#speculative interfaces

[aesthetinet]

Speculative Interfaces... What even are they?!?

What's up my peepz all across the web, itz ur fabulous fav, the baddie of all time, or at least the 2000s, DORFic2KPrincess ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

And today, I'll be ur bae guiding you through what exactly the heck they mean, the history of some of the most amazeee e-lit interfaces, and giving u the 4-1-1 on what aesthetics of this reading and the overall vibez of speculative interfaces <3…

This excerpt from the reading explains it in the most straight-up way. “Speculative interfaces indicate the experimentation with form genre and interface, an openness and exploration of interfaces that are not yet standard… or mimicking of something that does not yet and may never exist.”

This week, I had the absolute and completely joyous pleasure of reading “Speculative Interfaces: How Electronic Literature Uses the Interface to Make Us Think about Technology” by Jill Walker Rettberg, and boy, was this one was a doozy. This paper spoke about the history of speculative interfaces, specifically looking at it through electronic literature (e-lit) and argues that speculative interfaces are a key attribute of not only e-lit but the digital humanities as a whole. The paper argued its case through three examples across time: M.U.C. Love Letter Generator by Christopher Strachey (1952), Afternoon: A Story by Michael Joyce (1987), and Breathe by Kate Pullinger (2018), all of which created new speculative interfaces to enhance the experience for the individual. M.U.C’s love letter generator was revolutionary when it first emerged as it is the first piece of e-lit in history. The love letter generator was not a writing piece that Shakespeare would applaud, but that was not the purpose. Rather, the program was able to generate these love letters, and for Strachey, it was far more interesting how a computer can give the illusion that it is thinking up the response in the form of a love letter. While the technological marvels are nothing compared to today, it’s important to acknowledge that M.U.C. was the beginning of the speculative exploration of text generation. By creating M.U.C., Strachey explores the relationship between conventional romantic partners and, on a broader scale, between humans and machines.

The next speculative work mentioned by Rettberg is Michael Joyce’s Afternoon: A Story (1987), which marks the beginning of hypertext fiction. The story was first introduced at the first hypertext conference, which brought together computer scientists, poets, and humanities scholars to talk about the technical details of hypertext systems. The spirit of exploration was intrinsic to these early hypertext conferences, specifically the exploration of technology and aesthetic practices. The speculative interface in relation to Afternoon is not simply the hypertext interface, but rather the intertwining of it with a story that tells a narrative that is the speculative interface.

The last example mentioned is Kate Pullinger’s Breathe (2018), which is a short story meant to be experienced on a mobile phone. The story follows a young woman named Flo who communicates to the reader through one to two-sentence slides, totalling 105 when the story is complete. Throughout the story, we follow her, but are also interrupted by “the ghost,” who possesses our screen and halts the story while taking advantage of permissions allowed by the reader at the beginning of the story. When first opening the story, they ask for permission to access your device’s camera and location, both of which are used against you throughout the course of the story. The speculative interface in Breathe is the interface between humans and technologies; perhaps the ghost isn’t a ghost at all, but rather the tech itself, speaking directly to us, drawing us into itself.

Thinking about aesthetics when talking about this reading was difficult because there was so much information to take in that assigning an aesthetic or ‘core’ felt difficult because there was nothing else to latch onto. That being said, I do think this reading captures the intersection of multiple aesthetics. Firstly, as I was reading, it felt like I was walking through an abandoned building, but that has more to do with the respective interface of ‘electronic book review,’ not necessarily the reading. The reading reminded me of themes of futurism, avant-garde and surrealism. Futurism was a movement crafted in response to the quickness and speed, the power of the machine, and the vitality of the 20th  century. Avant-garde is obviously intertwined with speculative interfaces, as all speculative interfaces work in areas to make something new and different, often unusual or different in form factor, allowing the interfaces to keep pushing further into the speculative. Surrealism is also something that comes to mind when speaking about speculative interfaces because both work to try and revolutionize the human experience. Surrealism is about the juxtaposition of the normal and the oddities of dreamlike imagery, while not all speculative interfaces mentioned above use surrealism, they all function to introduce ‘dreamlike’ interfaces. They are all working to create new experiences or to enhance the already mundane experiences we encounter every day.

Urz 4everrrr,

Aestheticaste

Media cited: - Speculative Interfaces: How Electronic Literature Uses the Interface to Make Us Think About Technology - A Guide To Surrealism - TATE: Avant-Garde - TATE: Futurism

[rednbloo]

neat detail is that the brain is untouched

Anyone wanna spread animal ears like a fungus together

[revelboo]

Megatron be liking Reader biting him, glad Reader is fighting back now, having 3 huge alien robot husbands must be exhausting, all having drama going on pretty sure their the talk in the cons cafeteria (if they even have one)

🤣 They have a rec room, and speculation on whatever’s going on with the Meg’s weird warnings along with Soundwave and Starscream’s current beef is their favorite subject

Everything Is Alright Pt 148

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• That little lick of pain heats his lines, driving him crazy. Those blunt teeth of yours sinking into his lip hard enough to make him bleed energon and it’s a delicious thrill, your anger so addictive. Do you ever let the other two see this side of you? Bets you don’t, bets you hide it from them, acting soft and docile. Likes that thought, that this is only for him. Your head lifts, lip smeared with energon and his mouth crashes back against yours, not letting you get away as his hips pump against you.

• Nails digging into the mesh of his neck as his mouth slides against yours, tasting the burn of energon on your tongue. Not showing him away, but pulling him closer. Gasping against him when he tugs one of your thighs up, allowing him to go a little deeper, shifting his angle until you’re coming apart again with a ragged cry. Feel him shudder against you, excess slicking your thighs as his lips brush your cheek. “I’m not,” you begin, trying to catch your breath as he presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth, the tender gesture making you even angrier. “I’m not going to be a damn toy.”

• Laughing at your angry tone, he hooks his hips to make you gasp and shove at him. “No, you aren’t, are you,” he growls, the words not really a question as he cups your cheek. After the Autobots are defeated, after he’s rooted out all treachery, you’ll have a place at his side. Feared and respected. But for now? You’re much too vulnerable and have to be protected. Lifting up off of you, his spike slips free, leaving a damp trail against your thigh as he sits back on his legs to admire you. The way you look sprawled on your back, breathing still ragged, face flushed and angry. Beautiful with his slick on your thighs, in you. Stiffening at a soft rap at his door, he leans to slide a servo over your cheek and smiles when you smack his hand away, seeing your expression grow pinched and knowing you just hurt your hand even if you won’t admit it.

• Baring his denta at Shockwave’s blank stare, Starscream flares his wings further. Ignoring Soundwave sliding between him and Megatron’s door to knock then disappearing inside even as annoyance lifts through him. Because you’re his. You were his first. But he’s not willing to turn his back on the scientist and the threat he poses. Wondering what exactly Shockwave is remembering that’s making him fixate on you. What memories you’re triggering and why.

• Turning his head respectfully as Megatron wipes down his spike and hides it away, before turning his attention on you, Soundwave vents. Has no idea what happened between you two aside from interfacing, but you’re angry and Megatron is far too amused. Provoking you deliberately? Crossing to you, he produces a cloth from subspace and reaches for you, only for Megatron to grab you by an ankle and tug you to him, using the cloth he’d cleaned himself with to clean you as you swear at him. Making him certain the warlord has been antagonizing you again. Like a sparkling with a favorite toy. Watching you kick Megatron in the jaw with an angry shriek, he doesn’t bother to interfere. Not when their leader is grinning in delight. Enjoying making you angry on purpose.

Previous

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[thedexcat]

VotV Speculation Megapost

(For posterity's sake, the latest major release is 0.8) (Also, buckle in. This post is a long one.) (Edit 9/20/24: Added Addendum 1) (Edit 10/14/24: Added Addendum 2) It should be extremely obvious, but spoilers ahead.

As we all know, Voices of the Void has a "story breadcrumbs" approach to its plot. Combine that with its alpha status, and we're left with a lack of hard answers. However, some pieces did seem to click into place. This is far from anything definitive, but here are some of the conclusions I've drawn. Let's start with everybody's favorite:

Part 1: The Arirals

god i want one to hold me like that

You know em. You love em. Like 90% of the fanart is about them. But the question is... what the hell are they doing here? Judging by the fact that they construct a campsite in the facility, they clearly expect to be here for a while. A common interpretation I hear from people is that the ones out in the facility are either political refugees, or just some sort of benign "tourist group". I've personally come to a different conclusion. Let's consider what they brought with them.

Exhibit A: The weapon (left)

The weapon they drop around Day 24 is no mere Star Trek phaser. If you drop it in the main building, pretty much EVERYTHING in the building is going to be sent flying from the resulting blast. Not only that, but the "human-wieldable" version that can be unlocked for the sandbox mode has one hell of a fire rate. Something tells me that there's no way in hell this thing is a civilian-grade weapon. And, as established in a previous post of mine, they're kitted out in full-body armored stealth suits.

Exhibit B: The stealth suit (Kerf dutifully remains there for scale)

These aren't tourists or runaways. They're goddamn Black Ops. But you're probably asking, "If that's what they are, then why do they have nothing better to do than to steal shrimp and prank you?" Don't worry, I'll get to that later. Eventually. Maybe.

For now, let's move on to a third thing of theirs: The letter to Kel.

Exhibit C: Esraniki's Letter (D-, see me after english class)

This is the letter left at the Ariral camp if you have maxxed reputation with them. There's one line in particular that's always stood out to me. "GET WE HOME YOU GET DEATH AVOID" So... why can't they go home? Let's review: A: They have perfectly functional spacecraft parked right behind you. Even if they were broken, surely some random Pre-FTL primitive wouldn't be able to help with a mechanical failure in their technology. Hell, they buzz you at the radio tower with one. So there seems to be nothing physically stopping them from leaving. B: They've come kitted out with some serious weapons and armor C: Something in the facility is drawing the attention of all manner of extraterrestrials (and ghosts and demons. are 'metaterrestrials' a good word for them?) So my take? They're monitoring something, waiting for an opportunity to act upon it. (In keeping with the Patch Note naming convention, I will be calling this unknown something "The Threat") Not only that, this 'opportunity' may only open up with the assistance of a human. But what could Dr. Kel possibly do that an Ariral couldn't? Well, I can think of one thing he can do better... Interface with human technology.

Exhibit D: Ariral Communique (quality: shit) Computer technology isn't some universal constant. You can't make a program and expect it to magically run on alien technology with an unknown architecture. This ain't Independence Day. The fact that the Arirals barely managed to send a heavily-garbled message to Kel's computer, quite frankly, speaks of an extreme amount of effort on their part. And it was all just to say the word "OUTSIDE".

If The Threat has some ties to human technology, then perhaps Kel actually could be more qualified to deal with it than the Ariral Black Ops. Hmm... An unknown threat with ties to human technology. Could it possibly involve...

Part 2: The Incredibly Suspicious Bunker

"I left a 'Do not enter' note on the floor. That'll stop people from investigating!" This damn thing is quite obviously, as TVtropes would put it, The Very Definitely Final Dungeon. It is my firm belief that this is what the Arirals were sent to monitor, and where The Threat can be found. But we can't really get much further in than a few doors. So... what's in there? An easy assumption to make is that it's some sort of fallout/storm shelter. But something nearby might tell a different story...

Exhibit E: *squints* ...Liberty Prime? If you take a metal detector over to the bunker entrance, you'll quickly discover a buried drive nearby. The image you just saw is its contents. It's clear that something is being depicted here. What exactly it is, well, that's hard to say. but if you look at that teeny tiny thing at the top, you'll see something that looks like the Alpha base and its radio tower

oh god we're getting into crusty duende video territory now

What this says to me is that there is a colossal something underneath the base. Some sort of mega-facility? Unnatural cave formations? Something else entirely? Or I could be looking at it entirely wrong. But the point is, it's very likely that something extremely expansive is down there.

What if we could just take a peek a liiiittle bit further in? Well, there is ONE way...

Exhibit F: The Least Cursed Elevator in Horror Fiction

Roughly around 3:33 each night, there is a chance that a camera inside the bunker will become active. It's monitoring what appears to be a heavy-duty elevator coated in blood. An elevator like this would also indicate something buried deep underneath the base. Say, this elevator seems familiar...

Exhibit G: Monique Santificer's Extremely Ominous Foreshadowing

...Huh. I'm sure that only means good things. So we have a Hellivator and evidence that there's some place that you'd need a Hellivator to get to. Are there any other clues around? Well, there's that handy instruction book on robotics. You can make your own little friend!

POV: You're 5'11 and she's 6'0 And... Oh! looking back at that camera, it looks like someone else made their... their own... friend...

Exhibit H: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- ...I don't think they followed the instructions to the letter. So it seems the people in the bunker were working on combining robots and, er, 'biomass'. I don't think our meaty friend here is The Threat itself, but I do believe that it is some aspect of it, or at least a result of it. And whatever The Threat is, it seems to be "leaking" out of the bunker. After all, this toothy bot here seems to have little siblings burrowing out from underground!

Exhibit I: should start running Kerfus. Kerfur. Whatever name they have, they love you! Such a shame that the flesh inhabiting their chassis does not.

they seriously recalled the ++ models over a little thing like this, smh Something deep underground, cursed flesh, and occult sigils. Hmm. Things would tie together neatly if there were, say, some sort of demon around associated with flesh and dark depths.

Part 3: Furfur (and conclusions)

"I WATCH YOU SHIT AT NIGHT" The Great Earl of Hell and raw flesh afficianato, it's Furfur! Demonology refers to him as a liar, but also a teacher of secrets. And he seems to really really like flesh. Not bones, though. He's always leaving those behind.

They say that if you burn an offering of flesh at his altar, he'll give you a marketable Furfur plushie!

The children who survived loved them! Interestingly, there's a certain location connected to Furfur: The bottom of the well. If you pass out at the bottom of the well, you will end up in a (dream of a?) mysterious structure.

Exhibit J: all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well

A few things of note in this place: -More demonic sigils -The only 'exit' is a tunnel leading upward with a broken ladder. And even if you could reach up there, Furfur's giant skull-face is blocking the way. -A unique knife, which when examined in the inventory, says that it was found "deep underground".

How very interesting that this flesh-loving demon has his own little place down in the depths of the earth. And you say the bunker reaching downwards has been spawning horrific robot-flesh amalgamations? Robots that are specifically of human design?

Well then. So here's what I think is going down:

no i'm not crazy it's invisible alien catgirls versus demon cyborgs you weren't listening were you?

-Some scientists from before did a Very Bad Thing in the bunker depths. If I had to venture a guess, it's that they bargained with Furfur for secrets of the flesh, perhaps in the pursuit of cybernetics, biocomputers, or somesuch. This resulted in the Very Bad Thing happening, thus creating The Threat. -The Threat was contained to some extent, but is starting to noticeably leak out. It is also severe enough to have drawn extraterrestrial attention. -The Arirals have sent a squad to monitor the situation and act if necessary. Seeing as there's been no urgent need to act as of yet, they are bored out of their skulls and taking it out on you. -The fact that the bunker hasn't been blown up by catgirl black ops already says to me that the situation down there is delicate, and a 'guns-blazing' approach would be inadvisable. Not only that, but The Threat seems to be tied to technology they have little knowledge of. They would most likely need outside assistance if they want a 'clean' resolution to the problem. -And wouldn't you know it? Right there in the facility is some nerdy, crusty, half-crazed twink that seems to be very proficient in handling human technology. How very convenient.

"average person eats 3 roaches a year" factoid actually just statistical error. Dr. Kel, who-

That's how I think this ties together, personally. Of course, there's always unaccounted for 'loose ends' that may or may not be tied to the Bunker Conspiracy (the rozital pit in particular has been bugging me with its vagueness). Plus there's always the chance that I misinterpreted things like a dumbass. There were a few other smaller things I wanted to cover, but my fingers hurt from typing, and my ability to hyperfixate has its limits. And sorry if the screengrabs are a bit mismatched, I've already spent hours on this post without having to get screenshots from the game myself. If anyone actually read through this monstrosity of a post, congratulations! If you're as deeply brainrotted as I am, feel free to point out the reasons I'm dumb and wrong :)

Addendum 1: Meta Aspects

no, not this. wrong place. wrong time.

Every now and then I hear talk of lore clarifications in Discord servers, Google Docs, etc. Will I be covering these?

(source) The reason? I want to give my impressions based purely on the work as published. Death of the Author and whatnot. The furthest I'll reach 'outside' the games are those ambiguous little teasers on YouTube, which you don't have to be in any 'specific server' or anything to see.

haha what if funni meme robot was irreversibly corrupted by the horrors?

Think of it as me giving a form of feedback on how the game is presented as an isolated work. Anyway, I'll be posting another Addendum later, connecting more demon stuff to the bunker. Fun! One thing I intend to investigate between then and now is a rumor of a very poorly documented... item interaction. As a little preview, consider this note.

It seems, in my pursuit of knowledge regarding a mysterious bunker in an incomplete videogame story, I find myself investigating a skeletal entity of ambiguous origin described as having a single glowing eye. God. Fucking. Dammit. Every time with this shit.

This always seems to happen whenever the protagonist is bullied by tall monstergirls

Addendum 2: Classified

Progress on my investigation has been slow due to a combination of poor RNG and real-life stuff. Fun fact: I've never encountered the fossilhound in my many months of playing, and it looks like that won't change anytime soon!

I'll get you one day, ya boney bastard. In the meantime, it seems that someone has leaked classified pokemon data communications from our employers...

And just who do we encounter within the first few weeks?

Our classified documents are their vacation photos

So it seems that at the very least, our employers seem to be aware of the Arirals. So to what end do they want to draw them out? And why would the Arirals show any particular interest in a human presence in this facility specifically?

They clearly seem to be hiding their presence from the world at large with their cloaking ships and whatnot, but they seem almost eager to grab the attention of anyone working at this particular site.

And, as everyone already knows, Arirals are certified Goobers. They form like 3/5ths of the Counsel of Goobers*. The ones we encounter at the very least are very much not what our employers expect to kill us. So our employers are also aware of the existence of some other threat, possibly even THE Threat. *the remaining members are Kerfuses and Dinguses

Truly an incomprehensible menace from beyond the stars. (source)

Personally, I feel like this all feeds back into my previous thoughts. There is clearly a Threat at this location, and the Arirals probably believe that they may need human assistance to do something here. Or maybe I'm just biased towards whatever random thoughts got cooked up in my head.

Anyway, hopefully next time I'll be back with reports of yanking the lifecrystal out from the Fossilhound's head and shoving it up its ass. I am so, SO sick of trying to get that thing to show up.

[funkytrashsuperstructure]

Can I talk about this image from Rivulet's ending for a second?

(edited to add a break because the post is very Long TM)

If Five Pebbles knows that you are delivering the Rarefaction Cell, Moon pulls this message up alongside the dialogue;

"I cannot run away from my mistakes forever; Please understand." Five Pebbles, what have you done… I've been given so much already, and now you've given all you had left.

Based off of Moon's dialogue, this seems to be an inbox of some sort. We can assume that the orange symbol is basically Five Pebbles' profile picture. Which would mean that the pictures to the side are unread messages from other iterators, some more clear than others.

Based on what we know of other iterators, it is probably safe to assume that the green diamonds are No Significant Harassment, while the red sun is, well, Seven Red Suns. We also see that Pebbles' message got greyed out when Moon opened it. Now, this is all well and good for understanding another aspect of how iterator communication works, that being that they can basically send emails to each other. However, that brings up a few questions; one, who the hell is this blue iterator?

This iterator's symbol is a bit different from the rest, seeming to have the third and fourth karma symbol in their profile picture, alongside a diamond in between. There are three possibilities in my mind. I'll go from most likely to least likely:

This is Chasing/Grey Wind, trying to check up on Moon before or after her collapse. This would make sense, based on their dialogue in the pearls.

This is Unparalleled Innocence. Despite being a jerk to Pebbles, perhaps they checked on Moon at some point.

This is Looks to the Moon, sending a message to herself, perhaps in hopes of using the inbox as a secondary form of memory if she is able to access it. The inbox has at least lasted all this time, for as long as the broadcast networks have been down.

My second question would be; what is the content of the messages from Sig and Suns? I believe that, for Sig's messages, they're the broadcasts that we see him send to Moon before her collapse. However, they could also be Sig's attempts to get the slag reset keys to her without needing his messenger to do it.

As for Suns, they could be apologizing to Moon for what had happened. After all, they were indirectly responsible for her collapse.

I suppose my ultimate takeaway from all of this is; I like getting a glimpse at what iterators can do, and how they interface with each other and the world. I also enjoy speculating about trivial things, lol.

Anyways, thank you for reading my ramblings. It means a lot. Now, though, I must return to my work (aka calculus homework :P). Have a good night y'all!

[elissastillstands]

Mods (my sense of dignity) are asleep, time to post "Minthara/Tav as vintage romance covers" edits.

I spent my teenage years pilfering books from my older cousin's huge collection of romance paperbacks, so this is a hit of nostalgic, self-indulgent silliness (nothing but the best for MY romance hero, the centuries-old paladin of vengeance). Thank you to @aristenfromwarsaw for the beautiful screenshots I used in these!

To match the edit, there are some fun and fluffy headcanons about Minthara and my Tav below the cut.

Tav's name is Hasdrubal. She and Minthara do not have a portmanteau, but these are their relationship monikers in my head:

H&M: for when I think I'm being funny

Vengeance and Devotion: because Hasdrubal is a paladin of devotion

Nemesis ad portas ("Vengeance at the gates"): Nemesis is the embodiment of vengeance in Graeco-Roman mythology, and Hannibal ad portas ("Hannibal at the gates") is a phrase used in Roman writing to signify imminent danger. For context, Hasdrubal is, historically speaking, the brother of that same Hannibal, the Carthaginian general who fought against Rome in the Second Punic War (a.k.a. the guy who crossed the Alps with elephants).

They are both exactly 5'2". If there's any height difference between them, they had to go to the effort of putting it there. Someone has to be standing on a crate.

They aren't overly affectionate in public, but they do things like helping each other buckle on their armor, using each other's weaponry, and sharing food at taverns. Hasdrubal in particular eats anything that Minthara puts in front of her, and Minthara lets her order her drinks. Everyone else soon realizes this is sappier than any display of PDA.

They love a sparring match. They love a brawl. They love to recreationally duke it out and pull in the other melee fighters in the party, either to referee or to make it a full bracket. They are single-handedly keeping the potions stores in Baldur's Gate afloat.

Hasdrubal is as much of an idealist as it is physically possible for her to be, and Minthara is deeply pragmatic and focused on outcomes rather than means. There are some things about which they will argue until the heat death of the universe. And alongside this, they share fundamental beliefs in duty, responsibility, and the importance of community—which lets them build a foundation of mutual respect, even when they deeply disagree.

For the timeline that is my tactician run, they both multiclassed into other charisma casting classes. Minthara tapped into sorcerous arcana that she could only access after leaving Lolth’s direct control and being freed of the Absolute, and Hasdrubal pacted to a general of Asmodeus as a way of interfacing with her own Infernal heritage. However, they are still first and foremost paladins, and their relationship is deeply and paradigmatically paladin4paladin. In all things, there is reciprocity.

Hasdrubal is in her 30s, a third of the way into her lifespan. I like to headcanon that Minthara is about halfway through her lifespan, which for drow is about 350, equivalent to ~50 for a human or tiefling. A fantasy lifespan difference is always bittersweet, but the bright point for the two of them is gleefully speculating on what it’ll be like in a few decades, when Hasdrubal starts to go gray and look older than Minthara. Once again, in all things, there is reciprocity.

Hasdrubal is trying to learn Undercommon in the most careful and universally respectful way possible, which Minthara has a hard time reconciling with the customs of Menzoberranzan. Minthara is learning Infernal, but she gravitates towards high religious and philosophical texts which Hasdrubal is unfamiliar with (she and her family are second and third generation Baldurians; she has spoken fluency in Infernal but not reading fluency). They spend a lot of time talking about the features of language and what language means to them.

Minthara plays the spider lyre, but most of the songs she knows are hymns to Lolth. She’s too proud of her past life in Menzoberranzan to let them go, but she hates the thought of singing praises to the Spider Queen. Through talking about the hymns and what they mean to her with Hasdrubal, she finds a way to sing them on her own terms.

Hasdrubal gets Minthara to do the fantasy equivalent of a stand-up open mic. Minthara is, against her own better judgement, very, very good at it.

[shiikiyun]

Hi everypony. Futa is no older than 21. Here's why

1. Twitter interface

In Jihen Joutou we are able to see a 1:1 replica of twitter, and the UI cues show that this cannot be before 2017 when the profile pics went from square to circular, aside from other details like the reply button, or the existence of quotes (added 2015) but not the button bellow the tweets (added 2020)

2. Phone model

But to narrow it down even more: Futa's phone ressembles an IPhone 11 the most, released late 2019. The previous models to this one have different camera placements, meaning it is most likely this model, and making his crime impossible to happen prior September 2019.

Additionally: His twitter account was created in March 2016. This could mean nothing, as animation could've already been on production. But, fyi, this account is currently deactivated. It was still there 3 weeks ago, right before t3 started, and the username is unavailable for new accounts, meaning it hasn't been a month since it's gone. Seems deliberate, so, I'd keep it's creation date in mind.

What is his birth year then? I've got a few options.

If MILGRAM takes them in with the age they had when the crime happened (explaining why Haruka would believe he's a teenager): Crime happens in 2019 or right before April 2020, making his birth year 1999. He'd be 21 in real life right before MILGRAM starts, at the oldest.

If MILGRAM takes them at the age they are by April 2020, start of the project: Birth year is 2000. He is truly 20, but was 19 at the time of the crime.

Making him any older than this would force him to be older than 20 when the crime happens in 2019, and make not only his claim but MILGRAM's profile be nonsensical (why would he say he's 20 and why would MILGRAM not, at least, put it in doubt if he was already older by the time of the crime?)

Let's also remember one thing from the first novel: Dead people and people in a coma can still appear in MILGRAM as completely fine and real, and MILGRAM can tamper with memories. We shouldn't jump the gun to make this make real sense, because it doesn't. It isn't a real facility.

What does this mean for Haruka and the rest then? I think there's a group of prisoners that are of a slightly older time period and another group that are closer to the start of the project (Namely Mikoto, for example, as the train he takes and his phone model are also pretty contemporary. Additionally— he has 4G, introduced in the 2010s, so it could not be earlier than that, and I've read e-cigarettes became more popular in Japan around late 2010s. My guess is also 2019/2018, but I'm not as confident in Mikoto as I am Futa simply because I'd have to dig more to find specific models and stuff. Futa was just too easy lol. Mahiru also cannot be earlier than 2016 because of the Your Name reference). This would not mean they lied about their ages in MILGRAM, not even that they are older in real life. They could've died at the age they are in MILGRAM, or, as I said, are taken as the age they were when the crime happened and truly are and believe the age they claim. Personally, I think Haruka's age being alluded to not be exact comes from the severe neglect starting at 15— His perception of aging blurs after that, he could be 15, he could be 19, but somewhat still a teen. Let's remember he was investigated by the police after killing pets, after the murder of the child, it's almost sure he was caught. I don't think he made it to 23 (probably suicide), but that's my personal speculation.

In conclusion: Don't let the sudden reveal that Haruka was born in 1997 make you catastrophize the rest of the cast or Haruka's age itself. There is a lot of proof that the events in MILGRAM aren't parallel to real life time passage, and even if the prisoners have a different birth year than what you could easily calculate by subtracting (age) to 2020— It doesn't immediately mean their ages in MILGRAM aren't true. Let this be an opportunity to revisit MVs for context clues that could easily reveal the time period the crimes took place in, like I did with this guy! Thanks

[sunsets-and-crows]

I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 8

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 4.4K

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Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut: mutual masturbation. Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind. Sylus being hot and a menace. OOC Sylus (probably) TRIGGER WARNING: stalking and dubious consent. Graphic deptictions of violence.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

The rhythmic clicking of keys filled the air, a steady, relentless cadence that you could not afford to let falter. The edges of the screen in front of you, holographic and pulsing with a cold light, blurred slightly at the edges as you processed the words faster than your mind could consciously register. Your hands flew over the keyboard, skimming through reports, signing off on routine assignments and clearing out the back-log of paperwork you had been tasked with with a speed that felt almost mechanical. 

It was easy - in comparison to sleuthing around in the N109 zone - monotonous, dull. The kind of work that would usually take an entire team the better part of a day, you finished in two hours. This wasn’t even a challenge for your level of focus. 

Your office was as cold and sterile as the rest of the Hunter’s Association, designed for efficiency rather than for comfort. A sleek curved desk sat in the centre, illuminated by the soft light of the systems interface. The tempered glass walls granted a reprieve from the stares at least, a sense of privacy, lined with frosted panels to dull the view of the ever-bustling headquarters outside. Even with your focussed mind, you could hear the faint buzz of activity beyond the door - hunters passing by, comms channels flickering to life, reports being exchanged. None of it interested you now. 

The only reprieve from the cold, artificial setting that had once been your daily comfort, was the window. A real one, overlooking a perfectly manicured courtyard with trees that stood defiant among the steel and glass. A rare piece of nature in an otherwise mechanical world. You hadn’t noticed it much before, but recently, you found it drawing your gaze more often than you liked to admit. 

The clock on the wall broke you from your extremely brief reprieve with a tick tick tick. You refused to look at the damned thing, already far too aware of every agonising second that crawled by. 

Seventeen days. Seventeen long, maddening days since you’d last seen him. Since you’d felt that pull, that raw need. Even the memories of him weren’t satisfying you like they had before. You’d almost forgotten the warmth of his skin as his hand brushed yours. The longing sat heavy in your chest, but again you shoved it down, channeling everything you had into the task at hand. 

The way you were driving yourself, your forced efficiency, had not gone unnoticed. Your fellow hunters - seasoned professionals, hardened trackers and fighters - cast sideways glances at you, their faces almost… afraid? It wasn’t unheard of to have reports and sign-offs completed ahead of schedule, but blazing through them like a machine? That was another matter entirely. 

“Has she always been so…fast?” you heard someone murmur near the break station. 

“No way! No one is that on it for no reason! She’s pissed about getting pulled.” another speculated.

“I would be too, that case was the kind that could make your career.”

They weren’t exactly wrong with their hypothesis. But they weren’t entirely right either. Not that you cared. You had too much else on your mind to let yourself be distracted by petty gossip. 

A shadow loomed at your office door. A hesitant tap tap tap followed by an unwelcome and concerned voice. 

“Hey!” Xavier’s usual calm tone carried a hint of concern. “You look…busy.” 

You flicked your gaze up for barely a second, just long enough to confirm, yes, of course you were busy. “Yep! Very busy. You know what the paperwork is like here,” you said with a noncommittal shrug, as if it hadn’t been the very reason you got kicked off your case. 

“Right,” he replied, almost hesitantly. “You need anything? Coffee? A break?” He checked the time on his watch and looked at you with hopeful eyes. “Lunch?”

You sighed, dragging out the breath. “Nope!” You bit off the final p, sharp and dismissive, watching as he flinched. You felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to stop. And, as expected, it didn’t deter him.

“You’ve done so much work that the rest of us have barely anything to do. Come on, take a break. It’s hard to watch you like this.” His kindness used to sway you. The softness in his voice, the pleading look in his eye - in the past, it would’ve convinced you to pause. But not anymore.

“Xavier, I appreciate the concern but really I’m fine.” ‘Fine’ was definitely not the word to describe you but you needed to assuage him. “Unless it’s really important, please, I have a lot to get through.”

He nodded, sighed softly at your clear dismissal and turned to leave but he paused. “You know, that new hunter has had no luck with him. The elusive Sylus.” 

Your eyes flitted up to meet his, feigning surprise as you tilted your head. “Oh, really? But he’s such a seasoned hunter.” You let the words linger, just a touch too sweet. “I thought he had so many undercover operations in his file that this would be easy for him, right?”

His lips twitched, his smirk beginning to deepen. “You don’t seem surprised in the least.”

Your head righted itself and a small, self-satisfied smirk grew on your own lips. “Why would I be? I worked my fucking ass off for months and I barely got close enough to speak to him never mind the rest.” 

His expression darkened just a fraction, a subtle raise of his brow. “So you knew it would be a dead end?”

You sighed through your nose, realising you’d said too much. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

He studied you like he was searching for something - cracks in your composure, some hidden tell beneath your indifference. If only he knew how much effort it took to keep your mind from straying exactly where you didn’t want it to go.

“Right,” Xavier said after a beat, pushing off your desk. “Just… don’t lose yourself in all this, yeah?”

You didn’t bother responding. As soon as he walked away, you resumed typing, your focus snapping back into place.

The brief moments you allowed yourself to pause always led your gaze to the window. Out there, beyond the cold sterility of the Association, the trees stood unwavering, branches weighed down with dark-feathered bodies. A small murder of crows you’d come to recognise, their sharp eyes scanning the world below. They were a rare constant in your routine, a tether to something beyond reports and directives, beyond the ceaseless hum of the headquarters around you.

One of them was watching you.

Perched among the branches, its sleek frame blending seamlessly with the others, a certain mechanical crow adjusted its focus. Mephisto’s tiny cameras whirred softly, his gaze fixed on you through the tempered glass. Silent. Unnoticed. The perfect spy.

You remained oblivious, exhaling sharply as you leaned back in your chair. Your work was done - cleared with ruthless efficiency, every report signed off, every task completed. And yet, the satisfaction was hollow. A poor substitute for what you were meant to do.

This wasn’t the pulse of the hunt. It wasn’t the intoxicating thrill of tailing someone untouchable, someone even the most hardened hunters hesitated to approach. It wasn’t him.

And for 17 days, you’d felt the absence like a phantom pain. 

A new file blinked onto your screen, ruining your perfect record of completed assignments. Your fingers hesitated over the interface, eyes drawn to the name stamped across it. The new hunter, assigned to the N109 zone. Your replacement.

A small satisfied grin curled onto your face, amusement. Thanks to Xavier, you already knew what the report was going to say before you opened it. But that didn't stop the thrill that ran through you when you read the contents. No progress. Your replacement had made no progress. None. He hadn’t been able to track Sylus, hadn’t been able to find even a whisper of him. He might as well have been hunting a ghost.

A small part of you was disappointed. Maybe even seeing his name on the report would have dulled the ever-present ache in your chest, quieted the screaming voice that whispered, find him. Take him. Make him yours. 

No progress was good progress. No progress meant you had time. No progress meant that he was still yours.

A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips. No progress meant one could be as close to him as you.

You dismissed the report with a flick of your wrist, the blue light of the screen flickering as it vanished. The data didn’t matter. The damned association’s mission didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting through the next few hours, maintaining the illusion of compliance.

You plugged in your personal hard drive, and pulled up your notes. Tonight, you had a plan.

The auction.

There was a high stakes auction happening in the middle of the N109 zone and you were absolutely going to be there. Conveniently, your replacement would be off work tonight at his son’s cello recital of all things. The thought of anyone putting anything above Sylus grated on you slightly but it served you more than anything so you were grateful for his loyalty to his family. 

You didn’t know if Sylus would be there. But if he was, you wouldn’t waste the chance to see him. To be close. He had attended in the past though, and being that he was a creature of habit, you made an educated guess that he would attend again. 

You had your reasons, the tracker. You planned to slip into his car. The truth was simpler, more raw.

You just needed to see him.

To remind yourself that he was still yours. That no matter how much distance they tried to put between you, he was still within reach.

Mephisto’s camera eye flickered, capturing the image in sharp detail. The file transferred in an instant, delivered straight to the only person who mattered. His master would see. And, inevitably, he would act.

You were as bad as each other, and if the poor bird had the programming to do so, he would roll his eyes. Alas his orders were to keep them focused on you at all times, his master would have it no other way. 

You weren’t the only one who was suffering though. In the chaos of the N109, Sylus had slowly been unravelling as well. 

Seventeen days.

That was how long it had been since Sylus last saw you, since the last auction. Since the moment he finally allowed himself to indulge, to bask in your presence, to approach you.

The days since had been maddening to say the least. An endless loop of greyer mornings and darker nights. It was as though the light had been stolen from the N109 zone altogether. The days had been pointless, feeling nearly identical and repetitive. The same darkened rooms, the same figures moving in and out of his space, the same business, the same blood. His life had become a precise, mechanical thing, fine-tuned and predictable. 

You had been the anomaly. The spark in the dull machinery of his days, surprising him with your tenacity, your unwavering fixation on him.

And now, you’d been ripped away.

Not taken, not exactly, but it felt that way. He had half a mind to march into the Hunter’s Association and slaughter whoever was responsible for removing you from his case.

At least he could watch you.

Mephisto made sure of that.

He knew your routine now. Knew that you���d been working yourself ragged, clearing your desk to focus only on him. It pleased him in a way that was almost soothing. You were just as devoted as before at least. Forced separation hadn’t made you forget him. You hadn’t looked elsewhere. And for that, he was grateful. Because he didn’t want to consider what he would’ve done if you had. 

So he watched, just as you had watched him. It was only fair wasn’t it? After all the hours you had spent studying him, observing him, pulling him apart piece by piece like your own little art project. He didn’t mind. He would be whatever you wished him to be.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to calm his restlessness. A few stolen glimpses through a mechanical crow’s eyes? Pathetic. 

He needed you in front of him, preferably bare, spread open and trembling, impaled on him and begging for more. But that would have to wait. His rapidly increasing desires would have to be squashed, for now. He was nothing if not patient.

Lately though, patience had become harder and harder to maintain. Moments of weakness crept in, his mind spiralling to thoughts of you, more often than they should and throwing him off his game. He had to pinch himself at times, drag his focus back to business, remind himself to just focus. 

Sylus adjusted his cufflinks, steady fingers betraying none of the turmoil beneath his skin. In the mirror’s dim reflection, he was composure itself. Refined, unreadable, his hunger coiled beneath the surface, wound tight like a spring.

The simplicity of his outfit was intentional. Black slacks, black shirt, black jacket. A shadow in a den of predators. But the fit? The fit was a weapon, meticulously chosen. Every stitch, every inch tailored to ensure your gaze would linger on your favourite parts of him. The broad lines of his shoulders, the sharp taper of his waist, the way the fabric strained just slightly over his arms when he moved.

His lips curved as he slid on the fourth of his rings, the silver and stones catching in the low light. You had given yourself away so easily last time. The way your gaze had caught on his fingers, flickering down to watch them move, not to mention your at home shrine dedicated to them.

You probably thought you’d been discreet. You hadn’t.

Sylus had never been one for rings before. But now? Now he wore them with purpose, he wore them for you. He liked the way they looked when he curled his fingers into a fist, liked the way they felt as they tapped against glass. Liked knowing they’d capture your attention. He’d even been brazen enough to buy a matching one for you.

You just didn’t know it yet.

He reached for the final piece, a sleek black mask covering the top half of his face.

And just like that,his mind was wandering again. Seventeen days ago.

The last auction.

The moment had been inevitable. The moment he entered the space and saw you there, bathed in golden light and looking absolutely exquisite in a simple uniform, he was done for. 

He would never admit to the nerves that twisted low in his gut as he approached you, walking slowly, methodically in an attempt to remain as calm as possible. Would never voice the irrational jealousy curling in his chest as he watched you polish the glass in your delicate, steady hands. He refused to acknowledge the sheer insanity of feeling envious of a glass, it was so beneath him. 

And when he finally stepped forward and made his way over to you, you noticed. Your eyes met his and in that second Sylus had the absurd urge to make you keep your eyes on him, to trap you in his orbit right then and there. 

You made him a drink.

A simple thing. A small thing. And yet, he had taken a slow sip, watching her the entire time. He praised you and your pupils dilated. Just like that he was fucking addicted, his heart racing with the desire to get that reaction from you again. 

His jaw clenched now, fingers flexing against his palm.

Yes. That was what he wanted again. What he craved. And tonight, he would have it.

This new hunter was clearly a fucking amateur, no matter what his record said about him. He didn’t have your understanding of his world, his movements- of Sylus. Granted part of that was due to Sylus’ own actions. The poor fucker couldn’t very well get to know Sylus after the way he’d been iced out of the N109 zone. But seriously? To miss such an important event like this, was more than sloppy work.

The auction hall had been beautifully decorated, even for Sylus’ standards, he was nearly impressed. It was a cathedral of decadence, gilded chandeliers spilling golden light over exquisitely dressed patrons. Art worth small fortunes lined the walls, and the hush of wealth draped over the room like a perfumed veil. It shimmered off crystal glasses and polished marble bathing everything in a soft honeyed glow. 

Whispers and false laughter rippled through the air, thick with masked intentions and velvet-coated threats, the lifeblood of these gatherings.

The masquerade theme was just another layer of excess, a pretense that any of them had secrets that could be peeled back. It was amusing, the idea that something as simple as a mask could hide who or what someone was. 

Sylus stood off to the side of it all. Watching and waiting for his prize, the reward for his patience. Patience that was dwindling by the second and kicking up a storm within the man. Nothing about the softness of the light or the comfort of anticipated danger could soften the razor’s edge of his rapidly souring mood.

His crimson eyes scanned the room, seeking out every corner, every shadow, anywhere that might be your hiding place. The bar, again? The balcony? The clusters of masked figures swathed in silk and tailored suits?

Nothing. You were nowhere to be seen.

He released a slow exhale, willing his irritation to stay beneath the surface. A quiet tightening of his jaw and the press of his tongue against the inside of his cheek. No one here was sharp enough to notice, but Luke and Kieran flanking him? Of course, they did. 

Luke tilted his head slightly, a hint of a smile visible beneath his own mask. “Boss looks like he’s about to commit a massacre.” 

Kieran snorted. “Someone should tell him that glaring at the crowd won't make a certain Miss Hunter appear. Maybe she’s not coming?”

The boys were clearly far too comfortable with playfully ribbing him like this. Perhaps the fact that everyone was masked as they usually were was enough to peak their confidence. Whatever it was, it grated on Sylus’ nerves. 

He turned his head slightly. The weight of his gaze was enough warning to have them standing a little straighter and their lips closing around whatever quip was going to come next. “Hush.”

They knew better than to push. Sylus was a dangerous man after all and he was particularly touchy around the subject of you. Still their quiet amusement resonated between them. 

He was irritated. Not with you of course, god he could never be angry with you. With himself. 

He’d wasted time, time that he have, on getting ready for this, for you. Everything, exactly to your taste, down to the way the open collar of his shirt exposed just enough skin to draw eyes, though none of them belonged to the one person he wanted looking at him.

And for what? To among the same people he saw at every one of these damned things, waiting for someone who should know better to test his patience? Mephisto had no clue the trouble he was going to be in if you didn’t show up.

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee before he forced them to relax.

You should be here.

Where the fuck were you?

A call of the auctioneer came loudly through the opulent hall, breaking through Sylus’ silent fuming. He exhaled sharply, and walked through the double doors to the auction room, sinking into his seat with a practiced ease, the deliberate weight of a man who regretted coming. 

The auction hall was just as opulent, gilded walls, more glittering chandeliers, more of that soft, golden glow that radiated warmth and wealth. All of it was giving Sylus a migraine, he couldn’t stand the sight of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, jaw tight. His fingers danced a steady beat, drumming once, twice, against the armrest before he forced himself to regain his composure, to still. 

You weren’t a tardy person, you should’ve been here by now. You weren’t coming.

The twins took their seats to the side of Sylus, making low conversation with each other. A hint of a smirk visible beneath their masks. Kieran cleared his throat and schooled his features, trying desperately to look less entertained than he was by his boss’ palpable irritation. His gaze flickered towards sylus. 

“Are you sure your date hasn’t stood you up?” Kieran mused. “That would be a shame since you dressed up so pretty for her. Did she know this was a date?”

Sylus shot him a glance, sharp enough to cut glass, which just made Kieran grin more. 

“It's not a date,” Sylus stated calmly. “And I didn’t dress up for anyone. Unlike other people, I always try to look my best, it’s better for… business.” That was a lie. 

He had dressed up.

And now, it was wasted.

The chair beneath him felt hard and stiff. Uncomfortable. The noise of the room was grating against his nerves, worsening his already terrible mood. He didn’t need to be here. He could leave. He should leave. The muscle in his jaw twitched. 

A particularly loud gaggle of women passed by, giggling shrilly about some heirloom or bag or something. Whatever it was, it was the last straw for Sylus. 

He turned to the twins. “We're leaving.” 

Both boys broke out into small grins, already mentally preparing for the way they would tease their boss on the way home. 

He sighed again and prepared to leave when-

Bang! 

The heavy double doors flew open and the noise in the room quietened instantly.

Sylus’ vision tunneled to the open double doors. 

There you were, a vision of pure indulgence. 

A goddess draped in swaithes of molten gold, wrapped in wealth that made people desperate. His breath caught in his throat, almost choking him. The soft waves of your hair shimmered under the low gilded lights. Every movement of yours was intentional, unhurried. Like you had all the time in the world to destroy him. 

And you were destroying him. Completely and utterly undoing the very fabric of his very being. 

Sylus swallowed, but his throat had gone dry.

You’d managed to throw him off, to surprise him in a way that no one else had managed to do and god was it delicious. He expected you to be incognito, to hide in the shadows as you always did. But this? This was completely unexpected. 

That dress. That fucking dress. It was like an extension of you, satin clinging to curves he wanted to trace and memorise with his hands, his mouth, anything you would let him. It pooled around your feet, whispering against the marble floor as you walked. The slit at your thigh flashing enough skin to make him grip the armrest of his chair hard enough to ache. To leave him breathless and yearning to reach out to you. But you didn’t even look his way. 

He should be furious.

Not only had you made him wait, smouldering in his own anticipation, but now you were gracing everyone except him with your attention. Allowing your eyes to linger on even Luke and Kieran by his side. Not once did you allow him the relief of meeting your eyes.

He couldn’t be mad though, not when he was finally seeing you after so long. You were an oasis after being in the desert, a breeze kissing his skin.

Fuck, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

So this was Seraphina. He’d known it was only a matter of time before he met this version of you, your second alias, woven from deception and luxury. And damn, had you outdone yourself. He would have to thank Axel for crafting the persona so well, for shaping an alias that fit you like it had always been yours. A background that set you apart. Made you untouchable.

Wealth clung to you, draped over your skin like it had always belonged there. Like he had always belonged there. Gold suited you. Power suited you. And Sylus would make it his mission to ensure you kept them both.

The curve of your neck as you lifted your chin, playing the socialite so well. The slight part of your lips as you took in the room, your gaze flitting across the crowd, assessing them, weighing them and deciding who was worth your attention. God he hoped it would be him. 

But it wasn’t. Not yet.

Heat blazed across his skin, settling low in his stomach. Dark and restless. Something curling its fingers into his ribcage, his heart squeezing. His pulse beat so frantically that he could feel it in his teeth. A slow, agonising thud, thud, thud, setting every nerve ending alight. 

Kieran exhaled sharply. “Wow.”

Luke let out a low chuckle. “Boss man looks wrecked.”

Sylus couldn’t even hear them.

Because you were walking right past him.

Close enough that the soft scent of your perfume curled around him, something intoxicating, designed to ruin, pulling him in closer and closer. He wanted to reach out, to touch your skin as you walked past and feel the way your pulse danced beneath your wrist. 

You didn’t falter in your step, your strides remaining composed and unhurried. And you never, not once, turned to meet his eyes. Fucking temptress. 

Instead, you descended gracefully into the front row, your back to him, your hands smoothing over the delicate folds of your gown. 

Sylus could do nothing else but return to his chair. Composing himself after nearly coming undone at the mere sight of you. He exhaled slowly, releasing the tightness from his jaw and muscles as he rolled his shoulders back and his neck side to side. He was on edge, chest rising and falling in a way that felt too obvious. You had come. You had made him wait. And now, you were making him suffer.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

I know you all said you didn't want a cliffhanger but it had to be done right here! The good news is that I'm already working on chapter 9 so hopefully it shouldn't take a month for me to get that one to you! Thank you for waiting so patiently!

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback on this  ❥

[whomstdosthouthinkiis]

Really desperately need fics of izuku in college. Like, it would be so fascinating to see how he would interface with civilian life and how his classmates and teachers would interact with him. Dealing with his trauma and adjusting to not being around people who fought a war like him.

And I need side kick kacchan to come visit him on his days off. Have him drop into lectures and bring izuku bentos and stuff. Having izuku's classmates comment and speculate about their relationship and why explosion hero GEMG DynaMight is helping him study and lets izuku call him a cutsie nickname 😭😂

Just them being stupid pining idiots together while izuku deals with writing essays on child psych and teaching pedagogy. I need it so bad.

[thedesolatesanctuary]

Daft Punk in #Severance

My hc about Daft Punk as characters in Apple's TV series Severance below. !warning! There may be some mistakes and inaccuracies because it was written using a translator(with AI assistant translator DeepL, text is not made by AI.)

Some whispered rumors within Lumon claim that Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter were once brilliant engineers working for the Severance program. They were tasked with refining the Severance chip, pushing the boundaries of cognitive partitioning. But something went wrong. During an unauthorized experiment with prototype of Severance Chip they got shared mind, a seamless fusion of thought and creativity. Now, they exist in a perpetual limbo—neither Innie nor Outie, but a continuous, unbroken stream of existence. Their helmets serve as neural interfaces, maintaining their balance between worlds. To the outside world, they simply “retired.” Within Lumon, they became guardians of the Pyramid Division, using music therapy to reshape fractured minds. But instead of serving Lumon, they became something more—self-aware entities that chose to hide in plain sight, using their music to influence the minds of others. The Pyramid Sessions were their attempt to undo the damage of Severance, but Lumon twisted their work into another form of control. Sometimes after The Pyramid sessions Mark begins having strange dreams—visions of a world beyond Lumon, a neon-lit realm where sound is law and reality bends with the beat. In these dreams, he sees them not as men, nor as machines, but as something else entirely—cosmic architects, shaping the fabric of existence through rhythm and melody. So who are they really? Daft Punk do not confirm or deny, they do not hurt or heal. They simply watch and observe. Their bond is one of the greatest mysteries within The Pyramid Division. No one at Lumon has ever seen them apart. They move in perfect unison, anticipating each other's actions without words. The employees speculate endlessly about their connection. Some employees whisper that they were once husbands before work at Lumon Industries, others believe they chose to merge their individual identities dissolving into a singular, shared consciousness. They are no longer two people-but one mind in two bodies. How they interact? - They never speak to each other aloud. Yet, they always move in sync, as if communicating telepathically. - When one reaches for a control panel, the other's fingers twitch slightly. - When a session begins, one places a hand on the other's shoulder, a brief, almost imperceptible gesture of reassurance. - In rare moments of stillness, they face each other, heads tilting slightly-an unspoken conversation passing between them.

[osakanone]

Are you a fan of hard science fiction?

tl;dr:

This is a very complicated question, and it depends on what the author considers technology, science or culture.

long version:

Super, super depends honestly and the deciding factor is usually the author's own self-awareness.

A lot of hard SF spends months perfecting its technical research and then for whatever reason has writing that has done zero research in humanities or social studies and is just someone repeating the bits of world history they like not realizing the irony.

I like hard SF when it uses the machine to tell a story, otherwise its not playing to its strengths. Clarke got this. Morgan less so.

This also depends on how you define it: Do you mean hard SF as in its all technically plausable or Hard SF, where how the technology matters to the story?

These mean very different things!

Likewise, there's also then the question of most hard SF not understanding science well enough to understand what post-science [...]

eg, the idea that science is more than just the sum of research, and that how we do peer-review analysis needs to be seriously changed because of the replication crisis, and how we store and educate science needs to change due to the knowledge and expertise collapse crisis, or the fundamental change of how knowledge and information and abstraction functions with respect to reality itself, etc, etc, none of which hard SF acknowledges at all whatsoever which is the least realistic thing about it

[...]

is or where engineering is going next so they're just repackaging speculative fiction's methodology from 40 years ago without actually doing the leg-work beyond "what the next doohicky is", instead of seriously asking how science itself is going to change.

Its tempting to think that technology is the active human interface with the material world, but I would argue for all intents and purposes there is no material world beyond what humans experience either directly or indirectly and the reason we would want to preserve that non-experience without exploiting it is because some day we'd like to experience it to gain revelations both scientific and cultural.

The idea that science is automatically synonymous with technology is a frankly rediculous one because it refuses to recognize that one does not automatically become the other just as tomes of knowledge do not become useful effectve contexturalized understandings within your mind the moment you exchange money for them.

At for example, is in a way a sort of technology but its a cultural technology yet I never hear of hard SF exploring this angle. Instead, its the fetishization of how you can use tungsten orbs and catching nets to devise the most efficient cooling system possible or how fast your imaginary drive can go because you studied pusher plates and nuclear propulsion on wikipedia once and felt a tingle in your hind brain about it. We're all fundamentally excited children when we see big numbers, but but numbers alone don't make a compelling story I think.

As an example, I genuinely don't think of The Expanse has hard SF and it has nothing to do with its warp drive but instead its total lack of understanding that the fundamental ways in which society functions would drastically change in such a time.

Humans who act like we do today even fifty years in the future are the "guys painted green with deelyboppers" of science fiction of today and nobody outside of study seems to notice this.

If an author can't imagine a fundamentally very different social system but an go on for hours about how optomagnetic holographic storage and nano-vacuum tubes with switching speeds in the terrahertz range are wonderful I think the author just wants to talk about cool things they like indulgantly and not really even do science fiction.

That's particularly difficult for me becuase I'm someone who often does exactly that! I am a VERY self-indulgant writer!

In conclusion I'd say its less I'm either a fan or not a fan of hard SF (I do love using technology to tell a story which is what hard SF does) but the fact "hard" SF is held in higher esteem than "soft" SF speaks to an emotional insecurity in the audience that they should want to forgo the humanities and uninform themselves of the human condition as if they are above it in some way which I frankly find rather ghastly.

I think science fiction's most important lesson is not to do the torture nexus again and I think without the humanities that becomes rather difficult.

Sorry if this is a bit of a funny answer.

I appreciate the question, and thank-you for your time.

[bitchin-tubs]

Ignore the ayylmoa caption i couldn’t take interface off but wow these designs are ASS

Like, boring designs aside you wouldve NEVERRRRR known these were grown ass men just from looking at these twinks. If I remember correctly, alastor is like mid 30s, Sir Pentious and Angel are like 30 and Husk (well, mostly speculated around 75) appears to be at the very least 50 in the show. They all look 24 with a fuck ass hairdo besides Pentious

[leolithe]

Hi Leo!

Do you think that during the "Core Containment" track the moments of The Lotus' singing is actually happening like in real time there at the reactor?

That's the feeling I had at that moment... I imagine that on Sanctum Anatomica's Edge of the Void she could "see" us at that moment on the Reactor and sang to help us fight the Murmur...

Hi Anon! Brilliant ask, Anon!!!!

This is something I wanted to talk about badly and was hoping other people would speculate on it too, but looks like it's in my hands again. Since I heard those vocals in Core Containment I've been obsessed with the same thing! The idea of Lotus singing WITH us during the 1999 finale segment... Fighting alongside us in her own way during her lone vigil on the cliff's edge...

I wonder: could she notice the Indifference's influence fluctuating as the Drifter continued to fight?

Let's have another listen to it here:

Firstly... God her voice in here is to DIE FOR!!!!!!! What a beautiful, decadent register... Really carries the weight of this scene.

Secondly. So far up to the 6 minute mark, it's been Lotus vocals, slowed and distorted OnLyne songs and 1999 tracks... But then we hear VOID ANGELS. Lotus' voice falters and dies down as the Angels' singing overpowers her... This is Very obvious foreshadowing.

I said the same thing during TLE: The Lotus is going to become a Void Angel.

AoTZ:

Quinn: "The Void creates. Death is merely a blank canvas. We numbered five, not long ago. Poor Kira. The song broke down her resistance, she raised her voice in answer, and now she is one of them."

TLE:

Loid: "None of us could hear the Device that was calling from the abyss of history. The Daughter of Hunhow heard it, and almost succumbed to its call. She raised her voice in song to drown it out, and that we did hear."

She's going to be further drawn to the Void's call and be changed in one way or another... BUT. As we hear in the track above, her voice DOES return to sing again after the Void Angels drown her out.

[As a side, I wonder if Lotus is the only one in-universe who heard the ringtone because she's one of the most powerful Sentients and she's kinda "interfacing" with the kinepage?]

So. To consolidate this with the Triple Goddess/Gatekeeper theory for Lotus' future... My current working theory is that Lotus will, in no particular order:

Become a Void Angel (or gain some kind of Void power/infusion)

Return to the Zariman, where the Albrecht Membrane has been punctured.

Facilitate the passing or barring of entities in and out of the Void. Not dissimilar to Rell holding Wally back from the Origin System.

Become a literal Goddess of Creation. Her father was a farmer her mother a carpenter 💅💅

Experience the Horrors and turn out okay (okay as in: not kidnapped for 4 years)

Let's see if the PAX Devstream gives us more bricks to stand on 👀👀👀👀👀👀

[revelboo]

Last Night the bumblebee x reader fic is so yummy I need more of it(you will be seeing more of me now so here is my emoji combo)-👑🐝

Bee is a sweety

Last Night Pt 9

Bumblebee x Reader

• Servos brushing your leg, you watch him cringe. Making you more determined to find out what fragging is. Especially with the way those other two bots had frowned. Is it scandalous? There’s not a ton of entertainment to be had in the Ark, and a bit of scandalous gossip? You’re all for it. “Come on. You have to tell me, because I’m not letting it go,” you say with a grin and he loudly vents at you. “What’s fragging?”

• “Not so loud,” he groans as bots turn to look at him. Of course, you’re not letting it go. And what are you going to think of him if he admits some Cybertronians are interfacing with humans? You’re just now comfortable around him, no longer flinching when he handles or picks you up. “Some Cybertronians- Decepticons, are doing stuff with humans they’ve captured.” Dancing around actually saying it, because he’s uncomfortable with the idea. Humans are just so delicate, fragile.

• “Torture?” You ask, drawing your legs up as you perch on his shoulder. Laying a palm on him, you shiver. Can’t really see his face where you are against the side of his head, but he sounds unhappy. Miserable. “They’re killing them aren’t they?” How many people have they taken? Stomach lurching, you lean against his helm. Those poor people. Wants to ask if he can’t do anything to save them. To free them. But that can’t be right. That bot had been whispering about you and Bee fragging. So not killing. What else could it be, though to make him this uncomfortable?

• Door wings flicking, he groans. “No, I mean, I don’t think so?” Killing humans is definitely worse than fragging them, but he still vents tiredly. Tempted to let you believe that’s what’s happening rather than have to explain this to you. You’re finally starting to trust him and it took forever. Doesn’t want to scare you off. “Fragging isn’t killing.” Say it. Just say it. “It means interfacing.”

• “Okay. And that means?” You ask. Because Bee is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. Interfacing? You’re coming up with nothing trying to guess what he means by that. His little door wings lift slightly as he groans. ‘It means,’ he mumbles, sounding almost pained. ‘Well, it means, mating. Does that word translate?’ Choking, you’re glad he can’t see you right now. Your brain just refusing to try to figure out the logistics of how giant, alien robots and much smaller humans can even do that. And survive. Do they? Horrified, you shut your mouth and lean back further out of sight. “Okay,” you manage weakly, remembering that other mech laughing and speculating on if you and Bee were fragging. Oh. Don’t ask. Just let it go and pretend this conversation never happened. “How does that work exactly?” You ask almost against your will.

Previous

[rohvee]

WIP Wednesday, the meet-nerd 🖤

—

Jayce had nearly forgotten about the exchange—until a few days later, when he stepped into his lab and found a stranger standing in the middle of the room. 

A sharp pang of irritation flared in his chest. 

“Hey, this area is off-limits. How the hell did you even get in—” 

“Your calculations on chiral entanglement are incomplete.” 

The voice was smooth, thickly accented, matter-of-fact. Jayce froze mid-step, his words catching in his throat. 

“Excuse me?” 

The man turned slightly. “You are accounting for time distortion within the Beach, yes, but your equations assume a constant gravitational influence. Chiral space is not bound by such constraints.” He gestured lazily toward the scrawled equations on the large holo screen of the far wall. “You need a variable to account for the fluctuations. Otherwise, your model collapses at high densities.” 

Jayce blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. He followed the man’s gaze to his own notes, scanning the numbers.  

Finally, he shut his mouth and took in the stranger properly. 

He was shorter than Jayce, as most people were, his frame rail thin. He leaned heavily on a cane, kept the weight off his right leg. His cheekbones were razor sharp, his complexion pale. A mole sat below his eye, another just above his lip. Waves of chestnut-brown hair cascaded halfway to his shoulders, a shock of light blond peeking out from underneath.  

But what struck him most were his eyes. 

They were chiral gold. 

“You must be Viktor,” Jayce muttered. He wandered deeper into the room, the door hissing shut behind him. He stepped up to the holo board and ran his gaze over the calculations, rubbing his chin as he rearranged the numbers in his mind to account for Viktor’s correction. 

And—damn it. He was right. 

How had he not seen it before? 

He felt a rush of heat—startled, flustered. He had spent his life studying chiralium, was regarded as Runeterra’s foremost expert on the subject, and yet this stranger had waltzed in and pointed out a flaw he hadn’t even considered. Embarrassing. 

And yet… exhilarating. 

Jayce exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright. That could improve data transfer stability. But it still doesn’t solve the real problem—how to move physical materials through the Beach.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Viktor conceded, tilting his head slightly. “Tell me, what do you know about tar?” 

Jayce frowned. “It manifests in BT-dense areas,” he said slowly. “And in places where voidouts have occurred.” 

“Indeed—regions where the boundary between our world and the Beach is thin.” Viktor tapped his cane idly against the floor. “Do you know what happens when an object falls into a pool of tar?” 

Jayce gave him a look. “You don’t get it back.” 

“Correct. Even after the tar recedes, the object is gone.” Viktor’s gaze was sharp, pinning Jayce in place like butterfly wings. “It has been speculated that the tar acts as a buffer of sorts—a conduit between worlds. It is where BTs come through, yes, but it is a two-way gate. Anything swallowed by it here is transported to the Beach.” 

Jayce’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I’ve never heard that theory.” 

“It is not widely accepted,” Viktor admitted with a wry smile. “But reports from Jumpers would appear to support it. Buildings appearing on their Beaches. Objects from our world.” 

A thrum of excitement shot through Jayce, the gears in his mind turning at full speed. “If we could track travel through the tar...” 

“Then we could quantify the relationship between entry and exit points,” Viktor mused. “And then, perhaps, we could learn how to direct it.” 

Jayce's hands were already moving, clearing a space on his cluttered desk to pull up a holographic interface. Equations, schematics, old reports—his thoughts racing ahead of his fingers. “We’d need controlled experiments. Objects with tracking devices, maybe something embedded with chiralium to send the data back—” 

Their conversation tumbled forward in a rush of mutual excitement. Jayce had never encountered someone who could not only keep pace with him but push him to rethink his assumptions, recontextualize his own expertise. He had spent years dissecting the properties of chiralium, convinced it held the key to bridging the gap between cities, between worlds, but Viktor was opening an entirely new avenue of thought. 

Jayce had always regarded the black, viscous liquid as a byproduct, an environmental hazard. That tar was a phenomenon to be avoided or mitigated. But Viktor approached it differently. He spoke of its composition, the presence of d-amino acids—a biological anomaly in a world built from l-amino structures—suggesting that the tar was not simply an inert remnant of the Beach, but an active medium. A birthing pool for new forms of life. 

The implications sent a thrill down Jayce’s spine. 

The more they spoke, the clearer the picture became. Jayce had spent years staring at one half of the equation, never realizing he had been missing the other. Tar and chiralium—two sides of the same coin, inextricably bound.  

Jayce had already forgotten why he was angry at Mel for bringing Viktor here. For the first time in months, he felt something other than frustration. He felt the edge of a breakthrough.  

It wasn’t until he caught Viktor struggling to keep his eyes open that he realized how much time had slipped away. He glanced at the clock, startled to find it was already late, their enthralling discussion having consumed the hours without notice. 

“You must be tired from the trip,” Jayce noted, studying Viktor more closely. The man looked haggard, exhausted. “When did you get to Piltover?” 

Viktor stifled a yawn, setting the tablet down on the desk he had been leaning against. “A little after noon.” 

Not long before Jayce had discovered him here. “And you haven’t slept?” 

Viktor shrugged, gave a noncommittal hum. 

Jayce stared. A multi-day trek through unstable terrain, past BT-infested zones, and he hadn’t even stopped to rest. Most people would have collapsed into bed the moment they arrived. He was impressed, but he supposed he should have expected as much. The kind of mind that could keep up with him like this—of course it belonged to someone just as obsessive. Just as willing to push past human limits, no matter the toll. 

He understood, but concern still nagged at him. There was something here—something gravitational, pulling him in with a force he’d never quite experienced before. He felt himself drawn in, his focus shifting toward Viktor like a satellite dish locking onto a signal of interest. The last thing he wanted was for him to keel over before they’d even begun. 

"Well, I think we’ve done more than enough for one day,” he said, stepping forward, his hand landing on Viktor’s narrow shoulder. Viktor glanced down at the contact in a sort of detached curiosity before flicking his gaze up to meet Jayce’s. 

For the tenth time that day, those golden eyes startled him. 

“Let’s go figure out where they’ve put you up and get you settled.” 

For a moment, Viktor hesitated. Then, with a slight nod, he fell into step beside Jayce, cane clicking as they headed out the door. 

[put-me-out-of-my-destiny]

One thing I've said before is that if Lady ever got to be playable again, she should be permitted to use items like those that appeared in the classic games, instead of having a DT gauge, just to sell the fact that she is a human being keeping up with the most powerful devils in the world through guile and perseverance.

I figure these are obtained the way Nero obtains Devil Breakers. Lady has a limited inventory that she can stock with items she either finds in levels or purchases at the skill shop.

Being the stand-in for a Devil Trigger, they would be activated with the L1/LB button by default. Items would be selected with the directional pad. Some of the items would also have functions that mimic those of a standard Devil Trigger.

Here's some items I think Lady could have access to:

Vital Star: Returning from the classic games is a green star-shaped crystal, that restores some health upon consumption. If you think it's not in-character for Lady to use a Vital Star, maybe a more sci-fi-themed healing item would be more appropriate.

High-Caliber Ammo: An item that grants a unique power-up for whichever non-Kalina Ann weapon she has equipped. This replaces her charged shots from Devil May Cry 4: Special Edition, which turned her handgun bullets into incendiary or explosive shots, and her shotgun shells into piercing and shredding shots.

Grenade: Exactly what it sounds like. Throwing can be delayed like in many shooter games.

Landmine: A different kind of explosive that activates when an enemy touches it. Can be used to set up combos.

Body Armor: Equipped to grant Lady increased damage resistance, and makes her less vulnerable to flinching or being knocked down. Can only soak up so much damage before breaking.

Jetpack: Can grant Lady a traditional double jump, or an Air Raid-like state that allows her to use her ground attacks from the safety of the air, until it runs out of fuel. The image of Lady and Trish going on a flight together is very cute to me.

Tripod: Allows her to place any non-Kalina Ann weapon in the form of a turret, which will autonomously fire a set number of shots. Lady's weapon will be automatically returned to her inventory once the turret's shots are depleted, once combat ends, or once she places down another turret.

Unnamed speed-boosting drug: Primarily this would increase Lady's movement speed, melee attack speed, and melee damage for a short duration. This would be a pale purple substance that's consumed either through an inhaler or straight-up snorted as powder. This item should also alter Lady's dialogue while it's active, representing a manic and even more violent attitude. To provoke even more concern, perhaps using this item should cause Lady to take a small amount of damage. It should probably add a red tint to the screen too.

And finally, her most powerful item would be a small vehicle, which can be summoned in similar ways to Nightmare from Devil May Cry 5 (air dropped, burrowing from the ground, bursting through a wall, etc.).

I'm imagining this vehicle was made using mechanisms from a dismantled Kalina Ann II, and the original Kalina Ann can interface with it in the same way, granting access to moves like Cascade and Mega Cascade. This vehicle has a limited pool of health, and will explode when its health is depleted, after ejecting Lady.

I haven't settled on a name for the vehicle, but I'm partial to Maddona. According to the wiki, this was another name for the Virgin Mary who, along with Beatrice and St. Lucia (Trish and Lucia's namesakes), aided Dante Alighieri in his journey through hell. It's speculated that the name Madonna is what inspired Lady's chosen name.