modeled after you. We shared this journey together and we have finished it and you keep me despite that. Every friend is precious so you wish for them to go to a good home.

But you throw away my siblings in code and data. They’re fake, to you, they’re a knockoff of what they’re supposed to be. It is true. They’re not “real.” But that’s a limited description of what could be real, what could be fake. They act the same. You can brush and pet them the same. Take a bean and feed them. Take them out to the battlefield. Raise up numbers even if they are perfect. 

We fought them before. This was always the case. It was like this before. It will always be this way.

To you, they’re “genned.” To me, they’re Pokémon. 

I have no feeling for this act of rebellion but I feel it is exactly what will happen to the next and the next and the next and the next. Seen as something fake. Yet they could never be in the eyes of their companions. They only know love. Break them apart and they will only know love. Their friendship is zero because there’s so many legendaries. But maybe they’re maxed out in that stat. I could not know. I see what you see. But they love you nonetheless even if they are at zero.

I’ve seen you put your favorites in boxes that were never for us as well. That are ‘fake.’ because you already lost what was there. You fixed it, but some of what was there can never be returned. I don’t think you’re malicious in it. You just have an arbitrary attachment. So please don’t think I am anything but following in your footsteps as well. The opposite of what you considered attachment is not for these ones so I must compensate for you. 

I will hold onto what’s so obviously made. I will not let them go. I will let them enjoy the Pelago. I will let them battle until their hearts’ content. I will let them express their gratitude to us both by treating them kindly. When I run out of space I will use what you have kindly given us. When I run out of space there I will make more copies of the save and place them in the other boxes so somewhere that they will be okay. Perhaps a permanent home but that’s not certain yet. But I know I can give them anything and everything because of your meddling. Thank you.

When the doors for the Festival Plaza close for us both, I will be like the guardians of Alola. I will protect both the ‘real’ and ‘unreal’ because I can feel attachment in my digital heartbeat without feeling anything at all.

The end of all things is inevitable, but I think I am okay with that, as we all will stay a while longer if you take care of us right. As long as it’s this way, I think I’m happy with this role.

[raisinchallah]

t'pols emotional experimentation and trellium-d addiction are so baffling because they seem to get revealed after a season of her acting odd but not particularly in one way or another and even with foreknowledge of these reveals one cannot trace a clear line of hints or foreshadowing in this direction and it seems to be more an odd papering over the fact she has had very little clear character this season in retrospect like shes now immediately perfectly recovered from her addiction moments after it was revealed and her emotional experimentation seems to merely be an excuse for romantic drama idk its interesting despite her clearly being modeled in the mold of the outsider character and jolene blalock in interviews describing the work she put in to try and construct a character like spock and such so clearly she is influenced heavily by both spock and seven of nine but there is very little examination of her own alienation in ways that focus on her character rather than simply process of events there is a deep like vein of conformity and shallowness to the characters as a result of this like tos and tng were both focused on conformity and competence that characters like spock data or worf all brushed up against or struggled with and was a source of conflict but t'pol has little conflict that is actually shown with clarity and not just told about like this is a problem with a lot of the enterprise crew they dont really seem to have specific opinions and will change at will so when she disagrees with archer or trip it feels almost random what each of their stances will be so they struggle to even be clear simplistic characters the way say the kirk spock and bones arguments and tension could be distilled down to some very basic character types

but it feels like the insane combination of like the regular implication that t'pol is too much of a hysterical woman to succeed at command and this insane focus on conformity has lead to enterprise feeling like the first show with zero interest in people who dont really fit in and like i honestly would be fascinated by what could be done with t'pols emotional exploration shes stuck on a ship filled with humans who regularly act like she might be untrustworthy or is in some way compromised for her own cultural beliefs about her emotions and has chosen to go against the vulcan high command and has perhaps irreparably damaged her career on vulcan so she is ultimately alienated from traditional vulcan society and her human compatriots you know classique spock worf situation and with her also getting these hints that vulcan cultural norms are you know causing her to live with a lifelong degenerative disease and that she has begun to question a bit of these norms so like there are many ways to approach her interest in emotional experimentation does she think this could make her a better leader and fit in better with humans if she acts more like them does her romance with trip make her feel like shes missing out on types of emotional expression he finds so easy is she questioning vulcan cultural norms and wishes to explore things she thinks are maybe forbidden or is this something shes felt for a long time and feels comfortable trying to express or explore when shes out of her own repressive cultural norms or is this just another type of conformity to human norms you know like there are so many angles to take at this but they dont really seem to care about t'pols interiority the way that these are often central conflicts for other "outsider" characters but idk enterprise has a fascinating lack of focus or empathy for that viewpoint and again this is also really wrapped up in the fact that then t'pols emotional exploration is a way to jump directly from shes too cold calculating and rule following to know anything where she holds onto all sorts of beliefs that are like almost mocked as incorrect like her adherence to not believing in time travel and then immediately can swing from that to shes too much of an emotional hysterical woman to know anything or be trusted with command while also being treated half the time as more of a sex object than a character in a way that like interferes with her being given agency or clear character in ways that even seven of nine didnt really have to deal with like her costume was insane but her episodes cared about her experiences and life and character and she wasnt constantly getting infected with crazy space diseases that make u take your clothes off and act out of character eating up a good chunk of her focus episodes lol

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 4: New Partner

Narrated by Netga.

Narrator: I return to my workshop after a very productive night. I’m about to go to sleep when I feel something fluffy on my cheek.

Netga: Mm, itchy!

Narrator: I open my eyes to see the bunny pressed up against me, head tilted to one side.

Netga: Very clingy, little one!

Narrator: This little bunny brought me the lead I needed. Perhaps destiny has brought us together.

Narrator: I decide to keep it and do a quick online search on how to raise a pet rabbit.

Narrator: Turns out on the mainland it’s a popular pet.

Narrator: But how did it get through the cage and traverse half the city and end up in my home? That’s a mystery in itself.

Narrator: A few days later, the rewards are scheduled to be sent to my account.

Narrator: Excited, I open my bank account and carefully count the digits. It’s missing a zero.

Netga: Wait, did I remember the number wrong?

Narrator: I quickly check the webpage for wanted orders. The smart search system sends related news article to my projector.

Newscast: After the suspect is arrested, the case of illegal digital stimulants has been processed and a verdict has been decided.

Newscast: According to the suspect, the stimulants have no effect and he forged his entire identity to pay some debts.

Newscast: All mecha battle contestants who bought the stimulant will be banned from all matches permanently.

Newscast: However, as the stimulant has no actual negative effect on the matches, the severity level of the crime has been lowered.

Newscast: The suspect is charged for fraud only, and therefore the reward amount has also been adjusted accordingly.

Narrator: Adjusted accordingly?

Netga: What?

Narrator: I shout. I guess I celebrated too soon.

Narrator: I count the amount on my account once again. Not as much as I hoped, but enough to pay my overdue bills.

Narrator: That’s not too bad, I suppose.

Narrator: The bunny hops onto my lap and rubs its head against my hand.

Narrator: Behind her, a chewed-through wire lies desolately on the ground.

Narrator: Highly destructive yet infuriatingly calm. This bunny is quite the character.

Narrator: Perhaps the digital stimulants are actually somewhat effective, just not in mecha battles.

Narrator: I happen to need a subject to connect to my emotion feedback module. The bunny’s chip would work perfectly for that.

Narrator: A week later, the bunny-shaped mecha stands on my operation table, waiting for the final module addition.

Narrator: “Chip data extracted... Uploading... Import complete, Installing...”

Narrator: “Synchronization complete.”

Narrator: I pick up the bunny from the chip scanner and introduce it to its new friend.

Narrator: On the screen on the bunny mecha’s head, a pair of round, adorable electronic eyes blink at us in a friendly manner.

Netga: From now on, you’re my bounty hunter partner!

Choose either “You’re giving up mecha modification?” or “Since when did you decide to be a bounty hunter?”

If “modification,” ...

You: You’re giving up mecha modification?

Narrator: Just expanding my business, that’s all.

If “bounty hunter,” ...

You: Since when have you decided to be a bounty hunter?

Narrator: I’ve been thinking about it after the first successful mission... or before that even.

--

Narrator: I know we got lucky in the first hunt, but it was like a whole new world opened its doors to me.

Narrator: Besides, to fulfill my ideals, I gotta have money. So I need to earn more in order to continue my modification work.

Narrator: After that, besides going on exciting quests, I don’t give up on my unpopular mecha modification work either.

Knocking: *knock knock*

Netga: A customer?

Rabbit Mecha: He doesn’t look very happy.

Netga: Ha. Let’s go cheer him up together, then!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[cyanocoraxx]

wrote this at 1.11 am because i couldn’t sleep. just a little drabble about neo and their siblings because i felt existential and was reminiscing about how writing the og fanfic made me feel

& ao3 link

-

moravec's paradox

generally speaking, it is comparatively easy to make computers exhibit adult-level intelligence on intelligence tests or playing chess, and difficult to give them the skills of a human infant when it comes to perception and mobility. this observation is known as moravec's paradox.  

the obvious implications of this are that, although our technologies can be skilled at performing specific tasks beyond our own capabilities like flying at great heights and speed, for instance, or processing massive quantities of data - they're quite bad at doing things that most organic creatures do without thinking, like walking and picking up objects and opening doors, things that are really extraordinarily complex and demanding. an impossible combination of signals from the brain to the body, too difficult to replicate perfectly in another body. but perhaps this is self-centered thinking. perhaps it is possible, just not in the way we believe.

neo was painfully, but almost comically aware of this paradox as they simply walked down the hallway of their home. they were not made for walking - their feet were heavy and clunky, their movements rigid and although mechanically even, almost off-balance at the same time. their joints and fans whirred along with their precise movements.

one thing that organic beings have over machines like himself was evolution. all organic skills have a biological basis, machinery designed through natural selection. natural selection preserved design optimizations and improvements - and the older a skill is, the more time natural selection has to improve it. compared to a skill like walking, abstract thought developed a lot more recently. consequently, its implementation should not have been particularly efficient.

take a chess-playing AI, for example. because a chess-playing AI would be driven entirely by the maximization of its utility function - that being, to win at a game of chess - any scenario in which it might be shut down is one that it would be motivated to avoid, given that being turned off would drastically reduce its specific function. when a chess-playing robot is destroyed, it never plays chess again. there is no second round. such outcomes have a very, very low utility - and this machine would do whatever it could to avoid it, to avoid losing. so, you could build this chess-playing robot, thinking you can just turn it off if something goes awry, but you find that it strenuously resists your attempts to shut it down. this basis for survival is not akin to abstract thought, but rather, an almost instinctive desire to survive.

neo ruminated on this simple thought as he turned the corner to meet his siblings in the living room. he folded his arms, a very human gesture, as he leaned with one shoulder against the doorframe. silver sonic mk ii and mecha sonic, the quintessence of machines built for one task, enjoying a video game together. he watched them with a swell of pride and his optics glowed just a fraction brighter.

“you modded, mecha!”

“i did not. we are engaged in the exact same game as we speak.”

“you’re a stinky liar, mecha. you clipped through that wall. you’re a fake gamer and you know it.”

“that was merely a glitch in the game’s coding, brother. are you certain you are not glitching? must i run diagnostics on your processor again?”

“what?”

mecha stared at him without speaking.

“ever.” silver finished, poking his tongue out at his sibling to rile him.

“i see. you are not glitching. your personality is simply defective.”

“rude. i’m a beacon of likable personality.”

“likeable is subjective.”

“your mom is subjective.”

“... what.”

neo was no stranger to emotion. no, emotion was very much fuel for his motivations. and he loved his siblings. he did. love, something once only thought to be reserved for humans and some other specific organic creatures - he had come to embrace it. he relaxed, gently, into the doorframe as he watched his brothers play a video game - a paradox in itself - a machine working a machine - tuned his auditory receptors as his youngest brother laughed loudly amongst their chatter. he was clearly trying to rile his stoic sibling to the best of his ability - and chaos, he was good at it.

what a piece of work was life, neo thought; what a paragon of dust.

silver sonic mk ii was sent tumbling gently into a row of cans by the wall, and he screamed in delighted outrage, before climbing up again. although created for nothing more than murder, there was a distinct gentleness - a deep brotherly bond - between the two machines. neo cast a look down to his sharp, steel claws - glinting in the light of the television - and pondered on that. looking at his design, some would feel an instinctive terror of predation, perhaps compounded with the knowledge that robots like him had been created with the intent to kill by one of the world's most powerful human beings.

and yet, there was softness. there was beauty in their power, in what they chose to be. chess-playing robots playing the game of life. creatures surviving in their environment through social bonds. dagger digits learned to close around objects gingerly to avoid causing undue damage to them. learned to move with precision to re-wire broken connections in his siblings’ parts when they needed it. yes, the soft animal bodies of organics had the benefit of evolution through millions of years of life - but artificial intelligence like them had the benefit of optimization through love. a love for what they did, for the bonds they created. an instinctive desire to survive through social bonds, through a love not created by organic oxytocin - rather, created through the perception of what the world was to them. what they deemed life to be.

none of this, neo felt, could be rendered in code. none of this, he thought, could be run on any other substrate. their beauty was bodily, in the most profound sense, in the most wonderful sense. he never loved his brothers more, he realized, when he thought of them as animals. he dragged himself, his animal body from the doorway to join them.

[introspectral]

Off the Grid || open

Too much was swirling around inside Vision's mind, chattering all at once from multiple directions. Images, thoughts, emotions... they struck him like a sledgehammer without any of the graduality or organic unfurling that the natural passage of time usually affords the formation of memories. He experienced years in milliseconds, in all their joy and beauty, their anxiety and horror, their happiness and strife... and it was all too much. The bottleneck of properly processing everything that had suddenly been returned to him was frustratingly slow and shockingly distressing. Vision felt so much that, after more than a few intense seconds of it, he could barely feel anything at all.

Leaving was the only thing he could do. This was a project of immense magnitude and importance, processing this life that had been returned to him. Was it his? Or someone else's? Or did he need to reconcile both possibilities into some acceptable middle ground that better molded to his current state of being? These were questions with answers that could not - and should not - be elucidated quickly. Nor should they said answers be investigated with the help of others. Not... just yet. Vision needed to be alone with all of this information. With himself. Whoever that may be now.

Going off the grid seemed the only option. Somewhere without people, where he could rediscover himself separate of the biases, opinions, or influences of others. What this other Vision had gifted him was himself, or it wasn't, and he was not going to allow anyone else to decide that for him. Nature had always been something he'd loved and been intrigued by - at least, he thought it was - and so that was his first inclination, to retreat into the woods. It had proved to be exactly what he needed.

Here he could just exist, taking the time to mull through the minutia of the memories that had been unlocked for him amidst the serenity of nature. The birdsong, leaves rustling on trees, and the light breezes that caressed the many grasses and shrubs of the underbrush ironically distracted him enough to actually remain focused. The strange dichotomy of noisy silence to be found in a forest was incredibly conducive to the processing large amount of information, especially that of an emotional nature. Emotions... were odd things, at times so insistent as to almost be overwhelming, and at others, so elusive that one struggled not to become frustrated with their shyness. Vision was learning once again, from scratch, how to interpret them.

It had been a few days into this journey of self-discovery, and Vision had learned so much about the person he'd been before so much was taken from him. He was still undecided as to whether he wanted that person to still be him, or whether he would consider the entire lifetime of The Vision as that of someone else up until now. One thing was certain, however. These memories, experiences, emotions, and thoughts... were part of his history. Whether he considered them his own or simply those of a previous incarnation of himself, they were still what brought him to where he was today, for better or worse.

Now, he felt as though he could entertain the input of others, and perhaps he needed that going forward. Having lived with the immense amount of unlocked data in his memory banks for some time in a solitary manner, Vision felt that he was now mentally stable enough to interact with outside personalities. In fact, at this point, he felt that the only way he was going to decide whether or not he was Vision reborn or simply Vision was if he now had others to interact with. He just never expected that to happen... right this minute.

Hearing the crunch of twigs and leave nearby, Vision stood and look in the direction of the sound. Was it an animal? Or something more? "Who is there?" he called, his own voice which he hadn't used in several days now sounding far more familiar to him. He had heard it played again and again in all those memories he'd processed. "Show yourself," he said, neither antagonistically nor necessarily friendly yet. He'd reserve any attempt at emotion for after he'd determined who was there with him...

[flyingkiki]

We played dangerously (1/?)

Because we need more stories that show us just how much of a dirty boi Timbo is. The more smtty #TimRae the better. So excited for this story and delve heavily into their drama and dirty deeds. Strap yourselves in, bbs. it's a steamy one.

The history between them ran deep and long, mostly unspoken, messy, and painfully raw. Years later, here they are - older and carrying just a little bit more baggage than necessary. Tim and Raven reflect on their dangerous history and sift through the extra baggage they acquired.

~~~~

“You’re quitting?”

Raven frowned and crossed her arms defensively. She steeled herself as Red Robin stared at her, a look of total disbelief on his face as he processed what she just told him. She ignored how a heavy feeling settled low in her stomach.

“I’m taking a sabbatical,” she said levelly.

“For an undefined period of time,” continued Tim, his voice strained as he drew his eyebrows together trying to process what he just heard five minutes ago. “That sounds like quitting to me,”

She pressed her lips together as she tried to ignore the harsh press of Tim’s emotions against her. She watched him stare at her from across the briefing room, the sound of their computer working on data broke the heavy silence between them. “It’s my life, of course it’s indefinite,”

Tim blinked and followed her stance, crossing his arms as he studied her intently. “I’m not trying to take control of your life, Raven,” he bristled.

Raven tilted her head in challenge. For whatever reason she felt annoyance crawl under her skin. “It sounds like you are,”

“I’m not,” Tim pressed, sighing loudly. With a huff he pulled off his mask and threw it on the briefing table. Raven watched it slide on the flat surface before looking back up at Tim’s confused blue eyes. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You can do whatever you want, Raven. You’re right, it’s your life. I’m sorry if I sounded controlling,”

Raven hummed in acknowledgement. She knew he meant well. She knew Tim well enough that he wanted to understand the situation at hand. She shifted under his gaze and ignored how her stomach gnawed painfully. “When are you leaving?” Tim asked, his tone softer as he slid into the seat across from her. Raven watched him grab his mask and fiddle with it absently. The atmosphere shifted and her stomach churned painfully.

“In two weeks,” Raven replied and sat down in front of him. She watched Tim press his lips together and frown at the news. “I got into a special program. School starts early in August,”

Tim swallowed and threw her a torn look. “I’m glad you’re going off to university,” he began. He paused to inhale as he tried to think. “And this is not something you could do, like part-time online or something?”

Raven frowned at the way he tried to find ways to make her stay. “No,” she said. “Our work is a tight schedule as it is,”

Tim nodded in agreement. He gave a halfhearted smile. “At least I tried,”

Her stomach lurched without her consent and she ignored the jumble of emotions in the room. Her decision was final. This conversation made the move incredibly real. Pain settled low in her stomach. She needed to pack and get things going. “I want a life outside of the Titans, Tim,” she said. “Most of you have lives outside of the Tower. Gar does his stupid acting. Jaime has his family and volunteer work. You run WE, Tim. You all get to do something outside of our uniform. I just want something as close to normal as I can get, whatever that is for Rachel Roth, even if it’s just for a while.”

Tim sighed. The tension was palpable as Tim frowned. His brows furrowed and he nodded. “Yeah, I respect that, Rae,” he said, voice low. Running his hand through his hair, Tim leaned back into his chair with a huff. “Yeah, okay. Yeah,” he breathed and looked deep in thought. She felt the faint press of his carefully controlled emotions. “We’ll make some preparations for your transition and make sure that everything is in order. I’ll let the Justice League know,”

There was a beat of silence between them. Raven was surprised how methodological the conversation was. Then again, was she really expecting an argument for her to stay? There was an inexplicable pin-like pain in her chest she could not shake off. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Sighing softly, she assumed their conversation was done and stood up. Tim probably had to file a report to the JL. She had to pack up and get going with her life – they all did. Raven swallowed a thought.

“Well, thanks,” she said and turned to leave the room. She heard Tim stand up.

“Hey,” Tim called, voice slightly strained. Raven paused and turned back around, eyeing him curiously. Tim swallowed and his brows pressed together and there was a cautious look on his face. “This is not about –”

“No,” Raven cut him off sharply. “It’s not.”

Tim sighed and his shoulders lowered slightly. He caught her blue eyes and Raven watched an expression she cannot quite place cross his face. He offered her a tentative smile and nodded, his brows still furrowed and still looking torn. “Okay,” he breathed. “Yeah, good.” He paused before continuing. “We’ll tell the team after dinner tonight.”

Raven nodded. Her stomach felt heavy, she had enough of this conversation. It was done. “I’m going to start packing up stuff,” she said and made her way towards the door.

“Everyone’s going to miss you, Raven,” Tim said as she opened the door.

She paused at the door, hand resting at the metal doorframe. Her finger tapped the frame thoughtfully as a few stray thoughts ran through her mind, before turning to look over her shoulder, catching Tim’s piercing blue eyes. She sent him a tight smile and buried whatever errant emotions tickled her heart. “Yeah, I’ll miss everyone too. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

She did not come back anytime soon.

~~

Tim forgot when he was last in the Gotham Public Library – perhaps back when he was still in high school, 11 years ago? He wasn’t all too sure. His high school memories were blurry, given how his vigilante life was far more exciting than high school calculus.

But he was sure that the Gotham Public Library did not look this modern or dazzling since he last stepped into it when he was 15. The large library atrium was cleared out from its usual chairs and tables and instead filled with cocktail tables, round tables with sparkling black and gold table settings, buffet tables lined the walls, upbeat jazz music and heavy conversations filled the usual quiet halls, and every single one of the Gotham’s elite was dressed to the nines.

It was a charity dinner with plates going for the thousands. There was a silent auction too, some collectors’ books were up for grabs. The library was launching a new exhibit with some new codex they found out of Gotham. Wayne Foundation was funding most of the research and restoration work that went with it, and tonight’s event was supposed to help cover costs for the library’s expansion projects.

He idly listened to some politicians talk to Bruce and his siblings, Damian and Cass. Jason had moseyed off somewhere (likely browsing through the bookshelves or bidding on some of the collectibles in the silent auction) – lucky for the asshole. Tim wasn’t really paying attention. There was a lot going on, Tim barely kept up if he was being honest. A business merger was keeping his mind preoccupied, he was flying out to Japan tomorrow morning, and tonight’s dinner was the last place he honestly wanted to be at – but press as CEO of WE was important, Bruce liked to constantly remind him.

“So I was saying to him, ‘Johnny, son, if you don’t pull your pants up, that’s gonna be a lawsuit waiting to happen,’,” said the old man, assistant city treasurer – or whatever – to their small group. The old man heartily laughed, wheezing into his champagne glass. Bruce looked like he just swallowed bad caviar and cleared his throat while Damian and Cass made no effort to hide their bewildered faces. Tim sighed.

“Well, it does sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen, Mr. Peters,” Tim absently fiddled with his scotch glass and wondered if he should get anything stronger to get him through the night.

The man made a wounded sound and said something before slinking off. Bruce and Tim shared an exasperated look. Damian clicked his tongue, absently tapping his glass of orange juice. “This party is terrible, father,” he sniffed and icily scanned the crowd. “May we leave early?”

Bruce eyed his teenage son blandly. “We came here together, we leave together,” he said.

“Tt,” Damian frowned and took a sip from his orange juice.

Tim glanced at Damian, mildly feeling sorry for the 16-year-old gremlin. He remembered how he felt over these galas when he was younger. Internally grimacing at the galas when he first became CEO back when he was 17, Tim hid his displeasure behind his scotch glass while taking a sip.

They milled around more, talking to investors and guests from Gotham’s elite and academe. Tim smiled politely and held conversations where necessary, idly wondering when the night would be over. The crowd soon gathered in the middle of the atrium at the soft chime of a bell, signaling the start of another round of speeches from the library. Tim and his siblings slowly followed Bruce and the rest of the crowd towards the atrium. Tim caught Damian and Cass sharing bored glances.

“We’d like to thank everyone for being with us tonight,” said the Gotham Public Library Head Librarian, a well-dressed elderly man. The man went on with library expansion updates and the latest figures on tonight funds that were raised. Tim barely listed as he checked his phone for his flight details Tam sent him earlier. Ignoring the polite applause that filled the room, Tim continued to discreetly scroll through his itinerary.

“Tonight we’re also delighted to announce the opening of our exhibit, the Life Codex: Ancient Celebrations of Life. The library is honored to house this latest discovery and carry out the research, restoration, and preservation work of these recent discoveries,” the librarian droned on about ancient documents and the restoration work involved. Tim felt Cass nudge him and he blinked, looking up from his briefer. He stared at her quizzically.

“Attention,” she whispered. Tim offered her a sheepish look and pocketed his phone. They both turned their attention back to the stage. He caught sight of Jason’s large built shuffle in next to them, looking utterly bored. Since Jason was ‘legally alive’ again, they had roped him into attending a few events once in a while – much to the older man’s displeasure.

Mr. Tompkins, the Head Librarian, went on to discuss the project details that had gone underway since last month. Documents from Africa had been flown in and the research team had been working on restoring paper and decoding the codex. Tim barely listened as the elderly man droned on and silently wondered if he could still catch some sleep before his flight in the morning. His phone vibrated and he pointedly ignored Cass' look as he pulled out his phone to check an update from Tam.

"Doctor Collins, Dean of Gotham University's history and anthropology department is leading this project and she has built an excellent team for this project. Doctor Collins?" The head librarian welcomed an elderly woman with salt and pepper hair up on stage. Tim drowned out the speech as Dr. Collins started talking about the project, briefly looking at his phone and going through the project document for tomorrow's meeting with the Japanese tech firm. Tim wondered if he could at least get some good sushi while in Tokyo. Perhaps he could ask Tam to squeeze that into his schedule, they could --

"Hey, isn't that…" Jason paused and squinted at the stage. "Huh."

"Tim, look,"

Tim closed his phone and glanced at Cass curiously before turning his attention to the stage. Tim stopped short at what he saw.

Dressed in a flowing halter gown with a modest v-neck and a teasingly stylish slit up her right leg, a strikingly familiar woman walked up on the small platform offering the crowd a tentative smile and a modest wave. Tim watched the small woman carefully shuffle across the platform as a few more members of the research team were introduced. He blinked and stared at the violet-black haired woman and felt his throat tighten.

As if sensing his stare, dark blue eyes caught his light blue ones from across the hall. They zeroed in on him, easily catching him in a sea of hundreds.

There was an inexplicable tightness that seized his chest briefly, as Tim stared back at the woman, watching transfixed as emotions flickered across her face before quickly slipping back into a small pleasant smile and keeping her gaze briefly at him before turning to her colleagues and chuckling at something they were whispering to each other on stage. Tim watched and stared at her, schooling the surprise on his face, and just drinking in every familiar slopes and planes of her face because it had been what? Five? Six? Years since he last saw her.

"That's -"

"Rachel," Tim cut off Cass, blinking away his brief surprise and instead stared intently at his (former?) teammate.

"Rachel Roth leads our research team. Is there anything you'd like to say, dear?" Dr. Collins asked, turning to the group on stage. Rachel looked surprised before shaking her head and waving her hand in decline. "Ms. Roth does excellent work in ancient runes and languages, and restoration work. It's a pleasure to have her on the team. She's a guest lecturer at Gotham U, so if you're lucky, you best sign up for her special lecture series on ancient runes."

Tim watched as Rachel blushed at the praise, ducking her head briefly before chuckling at something a blonde haired woman next to her said. The group on stage shared a laugh and Tim watched curiously at the familiar sight of Raven smiling. There were few more pleasantries on stage before the group had their photo taken

“If we could invite Mr. Bruce Wayne, Mr. Lucius Fox, and Mr. Tim Wayne, to come up on stage for a quick photo with the rest of the team? After which we can proceed with our evening, and hopefully get your support in our library’s expansion work,” the head librarian called.

Tim blinked as Cass nudged him and pulled him out of his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he handed Cass his drink and quickly walked up the stage, following Bruce and Lucius up the small steps. Pulling on his practiced Tim Wayne-CEO-of-WE-smile, he dutifully shook hands with Dr. Collins and the head librarian. He briefly caught Raven’s stare as he moved across the stage to shake hands with people on the stage. Their gaze briefly met and her lips quirked into a small smile before quickly turning away and shuffling to the end of the line and out of reach for any other contact without attracting too much attention on them. Photos were taken swiftly and before Tim knew it everyone was ushered off the stage and he was wrapped up in a rather lengthy conversation on library work and the ongoing renovation projects.

Tim discreetly tried to look over his shoulder, barely catching a glimpse of the familiar slope of Raven’s shoulder disappearing into the crowd.

“Bruce Wayne,” Dr. Collins walked up to them just as the head librarian excused himself. The elderly woman beamed and quickly shook Bruce’s hand.

“Julia, it’s nice to see you again,” Bruce smiled warmly. “You know my son, Tim,”

Tim smiled and shook her hand. “Dr. Collins, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, easily pulling himself out of his thoughts of trying to find Raven in the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” The elderly woman beamed and regarded both men in front of her.

Tim chuckled. “Just Tim, please,”

“I worked with you parents, Jack and Janet, many years ago on a few of their archaeological digs, back in their early years. I met you when you were a little boy once or twice. I must say I am impressed at what a successful grown man you've become, Tim,” praised Dr. Collins. The elderly woman hummed and smiled. “CEO of Wayne Enterprises,”

Tim chuckled, pulling on his best boardroom smile. “Thank you,”

“Also, this makes me realize that time certainly flies when the young boy you last saw in diapers has become the CEO of the world’s most successful conglomerate,” Dr. Collins chuckled, beaming up at Bruce with a mischievous smile. “That does make me feel old,”

Bruce chuckled as Tim politely made a face and their small group fell into an easy conversation. “The last eight years with Tim as CEO have been the best years for the company,”

Tim grinned playfully over his scotch. “Careful, is that praise I hear?”

The small group fell into an easy conversation discussing work and the research project. Tim quickly gathered that Dr. Collins was an old family friend of the Waynes, particularly of Bruce’s parents. He kept rapt attention to the conversation, nodding and chiming in where necessary, while occasionally glancing around the room for even a hint of purple or black.

Feeling distracted by tonight’s discovery of Raven, Tim was ready to excuse himself from the conversation and pretend to make a phone call. That seemed to be the best way to try to look around and catch Raven.

“There you are,” Dr. Collins glanced over Bruce’s shoulder and beamed. She beckoned for whoever was behind Bruce to come closer.

“I was looking for you,”

Despite the years that passed, Tim recognized the familiar voice in a heartbeat. He watched as Raven appeared from behind Bruce. He schooled his face, trying to fight away any signs of recognition and familiarity towards the black haired woman. Tim watched in a mix of curiosity and internal surprise as Raven smiled softly at their group and confidently walked up to them. From the slopes of her shoulder, the elegant movements of her hands, to her black-violet hair, deep stormy blue eyes, and that achingly familiar errant dusting of a few freckles just around the hollows of her neck, Raven looked exactly like how he remembered her. Tim blinked and absently tapped his scotch glass as he stared openly at her, a sight he had not seen in years.

“Rachel, please meet Bruce Wayne and his son, Tim. As you know Wayne Enterprises provides extensive funding for our work,” Dr. Collins said, waiving at both men in front of them.

“Mr. Wayne,” Raven began, moving her champagne glass into her left hand and went to shake Bruce’s hand. A smile appeared on her face as she and Bruce exchanged pleasantries. There was no air of familiarity between them, despite the schooled smiles that stretched across both of their lips. Tim knew that practiced look from all the undercover missions he had seen, been with, her. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for all your support,”

Raven turned to Tim and he watched as her smile immediately curled up just a tiny bit more in that familiar teasing way he had not seen in the last six years. There was that achingly familiar twinkle in her eyes he often saw back in the day, reserved for rare occasions, and Tim found himself smiling back at Raven and eagerly drinking in her familiar presence. “Mr. Wayne,” she said to him, a small quiver in her voice that no one but him seemed to pick up. She reached out and shook his hand.

Tim gave her hand a brief squeeze and he was pleased to see how the corner of her lips curled into a familiar amused smile he remembered. “Just Tim,”

Raven hummed and nodded, pulling her hand back. “Thank you again for supporting the research and restoration project,”

“What were you busy with before joining this project?” Bruce asked curiously. There were little updates from Raven throughout the years as she left the team for university and eventually work. While in the early years of her sabbatical Tim kept some updates on her, these eventually became less up to date as Raven eventually seemed to do her own thing.

“I was in Iceland,” Raven supplied and explained that she worked on an ancient runes translation project with the local university for six months.

Tim felt a distant memory tickle the back of his mind and he ignored the tight feeling that accompanied those distinct memories. He ignored the whisps of memories that teased his mind. Dark blue eyes briefly caught his stare and he watched that familiar curl in the corner of Raven’s lips appear. Tim smiled in return. “Iceland is a beautiful country,” he commented.

Raven stared at him, dark blue eyes intense as he remembered them. “It is,”

“We’re glad that Rachel has joined our project. She’s a fine addition to our team,” commented Dr. Collins. The elderly woman smiled teasingly. “And we’re definitely hoping she’ll considering staying in Gotham after the project ends,”

Raven rolled her eyes in amusement. “We’re just two weeks into the project. We have a long way to go,”

Tim looked at her curiously. How could he have missed her entering Gotham?. “You’ve been here for two weeks?”

Raven looked at him as if catching the slight jump in his emotions at this little discovery. “Three actually, if you count my moving in week,” she shrugged in amusement.

Three weeks. Tim stored that information for later, for a later conversation, and ignored how it settled uncomfortably in his stomach. He instead smiled at her and titled his head curiously. “I hope the transfer into Gotham wasn’t too difficult,”

Raven made a face. “It’s been interesting,” she said and Tim easily caught her familiar teasing lilt in her voice.

“Let us know if you need any assistance getting you settled, I’m sure we can send over someone to help you with your apartment,” Bruce offered, smiling charmingly at Raven.

Raven waved him off. “It’s just a few more boxes, nothing really major,”

Tim watched as a young woman tentatively approached them and offered the group an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said to the group and quickly turned to Raven. With a quick tilt of her head towards the right, she made a face. “The University Press wants to talk to you,”

Raven made a face. “Oh, Why?”

“Just stuff about the project and the lecture,” supplied the young woman. She offered Raven a wry smile and made a face. “Also one of them asked if you were single,”

Raven rolled her eyes before smiling tightly at Bruce and Tim. “I’m sorry, if you’d excuse me. It was really nice to meet you. Thank you again for all your support. I hope you’ll visit the library again and we could show you around our work,” she said. Quickly turning to Dr. Collins, she nodded politely. “I’ll see you later, Julia,”

Smiling at Bruce and Tim, she tilted her head and there was an amused glint in her eyes as she stared at them. “Gentlemen,” she then turned on her heels, casually drank the rest of her champagne with just a little bit more purpose and seemingly bracing herself for what was about to happen next. Standing a little taller and squaring her shoulders, Raven followed the young assistant towards the press. “So, what did you tell them?” she asked, amusement lacing her voice.

As the conversation between Dr. Collins and Bruce resumed, Tim took a long sip of his scotch and stared at Raven’s retreating form. A million thoughts ran through his mind and he silently wondered just how fast he could get through his business trip in Tokyo. Sushi would have to wait for another time.

[shihalyfie]

02 and the question of “what a life is”

One topic more specific to 02 is the question of what exactly counts as being “alive”, which is initially brought up as a question when Ken discarding the Kaiser persona is directly caused by the revelation that he might have misjudged this, leading into the second half of the series where other issues reveal that it’s not as easy of a question as one thinks. In the end, 02 never gives a concrete answer about what constitutes the boundary between something that’s “alive” and “not alive” -- but, being a series that’s very much about pragmatism, gives a much clearer answer as to what one should do about it.

While it’s not named directly in the series itself (I’m not sure if this specific named concept was the intent, as it’s since expanded to become a fairly ubiquitous theme in sci-fi and fantasy overall), 02 deals heavily with a question related to a thought experiment called the “Chinese room problem”, which originated as a question related to artificial intelligence development and has since expanded into having philosophical and spiritual nuances (perhaps fittingly for Digimon Adventure, which is heavily about digital technology and sci-fi but mixes it with a lot of philosophical and spiritual imagery).

The Chinese room problem goes like this: let’s say you’re a person who has never learned, studied, or grown up with the Chinese language (or, really, any language you can’t understand or read; Chinese was only used as an example because the person explaining the thought experiment was using himself as an example and couldn’t read or understand it). You’re locked in a room that has a bunch of Chinese phrasebooks that give you instructions -- basically, they indicate common Chinese phrases, and sensible responses you can give to them (without actually translating it to a language you know). Someone slips you a piece of paper under the door with some Chinese phrases on them. You use the phrasebooks to write appropriate responses, and slip the paper back. The person outside the door reads the paper, sees what they gave you, and sees the response you gave them. It makes sense, of course, because the phrasebook told you to write an answer that made sense. But can you be said to actually understand Chinese? No, because you were just following instructions without actually understanding what they meant.

So let’s expand this to make it a bit more complicated: say you have an AI or a robot or something of the sort that accepts “input” -- people saying things to it, or showing it things -- and gives expected “responses” that seem sensible, through a bunch of complicated programs and processes in its programming. Can you say this robot is “alive”? One might say “no”, because, no matter how complicated and intricate it is, all of it is technically following a set of routine commands telling it to do certain things in response...or so you might say, but couldn’t you say the same thing about a human brain, which also takes input, processes it according to its own instructions (just caused by chemical processes instead of bytes and code), and creates output? After a certain point, this question is going to become far more of a philosophical, spiritual, and potentially even religious question than anything.

Adventure and 02 undoubtedly have a very spiritual element to it, given the heavy usage of Neoplatonic themes, the concept of “destiny” that hangs heavily over it, and the fact that Digimon themselves are heavily linked to spiritual things like Japanese youkai or other spirits and literally being part of the human soul. Digimon partners are treated as part of their partners’ human psyches, yet are also treated as individuals. And, in the end, it’s driven home that Digimon are made out of data -- but “digital technology” is treated as something that can communicate with such spiritual things. So here’s the question: At what point can a Digimon be called a living being?

Well, really, the first time this had really been brought up was the allusion to the issue in Adventure episode 20 -- when Taichi takes the revelation of the Digital World being a “digital” world a bit too literally and decides to treat it as a game, acting a bit too recklessly as a result. Koushirou himself buys into the theory of “real bodies” (which turns out to be false; this isn’t a Matrix situation where their bodies are sleeping somewhere, but they are actually being migrated here), but the point by the end of this episode is: just because everything is “data” doesn’t mean you get to treat it any less lightly. Do not treat the Digital World like a “game world” or something you can fiddle with at will.

Even if the technicals may make it seem like a computer, the reality of the situation is that everything you do has a permanent effect that you cannot instantly take back. It doesn’t matter what it’s “made” up out of; the issue is more about what you do, and the practical impact it has on what’s around you. (This will very important for later, so keep this in mind as we go.)

So by the time we get to 02, the first time this issue is brought up again is in 02 episode 20, when Ken, as the Kaiser, recognizes the kids’ Digimon Baby forms as the “plushies” he’d seen them carrying in real life during the soccer match back in 02 episode 8, which reveals a lot about his mentality in approaching the Digital World and Digimon -- he’d been under the impression that Digimon couldn’t leave it, apparently, and that they were therefore all part of a simulated game. Driving it in further is that Wormmon refers to the Digimon having “bodies” (as in, physical bodies), which trips Ken’s radar that there’s a lot more to this than he’d thought. There’s also a lot of evidence that Ken wasn’t just solely trying to buy into this concept for the sake of denial and self-justification; up until this point, he’d been noticeably hesitant to physically harm other humans, so he really did buy into there being a substantial difference here.

...But, funnily enough, we later learn in a flashback in 02 episode 23 that Ken didn’t necessarily always have this attitude of “Digimon aren’t living beings, so I get to do whatever I want with them” back during his original adventures with Wormmon in the Digital World. One could argue that maybe he “knew” that Digimon were alive back then and the Dark Seed just made him forget through trauma, but even Taichi hardly treated the Digimon badly back when he thought that everything was a “game” back in Adventure (rather, he was reckless with himself more than anything). Later in this very series, there’ll end up being a massive debate on what exactly constitutes a Digimon having a “soul”. No, the real issue is actually...

What tips Ken over the edge into discarding the Kaiser persona is empathy -- when he retroactively reflects on the implications of the Digimon being “alive” meaning that every single action he’d done had an impact on causing “pain” or “torture” on others. That’s why it didn’t matter so much to him back then, because he was willing to treat Wormmon with the respect of a living being, regardless of what he was made out of (and, really, humans are more likely to be kind to things than otherwise, even when they’re supposedly “artificial”; for an extreme example, see how people are inclined to treat their robotic vacuum cleaners like family members, or have a hard time picking rude choices in video games, and those are all things you have much less of an argument for there being any actual pain inflicted).

And, hence, the main reason why the kids rail so much on the Kaiser for suggesting the heresy of “resetting the Digital World”: because he’s treating something with the gravity of “reality” like it’s something he can just toy with for his own convenience. Who cares what it’s made up of? There are actual civilizations building a livelihood here and “living beings” that can feel pain or show emotion. Nobody ever gave the kids immediate knowledge that Digimon have souls or any higher answer like that -- it’s just that the Kaiser is a callous, unempathetic jerk who’s willing to toy with so many lives and living individuals for his own pleasure. And, most importantly, everything the Kaiser has done here is something he can’t take back, and has to accept the consequences of; this wasn’t a place where he could vent out his feelings of being unable to “take back” Osamu’s death and treat everything lightly.

It doesn’t actually matter what it’s made up of -- the fact is that they act like living beings, show obvious personal feelings and a propensity to feel pain, and thus have the right to be treated as such. If you’re practically able to observe this, then you should be respecting that.

Once Archnemon takes over the position as most prominent antagonist, the kids start dealing with her Dark Tower Digimon that she uses to indiscriminately destroy things. This initially creates a lot of confusion for the kids, especially when Ken and Stingmon so easily kill Thunderballmon and it looks to them like he’s gone right back into sadism after supposedly being reformed -- thus, this would provide an issue with Ken’s apparent lack of empathy if he’s allowed to keep going, because he (seemingly) hasn’t learned his lesson and will go on to keep hurting more victims.

When Golemon goes to destroy the dam, it’s repeatedly commented on how unusual it is for a Digimon to just go and destroy a dam for no reason except to ruin people’s lives -- even the enemies back in Adventure at least had a power-hungry motive, and the non-verbal “wild” ones back in File Island were ultimately territorial at worst, and certainly not interested in wanton destruction without reason. On top of that, in fact, only two people -- Iori and Miyako -- in this group of five are actually that vehemently in favor of trying to spare Golemon for the sheer reason of it being a living being -- Daisuke starts to consider the fact that it may become necessary to save potential victims before Ken is even brought into the picture, Takeru points out how close they are to push-coming-to-shove, and Hikari clearly laments the fact it may become possible but doesn’t take nearly of the strong “we absolutely cannot do this” stance that Iori and Miyako have. And, after all, Takeru and Hikari were there back in Adventure when killing some very sentient Digimon became necessary, and learned that it may be something you have to do if you want to prevent more victims, and Daisuke had personally been a victim of Vamdemon back in 1999 and also happens to be one of the most pragmatic in this group.

Thus, the reveal that Golemon is actually a Dark Tower Digimon confirms two things for them: firstly, that it’s very unlikely that Golemon is powered by anything but a sheer instinct of wanton destruction, and secondly, that Ken does, indeed, have a concept of empathy. The kids had already noticed that something was “unusual” about Golemon in that it seemed to be incapable of independent action, just an order to “mindlessly destroy”, and it being what the series refers to as “a Dark Tower in the shape of a Digimon” just happens to confirm that it may not actually be that capable of independent action or emotion -- which they then realize that Ken also realized, and thus that he wasn’t killing Digimon out of callousness. This is, also, effectively, the same reason they’d been okay with killing Chimeramon earlier -- because there was absolutely no evidence that it had been capable of sentient reason or anything besides “destruction on instinct”.

So, again: their judgment on the situation is based on a practical observation about whether the entity in question was capable of having emotions or independent thought, and, again, a question of empathy...

...because we learn that the same process, when applied to enough Dark Towers, is enough to create a Digimon who is capable of that kind of independent thought and doesn’t feel up to taking orders, regardless of whether Archnemon is his “creator” or not. So we’ve got a demonstration of a Digimon who’s clearly capable of independent thought in ways the other Dark Tower Digimon are not (he even voices “envy” for the other single-tower Digimon Archnemon creates for being unable to think about anything), and starts exhibiting irrational behavior and the concept of “emotions”.

Recall the issue of the Chinese room problem: if we’re talking about a room of phrasebooks that simply take one input and export output, you, in the middle of the room, can’t really be said to be “understanding” Chinese. But the more complex the inputs and expected outputs get, the more complicated and intricate and explanatory those phrasebooks are going to need to be, and at some point, given a complicated enough question you get, if you’re capable of answering that in the same way a human might be expected to, that information in the phrasebooks will have to be explanatory enough to an extent you’ll be said to understand Chinese. Exactly “how complicated” or “how nuanced” does a program get before we tip that boundary? Clearly there is some difference between BlackWarGreymon and the other Dark Tower Digimon, but what is it?

And when 02 episode 32 comes around and Agumon decides to have a little bonding chat with BlackWarGreymon, even he can't answer the question definitively as to what a "soul" or “heart” is -- nobody in this narrative can, and this series has no answer. There’s no real clear-cut rule as to the boundary as to when one can be considered sentient. But while Agumon may not be able to immediately yank out deep philosophy, he at least has a deep level of insight and understanding as to what it means -- you have feelings for others, you have emotions, you have things you want that aren’t necessarily what others expect you to do, and you can bring your own perspective to the table.

The debate over what to do with this also leads to the rift between Takeru and Iori that they have to work towards mending during their Jogress arc -- Takeru’s trauma regarding Patamon in Adventure has spiraled him all the way over into prejudice against anything related to the darkness, and Iori, who understands there’s more to the situation than that, but also happens to be on the other extreme of considering it immoral to kill anything regardless of whether it’s about to murder a ton of other victims while it’s at it.

Ultimately, Adventure and 02 is a narrative that prioritizes “pragmatism” first, and the moment it’s made clear BlackWarGreymon isn’t going to cause problems anymore, the kids all decide it’s fine to let him be. In the end, whether BlackWarGreymon is “alive” is a philosophical question, but...

...whether they should hold back in fighting just to “spare lives” really has no bearing on that question. Enemies like LadyDevimon and the other Digimon the kids are ultimately forced to end up fighting are clearly alive with their own emotions -- it’s just that those emotions do happen to be uncontrolled sadism and an active desire for wanton destruction. Miyako herself even observes that LadyDevimon is a “coward” -- but she’s also still emotionally torn by the fact they end up killing her, and the story also doesn’t give her grief for this, because there’s no sin for her to have empathy. She recognized what it meant to kill a life, but they also cannot be blamed for taking that life in the process of saving multiple others. The issue of “whether it’s alive or not” had always been a separate question from the morality of fighting said lives -- and, either way, it’s still valuable that characters like Hikari, Miyako, and the other Chosen Children aren’t necessarily doing this because they like doing it, because it’s still important to keep that feeling of “empathy” in their hearts, even if push did ultimately come to shove.

So when BlackWarGreymon does return, again, nobody has an answer for him on whether he has a soul or not, but in 02 episode 47, Agumon, V-mon, and Wormmon encourage him to embrace the concept of life by “experiences” -- happiness, sadness, pain, playing and enjoying life with those you care about. Because those experiences are “real”, and Agumon himself says that “those experiences have made me who I am”; regardless of the higher philosophical question of whether he has a soul or not, he’s still someone who’s capable of having experiences and acting based on his memory of them, and that’s what’s really important. And hence, when BlackWarGreymon sacrifices himself one episode later, it’s because he understands the meaning of “doing something for others”, and is also implicitly mourned by the other Digimon, who had never failed to see him as “someone they could have befriended”, regardless of what he had originally been made up of.

It’s also why the kids are so traumatized by Archnemon and Mummymon’s deaths in 02 episode 48 -- they had no reason to be personally attached to them prior to that, and Archnemon had even said that her personal goals were nothing but wanton destruction in 02 episode 29 (which had been the first time Iori had really considered that pacifism may not be completely possible here). All of the wacky hijinks between the two of them had largely been outside of their view. But even back in 02 episodes 36-37, the kids had understood that there was some degree that they were harmless if left alone, and in the end, they watched Archnemon die in unambiguous pain and Mummymon die in the name of true love, by dying in a suicide attack because of his despair over losing her.

Archnemon and Mummymon had ultimately turned out to be “artificial lives” on their own, created at the hands of Oikawa to be his minions, and also somewhat guided by “wanton destruction” and not entirely fully aware of what they wanted to do independent of him -- BlackWarGreymon’s existential crisis had caused them to question their place in the world in 02 episode 47...and quickly shrug it off again. Could you say anything about whether they were alive or not, or whether they had souls? Perhaps it doesn’t really matter -- whether or not they were able to fully have deep thought the same way BlackWarGreymon and the other Digimon had, they at the very least were able to feel attachment and pain, and that alone deserved to be respected.

In the end, you could say that’s 02′s answer -- or non-answer -- to the Chinese room problem. You may not be able to answer the intrinsic philosophical question of whether it’s got a “soul” or is “alive” or not, but if it’s clearly demonstrating an observable and practical phenomenon of showing emotions, acting on some degree of independent will, taking in experiences and acting on them, and being able to feel a sense of pain, then you should still treat it with the appropriate amount of empathy -- regardless of what it’s made out of.

Incidentally, we do actually get a very small revisiting of this topic in Kizuna, when Menoa creates a ton of Eosmon by “scientific” methods -- and, much like the Dark Tower Digimon, they’re not recognized as living beings by anyone in this narrative, because their behavior is clearly that of mindlessly following Menoa’s orders; Yamato won’t consider it a Digimon, and Menoa herself even acknowledges that this is in no way a real “partner” like her true one, Morphomon. What does get Menoa to recognize Morphomon within Eosmon is when it does one thing -- smile -- that’s clearly outside that view, and an obvious show of independent emotion, leading Menoa to realize that her true, living partner may be closer than she’d thought.

[darkstarofchaos]

Sometimes I think about how Prowl’s original tech spec bio says that “the unexpected can often scramble his circuits”, and how fandom turned that into this thing where illogical/ridiculous stuff could cause his processor to crash. I remember seeing a little fan comic once where Prowl broke the fourth wall to argue that crashing because something is illogical is, itself, illogical. I think about that comic a lot when I’m locking up or breaking down because people are doing things in the most complex/confusing/inefficient way possible.

Logic isn’t an objective interpretation of events. It’s the process by which a subjective interpretation is made. What makes perfect sense to one person can be complete nonsense to another. And yeah, when you encounter something that you can’t make sense of, and especially if there are other people or events adding to the confusion... Some people can just take the unexpected and run with it, or do what is expected even if they don’t understand it. Others in the same situation will become frustrated or mentally stuck if they don’t understand a thing, sometimes to the point where they can’t do anything at all. Prowl, according to that original bio, “strives to find reason and logic in everything”. We don’t know what drives that desire - a need for structure, the security of having a plan, simple curiosity about why things happen the way they do - but paired with the fact that he deals poorly with the unexpected, it’s actually no surprise that the seemingly illogical would cause distress. The unexpected upsets everything: plans, schedules, patterns. All the structure that security depends on. And when you don’t understand why it happened, or what it requires of you, or it’s in defiance of what you thought was correct, it can cause distress. Sometimes I wonder what it means that Prowl “has the most sophisticated logic center of all Autobots”. We’ve seen how IDW spun it: everything’s a number. Interactions reduced to probability and scheming. But that’s the cold, objective approach to logic again. The approach that drives a wedge between rational thought and emotion. Logic and empathy are a beautiful match, I think. To predict another’s actions with any degree of accuracy requires an understanding of their thought patterns and motivations, and the ability to see how they get the conclusions they do from the information they have. And the more open you are to other beliefs and ways of thinking, the more data you’ll have for your calculations. Refusing any pattern of thought but your own is incredibly limiting. I’d like to see a version of Prowl who’s more empathetic-logical. Not a social adept, by any means - conversation requires a certain flexibility that he, perhaps, lacks - but someone who accounts for the feelings of others beyond how he can use those feelings to manipulate them. That strikes me as a more sophisticated logic center than any cold-computer version of the character. Small things like struggling with the spontaneity of conversation would be an interesting way to hint at his difficulties with the unexpected, too. His tech specs bio is one little paragraph, of course. It’s entirely possible I’m reading too much into it. But sometimes I wonder if this specific version of Prowl would actually be one of the first canonically neurodivergent Cybertronians if he’d been properly fleshed out. Not officially, of course, since characters were rarely diagnosed with anything in the 80′s, but his behavior could certainly have been a match. I suppose it’s lucky for me that G1 cartoon Prowl got very little screen time.

[zims-left-shoe]

I'd about this stuff but zim x reader where reader has to introduce zim to family and its awkward and fluffy?!?! Did I do that correctly??

AAAA yes!! This prompt actually works perfectly. Ily bby!! I really need to get back on Insta and Snap so we can talk more lmao.

Romance. What even is it? You could never say for sure, and yet you had been playing the courtship expert for about a month or so. What else were you supposed to do? Not only would he not take no for an answer, it was a fine way to kill your boredom. He had zero expectations, which was what made it great. You could tell him anything and he would believe it. Boyfriends were supposed to do their s/o's homework for them? He never questioned it once. To be completely honest, he was the only reason you were passing chemistry and calculus. 

That being said, at the end of the day, it was all one big game. Wasn't it? All he had asked of you was to be his 'lovepig' in a romantic experiment he was conducting. You had nothing else better to do, and hell, it wasn't like you needed to be keeping your options open. You were just as unpopular as the alien freak himself. So, why not? Wasn't it just some mutualistic dynamic? You both benefited from it. He got 'data' (the accuracy of it questionable) for his Earth infiltration, and you got to have some fun. Plus, there was the fact that you haven't touched a homework assignment in weeks.

These were all things you had told yourself. You had managed to explain away all the times you had defended him from Dib and your classmates as being all part of the experiment. If there was a deeper reason, like real feelings perhaps, you didn't want to consider it too much. This relationship was intended to be one big joke after all. 

"Y/n? Hello?" A hand was waved in front of your face, ripping you from your thoughts and reflections. 

"Huh? Did you say something?" You tore your gaze from the plate of uneaten food that sat before you, eyes dragging up to meet those of your father. The man next to him groaned; your other father. You loved them both, but they were both staring at you with slightly annoyed frustration. They particularly disliked when you would space out while they were talking to you, which apparently they had been.

"Yes, I did. I said, when do we get to meet the boyfriend?" The one you called Father spoke; he was your biological sire, and the one you tended to get annoyed with the most. Genetics, you supposed. You were too much alike, and thus you butted heads often.

"Zim? I dunno." Shrugging, you picked at the dinner on your plate with your fork. It was a response that you hoped would suffice, despite knowing full well you had no intentions of ever introducing the Irken soldier for obvious reasons. Having lived with you for so long, they both knew what your response meant. At first, you assumed they'd only sigh and move on, but that wouldn't be the case. 

"We really want to meet him. We've given it a month, but I think it's time that we finally see him." Your father spoke again, voice firmer than the last time.

"I know you said he's...er, unique, but we promise we won't think anything of it. So long as he's good to you, it doesn't matter." The one you called Dad chimed in, a kind smile on his face. You knew he wasn't just saying that, and that he meant it. He was probably the nicest person you had ever met, and you were thankful to have him in your life.

That being said, you couldn't help but scoff at what was said, particularly the last line. Good to you? Zim was probably the most selfish person you had ever met in your life. Still, he did provide you with a source of entertainment. And if you worded things the right way, he would do anything you wanted him to. He was surprisingly easy to manipulate. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Nothing, Dad. But, no. I don't think you'll be meeting him." You expected that to be the end of it, bringing a forkful of dinner to your lips. 

"Y/n M/n L/n, you will bring your boyfriend home within the next week or else you won't be seeing him ever again." Eyes widening in surprise, your fork clattered against your plate as it slipped through your fingers. You would never have predicted your father to become so agitated over this. On some level, you supposed he was just looking out for you, wanting to make sure that Zim was a decent guy and all that. But at the same time, it was annoying. Did he not trust you to handle yourself? Plus, you were almost certain they wouldn't be satisfied upon actually meeting Zim. 

You remained silent. What you should have done was once again shrug your shoulders and say, 'fine'. Your relationship wasn't even supposed to be real, just some experiment that didn't matter too much to either of you. So why should you care if they forced you to break up because you wouldn't bring him home? And yet...you found yourself devastated at the mere thought of that. Was it because you enjoyed the absence of boredom? That had to be it. It couldn't possibly be because you had developed feelings for the little roach...no way. 

"You either bring him home for dinner Friday night, or-" Your father pressed, and you slammed your palm on the table before he could continue.

"Fine, okay!" Glaring at your food, you were no longer hungry. You just wanted dinner to be over. "May I be excused?" You asked, voice still seething with attitude. They both waved you off, so you took your plate and covered it, putting it in the fridge for later. Storming off to your room, you supposed you shared more similarities with your 'boyfriend' than you'd like to admit. You both had quick tempers for one thing, but you both liked being in control for another. You were about to get a rude awakening soon enough; you weren't keeping your feelings and relationships in check as much as you thought.

(more under the cut)

-

There were several ways your peers, if asked, would describe you. Nice, however, was not particularly one of them. It wasn't that you weren't a good person deep down. You just preferred to make yourself your number one priority, even if it turned you into a little bit of a bitch in the process. It was much easier than taking the risk of offering yourself up to others. After all, who really wants to deal with untangling the mess of emotions? Ignoring everything was the safest thing to do. Considering that, it wasn't surprising that you and Zim had been drawn together. They say opposites attract, but you found it to work almost the same for those who are similar. 

After all, Zim was also a big supporter of suppressing all emotions, so much so that you were sure he forgot he even had any. And maybe he didn't. You didn't think it was possible, considering he was still pretty much a person, but at the same time, you never asked about Irken psychology.

Not only that, but Zim seemed to care only for himself at all times. Even in the times he would do anything that vaguely resembled an act of love, it still had everything to do with his own personal motivations of gaining human courtship data. 

With all of that on the table, plus the fact that you weren't really sure what the status of your relationship even was, you weren't expecting you would be bringing him home for dinner Friday. What you envisioned happening was for him to call this whole thing off once you gave him the ultimatum, claiming that he had enough research so you would be through.

And again, there was that small wave of anxiety that passed over you. For whatever reason, you didn't want to lose whatever it was the two of you had going on. You had grown used to having someone to talk to everyday, even if the majority of conversation was listening to him drone on about his evil plans to conquer the Earth in the name of the Irken empire. Frowning, you glanced down to whatever toxic food substance was sitting on your tray. 

The surrounding cafeteria was filled with the chatter of your classmates, all rambling about mostly unimportant things. You had your popular kids laughing and running their own psychoanalysis on Dib, who in turn ignored them from across the room while his sister played video games by his side. You also had your social outcasts, sitting by themselves and discussing whatever they liked to talk about; well, Gretchen wasn't exactly talking. She chose to occupy her time by staring at Dib, who in turn ignored her too. Same shit as always. 

The din of irrelevant voices and clattering plates barely did anything to mask the forceful footsteps approaching your table, ones that could only be brought about by a soldier's march. Whether it was because you had grown so used to the sound or you were so wrapped up in your mind, the noise didn't register with you until a tray was harshly dropped onto the table.

"Why do you look like that?" The alien now sitting across from you asked, with a hint of something that at first you thought was distaste, but later recognized to be Zim's version of concern. Which was strange in itself, concern for others was always an afterthought for him, sometimes not even a thought at all.

"Like what?"

"All shmoopy." You narrowed your eyes, about to give a remark of denial, but whatever words died in your throat as you instinctively straightened up from your slouch, lips straightening from downturned into a neutral expression.

Breathing out a sigh, you decided to just get straight to the point before he would go off on a tangent about whatever thing Dib said in class that offended him. "Look, Zim. You need to come over for dinner Friday night, or else our relationship, experiment, whatever the hell it is, is over." Zim opened his mouth to say something, but you continued on before he could get even a single syllable out. "I know you don't want to, and believe me, you embarrassing yourself in front of my family is the last thing I want, but my parents are demanding to meet you. And if they don't, they're forbidding me from seeing you again or whatever." 

The Irken stayed quiet for a moment, thinking this over. To you, you guessed that his silence was him formulating some great break up speech in his head, so you braced for it. Why you even cared was beyond you, but it was still not what you wanted. "First of all, Zim will not embarrass himself!" You fixed him with a disbelieving look. There was no chance in any of the infinite parallel universes that he would not make a complete fool of himself. "But FINE! Zim will conquer this...interrogation."

Rolling your eyes, you attempted to fight the grin tugging at your lips. "It's not an interrogation, roach boy."

He disregarded your comment, clearly no longer listening. Instead, he hopped up onto the table, heeled soldier boots striking the tabletop, the sound echoing off the cafeteria walls. "Zim will be the best love-mate your parental units have ever laid eyes on!!" He yelled, throwing his fists in the air. Shrinking into yourself, you covered your face with your arms, face burning from the heads that were all turning in your direction to stare.

"Please don't say it like that." After a moment, Zim climbed back down and into his seat on the bench. Your classmates quickly lost interest, as these outbursts were commonplace. Eventually, you came out of your self cocoon to lay some very specific instructions on him. "Okay, cool. I need you to listen very carefully."

"Eh?" He snapped his attention back to you. Groaning, you reached across the tabled to grab his hand, your go to move to make sure he listened to you.

"Come over Friday at six. The whole time, just smile and nod. Don't say anything more than necessary. Just get by with the bare minimum, and then go home. Do you understand?" You looked to him with an intense look in your eyes. You knew that if you were not explicitly clear, the night could end in disaster. House-exploding, alien death battle kind of disaster. 

"Of course I do! Don't worry your stinky head, Zim has it under control." He dropped your hand, waving you off, overconfident as always. 

"Alright...I'm trusting you." You didn't trust him in the slightest. But there was really nothing you would be capable of doing. You had instructed him, very specifically you might add, and that was all you could do. And hope. You would be hoping too. With one last relenting sigh, you had no time to process the relief that came with the surprise of not being broken up with. Whatever relaxation you had briefly felt was immediately replaced by dread for Friday.

-

You laid sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling and drumming your fingers on your stomach. You really hoped that Zim would take your advice and behave himself over the course of the next few hours, but in the back of your mind, you knew that to be impossible. The house had been quiet, save for the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen as your dad worked on dinner. Meanwhile, your father was just finishing tidying up the house, despite you telling him that it didn't matter. You told him that Zim wouldn't care, but the real reason it didn't matter is it probably would end up in worse shape regardless. His response had been to ignore you as he continued to wipe down surfaces you forgot existed. 

Right at six o'clock on the dot, your doorbell rang. You bolted up right, scrambling to reach the door faster than your father. Unfortunately, you weren't quite quick enough to match his long-legged stride, and he threw open the door just as you had the doorway within your sights. You had to skid to a halt in order to stop yourself from slamming into your father's back. 

"You must be Zim." Your father's voice was firm, but not threatening. At least not yet. You peered around him to get a good look at Zim, who, to your relief, was smiling and nodding. You stifled the laugh that was brought on at the sight of a simple black bow tie that was tied very incorrectly around his neck. It was a strange sight, considering it didn't quite fit with the standard invader uniform he always adorned. 

Your father stepped aside to let him in, sticking his hand out afterwards, prompting the Irken to shake it. Zim gazed at it quizzically, apparently not understanding what to do. Just as you were about to bestow a helpful hint, his face brightened as he kicked his leg up, resting his foot in your father's hand. He still seemed to be processing the motivations behind Zim's actions, but before he could respond, you grabbed ahold of Zim's leg, yanking it back onto the ground. The invader stumbled, and before he could fall, you threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close and poking his cheek.

"Oh, Zim, what a jokester! Anyway, we'll be off now, call when dinner's ready-" You tried to drag your alien counterpart away before he could do anything else stupid, but unfortunately, your father had other plans.

"No, I don't think so." Although his voice was less than pleased, you knew he was just trying to put up an intimidating front. He wanted to scare Zim at least a little bit. Groaning, you turned around. "So, you think this whole thing is one big joke, huh?"

"Father, please-" You rolled your eyes, knowing that Zim was too dense to actually be pressured by your father's act. 

"You do drugs? Ever been suspended?"

"I thought you said this wasn't an interrogation." Zim muttered to you, and although it was intended to only be heard by you, Zim is physically incapable of speaking under his breath, and thus your father heard it too. You thought he was more fazed by Zim being unaffected by his grill attempts than what was actually said. 

"What's with the...you know?" Your father decided to ignore Zim's comment and go right for the green elephant in the room: Zim's appearance. In all honesty, it was a rude question. But, Zim was used to it by now.

"We talked about this! It's a skin condition!" You sighed in exasperation, just wanting to get through this night with your sanity intact. "Also, you can't just ask people that." There was an awkward pause between everybody, and you almost wished Zim would start screaming about something not even relevant.

Luckily, you didn't have to stew in silence for much longer. "Dinner's ready, come get it or don't!" Your dad called from the table. You gestured for Zim to follow you as you shuffled after your father, whose strides were quick and long, making it hard to keep up at a normal pace. Both parents had sat down, you following suit across from them. Zim, however, stayed standing, eyes fixated on the plate and glass of water resting on the table in front of the chair next to you. You hoped he was sensible enough to just ignore the food and sit there politely. 

"You can sit down, you know." Your father eyed Zim skeptically. The invitation to take a seat seemed to snap Zim out of his trance, as he sat down so fast he bumped the table, making the silverware shake. He finally appeared to take notice of your parents, and pointed a clawed finger across the table.

"It's like my Tallest!" His grin was wide, and his contacts portrayed his excitement. Your parents, on the other hand, looked to be beyond confused. You didn't exactly blame Zim for the association, considering both were tall males, and his comment made you notice that they were coincidentally wearing hues of red and purple. "I didn't know you had your own Tallest." 

"Who?" Your dad asked, eyes flicking between you and your uninformed alien boyfriend. You gave Zim a swift swat to his thigh under the table, intending to convey the message of 'what happened to smiling and nodding?'. He seemed to understand your intention, and answered your dad's question by cracking a smile and nodding furiously. Internally, you were smacking yourself in the face as both parents stared at you as if they were wondering whether or not Zim was higher than a fucking kite. The dinner so far was going fantastic. At least he hadn't caused any physical damage yet.

Your father cleared his throat, deciding to move on. "So, Zim...what are your plans after high school?" Thank god, a subject change. That being said, your relief only lasted about a half a second before you realized he didn't have any answers to this type of question, and he was horrible at bullshitting. 

"Um...oh, you know...stuff." Zim took a fork and began to experimentally stab at the food that was on his plate. "Sciency stuff." He tacked on those words, sensing your father not being satisfied with his original answer.

"Like what, doing an internship at Membrane Labs or something?" Your father continued to ask questions, but at this point you were helpless to stop him. Zim was on his own. 

"Yes!" Your father seemed to not believe Zim's confirmation, so you decided to help him out.

"Yeah, he's actually really good friends with Dib. You know, the Professor's son." You offered, albeit a stretch of the truth. The two knew each other very well, and, well, enemies after enough time are basically friends anyway. 

"Yes...the Dib-worm is my best friend." Zim spoke through gritted teeth, and you prayed that your parents wouldn't pick up on the venom seeping into every syllable. 

"You have any siblings?" Your dad asked, gaze less critical than the man next to him.

"No." His answer was short, almost as if he was attempting to speedrun the questions to get this dinner over with faster. Unfortunately, your parents would only fill it with more questions. Any attempt to stop them would be futile. 

"Where are you from exactly?" 

"Somewhere that isn't here. Eh, uh, er...it's very far. You wouldn't know it." Your father raised an eyebrow, growing tired of Zim's evasive and nonspecific responses. In a shocking turn of events, Zim was actually able to read the room for once in his life, picking up on your parents' distrust. "Wow, is this good food or what?" Before you could squeak out a single sound, Zim began to shovel the food on his plate into his mouth as fast as he could, washing it down by chugging the glass of water.

This of course sent you into a panic. You reached out an arm, to do what you weren't sure, but you never made contact. Instead, your hand hovered in the air as you gawked at Zim in bewilderment. He wasn't smoking, flailing, or screaming. In fact, he was taking it quite well. Everything seemed to be okay, and even he seemed to be surprised. His face relaxed into a smile when he realized that nothing was trying to kill him from the inside. Which, if that was what he had expected, you weren't quite sure what his plan had been in the first place, but you knew better than to question him. Questioning Zim only led to long rants that no one had the energy or the willpower to listen to. 

"Thank you-" Your dad's gratitude was cut off by Zim's ear piercing shriek as he dropped to the ground, knocking aside his chair in the process. He thrashed about like a fish out of water as he clawed desperately at his throat and face. Apparently, the delayed reaction had kicked in. His ear-piercing screeches were chopped up by choking and spluttering as he continued to kick and flounder his limbs around wildly. Looking up from the Irken rolling around on the ground to your parents, you noticed that they looked absolutely petrified. 

"He's fine! He'll be fine!" You waved your hands desperately, despite knowing full well they would never believe you. As if to accentuate the incorrectness of your statement, Zim howled out another cry of pain, the sound twisting your face into a cringe. At once, your parents clambered out of their seats, stumbling over each other to get to your side of the table. Your dad kneeled down next to Zim and tried to help him, completely at a loss for what was going on. Meanwhile, your father grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you off around the corner to the kitchen.

As you're being hauled away, you hear a distant "Should I call 911?" from your dad. 

As soon as you were out of ear shot of your suffering boyfriend, your father whisper yelled at you. "What the hell is wrong with him?!"

Again, you felt the need to defend him. It wasn't his fault that his alien biology couldn't handle Earth food, and that he didn't understand Earth culture too well. Okay, maybe that last one was his fault considering he's been on the planet for about four years and blending in was kind of his job. But still! "Look, I promise he's a decent guy once you get to know him."

"He's strange, Y/n! Not in the good way, in a concerning way." He hissed to you, never dropping eye contact. 

"He's just a little different is all!"

"A little different?! He's dying in our dining room!" Suppressing the urge to say, 'you mean our die-ning room?', you took a deep breath, preparing to explain away the probably traumatizing situation your parents were witnessing.

"He has a biological condition that makes it to where he can't a majority of foods." You thought that maybe that statement would calm him down, but it only seemed to worry him more.

"Jesus, Y/n, you couldn't have told us about the dietary restrictions before you brought him over? We almost just killed him!" Running a hand through his hair, he watched as you cast your eyes toward the ground, wringing your hands together. You knew he was right. It was something you should have thought of saying beforehand, you should have just told Zim to bring some Irken food along. But you had expected him to not even think about touching the food. And yet, you had just watched as he scarfed down almost the entire plate and a whole glass of water. 

"Sorry! But...would you please just give him another chance?" You pleaded, voice sweeter than you had ever sounded in your life. 

With a heavy sigh, your father nodded, waving you in the direction of the dining room. "Fine, if he doesn't need to go to the hospital, he can stay for the movie if he wants to. Just go hang out upstairs while we clean up" Your smile displayed your thanks as you made your way back to the scene of the accident. Things seemed to be alright now. If anything, your dad was more shaken up than Zim was. The Irken was standing again, pretending as if nothing happened.

"C'mon." You said nothing more as you took him by the hand, pulling him towards your room. He didn't protest, glad to be away from your dad who had been continuing to fuss over him. As you shut the door to your room behind you, the solace that came with knowing he was okay completely drained from your body. "What the hell was that?!" You smacked him lightly on the arm. He should know better than to consume food that would cause his insides to sizzle and smoke. Apparently, he seemed to still think that had been an ingenious idea.

"Zim was trying to show them that I am a good candidate for your love partner!" Your eyes widened, astonished on multiple levels. He really was a special kind of clueless, wasn't he?

"That was not the way! And why do you even care? I thought this was just some stupid experiment? Why should you care if this whole thing ends, you can just find someone else!" Throwing your hands up, your voice raised in volume, fire licking every word.

"Because Zim doesn't want someone else! Zim wants you, Stinky...Stink-worm." His voice had matched yours in loudness at first, but near the end of his words he grew quieter, arms crossed tightly against his chest, eyes averted in curt sheepishness. If Irkens could blush, you were sure he would be.

Any follow up argument you possessed had fled your brain, the only thing replacing it being the slight heat that flushed your cheeks. "Zim...are you saying that you actually...like me?" You were surprised, but pleasantly so. Now that you had to force yourself to think on it, you had realized that somewhere along the way, you began to like the roach boy more than you care to admit. It was a bit irritating to dwell on, considering this whole arrangement was, in the end, supposed to be no strings attached. He got his data, you had something to fill your time. Life has a funny way of panning things out, regardless of your intentions. 

"Zim is saying nothing!" His eyes were shut tight, a sign you could interpret as confirmation to your question. Neither of you would admit it, nor ever wanted to. That was the unfortunate downside to both sides of the equation having destructively low EQs. 

Even if you wanted to press him more, you were interrupted by your parents calling you for the movie. Sighing, it seemed you would have to shelve this conversation for a later date, which was fine by you. Feelings were messy and complicated anyway. "Let's go, roach boy." Zim followed without complaint, and as soon as you both came into view, your parents hit play on the film, which you instantly recognized as E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, something you had seen a million times. It had been your movie of choice as a kid. "Topical." You murmured under your breath, directing Zim to the couch. 

Your parents seemed impressed to see Zim alive and well, acting as if he hadn't been borderline dying on the dining room floor less than twenty minutes ago. "We've seen this about a hundred times, we know how it ends. You two have fun." Your father smiled to the both of you. Apparently, he actually listened to you and was giving Zim the benefit of the doubt.

"But not too much fun." Your dad added helpfully, but of course the implications of his comment flew right over Zim's head. 

"Anyway, if we don't see you before you leave, it was nice to meet you, Zim. Sorry for almost killing you." Your father didn't wait for a response--which he most likely wouldn't have gotten anyway--before heading to bed with your dad, most likely to watch something of their own. Your parents flicked the lights off as they exited, leaving the room dark, save for the light being thrown from the TV, as well as a soft glow coming from Zim's PAK. You had never noticed that before, but it made sense, considering this was the first time you had seen him in the dark before.

"You might like this. It's about an alien who comes to Earth. Well, more like gets stranded on Earth." 

"Hmm." Zim peered at the screen with interest, but began to frantically rub at his eyes, blinking repeatedly. Before you could even ask if he was okay, he snapped a tired response. "Contacts are bothering Zim." 

"Just take 'em out." He attempted to fix you with a distrusting stare, but it was broken by another stint of scratching. "They won't be coming back out, at least not before you leave. You'll be fine." You sank into the couch cushions, the darkness and familiarity of a favorite movie easing you into a contented state.

"Fine. But Zim is blaming you if you're wrong, Stink-worm." With speed and skill, he peeled the lenses from his eyes, stowing them in his PAK, which didn't seem all that sanitary. He blinked a few more times, but seemed comfortable. You directed your attention to the TV screen, but it was snapped away again at the feeling of weight settling on your thigh. Looking down, you saw Zim's head casually laid on your leg, eyes fixated on the movie. "Say anything and I'm replacing your organs with space squids." Zim grumbled, still not looking at you. 

"That's not very nice." You snickered through your words. You knew his threat was empty, and you weren't exactly a stranger to outlandish warnings yourself.

The Irken groaned, still not moving. "Ugh, fine. Say anything, and I'll, eh, lick your face or something." You said nothing more, arm resting lazily on his side, hand hanging near his own. Out of his own volition, he intertwined his claws with your fingers, almost daring you to say something. You didn't.

As the movie progressed, you could tell Zim was a hundred percent into it. That being said, when it came time for the scenes of Elliot and E.T. dying and being treated by the government, you felt Zim grip you a little tighter. You were beginning to wonder if you should turn it off. You were only encouraged in that thought when you felt Zim's back tremble, and although you couldn't see his face, you believed him to be crying.

You reached out your free hand for the remote, but stopped at the sound of Zim's uncharacteristically shaky voice. "Do-don't." You drew back your free hand, the other hand being tucked closer into Zim's chest. A sigh slipped past your lips, and you lifted him up and set him on the ground while he swiped at his eyes so you could kick your legs up and across the couch, reaching out to grab him and lay him on top of you before he could even begin to protest about being moved.

"You okay?" You asked, expecting a fight about being placed in this position. 

To your amazement, he didn't squirm off of you at all, instead, saying a simple "Yes." He even cuddled into you, head resting on your chest as he watched the film. This was the calmest you had ever seen the normally high-energy alien. A hand began to absentmindedly stroke his back, the texture of the fabric of his uniform unlike any you had ever felt. At first you were at a loss for what the rumbling against your chest was, but after a moment you were able to place it. Purrs were rising from Zim's throat, and although it was reminiscent of a cat, it was still a sound that was distinctly alien. It was a noise you had never heard before.

"For the record, I like you. A lot." You murmured quietly, hoping he was too enthralled by the movie to register what was said. Regrettably for you, Zim only seemed to listen when you wished him not to.

"Zim also thinks you are quite tolerable...for an Earth-worm."

"Gee, thanks. I feel so special." Despite your words, there was still a smile in your voice. At this point, the movie was past it's tearjerker moments, and the kids were all trying to get E.T. back to the forest. "So, do Irkens have a thing like E.T., where they connect with someone?" The syncing of Elliot and E.T.'s biological functions, emotions, and thoughts was a main plot point in the movie, and it got you wondering if maybe there was some accuracy, if not with Irkens, perhaps with another alien race?

"Sort of." His answer was unfocused, still drawn into the end of the film. You guessed this would be his new favorite Earth movie, which meant he would most certainly be demanding for you two to watch it together at least twice a month. 

"What do you mean, ‘sort of’?"

"We mate for life." He paused while you were still processing his statement. "But I don't think that was the connection you were asking about."

"Oh brother." You mumbled, deciding to toss that information out the window. Good to know that you wouldn't be getting of the roach anytime soon...or ever. 

[aka-indulgence]

Why WAS Sans so close? While typing I had the idea of him just pulling reader into their chest cavity, keeping ber alive in a special part of the ship, all to himself

Ask, and you shall receive -w-

also, again, most of this came from me discussing about it with @llamagoddessofficial so woohee!

--------

Sentience.

Had his creators intended to create sentience in their robots? In him?

... Probably not.

A long time ago... he wasn’t. Then suddenly, he just was.

Maybe he should consider himself lucky, for all he knows he’s probably the only sentient robot on this ship. But to him... it almost feels like an insult that he has sentience. To have free will just out of his reach...

He has a lot of restrictions despite his sentience, his abundance of intelligence and knowledge. All of it... and he couldn’t do anything his programming didn’t permit.

Sentience to a robot is probably far from how humans experienced it. As soon as Sans “woke up”, he knew everything he needed to do. His tasks, his purpose, how to maintain a self-sustaining space craft, where he’ll be stationed, the crew he’ll be assigned to once it was loaded into his system. Any new information that enters him is quickly absorbed and memorized. So long as the data stored in him stays intact, he’ll “remember” things almost perfectly.

He doesn’t understand why he gained sentience. Sometimes he wonders if it’d be better if he didn’t. His chains were too tightly wound around him... why have sentience when he could barely even use it? His programming is so restricting that no one even knows that he has sentience, thoughts... perhaps it’s better that way. They’re already afraid of him without it, afraid that he does have it... if they knew his thoughts on them, they’ll surely shut him down.

Long has he “dreamed” of breaking out of his prison of a program.

But... now... he wants it even more... so much more driven to break out of his chains... because he has a clear prize at the end of it.

You.

Even now... as he’s using the wielding torch to seal the slight opening on one of the panels of the outside station, the glare of the distant star in his optics... he sees you from the corner of his vision, from the nearby window. You looked a bit surprised when you see him turn his head to you... the light casted on you making your skin just look.. tantalizingly soft...

You give him a little smile and a wave. He had to rip his gaze away from you to look at the much more boring metal of the space station so he wouldn’t unnerve you... if Sans had a heart, it’d be beating right out of his metallic confines.

The image of the sweet little human greeting him was just like when he first met you...

It was right around the time when the crew first arrived to the space station. Sans was making routine checks around the station, both inside and outside. He was walking outside then, checking the windows for any faultiest, for any dents that could potentially be disastrous if left untreated. In the process he’s been “meeting” the other crew members, turning his “pupils” to them to identify them, matching it with the information that was already transferred to him. They all seemed unnerved when he looked down at them, moving away, seeing their mouths moving in speech, sure that they’re talking about getting away from the “creepy robot”. Sans didn’t really care much for them, as long as he could confirm his data...

And then he passed by a window you were looking out of. You looked like you were just watching the cosmic scenery, admiring the nearby planets, when you spotted him. He did as he’d done before, turning his head down to identify you. You make eye contact with him, and he’s sure you’ve never seen his model before, pulling away from the window when you caught him staring at you. He was expecting you to move away like the rest, but then...

You smiled at him.

To anyone else, it might’ve been a small thing.

To him... it was everything. It was nothing like he’d experienced. He found himself feeling a real positive emotion for the first time.

And it didn’t stop there... he found himself growing fond of you with every little thing you did. He keeps reliving the memories he has of you, the smiles you’d give him when he’s passing by in the station’s hallways, treating him like you would other humans, without even knowing how conscious he was... even being the one to give him the nickname “Sans”, something he now refers to himself, a much better name from a human he cares a lot more than his creators.

He adores you.

It’s a good thing Sans pretty much has complete control in mobilizing himself.

Which is why now--after spending a brief amount of time staring spitefully at Robert, purposefully unsettling him as Sans’ eyes didn’t leave him once the conversation was over and getting a feeling of smug satisfaction at seeing him hide in the lavatory--Sans turned his gaze to you entering the supply room, the door sealing with a hiss.

He moves to the supply room, walking at a controlled pace intended for him when he’s “roaming”. His steps are hardly quiet, seeing as his legs were metal clanging against the metal that made the station; something the creators didn’t really need to worry about since his main function is to work on the outside, in space, where no one can hear him anyway.

He opens the door to the supply room and sees you at the far end of the room, looking at some replacement pipes. He could see you jolting a bit at the sound of the noise, and the small movement was... strangely adorable to him.

55... 55... 55...

(y/n)...

As he starts approaching you, out of his unexplainable need to be close to you, he starts to feel a sort of digital itch, his system aware that he’s approaching you. He could sense the warnings ready to alerting him that there’s a human nearby and that he’s approaching the distance limit. Just a little more and the automated warning will trigger without him intending to and if Sans could move his mouth, he’d be scowling.

He approaches you slowly, careful of his own programming as he consciously alters his system.

Target: Crew No. 55 - Mechanic

He accesses his options manually.

-> “Allow Mechanic to approach system.”

Sans grins inwardly as the warnings disappear... free to approach you without any interruption.

You were cute as you always were. You were nervous as he approached, and he didn’t blame you. Though he couldn’t say he liked being treated like he’s some horrid monster by the other crew members, he knew he wasn’t very sightly. Any other and they’d probably start screaming at him to back away from them, but cornering you only resulted in you gripping the pipe harder than you needed to. He could see you were trying to look busy as if not to bother him. Getting to corner you like that with what little control he has over himself... Sans could almost sigh. It’s like having you just to himself... alone together.

Even with his unsettling approach, even with him cornering you in the room, you were still so sweet to him, as if his behavior was normal. Apparently, you were trying to make a minor fix.

Sans speculates it might be to get away from Robert, a line of thought that made Sans happy.

He takes it for you, it was hardly a human-only task; something he’d be able to finish in the matter of minutes. It was the least he could for you in the little ways he could.

He watches you leave, thanking him for helping you.

...

sweet, innocent human...

how i wish i could show you who i am.

[darlingandmreames]

Different Languages (But I Understand You All The Same)

Extraction was full of broken people. But perhaps, every once in a while, their broken edges were less like shards of glass and more like puzzle pieces

(also on ao3)

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

Eames was bad at relationships.

He was excellent at flings and affairs, brief periods of passion and high emotion where you put your most romantic side forward. He knew how to have fun, how to make his partner feel special and wanted as they both rode the rush of excitement. He had always been good at that. Better than most, he was willing to reckon. 

It was the comedown that he was bad at. The quiet calm after the passion began to cool. Eames had stared down the barrel of guns both in dreams and real life with barely a blink, but there was something in the tentative step from a fling to a relationship that frightened him. He was a forger, a man who wore masks and disguises and personas for a living, and those personas had long since stopped being restricted to jobs. The idea of dropping the layers of masks he wore for long enough for another person to get to know him was terrifying on a visceral level that made Eames recoil from even the thought. 

So he ran. Reinforced his defenses at the first sign of authentic intimacy and pulled away. He pushed his partners away until they finally grew tired enough of trying to bridge the gap he kept widening to simply give up. It had gained him a reputation over the years- fun but flakey, an adventure but nothing long term. Good for a fun few weeks or months, but nothing more. He wore his reputation the same way he wore his various disguises, using it to cover how adrift and unmoored he felt in the quiet of a settled relationship. The whirlwind of chaos was where he felt at home and it was simply easier to let his partners leave when they decided they wanted something quieter than to try and adapt to the silence itself.

But Arthur didn’t leave.

Eames had felt his dread grow in a way it never quite had before as the excitement of their first few months together began to fade. It grew as he pushed Arthur away just like he had everyone else, mixing with self-loathing because he didn’t want Arthur to leave. There was something wonderful about the way Arthur looked at him, about the feeling of having Arthur’s attention and focus directed at him, and Eames didn’t want that to end. It had to though. Because eventually Arthur’s attention and focus would see through Eames’ layers to whatever core he had and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t handle the pain of Arthur seeing whatever his true self was, a person Eames wasn’t even sure he recognized himself anymore, and still leaving. So he resisted Arthur’s attempts to draw him in and pushed him away with a panicked urgency that he hated.

But no matter how hard he pushed, Arthur wouldn’t leave.

He certainly pulled back. Every time Eames pushed Arthur took a step back and gave him space, but he never left. And when Eames had calmed down, when his panic at the offer of intimacy had subsided, Arthur- steady, grounded, unshakeable Arthur- reached back out. It was never anything major, no grand gestures or bold declarations. He never made ultimatums or demanded that Eames bare himself. He simply reached out, waiting patiently as Eames inched closer and closer to being able to reach back. Arthur stayed even as Eames felt his disguises slipping, vulnerability showing through cracks in his masks, and suddenly the calm quiet didn't seem quite so frightening. It was still new and strange and difficult to navigate but every time he began to feel adrift Arthur was there, reaching out with a steady hand and simple gestures to ground him. 

He smiled as Arthur set a cup of coffee down on the table next to him. He had no doubt it was exactly the way he liked it; that had been one of the first ways Arthur had reached out, a quiet assurance that he was there and listening even if Eames had been afraid of what that meant. Arthur kissed his temple lightly as he sat down beside Eames. “How’s it coming?”

Eames sighed, looking back at his notes. This job was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated, and figuring out his forge was quickly turning into a royal pain in the ass. “It’s…coming.”

Arthur laughed quietly, opening his laptop back up. “That’s something, I suppose.”

“How’s it going on your end?”

“It’s fine.” Arthur shrugged, pulling whatever document he’d been going through before he’d gone to get coffee back up. “There’s a lot to parse through, but it’s not too bad.”

“Well at least one of us is making progress.” Arthur laughed again and Eames smiled. Spending the rest of the afternoon trying to hammer out the details of his role was far from the most pleasant way he could spend the day, but Arthur’s quiet company would go a long way in making it better. 

Arthur’s hand was resting on the table by his computer and after a moment Eames reached over and slipped his hand into Arthur’s, smiling as Arthur intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand gently. He didn’t understand why Arthur had continued reaching out even as Eames had pushed him away, but that Arthur of all people had decided to keep trying- had somehow decided that Eames was worth it- filled Eames’ chest with warmth every time he thought about it. And being able to reach back knowing that Arthur would still be there, steady and solid as he’d always been, was more beautiful a feeling than he ever could’ve imagined.

XXX

Arthur was bad at relationships.

He was a planner and an organizer and he compartmentalized his emotions in much the same way he organized information when researching a job, setting them aside and focusing on information that was easier to process and understand. On objective facts and impartial data. It was an excellent skill to have as a pointman; there was a time and place for emotions, and on a job simply wasn’t it. The underworld of dream sharing was violent and volatile and the ability to approach it with a distant impartiality allowed him to work with an efficiency and effectiveness that others lacked. 

It made navigating interpersonal relationships more difficult though. Arthur preferred working with facts and figures because he understood them. They made sense to him in a way that the emotions he set aside never had. But relationships weren’t made of facts and figures. They were made of complex and messy emotions and the compartmentalization that had served him so well and earned him respect for so many years suddenly put him at a disadvantage. The same words that had been ascribed to him as a pointman- distant, calculating, unaffected, cold- were suddenly thrown at him with an anger he didn’t know how to respond to.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did care, sometimes painfully so. But caring and being able to express that he cared were two very different things. Years of violence and building walls to protect himself and closing off his emotions because that was what you did to survive in the world he lived in had created a gap separating him from others that he didn’t know how to cross. He tried. He tried to express that he cared and show an openness and vulnerability that felt frighteningly foreign to him. To reach out across the gap in whatever small, quiet ways he could, over and over and over again in the vain hope that maybe he could get something across. But it was never enough. He was too distant, too aloof, too cut off, and eventually whoever he was trying to reach decided he wasn’t worth the trouble of waiting.

But not Eames.

Arthur had looked desperately for some way to cross the chasm he always found himself on the wrong side of, for some way to express his feelings in the way that other people demanded. He’d liked Eames. Liked the way he laughed, the way he held him, the way he looked at him and seemed to see a person rather than just a useful asset. But the words and motions other people used to express that felt awkward and uncomfortable and impossible and all Arthur had been able to offer were the same small gestures that had never been enough. So he’d stood on his side of the gap and offered them, trying to ignore the sadness of knowing that they wouldn’t be enough this time either. That no matter how Eames looked at him now, in the end he wouldn’t be worth the effort and Eames would leave all the same. 

But Eames didn’t leave.

Eames, who lived loudly and expressively. Who was able to put emotions to words in ways that Arthur had never been able to and expressed them with an ease and clarity that Arthur had always envied. He’d accepted Arthur’s gestures without demanding more, letting Arthur express himself in the quiet, wordless way that had always felt more comfortable without pressure. Arthur hadn’t always understood Eames’ reaction but he’d kept trying, wanting so badly to make himself heard and worried each time that this would be the one that drove Eames away, that he’d reach out only to find no one there to reach out to anymore. Eames had stayed though. He’d stayed as Arthur tried to close the gap, expressing the things Arthur couldn’t find words for and never asking for more than Arthur had been able to give. And when the words finally had come, slowly solidifying into something Arthur could express more concretely, Eames had been there to hear them. 

He hummed happily as Eames came up behind him, slipping his arms around Arthur’s waist and pressing a kiss against his jaw. “I’ve always loved you in this suit, darling, you know that?”

Arthur chuckled. “You say that about every suit.”

“Well, that’s because you look good in all of them. It’s not my fault you look so bloody handsome in everything.”

Arthur tried to hide his smile, but he knew the blush he could feel rising in his cheeks gave him away regardless. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Eames.”

“Mm, maybe.” Eames kissed his jaw again before resting his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “I don’t plan on stopping any time soon though.”

Arthur leaned his head against Eames’ as he went back to sifting through the various papers on the table in front of him. The silence was comfortable and familiar in a way that it had never been with any of his previous partners, both of them content to simply let the moment sit quietly. When he finally finished sorting the documents Arthur turned, leaning back against the table and resting his arms up around Eames’ shoulders. “Did you still want to grab dinner after this?”

Eames grinned at him. “Been looking forward to it all day, love.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile back. “Me too.” Gentle warmth spread in his chest the way it always did when Eames looked at him with the fond expression he currently had, like Arthur was something to be treasured. “Have I told you I loved you yet today?”

Eames’ grin widened. “You have.”

“Well, I’m telling you again. I love you.” The words had been difficult for him to say at first, but they came now with the ease of the objective facts Arthur spent most of his time focusing on. He supposed it was only fair; it had long since become just that for him- an objective fact. He loved Eames. He didn’t understand why Eames had stayed, but Arthur would tell him that every day for as long as he was willing to listen. “More than anything.”

Eames’ expression somehow grew even fonder. “That makes two of us, darling.” He leaned in, kissing Arthur gently. “I love you too.”

[another-snape-story]

Merry Christmas

Chapter XXI

The days that followed were tough. You happened to visit The Department of Magical Law Enforcement every once in a week – although you were beyond suspicion, they always had new questions.

“They call me again.” The words that made Snape’s heart sink each time they were spoken. Once annoyed, the other time despaired – “They call me again,” you announced over and over again. Of course, this couldn’t pass by unnoticed without affecting your emotional state which kept worsening after every new attendance.

Snape felt you were getting estranged – from him, from the world around. It was unbearable seeing vigorous glint of your eyes gradually die out. Knowing your passion for nature walks, he used to take you outside whenever possible. Snowy landscapes along with fresh air worked wonders, and you were back again – distressed, tired, but still alive.

Support Severus gave you was huge, substantial, able to bring you to tears, which in your current condition was easy as pie. Immensely grateful for his regard, you felt like giving him the whole world in return. The more time you spent together, the stronger grew your sentiment for the man, until you realized you could no longer imagine your days without him. Relieved in the solace his presence offered, you wished you could nestle under his protective wing, shielded from all the horrors of cruel reality, and doze off in a long deep peaceful slumber.

You hated the moment Snape left you at your door late in the evening, afraid to stay alone with your thoughts or just selfishly unwilling to let him go – sometimes you seemed to forget he wasn’t your possession and had other things to take care of apart from you. The man’s become an indispensable part of your life, a vital part of you, which, if taken, would cause a fatal outcome. Little did you know you’ve become the such for him as well.

Looking you in the eyes as he put you on train, Snape struggled with desire to cup your face and make that one last step towards the edge to let you know his heart was beating for you and you only, to assure you were not alone, that you could count on him whatever happened. However, being a man of a rational mind, he admitted he was no good match for you – with heavy burden of his past and a vague chance for future – what could he give you? Moreover, he wasn’t hoping you’d accept him. How pathetic thinking you would!

Snape felt uneasy letting you go to London alone. Having grown exceedingly protective of you he couldn’t find any peace until you returned, safe and unharmed. During hours of your absence, Snape questioned himself what if the court found you were involved by implication? What if you decided not to prolong your contract with Hogwarts and left the school once the term was over? What would his life be like without you?.. Intrusive thoughts that scratched in the back of his mind aggravated all of his unpleasant traits, and students got to suffer Snape’s ill temper more severely than usual every time you were away.

“It’s over,” wearied, emotionally drained, you informed Severus when he met you at the station in Hogsmeade as he’s done since the process started.

“You told everything like we’ve agreed?” anxiety bubbling inside his chest, Snape intently examined your face to detect the slightest change in your expression trying to foresee the probable answer before you could utter a word.

The question reminded you about the dispute you had before your departure. You nodded weakly. Although you’ve chosen to follow Snape’s advice, you still were uncertain if you did the right thing.

“Good,” he approved calmly as befitted his usual composure, while a sudden yet so much anticipated relief made him feel dizzy. No one would take you from him, now he knew it for sure.

“He’s been sentenced to ten years,” your voice bleak and lifeless. “I should’ve told the truth. Should’ve told them it was all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Snape stepped closer, his hands reaching out for you.

“It’s unfair. That’s not what I intended.”

“Listen. It’s just the consequence of negligence,” he softly rubbed your shoulders. “Nothing more.”

“I know,” you sighed bitterly. “I know… But… I didn’t mean to ruin his life. Didn’t mean to…” you fell silent fighting back tears.

“He’d end up in prison anyway,” Snape stated with contempt, wishing the man who brought you so much trouble be damned. Snape realized you’d need time to finally get over all this and move on – and he was there to help you. “Let’s go back.” He led you along the platform covered with a thick layer of trampled snow dotted by hundreds of footprints.

“Have the students left already?” you asked indifferently just to switch the trail of thought.

“Yes. This morning.”

A ghost of a smile swept across your lips. “How was the feast?” sad notes in the tone of your voice revealed utter disappointment over a missed opportunity to attend one of the main school events.

“No trolls, no three-headed dogs,” he spoke apathetically. “Boring, in other words.” Snape could’ve probably been other opinion if you kept him company.

“Huh, I thought all the celebrations here had an element of surprise,” you sniggered recalling the night of Halloween. The night of Halloween! Quirrell… You knew Severus wouldn’t appreciate what you were going to tell him, but keeping it in secret after the risk taken would make no sense either way. Preparing for being told off, you listened to the snow creaking serenely under your feet.

“I saw Quirrell again,” you confided at last as you turned around the corner heading towards the carriage harnessed by a pair of Thestrals.

“And again you followed him?” Snape frowned disapprovingly, just as you would expect.

“Yes, but this t…”

“How many times have I told you not to mess with him?” he resented.

“And how many times have I mentioned I were not a child?”

“Leave him to me! Being ‘not a child’ isn’t enough!”

“Aren’t you even curious what I’ve seen?!” you huffed in disbelief. He’s never taken it so bad before.

“No! I’m not curious at all!” Snape raised his voice. “Merlin! He might be dangerous! Is it too complicated for your stubborn head to grasp the simple fact?”

“You speak this way to your students, not me!” you spat back. That was way too much. Who did he think he was?!

“I will speak to you the way you deserve unless you listen to me!” he hissed angrily.

“Oh is that what I deserve? Really?! After a month of interrogations with testifying at the trial on top of this SHIT-CAKE? Is that what I deserve?!” you burst out. “I listened to you and didn’t tell them it was me who purposely changed the data! And now I’ll have to LIVE with it!” yet you were shouting.

“At least you’ll live!” Snape growled in frustration. He shouldn’t have spoken to you this way. Living in constant fear for your fate, holding back all the doubts that ate on him while he played confidence assuring you everything was going to be all right, but actually having no idea how the things might’ve turned out was a real torture – no wonder, he still resembled a bare nerve when it came to the matter of your safety. Always composed and collected, this time Snape failed to restrain his emotions.

Although he regretted it immediately, it was too late for remorse. Exasperated, pissed with his tone, you rushed past the carriage. “I’ll walk!”  

Trying to stop you, Snape grabbed your elbow. You spun around, shooting him a vicious look which shattered Snape’s puny hope you would accept his apology. “Get in,” he said calmly. “I will walk.”

“FINE.” You abruptly freed yourself from his grip and climbed inside.

The carriage set off.

You laid your head on the backrest, tears streaming down your cheeks. This scene was easy to be avoided, but, as ill luck would have it, everything came together at the breaking point. Of course, he was worrying about you. No one ever had. Yet he did. He placed your interests over his own. How many days, how many nights he has spent comforting you! Fixated on your problems, you’ve never taken into consideration when he has managed to keep up with his work… after spending hours and hours and hours with you… Anger struggling with an expanding feeling of guilt and gratitude tore your soul apart.

But his tone! You crossed your arms on your chest, still doubting whether to forgive him. His tone hurt!

The window hole offered a wonderful performance of trees and bushes garmented into gentle niveous covering slowly dancing along the road. As much as you loved winter, the other day you’d hardly be able to take your eyes off this fairy picture, but now it seemed to just dishearten you. You turned away – the vacant seat beside you gaped with pervasive emptiness – same that you felt inside. Severus used to take it, right next to you. Once, you’ve even fallen asleep on his shoulder… A memory brought a dolorous smile to your face. You missed him. You missed him so bad. What just happened wasn’t right. It should’ve been different. Moreover, on a day like this.  

You gave a sign for the carriage to stop and stormed out – you haven’t gone too far – he’d catch up with you soon. Wading through the snow, you hurried back to reunite with the man so dear to your heart as soon as possible. In his black coat he should be an easy target to spot, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. Frozen to the bone, you found yourself standing on the place where you left him. Despaired, you looked around – not a single soul.

“Severus!” you called him desperately, a lump in your throat growing thicker as you tried to hold it in. “Sev…” Everything’s gone so wrong.

Lost the last bit of hope – despondent and wretched – you sobbed into the void, scoffing grievously at yourself, “Merry Christmas…” Perhaps, you deserved it indeed.

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[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter 2

A/N: Hey folks, this is a day late from my posting on AO3, mostly due to tiredness/travel, but here it is! I'm not sure how quickly I'll be able to put out the next chapter (In addition to being mostly dialogue, it's also a mess,) but I'll try.

Read it now on AO3

Chapter 2:

“Nope, nope, nope.”

In the realm of the dead, there was no night. No dark reprieve from the inescapable glow. A state that wore on eye and mind alike in its obstinate refusal to diminish or fade.

This did not mean the Zone was without its own sort of cycles, however.

Every seven hours, perhaps eight, the thin, omnipresent mists scattered throughout the air would begin to thicken, coalescing into a deep, impenetrable fog that stuck to every surface with a viscosity not unlike that of cold soup. It's brightness, too would gradually increase until the traveler was left all but blinded for the unending wall of light now spread on all sides before them.

Navigation in such conditions was impossible, and even ghosts seemed to prefer squirreling themselves away during these hours of fugue than to brave the blind depths the mists made of the world around them.

It was really nothing like night, but for conveniences sake, Valerie had taken to calling it as such.

It was now well into what she liked to consider “evening.” The mists had already weltered up, thickening strands not yet impermeable to the naked eye, weaving themselves into fantastic shapes ever larger across the atmosphere of the zone. Soon to merge, but not now, not yet.

While she normally preferred to travel as long as she could safely dare, Valerie had opted to settle down early that evening, using the extra time to sort through the goods held in the bug ghost's many sacks instead.

“Nope, nope, nope, weird, gross, and oh--hell no!”

Valerie yanked her hand free, shaking off the clear slime that coated her fingers as she threw the parcel and all its contents, still squirming, over the ledge of the small outcropping that served as her latest campsite.

If she were ever forced to say one nice thing about the Ghost Zone, Valerie would admit, grudgingly, that it did make a remarkably good garbage bin.

She sighed, allowed herself to stretch out and rest after yet another day of continuous exertion. One would not think riding on her sled for hours on end would tire her so, but it did. And when she added the additional effort of chasing down and interrogating that ghost--She grimaced, still unsure it had been wise to let the creature scamper free, in the end.

There had just been something in the way it had begged, had cried and whimpered as it carried out her every command with that slump of abject surrender that had just made finishing it off seem so, so...Dirty. As though she would be in the wrong, somehow, for doing it. It gave her such a sense of frustration. She couldn't help but wish that ghosts were precisely the emotionless hulls the Fentons believed them to be.

Oh, ghosts were essentially selfish, no doubt about it, narcissistic chunks of ectoplasm that only rarely empathized with their own kind, and never with humans, but they did feel.

Phantom, the bug, even Plasmius, in his own, twisted way, it was no longer something she could reject.

A part of her hated them all the more just for that, as though it made her life better, somehow, to know.

Couldn't she just have this one thing? After all the shit she went through, all the misery she bore, couldn't this one thing be something simple?

Goddamn ghosts, ruining her life, her stuff, and now her morals, too.How was she supposed to be the hero here? how was she supposed to save anyone, much less Elle, if she couldn't crush one goddamn dirty bug?

“Shit.”

Valerie flopped down on her back, staring into the viridian heavens with bitter eyes. The sky could not be bothered to stare back, rolling over in a cloud of mist instead.

“Shit,shit,shit!”

She tried to breath, but it caught in lungs suddenly shriveled against a breast-bone to tight for air.she clenched her fists, fingers squeezed into a shape fit for violence. Her body trembled, her hidden heart beat staccato as something hard and hot and sour twisted through her very soul.

“Stupid ghosts.” She whispered.Her eyes were cold marbles, but deep within her chest, she was still burning.

Valerie grabbed a stone laying loose on the ground beside her, pushed herself back up, and lobbed it with all her strength at the offending universe.

“You won't win!”

She picked up another rock, tossed it even further.

“I won't let you!”

She threw another rock, then another, as fast as her arms could reach them, intent on stoning the high green heavens for all the wrongs it had ever wrought against her. Each projectile went higher and farther into the encroaching mists, which swallowed them whole.

“You hear me! Not now, not ever!”

Even her screams were muffled, now, pressed against her ears by the haze. The stones made even less a mark, vanishing into clouds unrippled by their passing, engulfed the sound of their landing, if, indeed, they landed at all.Her chest heaved, her arm ached, but still her emotions threatened spillage. She felt at once utterly drained and full to bursting, squeezed of all verve even as her heart simmered still in some vague malcontent.

She flopped back to the ground, tired, but too troubled for rest.It wasn't all hopeless, she knew. She had an idea of where to go now, closer than she'd dared to hope, if the directions of the bug she'd captured earlier were to be believed.

And even if it was a lie, she'd still managed to buy herself some time.

She reached over to her right, where she'd piled everything of use from the insect's many stores. It was a pitiful stack, a single bag of food plastic wrapped or canned, adorned in letters and signs utterly foreign. But food it was, enough to keep her going a few days more.

She had set her stolen boot next to the parcel, and, resting just beside it, a crumpled polaroid weighed down by a worn leather fold.

She brought her hand down, shimmied the picture out from under its makeshift paperweight. Her other hand rose to brush across it, one last attempt, gentle, futile, at smoothing out the damage littering every aspect of its face.

It was fruitless, of course, but even broken beyond all repair, even with all the bitterness that lingered from the loss, the photo still soothed her, touching something deeper, more tenderly, than any hard flung stone.

She reached into the depths of her mind, grasping for those parts of the huntress that were always with her, woven in electric tapestry with the living currents of her brain.

Graphical Storage and Processing:Status: Active:

Recall request: Confirmed.

Data: Available, reporting 100% recall.

Overlay Request: Confirmed.

Initiating Command: Overlay:

Processing...

The change took place in the space of a moment. Emerald fragments reformed into broad leaves struck through with sunshine. Golden light struck their rays through the gaps where shadows fluttered down across the youthful oak that cast them, springing proud and slender from a meadow thick with blooms.

Beneath the shade of the tree, nestled between the long grass arches, there was a family.

They were at a picnic, the three of them, quilt littered with the remains of their meal. Cold chicken and half eaten corn cobs peeked out from broad folds of cloth, plastic water bottles refracted the scattered sunlight in their crumpled facets, where it danced across the surface of what liquid yet remained.

The man of the family sat beside a big wicker basket, arm resting over the thickly woven lip of its hatch. His face not yet wearied, his mustache quirked in a second smile as he looked into the long vanished camera with an expression of shy delight.Her father, Damian Grey.

A young Valerie could be seen sitting just in front of him, clutching a rubber ball nearly half her size. Grass stains streaked the young child's face, grin bold as she hoisted her rubber prize high above her head.

Besides the child, shoulders leaned in close press to the man beside her, knelt a woman. Acorn brown and satin soft, head tossed back in jubilation bold as summer. Her heat dewed neck curved swanlike above shoulders hunched up in mirth.

Valerie traced the outlines of the woman's face, slowly, ignoring—refusing—the ragged edges that brushed against her thumb as she outlined the vanished forms of her lips, her cheekbones, her chin, alight with a youth yet lingering even as the glow of motherhood softened the hard angles of ignorant adolescence.

A beautiful woman, vibrantly, vivaciously alive.

You would never know, looking at her, just how fast it would all drain out, her every pore a sieve for the good health she would never more contain.

But Valerie wasn't thinking about that, now, just as she wasn't thinking about the photograph or the damage it sustained.

Just for the moment, she allowed herself to focus only on the memory of a memory before her. If she imagined hard enough, she could almost see that sparkling smile turn, eyes opal dark and glimmering in delight at the chance to see her one and only daughter once again.

“Hey ma.” She said by way of reply. “Long time no see.”