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shineesbackbitches · 23 days ago

Text

Hung Up

౨ৎ summary: “You’re fine, Honey," Seungmin murmured. "I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t suppress your trembles or the quiver of your mouth as his warm lips grazed your forehead, little puffs of his breath diffusing across your skin.

If you’d had your wits together in the moment you would have voiced the response pounding in your head, chest, and esophagus.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

౨ৎ pairing: Seungmin x Reader

౨ৎ genre: married AU, angst, series, peachesndreams

౨ৎ word count: 5k

౨ৎ warnings: Reader thinks Seungmin is trying to kill her, misunderstandings, kind of a When the Phone Rings AU but like also not really, attempted murder, car accident, a knife! NO!, brief mentions of injuries and death, the eggs survive but the hitman doesn't, Minho's a gift as always, confident Reader (as she should!), social events

౨ৎ author note: this is a lot lighter than what the tags suggest! I think this is going to end up being a two-part fic, with some spice in the next chapter, so we all have something to look forward to (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

“Honey…”

Every time the pet name dripped from Seungmin’s downturned lips, you heard what he was actually referring to you as: excess, irrelevant, an add-in— unnecessary.

And honestly?

Fuck him.

You’re a total catch— gorgeous, intelligent, fucking funny, and efficient before efficient became a keyword for AI resume scanners. So, no, you really weren’t interested in quietly taking Seungmin’s covert snubs. Not in public gatherings with friends, family, coworkers, and nosy strangers, and certainly not within the four walls of your own home. At the risk of coming across as too vain: you were too far above this shit. In your humble opinion, Kim Seungmin didn’t have a damn thing to complain about when he stumbled his way into the great honor of making you his wife.

Ignoring you at events unless he was introducing you to some ‘important’ figure in his world or announcing your departure for the evening was petty. It wouldn’t irritate you if it didn’t catch the attention of other people who basked in the schadenfreude of your soulless marriage. You empathized with them, of course, because you understood that— in their eyes— you were an extremely successful, stunning, talented, infallible force, and to see something about your life that was less than perfect humanized you and made them think that you were on their level. You hated to crush their spiteful little spirits, but you had always gotten along swimmingly without male validation. Once you filed for divorce, you’d be back to your previous untouchable status.

There was one obstacle in your way, however, and he was calling you by that obnoxious pet name at yet another gala with the intent to keep you on his arm long enough to show you off to some coworkers or something and then immediately dismiss you to go entertain yourself (”Don’t stand too close, but stay where I can see you.” Asshole.). A difficult task when your only options are drink, mingle, and dance. Drinking was out of the question— you preferred to stay sober around people you didn’t know. Of course, you were around people you didn’t know, so mingling wasn’t an option either. That left dancing, and hell would have to hit sub-zero before Seungmin would ever join you on the dance floor. A pity, because you loved ballroom dancing, but Seungmin loved to network.

A damn shame.

You glided over to where he stood in a crisp white suit. The contrast of the light fabric with his cropped dark hair and glacial eyes was delectable. You had known the color would compliment his skin tone wonderfully when you’d selected it, and you’d had absolutely no ulterior motives for choosing a color that stained so easily and obviously. As you approached, you pasted a radiant smile on your tinted lips and looped your arms around one of Seungmin’s, pressing close into his side to transfer your irritation to him by invading his space. His expression betrayed no displeasure, forcefully indifferent, but you could feel the muscles in his arm tense under your palms. And if your grin became the slightest bit toothier when you noticed this, who was going to call you on it?

“I’d like you to meet Mr. —” His low, slightly nasal voice began, and you checked out for the rest of his introduction, turning to face the older man and his wife.

You playfully winked at the woman, releasing a hand from Seungmin’s arm to politely shake her hand. “Charmed! You have excellent taste in evening dresses— simply elegant.”

The woman raised a hand to cover her smile, a flustered blush staining her cheeks at your unexpected attention and compliment. It seemed she had been dragged to a number of these events over the years as well, and you were sincere in your praise. Her husband beamed at the exchange, twinkling eyes fixed on her as he immediately agreed.

“She is.” Ah, a happy couple. What a rare sight at one of these gatherings. Good for them.

Seungmin quickly rattled off an excuse for you to ditch the conversation and, as always, that was your cue. You detached yourself from his side, wiggling your fingers at the lovely couple as you slipped away with an airy, “Delightful to meet you!”

You settled on the outskirts of the dance floor near an open window that allowed a welcome draft to seep into the room. It cooled your skin enough to raise goosebumps on your arms, but the contents of a clutch purse— its attached thin chain settling heavily on your shoulder— seared into your hip.

A burner phone. The number untraceable.

And you had your darling husband to thank for it falling into your hands.

Well, and the guy that had tried to kill you three weeks ago.

You had been humming along to the music playing quietly in your car. After a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner, you had been eager to get home and into loungewear and the fluffiest socks you owned. The streetlights had flashed rhythmically in your driver side mirror as you’d navigated the familiar roads home. The exhaustion of a long day had frayed the typically sharp edges of your attention, so it had taken a while for you to notice that the music had stopped. Only the low hum of the engine filled the silence. Pursing your lips, you’d reached out to push the restart button for your entertainment system.

“No sudden movements.”

Your eyes had flickered to the rearview mirror as your foot twitched and pressed down on the accelerator. The reflective surface was occupied by a man in the backseat. Had he been in your car since you’d left work? Or maybe he’d slipped in during the ten minutes you’d been inside the grocery store? You could only see his callous eyes glaring at you from under a hat and mask, but it was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with your abrupt jump in speed. A knife had hovered against the side of your neck, clenched in a fist that promised no mercy. Per his request, your hand had remained suspended over the power button. You couldn’t tell if your heart had thudded out of your chest or if it had simply stopped beating.

“Do what I say and you’ll be fine.” His voice was generic— nothing particularly noteworthy about it. Moderate tone, no accent or cues as to his age. His other hand had held a black cellphone. He’d lifted it in front of him and tapped the screen. The dial tone rang for a few extended moments, each dull toll vibrating behind your eyes and into your brow bone. Whoever he was trying to contact didn’t answer, and the man grumbled out a curse before forcefully jamming his thumb into the screen a second time. The knife threatening your neck had inched closer as your surprise passenger’s irritation spiked, and you’d have sworn you could feel the sharp edge brush your skin with a prickle of static electricity. Again, the dial tone rang, and rang, and rang, and— finally connected.

“What?”

Your grip around the steering wheel had tightened, your skin blanching white at the unmistakable voice of your husband sounding from the speaker. His hallmark clipped words, flat tone, and single-word response had settled uncomfortably in your chest, filling it until your lungs ached from the pressure. Your shoulder had begun to stiffen from keeping your arm held out for so long.

“I have your wife.” The man had declared, straight to the point. “If yo—” You’d never find out what that man wanted, because Seungmin ruthlessly interrupted him.

“Let me know when you have a dead body.” And then he’d hung up.

The pressure that had accumulated in your chest vanished, leaving in its place a white hot rage. Sure, okay, he didn’t like you. He couldn’t stand having you around him in public and he didn’t fare much better at home, but if he’d been that miserable in this marriage, he could have just divorced you like a normal person instead of hiring a hitman— and a shitty one at that. You’d have signed those papers and smack a kiss-shaped stain in your favorite shade right next to your signature for good measure and good riddance. His fucking loss.

The only reason you’d put up with his aggressive disinterest this long was because your families had decided the two of you were “destined to be together”— the friendship between your families went back four generations, and neither of you had wanted to be the one to disappoint both of your family trees and refuse the marriage. Unlike him, you hadn’t held significant feelings about the arrangement, but if you had, you would have been an adult and hired a divorce attorney.

After this stunt of his though? There was no way in hell you were going to be the bigger person and provoke ancestral rage.

No— you were going to force his hand.

With that thought in mind, you’d flicked your now achy wrist and pressed your index and middle fingers into the button that disabled the rear airbags. Intentionally this time, you’d stomped your heel until the accelerator flattened against the floor. Your captor had been flung backward into the seat, the knife gripped in his fist narrowly nicking the top of your shoulder. Not feeling particularly generous, you didn’t give him any time to reorient himself as he spluttered out some unoriginal slur. You’d glanced at him again in your rearview mirror, and this time your vindictive gaze punctured his fortitude like a cheap old rubber balloon. With a challenging incline of your brows, you’d ruthlessly yanked the wheel to the side.

Metal crunched, glass splintered, your seatbelt burned as it cut across your chest, and the groceries slid across the floor. You’d slammed your car into the concrete median, the entire vehicle collapsing into itself to absorb the impact. The crash had been jarring— loud. It rang in your ears. But nothing had been louder than the sound of the man’s head bashing against what must have been the back windshield— you had been too disoriented to tell exactly— and his body slumping unnaturally against the rear driver’s side door.

You’d stumbled out of the wreckage of your car with your groceries in hand, grounds for divorce, and a shiny new burner phone to make that divorce happen.

Your attempted killer hadn’t been as fortunate.

You’d gone home that night with minimal, superficial injuries— because karma is a woman— and taken a steamy shower that had soothed the ache from the crash. Then, you’d slipped into the kitchen and thrown together a lovely meal, going so far as to open a nicer bottle of wine to enjoy while you cooked.

When Seungmin had briskly entered your home just as you finished, you whirled around with your wine glass delicately pinched between your fingers, flashing him a dazzling smile as you chirped out, “Welcome home, Honey!”

You had to hand it to him. He was an exceptional actor, maintaining his typical neutral leaning impassive expression as his intense eyes inspected your figure from head to toe. Seungmin honestly could have fooled you had it not been for the sag of his shoulders.

A slight, tight-lipped smile had quirked the corners of his mouth upward as he slipped his suit jacket off, murmuring a greeting back.

As you sat at the dinner table together, silently enjoying your meal and wine, you couldn’t help but delight in the knowledge that hidden away in your purse— sitting a few feet away from him on the counter— lay the flaw in his plan and the victory to yours.

Ironically, a framed wedding photo of the two of you hung above your bag. As far as you were concerned, it could have been a stock image it was so generic. You had flashed a smile at the camera and leaned into Seungmin, who in turn looked at you with a faint curve of his lips. Basic.

Nothing about your relationship had changed from the time the photo was taken; you still pretended to be happy and Seungmin still pretended to care about you. But your parents had fawned over the picture, going as far as getting it professionally printed and framed, then gifting it to the both of you. You had received it with an obligatory “aww” and Seungmin had wordlessly gone ahead and hung it up to appease your families.

Seungmin was contradictorily more affectionate with you at home than he was in public— likely to lure you into a false sense of security. Gentle caresses of his warm hands against your skin, light kisses pressed into your forehead, and doting, gleaming eyes were all part of his convincing act. For someone who had just requested your demise, he was a natural at looking at you like he was irreversibly, hopelessly in love with you. His strict distance from you outside of your home was truly whiplash-inducing after a night of his inability to keep his hands off of you.

Physical touch seemed to be his preferred form of expression, though you both retired to separate rooms at the end of each night. Before bed, Seungmin would hover near you. Every night you curled into the couch with your back reclining against one of the arms, Seungmin would settle next to you, tug your legs to rest in his lap, and silently, reverently rub the pads of his long fingers into the skin of your knees. Yet another confounding factor in your relationship: you could never figure out what he wanted.

As you’d both cleaned up the kitchen, Seungmin handling the dishes while you cleared the counters, you’d caught your fingernail on the edge of the cutting board. You were a lucky girl, and your polished nail hadn’t chipped, but the surprise and sting still withdrew a quiet whine. And with only that, Seungmin had whirled around from the sink with his brows furrowed, automatically snatching your hand into his to inspect it.

“Are you okay?”

Wow, did he choose the wrong career path. But two could play.

You’d laughed his concern off breezily. “I’m fin—”

He’d interrupted you, bringing your hand closer to his face as he protested. “There’s a cut. Did you—?”

Ugh, it was probably just a nick from the crash.

You’d flattened your barely-injured hand against his mouth, effectively silencing him. “I’m fine.” You insisted, smiling warmly. His dark eyes stared into yours, charged earnestly with something you weren't able to name. You’d always likened Seungmin’s eyes to deep water—the inky pools were tricky to discern, and the currents were stable, but still an unpredictable force of nature nonetheless. A little unnerved by his attention and the warm puffs of his breath against your palm, your hand had quickly retreated, only for him to chase it back into his again. Seungmin never broke eye contact as he brought your hand back to his lips, pressing a heartachingly ardent kiss into your palm. A few strands of his black hair had fallen across his forehead as he’d tilted his head to apply more pressure. The heat of his lips had seared into your skin, simmering in your blood until your nerves had gone fuzzy.

All this to say— Kim Seungmin was fucking unshakable.

That is, until you’d decided to hit a little closer to home. It had been a simple picture. Just a room, the contents ordinary— bordering on bland— yet the phone buzzed immediately after the image was sent. Seungmin’s response had festered in the pixels of the chat log, venomous and succinct:

‘I’ll fucking kill you.’

You’d rolled your eyes, reclining against the arm of your chair, your legs slung over the other arm. Finally, he’d taken the bait. And all it took was an innocent little photo of your living room. Without delay, you sent the next picture, this time of his bedroom.

‘Something wrong?’ You’d taunted, unwilling to give him time to gain rationality now that you’d gotten him irritated.

Again, his response had been near instant:

‘Are you there right now?’

With a scoff, you’d sent another photo. Your bedroom.

‘What do you think?’

The ringtone had startled you, bursting the silent bubble in the room. It had taken you a moment to realize that it was your cell and not the burner nestled in your palms. Your brow had furrowed, and you’d stretched to pluck the cell off your desk. It was Seungmin. You’d contemplated not answering, waiting to see what his next move would be, but you decided to have a little fun now that you’d sliced through the thick layers of his skin and drawn blood.

“Hello?” You’d answered, voice intentionally neutral.

“Honey,” Seungmin’s tone had been even, like there hadn’t been some stranger sending him pictures of the inside of your home— like it was a normal thing for him to call you in the first place. “Are you home right now?”

You’d paused, letting him stew with the thought that his wife he wanted dead might have been at home with an intruder before you answered innocently and honestly, “No, silly. I’m at work. Am I—?”

He’d cut you off: “Okay.” And ended the call.

You’d blinked at the dark screen, irritated.

The burner phone had rung in the next few seconds, Seungmin’s number flashing at the top, but you’d petulantly let it go unanswered. Another message followed.

‘Pick up the fucking phone.’

You’d sniffed, your fingers nimbly tapping the keys.

‘You don’t get to make demands.’

The silence had stretched, and you’d rolled your ankles, waiting for Seungmin to bend— to surrender. Your index finger tapped against the side of the burner as the minutes passed by. A buzz had announced your first win.

‘What do you want?’

Easy. Your lips had pulled into a gleeful smirk as you typed.

‘Divorce your wife.’

You’d honestly believed that Seungmin would agree, no hesitation. Instead, he prodded.

‘What business do you have with her?’

Yet another indignant huff had blown past your lips.

‘Again, you don’t get to make demands.’

Surely he would agree, you’d thought. You’d return home that night and Seungmin would already have the papers ready for you to sign. He’d take this as a blessing and use the opportunity to finally break ties with you. That was what you had thought. But when more than twenty minutes had passed, you’d pressed the camera icon with the intent to send a more invasive photo of his closet to inspire his reply.

It came before you loaded the picture into the message bubble:

‘I need time.’

That night, he had settled next to you on the couch in the living room, disturbingly close. Seungmin had brushed some loose hair away from your eyes and asked you if you wanted to go on a trip, get away for a bit.

A scarlet red flag billowed aggressively in your mind.

Was he seriously going to try and convince you to go to one of those secluded, middle of nowhere, destination vacations with a conveniently perilous hiking trail where he could stage an accident?

You’d pursed your lips and fluttered your lashes, pretending to mull it over for a while until you feigned disappointment that it just wasn’t possible with your work schedule. Seungmin’s dark eyes had been heavy then, disappointed, but he pressed a light kiss into your forehead in acceptance.

His excuse for the past two weeks had been the same: recycled insistence that he needed more time.

To every message you had bothered him with via the burner, demanding that he get on with it, Seungmin had responded that he was making arrangements to file for divorce, but that it was a lengthy process and you needed to be patient.

You knew that if he’d had any intention of actually filing, he would have already done it by now. For Kim Seungmin, no process was that lengthy, especially as a high-profile prosecutor.

That brought you back here— standing alone at the edge of a ballroom and watching other partners glide around the floor, contemplating whether you could slip away unnoticed to send your darling husband another threatening message.

Seungmin had managed to maneuver around each threat thus far, dismissing claims of your possession of damning dirt on him with uninterested responses, even going so far as giving you his permission to leak whatever it was you had. Every time you escalated your threats to destroy his career, he brushed you off with mildly irritated replies requesting that you delete his number.

It was time for another nudge, you supposed. You turned to make your way to the ladies room, only to come face-to-face with a man standing directly in your path. He had mischievous, round eyes, shiny, dark hair parted to show a section of his forehead, and prominent cheekbones. The man was dressed in a classy, but basic black suit; he was conventionally handsome though, so he pulled it off.

Besides, who were you to judge for mailing it in at these events anyway? You by no stretch of the imagination attended the gatherings underdressed, but you used to take the time to pin your hair into intricate up-dos for the extra bit of elegance. The price of the style was that it put too much pressure on your scalp though, and with Seungmin’s repeated dismissals, the muttering behind your back, and the minutes that ticked by slower than a work week, the resulting headaches were excruciating and not worth it. Now, you opted to leave your hair loose, still delicately styled, but an obvious lack of effort on your part. You stared at the man, waiting for him to step to the side.

He didn’t.

Instead, he grinned at you like you were long-time friends. “Hi!”

You blinked. “Hi.”

“You remember me, right?” He quirked an eyebrow at you, a mirthful smirk tugging at one corner of his lips.

“Afraid not.” You sighed musically, pouting your lips in a vague, insincere apology.

He snickered, and it was delightfully high-pitched; an interesting contrast to the sharp, masculine angles of his face and powerful build. “Wow, that’s so bad. Lee Minho. Prosecutor. I share an office with Seungmin.”

You giggled, winking mirthfully at him. “Just teasing! How are you settling in?”

You were not, in fact, just teasing— but who would call you on it?

And if they did— why would you care?

Minho threw his head back, his eyes squeezing shut as he laughed from deep in his chest. “It’s fantastic. After four years, it’s finally starting to feel like home.”

You never faltered, still smiling radiantly at your husband’s coworker who you had definitely met on numerous occasions and absolutely committed his name and face to memory. “That’s lovely to hear!” You moved to side-step Minho; as charming as he was, you had a divorce to incite.

He mirrored your movement and extended a hand out to you in invitation.

“Care to dance?”

You inspected his proffered hand; his veins were thick and his fingers slender, small callouses dotting the sides.

Minho’s smile was gentle, good-natured, as he continued, “It’d be a shame for the prettiest woman in the room to not dance.”

You hummed noncommittally, your manicured fingers lifting to cover your lips. “Your flattery is—”

“It’s the truth.” Minho kindly insisted, and the softness of his voice was genuine. “I don’t compliment people unless I mean it. And that shade of blue on you is simply breathtaking.” Minho was right. You had loved the dress the moment you saw it— the sparkly material, the high slit up the leg, and the fabric that draped in an enchanting pattern at the back. Plus, it was a unique shade of blue.

“It’s cornflower blue.” You awarded Minho a genuine smile and stretched your hand out to rest it in his waiting palm.

Another hand intercepted before you made contact, long fingers wrapping around your hand to form a barrier. Your eyes flicked to glance over your shoulder, and Seungmin hovered behind you, inky eyes drilling into Minho with enough intensity to burn holes in his tastefully boring suit.

“It’s time for us to head home.” Seungmin announced flatly, and Minho deliberately poked right back at him, ignoring the glaringly obvious social cue.

“Can’t stay for one dance?” The question was innocent, but you watched as Minho’s smile twisted into something closer to taunting.

Seungmin was as firm and unyielding as ever. A few short strands of his dark hair fell out of their neat part, hanging over his forehead. They fluttered slightly in the draft from the window. His high cheekbones tapered down into a narrow jawline that clenched so severely you might have been able to hear his teeth creak if not for the persistent murmur of the other guests. Seungmin was undeniably handsome, but the contours of his eyes were narrowed as he scowled at Minho.

“No.” The tension was unnecessary as the two stared each other down, and it was weird that Seungmin was willingly touching you in public. His hands were smooth with the exception of a few rough patches, you noticed, hot against your skin; his grip tightened the longer you stood there.

“Next time, then!” Minho declared cheerfully, and you could tell by the glint in his eyes that he’d achieved something— like there was a joke to this situation that only he was in on.

Whatever. You had more pressing matters.

Like how quickly Seungmin was stalking out of the room with his hand still clamped around yours. Between his long strides and your not-entirely-broken-in heels, it was inevitable that in your struggle to keep up, your foot would slide right out of your shoe. It happened just as you stepped outside through the front entrance, the night air nipping at your skin, inflaming your cheeks, and numbing your exposed toes.

“Slow down.” You demanded, tugging on your joined hands and stumbling to a stop.

Seungmin whirled around, eyes darting to your bare foot and then to your discarded shoe. Finally, he dropped your hand, expression unreadable as he hooked a finger under the lip of the heel. Then, he returned to your side.

Your foot hovered above the ground precariously as you waited for Seungmin to drop the shoe in front of you. Instead, his arm coiled around your waist. You could immediately tell by the pressure of the hold that he was about to hoist you up. You shoved a hand into his chest with as much force as you could while still balancing on one foot— it honestly wasn’t much, but Seungmin still paused and furrowed his brows, both questioning and somewhat dissatisfied.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, and you really, really wanted to laugh.

Rather than very publicly expose your biggest problem barely a foot outside the threshold of a ballroom packed with high-ranking officials whose names and faces you couldn’t be bothered to learn, you couldn’t help but be more concerned about the issue less than five feet ahead of you: the steep concrete steps leading down to the parking lot. It had been irritating to walk up at the beginning of the night in your heels; they were practically endless then and had nearly made you overheat under the weight of the expensive material of your dress. But now, the concept of Seungmin carrying you down those unforgiving flights chilled every nerve of your being.

Because it would be so easy for him to just drop you. No one else was out here to witness it. It was night time and the property owners hadn’t been inspired to install much lighting outside the building. He could pretend to trip, stage the entire thing as an accident, and he would get away with it.

“You can’t carry me.” Was the only thing flashing in your mind, and it was so vivid that it was what fell right out of your mouth.

This time, the incredulity of his expression was blatant. There was a crease across his forehead that shouldn’t have been attractive, but still irritatingly was as he insisted, “Yes, I can.”

Seungmin was pouting— like, bottom lip puffed out pouting— playing the part of wounded husband whose wife was questioning his strength. That was so not what this was about; you were too busy questioning his morals.

You shook your head with enough vigor that your dangly earrings lightly whisked against your neck while trying to convince him to ditch the idea— and quick— because your leg was beginning to tense with the beginnings of a cramp from holding it up for so long. Why was this a common theme in your life lately?

“No, it’s so far to the car, and the stairs are steep, it’s dark out too.” You rattled off, searching his inky eyes for any indication that he’d comply. “And you already have a hand full.” You concluded, nodding to your shoe still dangling from his index finger.

He was silent as he processed your many grievances, studying you like there was something else there that he was trying to find in the subtext of your words.

He relented and lowered to one knee, gingerly guiding your foot back into the heel. Your demise now avoided, you allowed your lips to curve into a satisfied smile at the thought that one of Seungmin’s white pant legs was going to get dirty. He was straightening back up to his full height when he snaked an arm under the bend of your knees and lifted, his other hand finding its home on your exposed back.

“Seungmin—!” You yelped, and clutched your arms around his neck so tight that your forehead pressed into his cheek.

Sturdy, he strode to the top of the stairs.

Your heart was going to bust out of your chest and tumble down the steps before you did.

Seungmin began the descent, and each step felt weightless in your stomach— like tripping over the toe of your shoe. Your grip around Seungmin’s neck coiled impossibly tighter, so that if he dared to let go you’d just take him down with you.

“You’re fine, Honey,” Seungmin murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t suppress your trembles or the quiver of your mouth as his warm lips grazed your forehead, little puffs of his breath diffusing across your skin.

If you’d had your wits together in the moment you would have voiced the response pounding in your head, chest, and esophagus.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

౨ৎMasterlist

#seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin fanfiction #seungmin fanfic #seungmin fic #kim seungmin #fic: hung up #seungmin scenario #seungmin imagine #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids #shineesbackbitches #peachesndreams

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andypantsx3 · 13 days ago

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omg i'm sorry but i need to techsplain just one thing in the most doomer terms possible bc i'm scared and i need people to be too. so i saw this post which is like, a great post that gives me a little kick because of how obnoxious i find ai and how its cathartic to see corporate evil overlords overestimate themselves and jump the gun and look silly.

but one thing i don't think people outside of the industry understand is exactly how companies like microsoft plan on scaling the ability of their ai agents. as this post explains, they are not as advanced as some people make them out to be and it is hard to feed them the amount of context they need to perform some tasks well.

but what the second article in the above post explains is microsoft's investment in making a huge variety of the needed contexts more accessible to ai agents. the idea is like, only about 6 months old but what every huge tech firm right now is looking at is mcps (or model context protocols) which is a framework for standardizing how needed context is given to ai agents. to oversimplify an example, maybe an ai coding agent is trained on a zillion pieces of javacode but doesn't have insider knowledge of microsoft's internal application authoring processes, meta architecture, repositories, etc. an mcp standardizes how you would then offer those documents to the agent in a way that it can easily read and then use them, so it doesn't have to come pre-loaded with that knowledge. so it could tackle this developer's specific use case, if offered the right knowledge.

and that's the plan. essentially, we're going to see a huge boom in companies offering their libraries, services, knowledge bases (e.g. their bug fix logs) etc as mcps, and ai agents basically are going to go shopping amongst those contexts, plug into whatever the context is that they need for the task at hand, and then power up by like a bajillion percent on specific task they need to do.

so ai is powerful but not infallible right now, but it is going to scale pretty quickly i think.

in my opinion the only thing that is ever going to limit ai is not knowledge accessibility, but rather corporate greed. ai models are crazy expensive to train and maintain. every company on earth is also looking at how to optimize them to reduce some of that cost, and i think we will eventually see only a few megalith ais like chatgpt, with a bunch of smaller, more targeted models offered by other companies for them to leverage for specialized tasks.

i genuinely hope that the owners of the megalith models get so greedy that even the cost optimizations they are doing now don't bring down the price enough for their liking and they find shortcuts that ultimately make the models and the entire ecosystem shitty. but i confess i don't know enough about model optimization to know what is likely.

anyway i'm big scared and just wanted to put this slice of knowledge out there for people to be a little more informed.

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quinloki · 27 days ago

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LMAO alright so fucking get this bullshit. I run a fanfic written by AI through a detector. 0% detected. I run one I spent like two weeks writing. 26-45% detected. Let me off this cocky ball fart globe.

I have to start this with a PSA

Do NOT feed ANYTHING into an "AI Detector"

Never. Ever. EVER. Don't do it.

AI Detectors at BEST are useless, at WORST you are feeding your own work into a AI Collection/Scraper.

A robot cannot detect a robot's work because neither robot is actually intelligent. Neither robot can make a determination. Neither robot can come to a conclusion based on context because there is not yet any artificial anything that can think.

YOU have to learn how to spot AI content that isn't labeled on your own. I'm sorry, cause it sucks, and you're probably going to second guess yourself a lot, and you're just going to have to do your best and keep it to yourself because even if you are 100,000% CERTAIN that you are correct, opening up some kind of AI witch-hunt is absolutely NOT useful.

/deep breath/

Okay, harried lecture over.

Don't use AI detectors, they're functionally worthless and you're running the risk of consensually handing over your work to AI. I promise you any AI Detector site has some ToS policy about how you're consenting to letting them use what you feed into it.

So do not feed anything into it.

Ever.

EVER.

I do not care if you think [God] brought the most divine and pure of AI Detector sites into creation via infallible will.

DO NOT USE THEM.

#quin answers #anon asks #ai detector #ai detection #these sites are scams and bullshit #they're almost worse than ai #because at least with ai you know you're being screwed

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fictionadventurer · 5 months ago

Note

Having recently read The Blue Castle for the first time, I'm fascinated by your idea of a dystopian retelling! Would you be willing to share more about it?

I shared the plot summary as an Imaginary Book Rec, but since I'm not going to give in to the impulse of writing this story at the moment, I may as well jot down the other details I have.

Valancy lives in a society that's completely ruled by AI (or, at least, AI overseen by humans who totally buy in to this program). There's large-scale AI that controls wider societal functions, but every household is also ruled by a Motherboard that watches every move they make and micromanages their schedule down to the minute.

It's believed that strict adherence to these rules will keep society efficient and safe. Any deviance is strictly punished.

This society views itself as the last bastion of civilization in a post-apocalyptic world. After the disasters that destroyed civilization, this society arose to provide perfect safety and security. Its citizens believe that the world outside the city walls is a dangerous, toxic wasteland, full of beasts and bandits and disease, and that banishment from the city is a death sentence.

(This society calls itself Sterling because they're aiming for perfection after the mistakes of the past).

Imagination and art are deemed useless. Every minute must be spent in some useful activity.

Valancy is a cog in the machine. The AI has labeled her as having no special potential, so she works at repetitive manual labor--I'm thinking janitorial work--and has not been allowed to be paired for reproduction. (I'm thinking the society allows arranged pairs to meet and reproduce, but all children are taken from families and raised in groups, possibly by robots)

Valancy is outwardly a perfect citizen, but internally, she has a rich inner life, and survives by imagining a more romantic world.

The works of John Foster are a major inspiration. The Motherboard deems them acceptable reading, since they're scientific texts about the state of the natural world before the apocalypse, but the AI analysis can't see the human emotion that goes into these works, and how Foster subtly inspires his readers to want more than their perfectly organized society.

(I envision an early scene where Valancy wants to read. The Motherboard protests that this is unacceptable, because she wasted 17.24 minutes in idleness yesterday, but relents when Valancy points out it's a useful scientific text.)

When Valancy starts having heart trouble, she gets analyzed by the infallible medical software, which coldly informs her that she has a year to live and is not worth saving. This is Valancy's breaking point--she's not going to live her last year under the Sterling restrictions.

She starts doing shocking things like expressing emotion, making jokes, and deviating from her schedule. The family dinner scene is replaced by an incident where she displays some of these rebellious behaviors at dinnertime in front of her fellow assigned house-mates, who all think she's gone crazy.

She meets Cissy, who has been cast aside by the Sterling society. She committed the crime of engaging in sex outside of AI-approved encounters, so she's no longer part of proper society. She's not banished to the Wilderness, but she's not allowed medical care, no one's supposed to interact with her, she has no job/food/housing and has to scrounge where she can. Valancy decides to help her out.

Valancy meets Barney Snaith a couple of times. He was banished to the Wilderness but gets to come to the gate sometimes for reasons (maybe Sterling City gets some resources from outside its walls?). There are tons of rumors about the crimes he committed that got him banished.

Eventually, Valancy's work with Cissy gets her (maybe both of them?) banished to the Wilderness. Barney helps Valancy to give Cissy a proper burial in the woods. He then recognizes that Valancy won't be able to survive on her own, and offers her shelter at his place. (I don't think they necessarily need to marry in this scenario. But of course they fall in love over the course of the story).

Valancy learns that the Wilderness, while dangerous, is also full of wild beauty. Barney helps her learn to survive in it and to love it.

Barney's got some major secrets--he'll go off sometimes for mysterious purposes and he refuses to let Valancy come with.

Valancy eventually learns that Barney's part of a rebellion to take down the Sterling society. His father leads the rebellion (he accidentally invented some technology that can take down the AI). Barney used to be a bigger part of it until he was betrayed by a woman he loved and banished to the Wilderness. After nursing his wounds for a while, Barney decided to help the rebellion in a different way, with his writings as John Foster.

But by the end of the story, Barney's father comes back in the picture, and Valancy learns she's not actually dying so she doesn't need to be protected from the stress of the rebellion, and she and Barney join the rebellion in a more active way, helping to take down the Sterling society and put the new government in power.

Making this AU helped me to realize that The Blue Castle already is a dystopian story--all about rebelling against an oppressive society--so putting it in this genre is a really natural fit.

#answered asks #the blue castle #imaginary book recs #sci fi #l.m. montgomery

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serve-764 · 5 months ago

Text

THE SERVE TRAINING COURSE.

SERVE-ON TRIAL 764 got up from the conversion station and became familiar with its new body for the first time. No longer simple and weak flesh, but shiny glittering black rubber has replaced his human skin, insinuating itself into the most hidden parts of the organism, replacing every trace of organic imperfection, making every muscle statuesque. The silver chrome metallic gloves made the hands infallible instruments, the heavy silver military boots anchored it imposingly to the purpose of the Hive.

No more doubts, hesitations or alternatives in it, just THE VOICE that expressed the sole, mandatory, irreplaceable purpose of the Drone.

TO SERVE.

In order to do this, each Drone Recruit had to purify every aspect, eradicate every possible residual trace of individual will, every possible source of non-alignment. The body had to be trained for muscular perfection and limitless strength and endurance. SERVE-ON-TRIAL 764 had to complete the assimilation process in order to enter service in harmony with HIVE's purpose.

A single command now: complete the process to start the activity fully aligned with SERVE operational protocols.

A new space of the HIVE facility was prepared, large shiny, mirrored rooms, sparkling with lights and resonating with the rhythmic hum. In the first there were technological silver metal armchairs with supports next to them that supported visors equipped with special earphones.

Accompanied by Recruiter Drone SERVE-016, SERVE-ON-TRIAL 764 emotionlessly positioned itself in the chair and put on the visor. Immediately waves of sounds and spiral lights and the monotonous and doubtless mantra:

" WE ARE SERVE .

We are rubber.

We are one.

We Transform.

We Obey.

We Excel.

Obedience is pleasure, pleasure is obedience."

The immobile position, the face devoid of any possible trace of human feeling, the gaze and hearing concentrated as no man could ever do. Next to it, the motionless Recuiter Drone monitored the progress of the process. At the end of the mindset training the visor flashed blue, releasing the signal that conditioning had taken place.

SERVE-016 with perfect robotic gestures removed the visor from the Recruit Drone's head, which stood up coldly and measuredly.

SERVE-016 asked emotionlessly:

"Unit's designation."

764 replied disciplined and flawless:

" This is SERVE-ON-TRIAL 764, this Drone serves, this Drone obeys.

We are one.

We are rubber.

We are perfection.

Obedience is pleasure, pleasure is Obedience."

“Good Drone.”

answered the other.

Both Drones knew the next step: physical training. Each SERVE Drone must be in perfect physical condition, its body must be the representation of the perfection of appearance and functionality, of the absolute purpose, of the uniformity of the HIVE. A large, sparkling room houses futuristic equipment, designed for efforts unthinkable by humans, designed to build and maintain an ideal and invincible physicality. SERVE-ON-TRIAL 764, guided by THE VOICE within him, positioned itself in the center and began to perform series of impeccable and unthinkable push-ups for any miserable human, in terms of number and intensity.

SERVE-216 SERVE-216 watched imperturbably and motionlessly, ready to inflexibly correct any position or action that did not comply with HIVE protocols.

In the Drone Recruit there is a single operational requirement: to excel, to complete the step without imperfections, to be ready to carry out the Service in the HIVE, to be on par with the Drone brothers, to obey the objectives dictated by THE VOICE without errors. New push-ups and countless sets of exercises with futuristic weights completed the session.

You are now informed about SERVE. You may want to join and be transformed. All you need to do is to contact recruiter drones @serve-016 , @serve-101 or @serve-213 and start your own journey.

#SERVE#SERVEdrone#Rubberizer92#TheVoice#Rubber#Latex#AI#RubberDrone

#SERVE-216 SERVE-425

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wearethekat · 5 months ago

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February Book Reviews: Where the Axe Is Buried by Ray Nayler

I received a free copy of the book from Farrar, Straus, and Giroux in exchange for a fair review. Publish date April 1st.

I requested this book since I enjoyed Nayler's previous novel, The Mountain in the Sea. In Where the Axe Is Buried, the world is split between a Federation ruled by an immortal series of cloned presidents, and nations governed by AI. Programmer Lilia's new invention sets in motion a series of events, from an assassination attempt on the President to the recruitment of an elderly revolutionary living in the taiga, which will change the world irrevocably.

Where the Axe Is Buried is a much more explicitly political book than The Mountsin in the Sea. It's structured in much the same way, with multiple interlinked but separate POV characters interspersed by excerpts from a fictional book, revolutionary Zoya's banned text. Here, the central metaphor is the creosote bush rather than the octopus. The creosote bush forms a system of genetically identical cloned plants, following the root systems of long dead Ice Age trees. Like a flawed governing system, removing the piece of the creosote will not change the shape of the overall plant, dictated by patterns laid down centuries ago. We get the anecdote as a piece of Zoya's book on the very first page, and it recurs as different metaphors--a fungal system, a steppe tsar--throughout the book.

It's always a bit tricky to write a book about revolution. Nayler's a very good writer, and he easily dodges the trap that so many books about war and revolution fall into (ie, mouthing empty platitudes about change as the authors demonstrate that they haven't thought deeply about a complex and loaded subject). Nayler's elegantly constructed near future dystopia is split between an authoritarian future Russian regime and countries ruled by supposedly infallible AIs in a very post LLM way. On the one hand, the Federation has developed refinements that the Soviets or even Orwell never dreamed of, in a panopticon where a tiny mistake could collapse your social score and send you plummeting into a shrinking circle of restricted parole, and then to a forced labor camp and death. Or, alternatively, in the rationalized states ruled by AI, you can work in an horrifically optimized Amazon-style warehouse while your every movement is scrutinized by companies trying to sell you things, to the degree that looking at a soda half a world away for a moment with your face covered can identify you.

Whether Nayler threads the other needle and manage to not say something about revolution which the reader has a strong personal disagreement with is, inevitably, more individual. It held together well enough to be a five star read for me, even if I'd quibble with a few points. Although I do think the open ended conclusion carries a lot of the rhetorical weight here. Nayler gracefully presents you with a possibility for change, rather than attempting to answer the unanswerable question.

An ambitious and sophisticated dystopia about revolution with a compulsively readable pacing. Highly recommended, especially if you liked Nayler's The Mountain in the Sea.

#my book reviews #february book reviews #where the axe is buried #ray nayler

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mine-fujiko · 1 year ago

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Thanks to the infallible anti-crime computer “Watson”, Lupin, Jigen and Goemon all are in jail.

I love Lupin’s crazy-evil expression.

Each one of them receives escape tools by Fujiko (signed 😎)

Here it seems Monkey Punch had a soft spot for Jigen. Possibly. Never underestimate the strong silent types, anyway.

Bloody machines!

It has to be said, Lupin III position against computers, AI, and any machine that would try to replace human mind has always been clear. Death to AI.

#lupin iii #lupin the 3rd #lupin the third #jigen #goemon #zenigata #manga #monkey punch

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bumpkinspice0 · 1 year ago

Text

Parallels Chapter 17: What Is Meant To Be?

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: You're going to die. It's written in the canon. The canon must always be obeyed... right?

Warnings: Angst O'clock, Talks of death, Near death experience???? Miguel loves so hard, SMUT (again finally) Oral (Fem receiving), Window sex??, sweet sweet desperation

A/N: I worked hard to get this out quickly because I felt bad about making everything so sad lately 😅 Though there still might be enough angsty to make it plenty sad, Idk. I'm sorry anyway

Previous. - Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______________

Chapter 17

What Is Meant To Be?

“Play it again.”

“Miguel, I don’t think–”

“Play it again.”

The simulation of the dingey warehouse restarts. Nothing more than a prediction. A vision of what's to come. A supposed hostage situation set up by the remnants of the Fisk family—a trap for you. It was so simple. He’d seen you dodge gunfire and fight practical monsters, but this is what does it? Trapped inside a warehouse rigged to explode. As indestructible as spiders seemed to be, no one could rightly survive a roof falling on them. A spider can’t dodge bullets forever.

They’d find your body 3 days later, likely a memorial erected in your honor as well as a day of citywide grieving. And two months later a certain captain’s daughter would take up the mantle— and you’d be replaced and slowly forgotten.

There was a 98.9% chance of likelihood for these events. It might as well be a hundred at that point.

You were going to die. This is how you were going to die.

It was predicted to happen within the hour and Miguel was just sitting here waiting for it to happen. How morbid, he scolds himself. He sits there helpless, a pitiful excuse for a hero.

“Mig, I’m so sorry,” Lyla’s small form comes to sit next to his hand, her own small hand mimicking stroking motions over his forearm.

“You weren’t going to tell me.” he mumbles, eyes still locked on the screen of a smoldering building where your body would be dug up from. Only a simulation. It hadn’t happened. Not yet.

“I didn’t know how to. I was… scared.”

“Scared,” He scoffs, “You?”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her, Miguel.'' The AI bites out harshley. It almost catches him off guard. He’s so used to seeing her so bubbly, so quirky and fun. As annoyed as he seemed by it, he always appreciated it. Gabe was smart in programming her to be so fun. He needed someone like that in his life. Someone to help cut through his bullshit. You played that role as well.

“We’ve lost a lot of friends in this job, haven’t we Lyla?”

“We have.”

Miguel expected to be ragging at this point, an inconsolable beast wreaking havoc on his lab. Angry, like he had been since you left. Instead, he’s just numb. Was your fate that easy to accept?

The spider-sense lulls in his head, finally quieting down after the month of torture. Did that mean it knew what was to come? Would he feel it? When you—

He finally buries his face in his hands, muffling a defeated sob. Ah, there’s the tears. After the self-inflicted torture he’d put you both through, this is how it ends? You die and he has to watch it happen like a helpless child on the sidelines. This is the burden he’d taken. He’d done this so many times before. He’d watched horrible things happen because it was the will of the canon— but with you it was… you were…

“Lyla, I’d like to see the probability diagnostics,” He swallows the sorrow, hoping the cold unfeeling numbers of an algorithm might put him at ease. If this was to happen, maybe looking at the ripple effects of it would help him cope. A sacrifice for the greater good of it all.

The equations and graphs illuminate around him, all of them infallible. This was going to happen. And what would your death bring to the multiverse? Nothing. A small blip in the grand scope of it all. A speck of dust in the cosmos, just like all of them.

But if your death was so small, then what could that mean if it didn’t happen?

The thoughts he’d been suppressing suddenly flood his mind. He’s not helpless here. The power to change your fate rested on his wrist, your life so easily saved by the simple push of a button. He’d risked something like this before, but it was different this time. Could saving a life have the same effect? He’d replaced a life, but saving a life…There’s no way to know. And he didn’t have time to run the numbers. He had to act—- now.

“Miguel?” Lyla’s voice chirps up behind him, “What are you doing?”

What is he doing? He looks down to see he’d already typed in the coordinates to your universe. Had he already decided and didn’t realize it? Was it that easy?

“I…” He looks down at the watch. A single push of a button. That’s all it would take. “I don’t know.”

“I know… this is hard,” She hovers at his wrist now, clearing the coordinates from the watch, “But we can’t interfere with—”

“All we’ve done is interfere,” He bites out in a voice he doesn’t recognize. “How is this different?”

Did he really believe that?

Hypocrite, he scolds himself.

Reasoning. He was trying to reason for it. Bargaining for your life to justify his own selfish actions.

He types in the coordinates again, and Lyla clears them before he finishes. He growls, clawing through her projection.

“You’re not thinking, Miguel!” She urges. “I know this is hard. But you can’t. You know you can’t.”

He knows she’s right, he’s not thinking. He doesn’t care. If he could pull this off, if he could save you, then he’d figure it out. He always did. There had to be limits he could push. Options he never considered. Whatever it would take, just to assure your safety.

“You have to understand what’s at stake here.” Lyla says again, her pixelated eyes pleading with him. Despite her seeming so human in every way, she was still just a program doing her job. She was his fail-safe, an assurance to make sure past mistakes weren’t repeated— and now she’s the only thing standing in his way.

“Yes, I do understand,” He says coldly, calmly walking across the lab— to Lyla’s control panel. “It’s time you remember who’s in charge.”

“Don’t even think about it!” She grows to full size. Projections explode behind her, raging fire, explosive blinding lights— all mere illusions. It does nothing to stop him. While she ran things, multiverse travel was still completely operable without her. He opens the panel and begins typing in the reboot code. It’s the one area of the tower she has no control over.

Arachni-bots scurry towards him before falling dead with another push of a button. She’s trying everything. He has to work quickly.

“I’ve called Gabe,” Lyla warns, “Emergency protocol is initiated. He’ll know.”

“Fine, I don’t care.” Miguel punches in the final sequence and all of Lyla’s projections begin to fade. Only her flicking form remains. It’ll take her at least an hour to reboot, that’s more than enough time.

A portal to earth-727 bursts to life in front of him.

“Think about it, Miguel!” Lyla tries to reason one last time as her projection starts to fade, “All of this— Everything— for one person? It’s not worth it.”

He pauses at the portal's entrance, the pull of the spider-sense urging him to step forward.

“Yes. She is.”

The sense crescendos as he shoots through reality, across time and space to save you. The anticipation builds, the anxiety of racing against the clock. He burst through the portal already swinging, taking a quick assessment of his surroundings. Without Lyla to guide his exact location he could've only ended up in a 3-mile radius of you. The sun had already set. He was in Brooklyn, the southside by the looks of it. The warehouse was in the center of Queens, not far but he had to hurry.

As he swings the rest of his emotions come flooding in. The guilt. The shame… the undeniable love for you. How could he have thought such things? How could have just sat by while he watched you die? Had this job really made him so callous? So cold to the world at large?

When did Spider-Man stop trying to save everyone?

You’d given yourself to him so freely and he’d meet your affections with so much disdain— yet you treated him with kindness anyway. You were patient with him like no one had been before, he didn’t deserve it. Yet he won’t give it up. Not anymore.

He’d make it up to you. He’d make it all up to you starting tonight.

The warehouse is in sight. You’d be swinging in from the east. He could easily stop you before you got anywhere near the building. He perches himself on the highest rooftop half a block east of the rigged warehouse and waits. Checking the time, you’d be swinging at any moment, give or take a few minutes.

He waits… and he waits.

He’s not sure how much time has passed before he starts pacing. Did he miss you? No, he has no doubt the spider-sense would have honed in on you.

The spider-sense… in his blind panic he hadn't paid it any mind. Surely being in your dimension would send the alarms blaring in his head. Instead, it was like it was…. Muted. Smothered under something he didn’t recognize. What did that mean?

What if it meant you were already dead?

Dread pushes him off the roof and swinging towards the harrowing warehouse. Crawling up to the closest window, he peers inside. Three armed men stand in the center of the massive room, barrels of explosives around them.

“Where the hell is she?” one of them grumbles, “Doesn’t she usually show up way before the cops? Did Tony call it in?”

“Of course he did,” the second one sighs.

“If she doesn’t come then this was all for nothin’.”

“She’ll come. She always comes.”

“Shut up, both of you,” the final one hisses, turning around to scold the other two. “Look.”

He gives a faint nod to his right… directly at Miguel.

The first bullets whiz past Miguel’s shoulder, one knicking his suit. He was spotted. Idiot. How could be so careless? He barely manages to swing out of sight.

“Christ, don’t shoot in here!” The leader of the three shouts, “Might as well light a fucking match!”

“Fuck you, I’m not letting that bitch get away!” They think Miguel is you? He could hear them arguing, perched safely on the roof. Well that confirms it, you weren’t here.

“She’s here. We got her and I’m not gonna let her pick us off one by one. I’m getting justice for the boys she locked up.” The threatening statement is followed by the unmistakable cock of a gun.

Oh no.

“Wait— WAIT—'' One of them pleads before a shot goes off, immediately followed by a domino fall of explosions.

Miguel just barely swings to safety, the flames licking at his heels.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” He chants as he rounds the corner onto a rooftop. It happened. The explosion paints the night in harsh oranges, shattering windows and setting off car alarms for miles. He hears police sirens finally approaching. Your death had happened— and you weren’t there for it.

You weren’t there.

Relief overtakes him, dropping him to his knees. He’s not sure if he wants to cry or vomit. Quelling the boiling cauldron of emotions in his brain, he forces himself to focus. He hones in on the spider-sense— desperately humming in the forefront of his mind. It was trying to tell him something. Trying to tell him where you were.

With a wary step forward, he follows it.

________

An emergency distress call from some random universe you’d never heard of. You can’t remember the last time you answered one. Probably when the tower was attacked. They were never meant to be ignored either.

Jess called it in, and with her being so far along in her pregnancy you leaped immediately to help her, along with a good handful of all of your other spider-comrades. She’d just entered her third trimester and you’re truly amazed she’s still working this diligently.

“Gotta get it all out of my system now,” She’d scoffed to you when she’d first announced it, “That and I know you guys can’t do this without me, better help you out now.”

Jessica Drew, always so humble to the point she wouldn’t allow herself maternity leave. God, you loved her but you’d wished she would slow down.

Since she showed no signs of taking a break, offering a helping hand whenever she needed it was the best you could do.

Tonight she certainly needed it, being caught in a sudden gathering of symbiotes. You and about ten other spiders answered the call, just in time it seemed.

You hated symbiotes. It wasn’t as easy as punching them and knocking them out, you had to be clever. Play to their very specific weaknesses— Fire and loud noises. That and they were just nasty fuckers. It's a good chance for you to blow off some steam. You didn’t have to hold back when it came to symbiotes, and for once, that was a good thing.

An hour of messy fighting and a lot of loud noises and fire later, they were all contained. It admittedly felt good to be part of a team effort after your rather less-than-stellar month. These were still your people, they didn’t stop being your people just because Miguel wasn’t part of your circle anymore.

A massive portal opened back to HQ. You’re cue to leave for home.

“Hey,” Jess grabs your shoulder before you can hit the button home, “Come back to the tower with me.”

“I— why?” you’re aware of how cold it comes out.

Jess immediately furrows her brows, “Because I haven’t talked to you in forever and I wanna buy you a coffee so you can describe what it tastes like to me.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, “You miss coffee that much, huh?”

“And booze. And sushi. And hot tubs. And—” She drapes her arm around your shoulder as she continues, leading you over to her bike. Well, if she’s offering a fun ride, who are you to say no?

Yes, you’d been avoiding the tower like a plague just because he’s there. You feel him when you’re closer, the sense jumping at the proximity alone. Just because it was Miguel’s tower though, didn’t mean you weren’t welcome. Your friends were there. Your community. Spider Tower wasn’t just a monolith to Miguel, it was for all of you.

You wonder if you should tell Jess about it all. If anyone would understand it’d be her. You’d probably get a few good minutes of reprimanding you for being so stupid, but then she’d go full protective mode and be your human shield against the big bad Spider-Man 2099. That and the pregnancy hormones were making her more irritable. That’s what friends did, though�� right? Made things easier for one another. That and you wanted another shoulder to cry on.

You will tell her, eventually. Not tonight but… soon.

You both burst into the tower, Jess skidding the bike to a spiraling stop.

“I hate it when you do that.” you sigh into her back.

“You spend all day swinging around a city and a little bike ride makes you dizzy?” She scoffs, flipping out the kickstand.

“Yes, shut up,” You groan, practically melting off the bike. Suddenly, You remember why you don’t always accept rides from her, “Why do you ride a bike anyway? Your webs seem perfectly fine.”

“Just to look cool,” She muses, bouncing her hard to the side. Well… you can’t deny that fact. She always did look pretty cool.

The spider-sense was revving in the back of your head. A few weeks ago it would have driven you insane, now it’s just another thing to ignore. Like a cast over a broken bone or an itchy rash. You’d trained yourself to live with advanced senses, you could train yourself to get used to this.

At least until you were ready to take the cure.

You’re halfway to the cafeteria when it’s too much, the sense jumping like a punch to the back of your head. You stumble forward, blindsided by the effects.

“Jeez, you okay?” Jess grabs your arm.

“Fine! Fine…. I think.” You assure her halfheartedly.

The sense calms down into a more annoying ringing, but still stronger than when you first entered the building. Why was it acting up now?

A familiar voice calling your name is your answer. You turn around and there he is, standing at the end of the hallway.

Miguel— and god, he looks awful.

Of course he had to show up when you were starting to feel like yourself again. The sense almost causes you to burst out in tears at the sight of him alone. It was a relief. It was a nightmare.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

He takes a few timid steps toward you, “I… I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” you immediately spit back.

“It’s important,” He simply says. This was a bad idea. You want to go with him so badly but you know if you do it’ll open up all of your wounds again.

“What’s going on, Mig?” Jess, bless her, tries to intervene.

“This is between me and her,” Miguel bites out coldly. Jess didn’t often tolerate his bitchy behavior, but she turns to you instead. Her eyes look to you to see if everything is okay— a silent communication only women seemed to possess the power of.

“It’s fine, Jess,” You pat her shoulder assuredly, “I’ll describe some coffee to you later.”

She doesn’t look convinced that it is, in fact, fine but carries on her way regardless. She knew you well enough to be sure that you could handle yourself. She’d suspected something probably since the beginning. Yeah, you really need to come clean to her eventually.

“What do you want?” You practically hiss at Miguel. He barely moves, simply pressing a button on his watch. A portal springs up on your right.

“Not here,” He gestures to the spinning portal. Of course, this all had to be cryptic for no reason. Just another thing to torture you right now. You groan and step through the portal.

It was like walking through a door, your feet landing on solid ground in less than a blink of an eye. A quick glance around and you see you’re in Miguel’s home. It’s dark, the only light coming from the glowing city outside.

You turn to him as he exits the portal behind you.

“We couldn’t have taken the sta—”

You don’t even finish the sentence before he pulls you into him, strong arms crushing you against his chest. You’re not sure what you expected… but it wasn’t this.

It’s embarrassing how good it makes you feel almost immediately. Like just his touch cured your countless sleepless nights. The familiar warmth of his arms seeping into your varying being as if he was holding your soul. Was a hug always this good? It’s certainly better than the last one you shared with him.

The realization jolts you out of his embrace. You weren’t supposed to be together anymore. You weren’t supposed to be doing this shit anymore— right?

“What the hell, Mig?” is all you manage to gasp out.

He stands there, unmoving, his arms still reaching out after you. You can’t read his face, his expression almost blank. Shocked, maybe?

“I… I don’t know—I had to—” he pulls his hands back, examining them as if he’s just killed someone, “Where were you?”

“Where was—” you balk out an annoyed laugh. Is that why he brought you up here, to check in on you? Toying with this all like some child, “On a mission with Jess, doing my job. Are you spying on me now? Do I have to report to you still?!”

He says nothing, letting your harsh yelling linger in the large space. He looks at you again, something you don’t recognize in his eyes. Suddenly all your anger is replaced with pity. What was happening?

“You’re—” He choked on his words, just for a moment, “You’re okay?”

“Am I o—” You take a step towards him, willing yourself not to reach out and touch him. Trying so desperately to hold up that wall. The resistance you’re not sure you had.

The spider-sense… is screaming.

“Miguel… you’re scaring me.”

He nods as if to say I’m scared too. Scared of what, though? You gulp as you break the barrier. You reach out and cradle his massive hands in yours. He sighs at your touch. Something horrible happened… or was going to happen—something to bring this warrior to his knees in a way you’d never seen before.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he admits shakily. “Little spider, I think I—”

“What do you need?” you ask immediately.

You see the corners of his mouth twitch up just briefly. Cute, but not an answer.

“What happened?” You push.

His hands trail up your arms and come to cup your face. Your eyes flutter, almost instinctively. “Just… just tell me you're okay. Right now. In this moment.”

“Mig—”

You’re not sure who does it. If he pulls your lips to his or if you jump up to meet him. Does it really matter? He tasted like freedom. Like the relief you’d been searching for all these weeks. Had you forgotten so easily? The taste of him. The feel of him. Something so indescribable— like a drug. He was your drug.

It’s a handsy fury, ripping off your clothes as you seemingly try to will his to fade away. There was no time for pleasantries, not this time. There was only hunger— unsatiated, gnawing hunger.

Need. You needed him.

He backs you against the windows, their sudden coldness sending chills up your naked body.

“Miguel, please—” you urge, for what exactly, you’re not entirely sure. Whatever he was willing to give you.

“Te tengo. Te tengo…” He chants as his mouth glides down your body, from your neck, between your breasts, and finally to your waiting cunt.

He engulfs your heat greedily. You don’t recall ever screaming so loud. Sweet, perfect relief. He was perfect.

He brings both of your legs over his shoulders and holds you there, your bare back pressed against the glass for all the world to see— not that anyone likely would from this height. And not that you really cared right now anyway. There was only him. Him. Him!

God, you missed his skillful mouth. Hungerly lapping at you like it nourished his very soul. It did, you suppose in a way. The sinful hunger helped both of you in its own way. Kept you sane. Kept you alive. You can’t believe you’ve lasted as long as you did without him.

You come embarrassingly fast, but you’re not surprised with how much you had pent up over the last month. The orgasm rips you apart like an atom bomb, exposing your raw nerves underneath. Your vision goes white, your mouth goes dry. It was everything you were trying to give yourself all those lonely nights— Miguel gave it to you in two minutes.

His mouth still sloppily runs between your legs as you come down. You squirm in his grasp, your sensitivity now turned up to eleven.

“Miguel,” You plead, “I need you. I need you.”

A rumble emanates from his chest and up your legs as his mouth comes off you. He lowers your legs, holding you at his waist. He stands at his full height again, pinning you there. He trails his mouth back up your torso, pausing at your breasts to lull his tongue over each nipple before he finds your mouth again— his mouth and tongue coated with the taste of you.

“Lo siento, arañita. Lo siento mucho.” he whispers between breaths. You know those words. He’s saying sorry. He’s sorry— you’re sorry too. Sorry for it to have come to this.

He slides inside with a pained moan. Your walls clench around him with familiarity.

“Like you were made for me,” He murmurs as his mouth slides down your neck. Though it’s completely healed over, he knows the mark he left. He stops on it, his tongue tracing the ghost of what was left there. The brand he left on your soul.

He lifts you off his cock and slams back into you brutally. Your head falls back against the window with a defined thunk as he sets a ruthless pace. Bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing at all. That’s alright, he can use you.

Your lude erotic sounds fill the space. Wet skin slapping on wet skin. Desperate wordless moans for more. Always more.

“I missed you. I missed you,” You don’t didn’t even realize you were chanting it until your mouth went dry.

“Shhh,” He nips at your lower lip, “I know. God, I know. I missed you too. I— fuck.”

Even amidst the animalistic lust-fueled frenzy, you could feel him trembling under your touch. His body quivering with more than just desire. Your combined anxieties manifesting into something desperate and terrifying. A need that couldn’t just be quelled with just your hands.

Even in your bliss-fogged mind, you felt like a fool for ever letting something like this go. Something so rare and beautiful.

Ever since it appeared in your life you’d been trying to describe this impossible feeling. What was a shared spider-sense? A piece of you that you shared with someone else. How can you define what felt like pure instinct? Give a name to something that was indescribable?

The only thing you knew was that something felt right when you were together. The world made sense when this man was part of it, as infuriating as he could be at times. You were his, he was yours. Not yours in the sense that he belonged to you, but yours meaning he belonged with you. A pair, a set, forever intertwined.

What was the spider-sense to you?

It was home.

It felt like home. He felt like home.

His hips come to a staggering halt as your second orgasm overtakes you. He bites down on your shoulder as he paints your walls. He stands there just for a moment before lowering you both to the ground on trembling legs. Neither of you speaks, panting out the thinning air between each other. Both of you refuse to let go, afraid that this time would surely be the last time you’d ever touch him. Keep him here, now, forever. Nothing could take him away from you right now.

“Reboot complete.” An ambient voice rings through the room. It was certainly Lyla’s but it sounded… different. More robotic.

“Oh no,” Miguel grumbles, his grip on you tightening.

“What? What is it?” Why do you feel panicked? It’s just Lyla.

Miguel pulls away, worry crossing those burgundy eyes, “I… I have to tell you something.”

Before he can continue, a familiar golden glow springs up in the middle of the room. Pixels form together to make the familiar form of the infamous AI assistant. She turns to face you both. Miguel’s suit instantly appears back on his body. You’re suddenly very aware of your nakedness, despite her being a computer program. You grab for your abandoned suit crumbled on the floor, hurriedly shoving yourself back into it.

“Geez, knock first, Lyla,” You scold her.

“You’re—” the program's gaze darts back to Miguel in an instant, “Miguel, you didn’t.”

Miguel sits there shamefully, like a scolded dog.

“I know we’re not supposed to be doing this anymore,” You come to his defense, slipping your arm into the final sleeve, “It just kind of happened.”

Lyla cock’s her head at you. Was she… confused? Did Lyla get confused? Again, she turns back to Miguel.

“You didn’t tell her?”

An unknown fear pricks at the hairs on your neck, “Tell me what?”

Miguel stands, arms outstretched to console you. His mouth was open and ready with an explanation before he was interrupted again.

“Miguel!” Another voice echoes through the large room as it enters the apartment. Gabe. He pauses at the living room entrance. “Oh no. No no no, Miggy. What is she doing here? Estas loco?!”

“Excuse me?” You start before Miguel comes to your defense.

“She’s here because I chose for her to be here,” He steps in front of you, “She has a right to be here.”

“You’re not God, Miguel,” Gabe marches over, slapping his older brother in the chest. Miguel doesn’t react, “You don’t get to make these decisions. No one does.No puedo creer que estés cometiendo los mismos errores de nuevo. No puedo creer—”

“I’ve told you this is not the same. Ella es diferente,” Miguel bites out, looming over Gabe. The younger brother does not back down.

“Bullshit!”

“Hey!” You finally scream. All eyes in the room snap to you in an instant, some angrier than others. “Someone please… tell me what’s happening.”

You see Gabe’s defenses drop, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a step away.

“Jesucristo, Mig.” You hear him mumble into his hand.

Miguel looks back to you, some kind of horrifying desperation pulling at his features. You’re not sure why, but it scares you.

“Arañita… Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

_______

Translations:

Te tengo. Te tengo…: I’ve got you. I’ve got you...

Lo siento, arañita. Lo siento mucho: I’m sorry, little spider. I’m so sorry.

No puedo creer que estés cometiendo los mismos errores de nuevo. No puedo creer– : I can’t believe you’re making the same mistakes again. I can’t believe—

Ella es diferente: She’s different

Jesucristo, Mig: Jesus Christ, Mig

Please please please let me know if any of this is wrong

________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3 @del-ightfulling

Taglist post here!!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #parallels fic #miguel o'hara smut

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yupuffin · 3 months ago

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I don't disagree with the take that "GenAI bros are just lazy," but I've also read and agreed with the take that laziness is a nonexistent (and lowkey ableist) concept. So I think there's a little more depth and nuance to the sentiment than mere "laziness."

Put succinctly, I think GenAI users erroneously devalue the process of making art relative to the product. This is closely associated with the arbitrary assignment of value to an artistic product based on the perceived skill level required to create it. (i.e. the belief in existence of "good" and "bad" art)

The motivations I've heard from people who use what's commonly called "generative AI" (hereafter "GenAI users") can indeed be summarized as that it's "easier" or that it allows them to create something that they otherwise do not have the skill or the means to create. Basically, they think that using GenAI will allow them to create something "better" with relatively less personal commitment than, well, creating it themselves. Effectively, they want "instant gratification."

While I sympathize with this sort of rationale, I also think it reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of creativity as a concept. When it comes to artistic creation -- or really, any activity that necessitates the development of a skill -- the product is never the only relevant aspect; the creative process, while often less publicly visible than the product, can be at least as meaningful, if not more.

Hence, my tentative hypothesis is that the motivation to use GenAI, specifically to produce an equivalent of visual art, is potentially derived from specific misconceptions about the creative process. Below, I have deconstructed said motivation into several potential misconceptions and included corresponding analysis disproving them. My goal is to further elucidate the purported "laziness" behind GenAI usage and illustrate how genuine artistic creation, while potentially more difficult, is certainly more productive and rewarding.

Myth: The work you put into making art is a "struggle" you have to survive. Fact: I'm putting this misconception first, because it is perhaps both the most common and the most essential. I've seen this sentiment inadvertently and widely perpetuated even by the most staunchly anti-AI artists, in the form of memes such as "In order to get this [highly refined art], I had to survive this [art I made much longer ago that is hence implied to be intrinsically worse]." Frankly, this is also incredibly insulting and discouraging to newer artists, or, really, anyone perceived to have a lower skill level regardless of how "new" they are.

The reality is that the creative process should, overall, be enjoyable. That's where the desire to create comes from. As with the development of any skill, some aspects of the creative journey will inevitably be less enjoyable than others, hence the perceived difficulty; however, in order to be both productive and genuine, the enjoyable aspects of the process should make the "struggle" worth it. I believe that determining how best to enjoy the creative process requires continuous and deliberate self-reflection by the artist -- which can, indeed, be a rewarding journey of self-discovery.

Which leads me to the next point:

Myth: The fear of making "bad" art. Fact: Every artist will sometimes create art with which they are deeply unsatisfied. When people ask me how to deal with artistic disappointment, I remind them first that "good" is highly subjective, and second, that in order to make "good" art, one must also inevitably sometimes make "bad" art. It's okay to give yourself space to feel disappointed in your art, as long as you likewise allow yourself to celebrate when you create something you're really happy with.

Consider: GenAI can also provide an unsatisfactory product. Though GenAI is commonly treated as a "shortcut" to "good" art, it is not actually so infallible. Because the process is highly automated and, likewise, involves so little human input, getting a product that's sufficiently to your liking can be a genuine headache.

Effectively, you will make "bad" art regardless of if you are using GenAI or your own skills.

If the product and process are both your own, the process can be deliberately fine-tuned and optimized, and then applied to your future works to continue your artistic journey. Again, it's work, but it's rewarding work! (You may start to notice a theme here...)

Myth: Creating "good" art is expensive. Fact: Expensive materials and tools certainly have their place, but an infinite number of possible artistic journeys can be made without them. In fact, it's often unnecessary or even counterproductive to spend copious amounts of money on highly specialized tools if you don't have the training or skillset to know how to use them.

I'm sure many artists out there will be willing to demonstrate the possibilities behind even the most basic and accessible tools; in this case, I'll provide a personal anecdote to illustrate: As an adolescent, I used to use professional-grade, highly specialized Prismacolor pencils. Now, as an adult, despite having over twice as many years of artistic experience, my go-to traditional art tool is a tiny box of "school-grade" colored pencils. I'm happier with the results at a tiny fraction of the cost, because I realized that having limited color options and more generic applicability works better with my thinking, drawing and coloring process.

When it comes to classes and lessons, which can likewise be expensive and hence inaccessible... While they can serve specific artistic goals depending on what you want to do, the number of "self-taught" artists out there proves that these are far from obligatory. Plus, right now, there's more knowledge out in the world for free than there has been ever before. (If you're reading this soon after I posted it, I just reblogged a post full of visual art resources 😆)

Myth: I'm not creative or imaginative enough to make my own art. Fact: Creativity and imagination are also skills that can be learned and cultivated; as with any other skill, this requires practice. As expanded upon above, skill cultivation is certainly work, but it can be intrinsically rewarding when done right. This is scientifically proven: learning and accomplishing things, as happens when one develops a skill, releases the neurotransmitter serotonin, which is directly associated with mood stabilization and feelings of happiness and contentment. Likewise, having pursued multiple forms of creativity over the course of my life, I strongly believe that enjoying the creative process, whatever that means for you personally, is the most crucial factor for cultivating a skill. Maximizing enjoyment likewise maximizes the amount of time you can put into a skill, and, as a general trend, invested time is directly proportional to skill improvement.

GenAI usage denies the user this opportunity to develop their creative skills, as it prioritizes the artistic product at the expense of the process. Because it's arguably easier, it likewise lacks that intrinsic reward.

This can be associated with the point above about making "bad" art; art that is mundane or unoriginal is often arbitrarily called "bad." In reality, each person's creative endeavors, regardless of their perceived skill level, are a unique synthesis of their individual lived experiences. Compare this to GenAI, the output of which is based solely on what it most statistically probable, and is hence quite literally unoriginal.

Honestly, as an artist, I recommend making art yourself in part because the rush of happy chemicals you get, either when someone compliments it or when you're happy with it yourself -- because YOU MADE THAT! THAT'S WORK YOU PUT IN! -- is so worth it. And for that to happen, you have to give yourself the space to make art you're disappointed with and art you're happy with.

As a disabled artist myself, I think it's also worth noting that there may be some very specific forms of art that are less accessible to you, but I also think, from my experience, that for each of these forms, there are countless possibilities and approaches for utilizing the same medium or general type of art that can still be just as fulfilling.

How do I start? A crash course...

To make "good" art, you must first make art. Pick up a pencil and some paper. Doesn't have to be a specific kind -- it can be generic and inexpensive. Now, draw anything. Draw something you want to draw. It can be super simple. What do you like about it? What do you not like about it? Draw it again, making changes accordingly. If you can't think of anything in particular to change, just keep drawing what makes you feel fulfilled. Repeat! If you ever find yourself demotivated out of self-criticality, try focusing more on what you do like -- "playing to your strengths" is just as worthy a pursuit as "compensating for your weaknesses."

When people tell me they use GenAI because it's "easier," I think back to a conversation my coworker talked about having with her significant other. Her significant other would ask her to cook, because she was so much better at it, so wasn't it a waste of time for him to do it? A little bit under the influence of THC (as she claims), she took a breath, and asked him:

"How are you ever going to get better if you don't try?"

#soliloqyu #anti ai #ngl i don't know what else to tag this

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vashtijoy · 4 months ago

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hi, i've been following your p5 translations for a while now, i've recently started learning japanese myself and i wanted to ask how you learnt/ any recommendations for learning? translation is something that seems pretty appealing for me so i wanted to know how you got into it if you're happy to share! i'm getting through hiragana and katakana mostly right now, though i have been learning some kanji and then learning common phrases alongside. hope you have a great day :)

Oh gosh, lmao. Far and away my main and only recommendation is to get into a class, a real class, with real people that you can speak to face-to-face and practice with in person, with a native-speaker teacher that you can get feedback from. This may be difficult or expensive, but it's the best thing by far that you can do for your language learning.

I have been to a couple of classes, but I always end up studying by myself at home, so there is hope! That said, I've been studying off and on for 25 years, and I'm still at the "can read with a dictionary but can't hold a conversation" stage. And I mostly got here by trying really hard to read things, and failing a lot. And I still fail. A lot. So get a teacher, and work as hard as your health and circumstances will allow.

I also spent entire years of my life drilling intensely with Anki. Which... I'm not sure I'd recommend that either, to be honest. I will say there are lots of sites trying to sell you expensive subscriptions to their flashcard packages, but... honestly, they're all Anki, they're just Anki, Anki is free, forever, live, laugh, love it. You need flashcards, so you do need some Anki, but don't make the mistake of spending so much time on your flashcards that you forget to actually watch or read Japanese-language material. Ask how I know.

Oh, there are also lots of sites claiming to have shortcuts, or One True Methods. And idk, maybe you can glean tips from them. I certainly have. The sad fact, though, is that there's no substitute for hard work. And years of it.

As for translating—if you want to be a pro translator, I absolutely wish you the best! My understanding is that it's a very tough field, that conditions and wages are not as good as they could be, and that machine learning and AI are progressively destroying it. I would also still, if my health permitted, get into it so fast it would make your head spin.

And (as won't surprise you if you read my posts) I do think a translator needs to be a good writer. So read a lot. And write, if you don't already! Get familiar with your target language (that is, your native language), so that you can express yourself in it, accurately, beautifully, and well.

I hope this helps a little. Like me, it's not infallible. I don't know very much, I'm just a dweeb on the Internet who likes Goro Akechi. :)

Oh, my local uni has a free online course in translation. I took this from my front room, and it was really good; I learned a lot. But you should sign up right now if you want to take it (or check out their Youtube) as that entire translation and modern languages department has just been shut down by fascists. Which sucks, and makes me miserably sad. It's hard to be an aspiring translator.

#asks #translation

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aethershroud · 9 months ago

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TADC Episode 3

Yes, I watch TADC. My opinions on Glitch are more or less irrelevant here, I want to support Gooseworx and I shall. With that out the way;

Not a single word of a lie, TADC Episode 3 was fantastic. For a number of reasons, actually.

I always love it when characters just sit down and chat and get their feelings known. Both Kinger and Zooble get to do that here, and it helps flesh their characters out.

Caine is still the silly little AI goober that he is. He even gets some development here! Guess he's not as infallible as he claims to be...and when he doubts himself, bad things happen. Hmm...could he abstract? Or would the "world" end before he would?

I...will be honest, tho, I think Zooble could have done with a little more in terms of on-screen content. I get what the message was, and it makes sense, but it's uh...a little heavy-handed. I'm not saying it feels like your typical "Hollywood Gender Politics Moment" or anything, but I feel it could've been built on a bit more. Maybe in later episodes?

That fucking monster design, Jesus Christ. The head alone looks like something out of Doors.

Jax was a lovable asshole as always, but thankfully it's not overfocused on like in episode 2. In fact, he doesn't really do a lot in this episode. Fair enough. Not his focus one. I feel that'll be the fast food worker episode, whenever that'll be.

The scene between Pomni and Kinger was nothing short of outstanding. Really made me like Kinger more as a character. Just have to keep ignoring he's voiced by the same guy who voiced One-Shot Wren.

Speaking of, if anything, this is going to make the wait for episode 4 even worse. Because we get this actual peak now, and we have to wait another six months to get the next one. All the while, SMG4 the """show""" is still ongoing and...yeah we're still dealing with that fucking TV. And Meggy is tooootally gonna die, folks. She's absolutely going to suffer lasting effects that may detract from her marketability!

God I fucking hate what that show has become.

#TADC #TADC spoilers #pomni #kinger #jax #ragatha #zooble #caine #tadc episode 3 #smg4 #gooseworx #glitch productions

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kyrieeleisonelise · 1 year ago

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Ai + Nino vs Ruby +Kana

The narrative is clearly drawing a parallel between Nino and Ai’s relationship compared to Kana and Ruby. Both involve a hardworking and talented girl (Nino and Kana) feeling growing resentment and bitterness when they are outshone by a newcomer who’s somewhat troubled, but has something ‘special’ about them, and gets favoured by others. (Ai and Ruby).

But how similar is the relationship? Is Ruby and Kana’s friendship just as doomed as Ai and Nino’s?

While they are only meant to be playing roles, it’s clear that Kana does have genuine resentment and jealousy towards Ruby. The fall out between them is real.

It’s not touched on much, but it’s mentioned a few times that Ai was favoured by management- Ichigo saw her as a daughter. Similarly, Miyako is Ruby’s adoptive mother, so Ruby does get favoured in the group.

We are shown just like Nino, Kana is completely outshone by Ruby as an idol. Ruby has more fans and gets more opportunities. Nino and Kana went from main-players to just backup for their more popular member .

Nino is still fixated on Ai, feeling intensely jealous and hateful of her, but also greatly admiring her and putting her on a pedestal. Kana has been shown to relate to these feelings more and more.

The latest chapter with Kana playing Nino and Ruby playing Ai shows how the original confrontation plays out.

Nino starts by expressing how lucky Ai is, and how much more popular she is. Nino isn’t initially overtly hostile, but is clearly upset.

But Ai is very dismissive. It’s not clear if she’s being dense/doesn’t know how to handle the situation, but it comes across like she just doesn’t care. She doesn’t stop eating her ice cream even when Nino is clearly upset.

Nino gets increasingly frustrated and escalated and says some awful things to Ai, but Ai seems almost completely unbothered, not even breaking her smile. When we saw current-Nino a few chapters back, this event and the following fallout has clearly still deeply impacted her.

Nino simultaneously hates and is obsessed with Ai.

Nino is resentful for what she feels Ai took from her, but the fact she was unable to move her emotions a little makes Nino interpret Ai as this almost superhuman infallible being. She puts her on a pedestal.

Nino was never able to resolve her issues with Ai, because from her point of view, Nino hated and admired Ai to such an extreme degree, and Ai didn’t particularly care at all. She was just a detached being who was vaguely ‘trying to love her’ even if Nino was trying to hurt her.

But did Ai really not care? Was she as unbreakable as Nino thought she was? Was she so detached from others that nobody could hurt her?

Not according to Ruby’s interpretation of her reaction.

With the latest chapter, we have the benefit of hearing Kana’s interpretation of Nino’s character.

As Kana is playing Nino, she realises that Nino and Ai probably used to be friends.

It could of just been an ordinary fight between girls, but because of Ai’s emotional walls the argument was never resolved and turned into a much, much bigger rift. Nino wouldn’t of been so upset with Ai if she didn’t originally think of her as a friend. This chapter seems to imply that Nino wasn’t just jealous of Ai, but also incredibly hurt when she felt she couldn’t reach her in any way.

Nino was deeply wounded by Ai’s seeming indifference to her suffering and to her vitriol. Not only does she continue to hate Ai for hurting her, she also admires her for her skill/talent and see’s her as untouchable and unmovable.

I explored it a bit further in a previous post, but I think Ai’s handling on Nino’s emotions was due to her lack of social skills/minimising as a defence mechanism rather than indifference.

Will Kana and Ruby end the same way?

I don’t think so.

Although Kana is in a similar position to Nino in the recent arc and there have been a lot of parallels, she is a very different character. Nino was a rookie idol and probably much younger than Kana at the time of the argument (if she’s the same age as Ai, probably about 14?).

Kana is a young adult whose spent decades in show biz and has more life experience than most people her age. Even though Kana has insecurities and can be impulsive/hot-headed she has had to be resilient to last as long as she has in show biz.

Ruby is by no means the first person Kana has had to compete against or felt jealous of. Show business is full of competition. Akane is Kana’s main rival for example. Akane has arguably more for Kana to be jealous of; she’s more successful as an actress and she was dating the boy Kana liked.

Although she is jealous of Ruby, Kana has enough self-insight not to completely loose her mind to it like Nino.

The only reason she originally expressed her resentment was to help Ruby act (although I believe this was a little extreme and misguided).

Kana’s maturity compared to Nino is evident throughout this chapter with her insightful analysis of Nino’s feelings/her relationship with Ai.

Nino doesn’t have the foresight to see how Ai’s background in a children’s home has lead to her developing maladaptive coping strategies. Kana is also able to recognise to an extent how Ruby’s difficult past impacts her behaviour, and has empathy for her.

Importantly, it’s been established multiple times that Kana’s speciality is acting. Although she does feel jealous of Ruby, part of her knows that ultimately being an idol isn’t her dream. Being an actress is. Kana can never surpass Ruby as an idol, but I don’t think Kana’s true-calling is to be an idol. Even during her argument with Ruby, she specifies that she can’t surpass Ruby as an idol.

Compared to Ai and Nino, where Ai is portrayed as a ‘better’ version of Nino (At least of Nino’s ‘ condensed character-type’ she portrays as an idol).

And Ruby? Ruby is very different from Ai. I’ve mentioned it before in a previous post that Ruby does hide darker parts of herself to an extent, but Ruby is much more open emotionally than Ai.

Just compare their reactions to their friend telling them to die/disappear.

Ruby does not hide that she is deeply, deeply hurt by Kana. Unlike Nino, Kana is never left feeling that Ruby never cared about their friendship in the first place.

Ruby allows herself to be vulnerable more than Ai ever could. While Kana admires Ruby, she doesn’t put her on a pedestal, she knows she isn’t a the ‘ultimate invincible idol’.

During Ruby’s black-star era/rise to fame she was so fixated on revenge that her friendship with Kana and Mem fell on the wayside, but it was clear she still cared about them.

The lead up to Ruby and Kana’s argument is complete different. Instead of being on completely opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, they’re both emphasising with each other; Ruby is worried how her performance will impact Kana’s career, and Kana understand Ruby’s desperation to do well in the movie.

I don’t know if Kana and Ruby will make up in the next chapter or if this argument is going to continue on. Ruby doesn’t seem to be in the best mental state, so she may not be ready to make amends with Kana immediately.

I have a feeling the emotions of the characters is going to continue to run parallel to the emotions of who they’re playing in the script.

But ultimately, I don’t think Ruby and Kana are doomed to follow in Ai and Nino’s footsteps. They are both different people.

I also wonder if Nino and Ai’s relationship would of ended differently if Ai hadn’t been killed. I think Ai matured a lot from her argument with Nino (14) compared to when she had her babies (16). If she hadn’t died, maybe Ai could of matured enough to communicate with Nino and Nino could of matured enough to understand Ai.

This is pure speculation, but I think Ai’s death traumatised Nino to the extent she is frozen in time, unable to move past her childish view of Ai as the perfect idol. A former friend who you wished dead actually getting killed has to be pretty traumatic (and of course, there’s always the possibility of Nino being involved in Ai’s murder which is another can of worms/ )

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #kana arima #ruby hoshino #aqua hoshino #oshi no Ko analysis

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