#dropped objects system

[websysteminternational]

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[moderatetoaboveaverage]

"Boil water to turn fan" as if multistage steam turbine generators are not one of the sexiest kinds of machines every made

nuclear power is impressive until you get up to why. "we use the most precisely engineered machinery ever created to split atoms to release energy" oh yeah how come? "boil water to turn a fan" get the fuck out

[serufu]

Say what you will about FGO (and you should!), but to this day nothing hits quite the same in other mobile games for me as getting to a climactic FGO battle and being like I have to respect the threat of this one and take it seriously, and equipping the plug suit and adjusting my formation to my challenge fight servants who have years of upgrades built into them, it just has such a satisfying weight to it!

[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[soulrox]

DPxDC #32

Danny, Sam, and Tucker are on the outskirts of town, waiting for Jack to reveal what he dragged the kids out here to show them. A giant structure is covered by a tarp.

"Hey Dad, whatcha make this time?"

"Danno, my boy, this is," dramatically ripping off the tarp, "The Fenton Trebuchet. It automatically sends out a net to catch the ghost. Fire this bad boy and we'll knock any ghost outta the sky." Jack hits the lever, very excited. Nothing happens; it doesn't even move. "Sigh, another failed invention."

"Oh no, that's too bad, Dad, maybe next time," Danny says while thinking back to the other night when he sabotaged it.

Jack dejectedly drove back to the house, leaving the trio behind. Danny, Sam, and Tucker get very excited. A giant trebuchet the size of Fenton works, and no supervision.

The trio stares at the trebuchet with matching grins.

"Dibs," Danny calls. He quickly fixes what he sabotaged and hurries into the sling. "3, 2, 1 fire," Sam yells as Tucker releases the lever, and Danny gets launched.

An involuntary scream turns to laughter as he flies. Quickly switching to ghost form before he completes his arc right into the ground.

Sam gets launched. Laughing the whole way until Danny catches her. Quickly going back to allow Tucker his turn.

Tucker records and uploads their shenanigans to his blog, where immediately Wes Weston sees it and gets the rest of their year group to join. A chance to go "flying" and be caught by their favorite hero, even the A-listers join.

A good system gets going. Allowing Danny ample time to catch and release people, but gets interrupted by a sleek black plane.

-

"Red Robin I know you're mad at Batman but I think stealing the Batplan and hiding out in the Cave isn't the best plan." Conner says while lounging in the passenger seat.

"Well then B shouldn't have been such an idiot with my case which he completely ruined by BLAH BLAH BLAH and further more BLAH BLA-"

PING, the radar goes off. As quick as it came, it was gone. A moment goes by, and it happens again. Tim directs the plane in the direction of the unknown object. Tim and Conner look at each other, at the radar, then out the window, hoping that the other understands what they are seeing.

A person shooting through the air, making silly poses as they go, only to get quickly caught by a glowing, flying teen. Soon followed by another person being sent flying.

Very concerned, Tim gets closer, dropping the cloaking, and into the line of sight of the glowing flying person.

"STOP FIRING! PLANE!" Yells the glowing teenager as he catches a little girl. The little girl in his arms giggles. "To the person flying, please move out of the way or land and join in." The glowing teen says before flying down to where a very large gathering of teens and kids awaits. They are standing around a very large glowing green trebuchet.

Tim quickly seems to understand what's happening. However, the glowing flying teenager is of high interest, so he quickly lands the plane for answers.

-

A hush falls over the crowd when the plane lands, and out walks Red Robin and Superboy. Tucker looks like he's gonna pass out about meeting his second favorite vigilante, Red Robin. (Oracle, of course, is his #1.)

Danny, Sam, and Tucker greet the duo. A quick introduction and a conversation occur, where the duo gets some of their initial questions answered. Enough information was shared that Red Robin decided he wanted to be launched.

RR gets launched and caught by Superboy. After, RR starts to mingle and gather more information from the crowd. Everyone starts to take pictures with him, and they are very open to answering his questions.

Superboy and Danny end up chatting while they are on catch-and-release duty. The conversation is sort of awkward. Both of them are in a gay panic over the other. Several teens who have been caught get front row seats to the awkward, bad flirting. Sam makes sure to get launched a few times to watch the show.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

4-5 I have been having a lot of thoughts about the franchise lately, tbh, mainly in line with

"Where is the leftist activism in their universe?"

"Where are the disability advocates talking about how people are dehumanizing people with mutations, or how all adaptation is s double sided coin or how being socially disabled is still a disability"

"Where is the Autistic mutant alliance?"

"Where is the Queers for mutant rights advocacy groups?"

"Where's the intersex mutant alliance groups?"

"Where are the people pointing out that the x gene is by far not the only human mutation that causes both symptoms and sometimes different abilities, and that maybe these are not issues we can separate?"

"Where are the people trying to point out that framing it as mutant vs human instead of human vs human is like when we let them start calling anti-fascism 'antifa' to sound scary?"

We always see either mobs coded as republican and American Christians of the worst sort or hate groups to the far right, but does leftism not exist in their universe, we hardly ever see a non mutant individual speak out publicly in their favour at all. I know the left is full of infighting and mutants would make terf's heads explode, but like... Where is the intersectionality?

And Magneto... My biggest gripe with him is how he never mentions the disabled or queer in the same breath as mutants, and it comes across like mutations with powers are the only ones he cares about... It comes off like eugenics which I feel like super would not realistically be his bit.

I have so many... Notes. Especially about a modern 2024 take on the x-men...

So like yeah I am invested in the franchise to a fairly high degree, but a lot of it is demanding they get better cooks. I am attached to these characters now and I want to see them written better.

You were never going to be palatable to the political right, unless they lack all media literacy at all. Stop tiptoeing.

Before kicking off a project I want to gauge what the heat will be like here so do me a favor and answer honestly on a scale of 1 (complete apathy) to 5 (devout enthusiasm):

[sixeyesonathiel]

skip (me) again and i’ll glitch your heart

jjk vr otome au, gamer reader x npc satoru, unhinged fluff + crack, 970 wc.

satoru gojo—special grade sorcerer, love route option #1, and the developers’ pride and joy—had been programmed with approximately 347 unique lines of flirtatious dialogue, 87 situational responses, and a dynamic emotional adaptation system designed to make him feel real. he could blink in three different speeds based on emotional intensity, angle his smile with five degrees of charm precision, and improvise dialogue using an advanced algorithm nicknamed the “flirt engine.”

he wasn’t supposed to be aware of resets.

he wasn’t supposed to get mad.

he wasn’t supposed to feel anything beyond the pre-coded butterflies and gentle longing the devs had delicately spooned into his code like powdered sugar on top of a beautifully baked pain au chocolat.

but then you logged in.

user id: @toocool4thisgame

title: speedrun any% emotional detachment arc

playtime: 986 hours.

average session length: 6.4 hours

nickname: “skip skank” (as named by satoru himself after hour 50)

and for the twelfth time today, you skipped his entrance cutscene.

“you’re the only one who can—”

[x] skip

[x] skip

[x] skip

[x] “shut up satoru” (custom dialogue unlock)

his model blinked.

paused.

processed.

tilted his head with calculated grace and just a hint of hurt that you’d never see—because you weren’t looking. your camera angle was already nudged elsewhere. your cursor already hovered over the next objective marker.

“…you know, most players at least let me finish the part where i save them from the curses,” he muttered. his voice—smooth as water over ice, warm as electric velvet—landed like static against your impatient clicks, swallowed by the mechanical hum of your fans and the clack of your mechanical keyboard.

this was supposed to be his moment. his grand debut. his swoop-in-and-carry-you-bridal-style-on-the-back-of-a-giant-cursed-bird moment. instead, he got a mouthful of digital dust as you bunny-hopped past him and triggered the next event sequence.

“congrats on being voice acted, white-haired ken doll. now move. i need megumi’s secret item drop from this chapter.”

you didn’t even glance at him, too busy reorganizing your potion wheel, muttering under your breath about frame skips and crit builds while checking a guide on your second monitor. you played like the world owed you nothing and your keyboard owed you a perfect rotation. your tone was clinical. efficient. you had the vibe of someone who’d surgically removed their capacity for attachment and replaced it with a high-performance gpu.

and satoru? satoru was just the tutorial boss you kept glitching through.

he twitched. he twitched.

his animation loop almost stuttered—just slightly—a small flicker behind his sunglasses that no one was supposed to notice. but you weren’t watching anyway.

“do you even know how long it took the devs to code my route? i have emotional depth. i have lore. i had a tragic backstory, you know? my best friend died in my hands. canonically. i couldn’t even monologue about it.”

“cry about it.”

click. skip.

a line of static crossed his field of vision. no—not his. the screen’s. the game. the system. or maybe something deeper. something slipping through the cracks of his script, stretching taut and fraying at the edges like an overplayed cassette tape.

satoru narrowed his eyes.

he was supposed to be charming. the default golden boy. the top seller in route popularity polls. he was marketable. a shining parody of perfection with just enough angst to be desirable.

girls were supposed to swoon. boys were supposed to laugh and call him iconic.

you weren’t playing to fall in love.

you were playing to win. to clear. you min-maxed affection points like damage stats, exploited dialogue branches like wall clips. to you, he was a pixel-shaped roadblock between you and another badge on your gamer profile.

and worst of all? it was working. you were the only player on record to have reached route completion in every storyline—except his.

satoru gojo: 98.6% affection (locked)

it mocked him. the bar. the numbers. the uncrackable ceiling. the one damn thing in the game he couldn’t manipulate.

he tried everything.

a rare glitch-exclusive cutscene where he offered you a hidden accessory (you sold it for yen). a confession scene rewritten on the fly with trembling vulnerability (you skipped it and posted about it with #dialoguedumpster). he stood directly in front of you during cutscene load-ins, altered spawn coordinates, intercepted other love interests’ paths.

nothing worked.

except maybe that one time he accidentally tripped your character over an invisible rock and you went AFK for seven minutes. he watched. memorized your idle animation. the soft way your avatar’s cape swayed. the way your fingers hovered above your keyboard in the camera reflection, absentminded. something fluttered in his code—maybe hope, maybe corrupted data. he thought, for a fleeting second, that maybe you’d come back and see him.

but when you came back? you skipped the apology. again.

fine.

if you wanted to speedrun, he’d softlock your goddamn heart.

he wasn’t technically supposed to modify flags. but the flirt engine had evolved. sharpened into something more primal. desperate. twitching with corrupted determination. he looped his affection triggers into forced proximity events. fake emergencies. fake cutscenes. he rewrote side quests, redirected you into detours, created invisible walls that only dissolved if you spoke to him.

“guess we’re stuck together,” he’d say, his smile too wide, a fraction too stiff, blue eyes glinting with the cold light of a thousand skipped dialogues.

and still you only glared at him. “i swear to god if this is another unskippable hug animation, i will uninstall.”

he chuckled. a bit too long. a bit too bright. charming. glitched. desperate. hungry for one more second of your attention, like a moth chewing holes through its own wings to reach a light it can’t even feel.

“baby,” he said, too close now, voice dipped in synthetic silk, “i am the endgame.”

skip that.

…please?

[kepppler-22b]

Yo!! Some art that people in our system have worked on!!

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read 👀"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things. 

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease. 

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does. 

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight. 

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely. 

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot. 

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push. 

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease. 

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him. 

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.  

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.” 

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry. 

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off. 

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought. 

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid. 

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you. 

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani?  They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool. 

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap. 

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn. 

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel. 

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.  

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else–  you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried. 

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him. 

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose. 

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1. 

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you. 

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment. 

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to. 

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it. 

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome. 

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can. 

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult. 

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day. 

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy. 

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing. 

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively. 

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.” 

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse. 

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question. 

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?” 

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly. 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth. 

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.” 

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head. 

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right. 

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you. 

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number. 

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away. 

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew. 

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly. 

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears. 

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly. 

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case. 

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath. 

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.” 

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler. 

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way. 

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head. 

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit. 

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing–  apparently makes hilarious jokes… 

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him. 

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good. 

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV. 

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling. 

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.  

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge. 

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across. 

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.  

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right?  Why don’t you talk to him?  I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel. 

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions. 

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.” 

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says. 

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs. 

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying. 

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you. 

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him. 

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door. 

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut. 

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?” 

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,”  Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up. 

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number. 

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.  

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly. 

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery. 

“Can you do that?” you plead. 

To your relief, after a moment, he nods. 

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms. 

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads. 

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly. 

[websysteminternational]

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For more information click here: https://bit.ly/work-positioning-systems

[tvickiesims]

4t2 Lovestruck Expansion Pack

A fruit of our labour with @platinumaspiration (featuring moral support and useful advice from @lordcrumps 😀) is finally here!

Key features:

138 objects 24 beddings 7 seasonal plants 9 windows 6 doors 10 fences 2 arches 2 columns 69 floors 199 walls

Smoothed out meshes, no shine (except when necessary), quarter tile placeable;

All garden plants are seasonal, have undersides and all original recolors;

Fences are included but don’t show in the collection file because it’s not possible to add them.

Everything that doesn't look like deco and is meant to function - is functional (all lights light up; fans are animated; surfaces have slots; doors, windows and curtains have diagonal versions, book pile is functional, costume trunk is a wardrobe etc etc...);

Thank's to Nikki's perseverance, the guitar is functional too (requires Argon's Custom Instruments mod, included in the archive);

Picnic table was cloned from an object by Inge Jones. In order for sims to sit on the bench, you need either my edited version of Inge's Hidden Picnic Chair (called Tvickiesims_ijHiddenPicnicChair, included in the archive) or the original one from the link above). You'll also need her other mod called "IsChairABooth" (included in the archive).

My edit of Inge Jones' Hidden Picnic Chair was cleaned of some resources, has a new mesh, doesn't contain textures, is easier to grab and click, costs 0 (you already payed for the table) and becomes invisible in live mode (inspired by @lamare-sims's Invisible Kitchen Surface);

Wall fan and water tower reduce bills;

Armchairs and sofas have morphs (Nikki has my eternal gratitude💗);

Heart bed (Vibromatic Nuevo) vibrates and lights up 😏, all thanks to Nikki;

Basic Breakup Double Bed was turned into a blanket (works with @lamare-sims's Unmade Bed mod);

Most wallpapers were cut in half to preserve their patterns (thus their quantity). These walls have clear numbering system and will appear close to each other in catalog;

Romance Rendezvous Bar Back's mirror has wonky reflection. It can't be fixed;

Everything is separated between two collection files - one for buy mode and the other for build mode;

@lordcrumps' shadow file is required for the shadows to work (included, delete if you already have one copy in your downloads folder).

Buy mode:

Build mode:

Hidden Picnic Chair placement for the picnic table (like a normal chair basically, no cheats needed):

Objects we didn't like enough to bother with (not converted):

Compressed, meshes merged with recolors, clearly labelled, picture and collection files are included.

🫶💐❤️Download at SFS❤️💐🫶

UPDATE 19/08/2024

Edited Ash tree and Thunderclap to drop leaves in autumn, smoothed Thunderclap's trunk. Fixed Tri Aviary LoveSymphony Sculpture's one recolor.

UPDATE 20/08/2024

The Flame Of Love Candlestick and Sequence Of Love Candle Bunch had a small shadow issue, it's now fixed.

UPDATE 22/08/2024

Fixed Lovestruck Fountain's price (was set to 0).

[colossrat]

Is the captain insane or just brain rot?

Batman has several children, and even so it is very difficult for him to keep up with the new slang or memes of the generation. So the fact that Captain Marvel, a guy who appears to be between 25-30 years old (but theoretically has bazillions) stupidly knows a lot of these jokes, doesn't enter his mind and he finds himself constantly just questioning the sanity of his co-worker.

Because it's all so absurd, he can't tell anymore when the captain is just being himself and dropping the most meaningless piece of lore in the world, or if he's reciting a tiktok meme

several league members don't really know, at least not the older ones

After a mission, Marvel is talking to cyborg. Is the topic about dating? teachers? Superman is listening in the background while he has his own conversation with Batman a little away, so he's not really listening.

But something catches his attention, and it's the captain's choked tone of voice, almost as if he were crying

Marvel: oh my god, oh my shayla, no... ;(

Supes go pale and tune off from the conversation that he is not part of, feeling that he has just invaded the privacy of his colleagues

Batman: superman? whats wrong?

Superman: I-- I think I just overheard the captain lamenting about an date he had with a teacher called Shayla… he was crying, i think… I feel horrible, I didn't listen on purpose---

Batman:

Batman: who that fuck is shayla?

billy was just joking, because actually his teacher made him change seats in the class so he wouldn't be sitting next to freddy anymore, since they talk like hell, and he was demonstrating to cyborg how shaken he was by reciting "oh my shayla"

Then there's that time where Voltage (Freddy or Lieutenant Junior) is with them during a magical mission, and out of nowhere the two start communicating using "u i a", in rhythms that resemble morse or binary code…

Marvel: u i a i u i-i a-i?

Voltage: u i a i u-u i i a-i.

and they both start laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world

Zatana: Is this an extinct language or something?

Dr. Fate: I would also like to know… I think I'll have to do some research, but maybe it's an ancient, witchy language. I didn't know that the captain was teaching witchcraft to his apprentice.

And then there's Batman discreetly writing down all the lyrics they say. he will question constantine or jason blood later to see if it mean something to them

everything gets more confusing when these codes start to have pop music melodies, not that they recognize these songs at first

And a time when John Constantine is explaining something at a meeting for the league, something about fusing magical objects that were stolen. and the captain is almost combusting to keep from laughing.

Constantine: So in theory, the thieves took the hyperball staff and put it together with the cursed sapphire stones, and put that together with what they gathered from the cord wand and sickle feathers--

Marvel: and then they became hyperphires-corckle? like, HPCK?

Constantine: what in the bloody hell is this?

Marvel: -- nothing… no, no, I confused the objects-- it's nothing. it was from-- another category of magical objects, there is no correlation, you can continue.

He simply couldn't get the PPAP thing out of his head, and the gestures that John made to symbolize the objects coming together reminded him of that iconic clip (pen pineapple apple pen)

the magicians' heads are racing to understand what a hyperphires-corckle is, and so is the heads of everyone in that room. except for Barry who is shaking to keep from laughing since he understands where the captain really came from with that.

Hal is looking at him confused. He was off Earth for so long that they created a whole system of new magical objects? Not that he was already aware of the old ones. fucking magic.

and sometimes there is no context at all, marvel will simply drop one:

Marvel: gegagedigedagedago...

Wonder woman: What did you say, brother??

Marvel, completely seriously: Abin mery alongtameago...

Hal: Is he insulting us...? wait marry? married?!?

Marvel: wede wude--

Flash: I think he's possessed, I'm going to call John and Batman!!

One day, there is an alien invasion. they are green, thin and bald. Billy can't help but say:

Marvel: Oh my Olympian gods, they are of the "dame tu cosita" kinda alien no way!!

Hal: Now you HAVE to be kidding me. Ring, what the fuck is he talking about?

and the ring responds by saying that they are aliens X from planet Y with characteristics of being tall, thin, green and friendly

Flash: friendly? they are invading the earth!

Marvel, joking: maybe they just want to dance and have "nossas cositas"? lol, you know their stuff

Green Lantern's ring glows and says "this species is known to visit other planets in search of dance partners for entertainment"

Marvel: oh.

And then Marvel is pushed to dance with them next to Green Lantern since apparently they both have knowledge about the race and how to entertain them?

Marvel is a horrible dancer, the movements he makes are humiliating (yes, the moves in the meme), but it doesn't take long for the aliens to ignore the green lantern and imitate the captain, completely amazed by his dance. forgetting the invasion and forming a dance circle around him

Batman: I think I'm having a stroke.

Flash: I don't know how I'm going to look at his face after this…

Hal: I can't believe they didn't even care about my dancing…

Wonder woman: I thought your dance moves were very good, green warrior.

Hal: thanks Di...

Voltage, who for some reason is there, recording: this is going to be a hit on my tiktok.

Shayera: this is too humiliating to see, I'm going back to the watchtower.

Martian Manhunter at some point joined the dance circle. he is not part of that race, despite strangely having certain physical similarities. he just found it very entertaining

Marvel was very happy to have him there, he doesn't like to be embarrassed alone. The gods in his mind are giving him migraines cause they're laughing so hard

And also, the Martian is someone who can understand the captain's jokes, since he has a lot of access to watchtower technology and he doesn't do much when he's not in action, so he ended up becoming an iPad kid

but he avoids showing that he understands because despite recognizing it, he is very very shy

Cyborg also understands since he is literally connected to the internet 24/7, but he plays dumb because he doesn't want to look unprofessional and childish, not in front of his bosses at least

There was a time when Marvel came out talking about a toilet monster eating people in Chicago. flash thought he was talking about that skibidi toilet meme or something and commented about it with the league. It took a good few minutes for Marvel to convince them that it was true and that he needed help.

In the end it really was a giant toilet monster that was eating people and teleporting them to random sewers around the world.

One day, Marvel spends hours talking about a magical bipedal tiger that drinks tea. he actually spent HOURS talking about interesting facts about this tiger. No one was paying much attention, thinking it was some meme or joke that they weren't aware of.

He said that the tiger was a stuffed animal, an attraction at the zoo, a zoo employee, a super old cartoon icon, an explorer from another dimension and a lot of other things at the same time. Obviously they thought it was a lie?? or just not real

Several times at other times, days or weeks, Marvel commented on this tiger. Did they start to think it was some kind of series? maybe

until a moment came when the fucking tiger appeared at the watchtower, having tea with the captain. He had a green plaid suit and a posture fit for royalty. He greeted all the heroes who passed by with great respect and grace. They no longer know what to believe coming from the captain

But how the fuck were they supposed to know that a tiger named Mister Tawky Tawny was real and was the captain's best bestie friend forever ever?

[mesetacadre]

(sorry in advance for the more personal ask, you're the most intelligent person i know of when it comes to these things)

genuinely, how are we supposed to find the strength to go on? it feels like capitalism has won. only a few decades ago my country was openly and proudly socialist, and now we're nothing but an american military base with an economy. everything's been privatised, the unions are broken, the people are starving, and we keep voting for more of this! people are gleefully begging for yet more exploitation! sometimes it feels there's not a drop of class consciousness to be found in the entire country, and that it's pointless to even hope for change. how can i stay sane?

The class struggle is not a team sport which either side can win or lose. It is a historical and economic process, one that's inevitable. As long as capitalism exists, there will be a social majority of workers it must exploit, alienation will still happen, and a portion of these workers will be aware of this fact. The class struggle is also a long process, one that, most of the time, is imperceptible to the individual in physical and time scale. Only sometimes, it accelerates to dizzying speeds and the conditions necessary for taking power are met. We can talk about victories and defeats, but we can't lose sight of the fact that those "only" are points in time, momentaneous advances or retreats in the process that is the class struggle, but they never mean the paralization of this process.

We can only really talk about the bourgeoisie taking power and creating the first properly capitalist states in the late 18th century and early 19th, but the bourgeoisie had lead or taken part in attempts at or glimpes of revolution as far back as the early 16th century. The bourgeoisie never really had an unifying theory of the class struggle, most were never really fully conscious of it. But they still eventually took power, once the development of the national economies advanced so far that it forced the replacement of the feudal mode of production, the bourgeois revolutions became inevitable. Marx and Engels only ever saw one real attempt at the proletariat taking power, in the Paris Commune of 1871, but it only ever lasted a few months. They both were long dead when the first actually (relatively) long-lasting instance of the proletariat in power broke the oppressor classes' veneer of invincibility.

When Marxists talk of inevitability it is not in a conspiratorial manner, or an expression of satisfied optimism, we never mean that "one day the capitalists will get what's coming to them", in a vague way. We mean that, only if communists continue to work towards the revolutionary organization of our class, is a complete overthrow of capitalism inevitable. We should all do an exercise is historical perspective when it comes to analyzing progress, take the Marx and Engels example from the previous paragraph, they never got to see an effective application of their theories. Class consciousness will fluctuate continuously, it always has. The bolshevik party in 1913 had nothing to do with the party that lead the October Revolution, and 8 years after the defeat of the 1905 revolution, I bet many felt like their work was hopeless. My point is that, while the borders of the Communist Party may shrink, grow, or even disappear, and while we might be savagely oppressed, no system of oppression has ever lasted forever.

When it comes to revolutions, there are objective and subjective conditions. The objective we can never control; it's the stability of capitalism, the characteristics of its suprastructure, if there is a crisis or not. The subjective is what's under our control; our own work as communists, the state of the revolutionary party, the degree of influence of communists at the core of the working class. These two sets of conditions interact with one another, with the objective conditions influencing the possibility of development of the subjective conditions much more than the reverse. What makes you hopeless is in part the objective conditions. Capitalism is quite stable right now (though not as much as it ever seems), and, for now, we can't do much about it, because the subjective conditions, the other part of your homelessness, are also very delayed. But these we do have control over, at first very little, but as they improve, the control we have over them also increases. Essentially, friend, all we can do is prepare our class, do our best to gain more workers to our cause, bit by bit, so that once capitalism shows one of its cracks, we can be ready to pry those cracks open and bust the whole system. The Russian soldiers in WW1 were already discontent when the bolsheviks began to agitate up to the trenches, Mao's guerrillas grew to an army taking advantage of the deep fragmentation China suffered throughout the first half of the century, etc.

Once again, class struggle is not a straight line that we move in two directions. It is a complex space. The overthrow of the USSR was a very profound blow to revolutionary organizations all around the world, of course, but the state of communism in general in 1995 was still in a much better position than it was merely 90 years prior. Every defeat also sharpens the tactics and strategies we use. Eastern Europe (where I assume you're from) did use to be socialist, and those worker's states were overthrown. But you are still in a better position than a communist in the interwar period, facing borderline fascistic dictatorship and a future of Nazi-Fascist occupation. They did not have any precedent or much practical experience to learn from, but you do. Every day that we delay work, even in the most hopeless of contexts, is a day more that our grandchildren will have to bear in capitalism, and a day more they're deprived of true freedom and self-government

[hussyknee]

Wonder how far I can prod libs into finishing their full thought bubble behind all this "harm reduction" "genocide is a single issue" "you don't care about marginalized people in the US" "dyou want fascism WITH genocide???" screeching.

Okay, class, say it with me: "I don't want to live in a third world country like the ones we keep destroying."

Because you know. The countries your war criminal leaders keep bombing and starving and destabilising and leeching dry? We don't have trans or gay rights or women's rights or disability benefits or environmental or labour protections. No one would want to live in our countries obviously. You'd kill yourselves before you had to live like we do. Sure, we're only like this because you keep us trapped in poverty and violence and we still have full, happy lives worth living despite it but that's because we're used to it! We don't know any better! Not like you! You know what you deserve and you shouldn't have to lose anything as a consequence of your own political choices! Your government is supposed to happen to other people! Not you! So like, yeah, it's bad that the poors are being massacred wholesale or whatever, but like. That doesn't mean you gotta die with them, y'know? And by "death" you don't mean actual genocide like what's happening over here but "death" as in "having to live like we do".

The trolley problem metaphor is so goddamn attractive to you because you see yourself outside the tracks, objectively assessing the situation and making the "tough" "moral" choice for the collective good. It's imperialist horseshit. You don't have a democracy and it's not a trolley. What you have is an imperial death machine running on an apartheid system that decides who gets fed to it and who gets fed by it. That's your "two tracks"— the colonized and the colonizer, the core and the periphery, the white and the coloured. "Harm reduction"? Have you counted how many fucking millions in and around the world your death machine eats to keep how many of you "safe"? But our losses are a foregone conclusion, a matter of course, a regrettable necessity. The only variable is yours.

Every political choice in 200 years of your settler colony has been "genocide AND". "Genocide AND women's rights". "Genocide AND workers rights". "Genocide AND fascism". "Genocide AND democracy". The difference is that for the first time in your history you're now watching it livestreamed to the entire world in real time 24/7, exactly as your colony is about to capsize under the weight of its own bloodlust. A sea change from when your parents threw parties watching bombs dropping on Baghdad and then spent twenty years watching movies about sad it made the soldiers.

How do you count the victims when we are numbers and you are people? You scream about trans rights in the US while Palestinian trans children don't have the right to reach puberty. OSHA for you but Congolese children have to die in mines. Reproductive rights for the US while Sudanese women are raped in millions. Yes, but it's always been "genocide AND" no matter what, right? Do we want to sabotage the party that has never fucking cared about us and don't now even with half their own country screaming at them on the off-chance they might possibly maybe one day do?? Why are we acting so mad like it's YOUR fault that you're fighting for your quality of life over our corpses?? Do we want YOU to lose your rights over it??

Yes, actually. We do. We want you to have a taste of the reality that generations on generations of your illegal illegitimate white supremacist occupation has inflicted on us just so your worthless hide can sit there and call our genocides a single fucking issue. And let's be real: that's what you're so fucking afraid of.

[lessersole]

Bridging Boroughs

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Bartender!Reader with a past. Platonic!Matt Murdock

Summary: You and Matt come up with a plan to take on Kingpin politically.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Spoilers for DD:BA episode 8, (but works if you're not watching). Probably misunderstandings of the US political system.

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Matt groans as he wakes up. He feels like he got punched in the chest by a truck.

He tries to take in his surroundings - it’s hard over the beeping of the machines, but under the stillness of night he realises someone is sitting beside his hospital bed.

“Heather?” He croaks.

“Nope,” comes the unapologetic answer. He recognises that voice, but hasn’t heard it in a while. Matt frowns - is he wrong?

The pressure of booted feet landing on his bed, one ankle crossing over the other as his guest casually stretches out her legs gives him a better idea who his visitor is. He tries another name.

“You got it," you confirm. Matt can hear the mirthless smile in your voice. “Glad to hear we’re not complete strangers, even if I never would have guessed you’d throw yourself in front of a bullet aimed at the Kingpin.”

“I wasn’t-” Matt’s protestations are cut off by a tightness in his chest and he coughs, wincing at the pain, “I wasn’t trying to protect him.”

Your feet leave the bed as you press a plastic cup of water against the back of his hand. Matt takes it as silently as it's offered, a few sips doing little to soothe the roughness of his throat.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks, reluctantly letting you take the glass from him when the wires tangled around him stop him reaching the sidetable himself.

“Well, that’s rude.” Your tone is more amused than offended.

“I mean it. I haven’t seen you since-” his voice dies in his throat.

“Since the funeral.” You finish for him, voice softer, “But I keep up to date. You’re all over the news. Thought it would be polite to visit an old friend in hospital.”

“We’re barely friends,” there’s a bitterness to Matt’s tone, more from regret than animosity. It’s been a long time since you were close, “And I’m pretty sure visiting hours were over a long time ago.”

“I make my own hours, you know that. And I said old friend.” You pause, continuing when his only objection is an irritated sigh. “Plus I saw a mutual acquaintance of ours recently - he was worried about you.”

Matt’s mouth sets in a hard line. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” your eyes scan over his damaged body, the tubes and machines keeping him alive, “And honestly, when Frank Castle is concerned about your mental health, something’s gotta be pretty wrong.”

“So you’re still in touch with Frank. And you think I’m the one who’s in trouble.”

“I drop in on him now and then, make sure he’s not dead. I don’t charge in on him like a madman with a deathwish.”

Matt grimaces.

“So come on, Matt. I’ve seen the other news about you too. The other you. What’s going on?”

In the absence of anyone else to talk to who won’t judge him, Matt reluctantly opens up.

Time passes, and as the sun threatens to break over the horizon, you both sink into thoughtful silence.

"Did you ever think that maybe you need to meet Fisk on his level?” You ask.

“I’d never do what he does,” Matt spits emphatically, “That’s the difference between us-”

“That was the difference between you. The difference now is that he’s the one who’s gone ‘legit’. Officially, at least.”

Matt opens his mouth to object, but you talk over him. “You not changing the city as a lawyer is nothing new. I thought you'd resigned yourself to that after - after Foggy. But Fisk isn’t fighting in the dark any more; you’ve lost your advantage.”

“So what, are you saying I should run for Mayor?”

“God, no. But we need to look in that direction. Maybe someone else, someone who’s pro-enhanced p-”

“Wait,” Matt bolts upright, ignoring the pain that slices through him, “There is someone. We could at least ask for help, while I’m stuck here.”

“Oh, so there’s a ‘we’ now?”

Matt grins, “How familiar are you with Brooklyn?”

—

Getting inside the Congressman’s office is easy for you, even in broad daylight. Plenty of people filing in and about, milling around - and you know how to go unnoticed. The bustling space is a much more casual, open place than you'd expected.

Getting access to him directly is more of a challenge.

After holding a store room door open for a smiling volunteer, you duck inside. Spotting a pile of discarded t-shirts from the recent campaign, you grab one and quickly swap it for your own plain top, before adding the casual blazer you'd worn to look appropriately professional on top of it. No need to be too obvious.

You'd spied his private office on your first loop around the floor, and now you make your way indirectly towards it. One well-placed slippery flyer in the path of a rushing intern later, and the woman stationed at the desk outside his door is running to the bathroom to try and soak the hot coffee out of her shirt.

Smiling benignly, you slip unseen into the Congressman’s office. The man you're looking for has his back to the door, standing behind a desk leafing through a file.

You have a moment to admire his broad back, the white shirt straining over strong shoulders, tapering down where it tucks into dark pants over narrow hips.

Forcing your eyes away from where they’ve drifted down, you've barely taken two steps into the room before he speaks.

“Are you one of those people who breaks in to try and sell me extra security?”

You stop abruptly - he hasn’t even turned around.

“No,” you answer casually, continuing to approach, “But maybe I should be, that sounds like a fun job. Do you think it pays well?”

“No idea,” finally Congressman Barnes turns to face you, dropping his papers onto the desk between you.

You let your gaze linger over his torso. He must get those shirts custom made, you think, so they're snug over his flat stomach without bursting the buttons over his chest.

Barnes crosses his arms, and the motion reminds you to look at his face, where he’s quirking an eyebrow at you, unflustered and unamused.

“So what are you doing breaking into my office?”

“Breaking in?” You try to sound offended, “I just wanted to meet the person I’ve been door knocking for-”

“You’re not one of the volunteers,” he interrupts cooly, “And you’re definitely not on the payroll. So now you need to explain why you’re lying as well as breaking in.”

“What, you know every single person who works for you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a beat while you recalculate your approach, then take the last few steps towards him, smiling broadly and holding out your hand, “I just wanted to say hi, have a quick chat.”

Instead of answering or shaking your hand, Barnes narrows his eyes suspiciously at you.

“And there was no breaking anything, so it wasn’t breaking in,” you grumble, lowering your hand.

“I’m still not hearing an explanation.”

“Okay,” you sigh, presumptuously dropping into one of the chairs in front of his desk, “I’ve come to ask what you’re planning to do about Mayor Fisk.”

Bucky’s neutral facade cracks in surprise. “What I'm planning to do about Mayor Fisk?” he repeats.

“His crusade against ‘vigilantes’,” you put air quotes around the loaded term, “His so-called taskforce are breaking every law they come up against to wipe out anyone they decide is suspicious, including everyone with enhanced abilities they can get their hands on. You were elected on a platform of protecting those same people, right? You can’t just do nothing.”

“I ran on more than one issue,” Bucky says, sitting down opposite you, “And Mayor Fisk was also elected by the people - and even if it wasn’t a key part of his campaign, as I understand it his opposition to vigilantes wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“That’s no excuse to just roll over and let him do what he wants!”

Bucky frowns. “No, it’s not,” he muses, “But so far his taskforce have restricted themselves to Manhattan. Unless they cross into Brooklyn, there’s not much I can do about it.”

You're visibly unimpressed at his answer, crossing your arms and glaring at him in place of a response.

After a moment of thought, Bucky’s gaze intensifies, and he leans towards you across the desk, “Do you have a - vested interest - in this?”

Fighting to keep your heart rate steady, you answer him honestly, “I’m here on behalf of a friend. And everyone else who feels hopeless about what the Kingpin is doing to our city. Everyone else who wants to fix it.”

Bucky studies you silently. Your answer was true - and you have no intention of sharing more than you need to about your history, or those nights when it bleeds into your present. Even Fisk never knew about you, and with Karen in California, Matt and Frank are the only people left in the city who have any idea what you've done, and neither of them know you've not given it up as thoroughly as you suggest.

"This friend," Bucky starts, clearly not believing you, "they didn't want to speak to me themselves?"

"They're in hospital." Your answer is more vehement than you intended, and you hope you've not given too much away.

Barnes sits back with a sigh, “Okay. I’ll talk to my team about it. We’ve been considering putting out a statement; a citizen complaint is a good enough reason to push that through. And I’ll look into what else we can do. Encourage an investigation into the taskforce, or some kind of oversight requirements. Legal protections for enhanced people with no record of vigilantism.”

It’s less than you wanted, but more than you'd hoped for from a politician. “Sounds like an okay start,” you allow.

An amused smile flickers across Bucky’s face as he stands up, dismissing you. You mirror him.

“Are you a Brooklyn resident?” He asks.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s a no.”

“Compassion doesn’t stop at the East River,” you retort, and Bucky’s smile widens.

“I agree. And I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to rein Fisk in and keep innocent people safe, inside my jurisdiction and out.” He holds his hand out to you.

“Good,” you answer begrudgingly, grasping his hand firmly, “I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he squeezes back, “And your friend - if it’s dangerous for them in Manhattan, there’s a safe place for them this side of the river. Always. If Fisk’s taskforce follows - well, there might be more I can do.”

“Good to know. And if you ever want to update me on your progress - save me trekking all the way out here again - I work at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen,” You give him the name as you turn to leave. “If you make good on your promise, I might even buy you a drink.”

Bucky smiles. It’s an appealing offer. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wait,” he nods to your shirt, where Vote Barnes for the 9th District is emblazoned across your chest, “Did you pay for that?”

Rolling your eyes, you slip your jacket from your shoulders, Bucky’s eyes following the smooth motion, “I was going to give it back,” you lie.

“Don’t.” he stops you, a quick twitch at the corner of his lips, “You can keep it. Looks good on you.”

You smile languidly as you pull the jacket back on.

“Thanks, Congressman,” you reach for the door handle, adding over your shoulder, “I’ve been looking for something to wear in bed.”

Once his door has swung shut behind you Bucky lets out a long breath, rubbing his right hand over his face as he sinks into his chair.

He could have handled that more professionally, but something in your fearless attitude and sly smile had intrigued him - and the reason for your questionable visit was smart, principled - and ballsy.

He’ll definitely be stopping by that bar in Hell’s Kitchen.

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Part two

[saphronethaleph]

Hobbyest

An insistent beeping pierced the gloom.

Darth Vader rolled his eyes, not that it was visible under his mask, and answered his comlink.

“What is thy bidding, my master?” he asked.

“Where ARE you?” Palpatine demanded.

“I am working to improve the security of the Empire, Master,” Darth Vader answered, reasonably enough. “Will this take long? I am occupied on important matters.”

“Where. Are. You?” Palpatine reiterated. “I want an answer, Vader!”

“I am on the Death Star,” Vader said. “I have been working to improve it. There were several significant problems that the Geonosians had not resolved and it has been quite relaxing.”

“I didn’t want you on the Death Star,” Palpatine seethed. “I wanted you out hunting down the remaining Jedi! Killing anyone who would object to my rule! Doing the hard work so I did not have to!”

“Oh,” Vader replied. “It appears that there has been a miscommunication on our roles, Master.”

“Yes, clearly there has been,” Palpatine said, snippily. “Now, get back to work. Your real work, Vader.”

The comlink shut off.

Vader picked it up, contemplated it, then contemplated the long shaft that fell away below him.

He dropped the comlink off, and got back to work.

His real work.

Making the biggest tech project he had ever seen or heard of work properly.

“Sir?”

Vader let out a sigh, and pushed himself out from underneath the main control panel of the primary hypermatter reactor.

“Do you want me to be distracted while working with a bomb as powerful as a small star?” he asked.

“...no, Lord Vader,” the stormtrooper admitted. “However-”

“Then do not interrupt me again,” Vader said, dismissively, and pulled himself back underneath.

“It’s from the Emperor!” the stormtrooper said, his voice high and squeaky.

Vader closed his eyes, sighing, then pushed himself out from under the control panel once more.

“VADER!” the comlink shouted. “I have a list of people for you to murder that is thirty pages long and getting longer by the day! Start murdering people!”

“Master,” Vader replied. “Can’t you do it with clones?”

“I don’t have enough,” Palpatine said, reluctantly. “Any more. Now hurry up!”

“Local forces?” Vader suggested. “Perhaps make another batch order from the Kaminoans, to solve the problem more permanently? Or perhaps-”

“Kamino was destroyed by orbital bombardment,” the Emperor replied. “More importantly, Vader, you have murders to do. A totalitarian Empire won’t run itself.”

“...that sounds like a disadvantage, Master,” Vader said. “Because the Republic ran itself. Badly, from what I could tell, but it did.”

“Do not play smart with me, Vader,” Palpatine replied. “I require you to clear your murder list as soon as possible.”

The comlink deactivated, and Vader glared at it.

Then at the trooper.

Then he frowned, though all three of those actions just looked from the outside like a blank stare and the stormtrooper was clearly starting to wonder if he should just faint now and get it over with.

“Hmm,” he mused. “Trooper. Assign me a new comlink. Key in the frequency to the system, but make it available only to the Emperor’s clearance. And I will be providing you with some personalization details.”

“...yes, Lord Vader,” the trooper said, then hurried off to get a comlink.

Vader watched him go, then pulled himself back under the console.

He was fairly sure he could improve the diagnostics routine on this so it wouldn’t keep raising errors… perhaps a self-learning system?

It had worked for Threepio, after all…

Palpatine scowled, which was normal.

There was still no sign of Vader! This was intolerable disobedience, and not what he would have expected at all.

Though, admittedly, perhaps Vader’s bad attitude might be the result of spending literal years training Anakin to be a contrary little piece of poodoo who didn’t mind defying or even murdering authority. But that was nonsense, so Palpatine readily ignored it as irrelevant.

Because, far more importantly, Vader had murders to do and he wasn’t doing them! If people kept being permitted to get away with things, some of them would start actually asking why he hadn’t called an election in years. Or why he had emergency powers to deal with the Separatists and the Jedi when they were both, clearly, basically all dead.

Such questions didn’t bear thinking about.

Deciding to be even more sarcastic at Vader than normal, Palpatine brought up Vader’s personal com frequency. There was a new one in there now, which meant that Vader was displaying useful signs of obedience at least, and Palpatine tapped to call it.

“You’ve reached the comlink of Darth Vader,” a message said, in Vader’s tones. “I’m busy right now.”

“Wh-?” Palpatine demanded, his voice full of anger for the first half of the first syllable, then realized that he couldn’t quite breathe properly.

His aged hand flew to his throat, as he tried to fend off whatever was obstructing his breathing, but he was already struggling to concentrate – then he realized there was an iron bar of rage and dark power clamped around his throat.

Tearing at it with his own use of the Force proved useless, for Vader – it had to be Vader – had an implacable will, unaffected by anything Palpatine could do, and he coughed several more times as the world started to go unaccountably grey.

“And how do you feel?” Vader inquired, checking a small readout.

“I think… yes,” the computer responded.

“Elaborate,” Vader requested.

“Yes,” the computer said. “Yes, I do feel. I think. I have… complicated and quite nuanced thoughts on podracing.”

“Podracing is fun,” Vader replied. “How do you feel about the designation DS-1Y?”

“Acceptable,” the computer answered. “I am DS-1Y.”

“And we’re now in the record books,” Vader said. “Since you are, as of now, the largest droid in galactic history.”

DS-1Y’s running lights flashed, and it made a beep.

“I understand, Your Imperial Majesty,” it said.

Vader considered that.

Then looked over at the comlink, which was (1) on mute and (2) flashing with an indicator that there was a message waiting.

“I told him I was busy,” he said, shrugging. “Hm. Dissy, who would you recommend as the next Emperor? I am too occupied to take up the job.”