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mindswriters · 27 days ago

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war of hearts ✮ civil war!au

pairing: stark!reader x bucky barnes (it’s slow burn! they barely talk pls don’t kll me) | + bigbrother!tony and platonicbf!steve

summary: y/n is tony stark’s younger sister, and best friend’s with steve rogers. when the sokovia accords get on table, she has to choose between the two people she loves the most. except, there’s some kind of magnetic string, called bucky barnes, making her choice pend to one side

word count: 7.8k

A/N: what a long come back isn’t it? anyways, I’m unemployed now and it brings me back to my alternative reality of creating scenarios. i also decided to re-watch all the mcu and guess what it’s bucky barnes fever all over again. watched civil war this week, thought about this one. hope you enjoy it!

important! this piece is a collaboration between me and my friend chat gpt. just so you know that i came up with the scenes, wrote it, but also used ai to improve and review the work.

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The Sokovia Accords were supposed to bring order to chaos — a framework to keep the Avengers accountable. But for you, Y/n Stark, it felt like a betrayal. You understood Tony’s reasons — his guilt, his desire to control the power that had caused so much destruction — but you couldn’t accept the cost: surrendering freedom and personal judgment to governments that often failed the people they were supposed to protect. More than that, knowing Bucky’s past — the pain he endured as the Winter Soldier and the person he was beneath — made it impossible for you to side with Tony’s call for control and punishment. When the Accords split the team, you stood firmly with Steve, believing that some battles can’t be sanctioned or regulated. That decision tore you apart from Tony, your older brother, who saw your refusal as reckless and personal defiance. Now, after Berlin’s battlefield became the symbol of that fracture, you find yourself in the cold Siberian wasteland, caught between loyalty to your family and to the ideals you fight for.

When your parents died, you were just a child — too young to understand the world they left behind. Tony, as your older brother, stepped in to fill that void, becoming both protector and guardian. As he grew into the role of Iron Man, he fiercely tried to keep you away from the dangers that came with his double life. But your spirit was too strong to be confined. You found your own path, training with Steve Rogers and developing your skills and technology to stand on your own. Through Steve, you learned about Bucky Barnes — a man with a troubled past, yet someone you felt drawn to protect. Over time, you became an essential part of the Avengers family, not just by blood, but through loyalty, courage, and the fierce determination to fight for what you believe in.

After Berlin, everything was fractured. You should’ve been locked away with the others, but you weren’t. You found a way to prove that you and Steve were right — that someone was orchestrating everything from the shadows. You showed Tony the pieces: the inconsistencies, the manipulation, the name Zemo. Maybe it was the way you said it, maybe it was the last thread of trust he still had in you — but he listened. He got you out, and together, you convinced him to go to Siberia, not to fight, but to help.

But the cold in Siberia isn't just in the air — it’s in your chest, tightening with every breath as you step into the facility. The space is dim, sterile, haunted by the ghosts of what happened there. You can feel it in your bones: this is where everything changes. Zemo speaks with a calmness that unsettles you, leading the four of you deeper into the past than anyone was ready to go. Then, the footage begins — December 16, 1991. The mission. You don't want to look, but you can’t tear your eyes away. There’s the crash, the stolen serum, and then… the unmistakable brutality. Your heart sinks as you watch the man beside you — Bucky — become the weapon that killed your parents. It's a storm inside your chest: grief, disbelief, the return of a loss you thought you had buried long ago. Your eyes flicker between three people: Tony, whose hands are already curling into fists; Steve, who refuses to meet your gaze; and Bucky, frozen in silence, his jaw tight with shame. Every part of you is screaming. But you don't move. Not yet.

Silence settles like dust after the video stops, thick and suffocating. You hear Tony’s voice first — low, disbelieving.

“Did you know?”

Steve hesitates. His silence is an answer in itself.

“I didn’t know it was him,” he says finally.

Tony’s voice cracks. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”

You feel your breath hitch, a pulse pounding in your ears. Steve closes his eyes. “Yes.”

And just like that, the floor shifts beneath your feet.

You step back instinctively, watching the fury rise behind Tony’s eyes. It’s not just betrayal — it’s heartbreak, it’s twenty-five years of unanswered questions detonating all at once.

“He killed my mom,” Tony says, barely above a whisper, and you flinch.

You want to speak — to say he didn’t have a choice, to remind Tony of who Bucky is now, not who he was made to be — but the words catch in your throat.

Tony’s gaze flicks to you, just for a second, and in it you see something that breaks you more than the video: he expected you to stand with him.

And you can’t. Not against Bucky. Not like this.

Tony turns fully to you, his eyes desperate now — not with confusion, but with expectation. You saw it too, his stare seems to scream. He killed them. Say something. Do something.

You meet his gaze. And all the fire in him crashes against the ocean in your eyes. There's no anger in you — only sorrow, spilling over in silent tears that blur the edges of the room. You shake your head, barely, but it’s enough.

Tony’s chest rises with a sharp inhale, as if your silence alone had struck him.

“Y/n, don’t you dare—”

But he doesn’t finish. He lunges.

You don’t think. You move, stepping between him and Bucky like your body was built for this — like your place has always been in the middle of everything tearing itself apart. Your hands hit Tony’s chest, holding him back with more force than you knew you had.

“Stop,” you breathe. “Please.”

His eyes are blazing now. “He murdered our parents.”

“No,” you say, voice trembling. “He didn’t. That wasn’t him — that was the thing they turned him into. He didn’t have a choice, Tony.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you anymore. “Is that really what you believe? After what you just saw?”

“I felt that pain too. Every second of it. But I won’t destroy someone who’s already spent a lifetime paying for a crime he didn’t choose to commit.”

Tony laughs — a short, bitter sound. “So you’re siding with him. With the guy who killed your mother.”

Your voice cracks. “I’m not siding with anyone… I’m trying to keep us from losing what’s left.”

“You already lost me.” Tony's words felt like a twisting knife in your chest.

Tony doesn’t wait for another word. With a twist and a push, he slips past your grasp, rage propelling him straight toward Bucky.

“Tony, no!” you cry out, reaching for him, but he’s already swinging.

Bucky barely manages to deflect the first blow — the second lands squarely, sending him reeling. The sound of the impact echoes through the bunker, and something inside you folds.

You stand there, paralyzed. Torn. Watching your brother, burning with grief, throw himself against the man you’ve been fighting beside — the man who never asked for your trust, but who somehow earned it anyway.

Your heart pounds, and for a second, the weight of it all threatens to crush you.

You should stop them. You should do something. But it’s easier to run. And you hate yourself for knowing that.

Your breath hitches as you turn your head — and then you see him.

Zemo.

He lingers by the doorway, quiet and composed, with a ghost of a smile curling his lips. He watches the chaos like a man admiring his own masterpiece.

This is what he wanted.

And suddenly, the fog lifts.

He made you and Tony watch that video.

He manipulated all of you into this.

And maybe it’s cowardice, but going after him is easier than choosing between two people you love.

Fighting Zemo won’t leave scars on your family. Or so you tell yourself.

Steve notices the shift in your face — the way your tears harden into something sharper. He steps toward you cautiously, like he already knows.

You wipe your cheek roughly and meet his gaze. “You take care of them,” you murmur, voice steady despite the ache behind it. “I can’t stop Tony… but I can stop the man who caused this.”

Steve hesitates, but only for a beat. “Y/n—”

“I know,” you whisper through gritted teeth. “I know this won’t fix it.”

You glance back at the fight, at Tony — your brother — and the guilt nearly breaks you again.

You do feel like you’re betraying him. And you hate that it feels this way, but the past few days changed you. You fought beside Bucky. You saw who he really is — not the man in the video. And what’s worse… you felt something. A connection. One you didn’t expect. One you can’t ignore. And right now, you just need to get away from all of it — before your heart splits down the middle.

“Just keep them alive, both,” you say finally. “Please.”

Steve searches your eyes. And then, with a quiet nod, he lets you go.

So, you run. Not just toward vengeance — but away from the pain of choosing sides. You’re not proud of it, but it’s the only way you know how to keep breathing.

You don’t chase him right away, you watch. From the edge of the corridor, you track his figure as it fades into the white horizon—small, deliberate steps against the vast emptiness of snow and rock. He doesn’t run. Of course he doesn’t. He’s not that kind of coward. The icy wind bites at your face as you finally step out into the open. No trees. No shelter. Just you, him, and the silence of everything he shattered.

You catch up fast. Your boots scrape over rock, and before he can turn, you crash into him—shoulder first, a sharp collision that knocks him off balance. He stumbles, slides across the snow. But he recovers quickly, turning just as you strike again. He blocks. Dodges. Counters with surprising strength. He’s trained—more than you expected.

Blow after blow, you fight, fists cracking against arms, your breath ragged in the cold. It's messy, brutal, driven by instinct and pain. The silence breaks when you finally land a punch to his jaw that makes him reel back, lip bloodied.

“You destroyed my family,” you hiss. “Why?”

He spits blood into the snow, barely flinching. “Because they were false.”

You go at him again, but he ducks, sweeping your legs. You hit the ground hard, snow burning your skin, but you don’t stop. You’re already on your feet, chest heaving.

“You tore us apart,” you growl. “Steve, Tony, me, Bucky—what did you got?”

He stares at you calmly, that maddening composure still in place.

“Peace,” he says simply. “Sometimes, the world needs fire before it can rebuild.”

You lunge, slamming him back against a jagged rock. “That’s not peace. That’s ruin.”

“Ruins are honest,” he replies, almost softly.

Your fist trembles mid-air as you hold your knife. You could end it now. You want to. But there’s something behind your anger—something heavier.

“You think this was justice?” your voice cracks. “It was just vengeance.”

Zemo blinks slowly, lips parting into the faintest ghost of a smile. “Exactly.”

Your knuckles are scraped, raw. Blood from his face stains your glove, but your weapon stays raised.

He’s beneath you now—back pressed to the cold, uneven rock, breath shallow but steady. One strike. That’s all it would take. One final blow to end this. He doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t beg. He just looks at you, waiting. Accepting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than the wind howling across the open field. Louder than your brother’s voice echoing in your memory. Louder than Bucky calling your name, back in that bunker before you ran away.

You tighten your grip, vision swimming. And yet, you still haven’t moved.

“Y/n Stark.”

The voice doesn’t come from Zemo. It cuts through the wind with clarity and weight, composed and firm.

You turn, startled, and see him. Prince T’Challa steps forward through the snow, posture tall, eyes calm—but burning with the same pain you carry.

“Vengeance has consumed you.” He looks at you, then to Zemo. “It is consuming them. I will not let it consume me.”

His words strike like a crack in your armor. You look back at Zemo. His face is bruised and bloodied, but his expression doesn’t change. He remains still beneath you, letting the moment stretch in silence. Your arm trembles.

“…Why?” Your voice is barely a whisper. Tired. Fractured. “Why did you do this?”

Zemo breathes in through his nose, slow and deliberate, as if the answer isn’t simple—but unavoidable.

“Sokovia.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “My family was buried beneath the rubble while your ‘heroes’ flew away, arguing about whose fault it was.”

You feel the blow of those words, dull and deep.

“I buried them with my own hands. My wife. My son. My father.” His voice falters for a second. Then steadies. “I knew I couldn’t kill them. Not all of them. But if I could make them kill each other… the empire would collapse from within.”

He finally looks away, into the white distance.

“An empire that no man should ever have the power to build.”

You close your eyes. He didn’t tried to kill your family. He made you watch them unravel.

“I can’t forgive you,” you whisper, with a hint of guilty for his family.

“I know,” he replies. “I don’t want you to.”

T’Challa steps forward, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come. Let justice do what vengeance cannot.”

And you nod—because even if your heart is still fractured, it’s beating steady again. The wind stills, like the world itself has paused to let you breathe. You sit back on your heels, fists lowering at last. Zemo doesn’t move. Neither does T’Challa. Silence falls like snow — thick, cold, and heavy.

Then it comes. Distant at first. Muffled. The echo of metal clashing against metal, grunts of effort, blasts of repulsors cutting through stone and steel. You turn your head toward the sound — you can see it now: pulses of light flaring against the grey sky, like lightning trapped in a cage. Stark’s repulsors.

Your stomach twists. Steve. Bucky.

You rise slowly to your feet, legs unsteady, and glance at T’Challa beside you. He stands tall, hands behind his back, gaze locked on Zemo — no vengeance, only justice in his posture.

“What will you do with him?” you ask, your voice low but sure.

He meets your eyes. “He will answer for his crimes. I will hand him over to Ross.”

There’s no hesitation in his words, only principle. Then he softens, just enough.

“You still have time. Go to your fam.”

You look toward the glow on the ridge again.

A war is happening inside that mountain — a war between the two people you love most. And all you can think about is how it got this far.

But you nod, just once. Then you run. You follow the trail of light and noise, your heartbeat growing louder than the crunch of your boots against the frozen earth. The bunker looms behind you like a carcass. Ahead, only silence—and then, movement.

Steve. He steps into view, his silhouette staggering beneath the weight of the man in his arms.

Bucky.

Your breath catches. For a second, you don't move. Can't move. The light from the open structure glints off torn metal and darkened fabric. Where his arm should be—

Nothing.

You run. You don’t even feel your legs move, don’t hear the panicked sound that leaves your lips until you’re stopping in front of them.

“No—no, no, no—” You reach for Bucky’s face, his wrist, his chest. Anything.

He’s pale. Covered in soot and blood. His breathing is shallow—almost imperceptible. His eyes are closed. Your fingers shake as you press against the side of his neck.

You wait. Wait. There it is. A pulse.

“He’s alive,” Steve says gently, his voice ragged, like it’s the last bit of strength he has.

But there’s something behind it—grief, anger, guilt. Everything you feel, reflected right back at you. Your gaze lifts to meet his, his eyes are rimmed red, jaw clenched with something he can’t say out loud. And then, Steve looks at you with something heavier than sorrow. You swallow hard.

“Where's Tony?” you ask, your voice barely above a worried whisper. “He… your shield?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks back down at Bucky, then up at you again—like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“He’s not thinking straight,” he says. “I could stop him just for now. Maybe you still can.”

You blink, confused. Hurt. “Why would he listen to me?”

“Because you are still his little sister.” Steve’s words land like stone.

He adjusts Bucky in his arms again and balances themselves with effort.

“I’ll keep him safe,” he promises. “And I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. But right now…”

He meets your eyes, firm.

“Tony needs you.”

Steve stands steady, carrying Bucky carefully in his arms as they intend to move towards the Quinjet. The cold air bites, but your focus is entirely on Bucky’s face—bruised, bloodied, but breathing.

You step closer, gently brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Your voice barely rises above a whisper, trembling with relief: “You’re okay.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, but the small rise and fall of his chest tells you everything you need to know. You shift your gaze to Steve, who meets your eyes with something heavier than sorrow—gratitude, trust, and a quiet admiration. Your glance holds his for a heartbeat, a silent exchange of understanding and strength.

"Thank you" that's the least you could say.

With that, you turn sharply and start running toward where you know you'd find Tony, heart pounding—not knowing what you’ll see, but knowing you have to get him.

You follow the trail of light through the snow and concrete, breath burning in your throat as your feet slam against the cold ground. The metallic echo of your steps fades beneath the hum of repulsors powering down.

Then you see him.

Tony sits on the floor near the wreckage of what used to be part of the bunker wall, helmet off, broken, elbows on his knees, staring down at his own shaking hands. The arc reactor flickers softly in the gloom. His face is torn open—split lip, brow swollen, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He looks like a man who has finally reached the bottom of everything.

You slow your steps. “Tony…”

His head snaps up like he forgot he wasn’t alone. His eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed, and exhausted. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s not sure whether to collapse into your arms or push you away again.

“I couldn't do any other way,” he finally breathes, voice cracked. “He killed our parents.”

You nod, tears brimming again. “I know.”

He looks at you for a long time—really looks. There’s a tremble in his jaw, and then, like all the anger that had held him together just burnt out, he looks away again. “And you protected him.”

The words hit you like a slap, even though they’re soft, almost whispered.

“I told you it wasn't him. And I protected you, too,” you say edged, trying hard to control your own emotions. “From doing something you’d never come back from.”

He lets out a shaky sigh—bitter and hollow. “Then why do I still feel like I lost everything?”

You kneel beside him, not touching him yet. “Because you did, and so did I. But we’re still here. And we still got each other”

There’s a long pause. You let it breathe. Ignoring the tremble in your chin, and the tears stinging your eyes. Carefully, you rest your hand over his, grounding both of you in something real.

“We gotta go home” you say.

Tony doesn’t respond right away. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean in closer, softer now. “I know you don’t understand how I could’ve stood in your way. And maybe you won’t. But… I made a choice, Tony. And I’ll carry it. I'm not a child anymore”

Finally, he turns his hand over, wrapping his fingers around yours like he’s afraid to let go.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The days that followed blurred into a slow return to something resembling normal. You and Tony flew back to the compound in silence, the tension between you heavy but softened by exhaustion. Healing wasn’t immediate—some days you spoke like nothing ever happened, sharing breakfast and old jokes; other days, you couldn’t look at each other without remembering everything that had broken between you. Still, piece by piece, your bond began to mend.

Tony pulled every string he had to keep you out of prison. Unlike the others who sided with Steve, you were granted house arrest—confined to the compound, under strict surveillance, your every movement monitored. It should’ve felt like a victory, but it didn’t. The guilt gnawed at you—knowing Sam, Wanda, Clint and Scott were locked away while you walked free. That guilt became your fuel. Quietly, you slipped Steve fragments of intel, just enough to help him break into the Raft and free the others. You know the risks. So did Tony.

But he never stopped you.

He never asked where the encrypted messages went. Never questioned why you stayed up late with the comms encrypted. He didn’t even stop you from calling Steve late at night, when the silence felt too loud and your chest ached with everything unsaid.

Then came the morning you didn’t show up for breakfast.

Tony waited for a good ten minutes, which was already generous for someone like him. The toast went cold. He sighed, picked up your mug and went looking for you, grumbling something about dramatic sleeping habits and time zones.

He found your room quiet. Too quiet. When he opened the door, he froze. There, on your desk, your tracking bracelet—still blinking red—was locked tight around the abdomen of a massive ant.

“…Scott,” Tony muttered, blinking. “You absolute tiny bastard.”

He looked to the bed, where a folded note rested on your pillow. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he picked it up, already dreading whatever sentimental nonsense you had left behind.

“Had to go on a little trip. Be kind to the ant, it has your name too. I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

Tony stared at the handwriting for a few seconds. Then he let out a single, sharp laugh, more disbelief than amusement. He dropped the note back onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well played, Rogers. Kidnapping my sister, real subtle.” He stood there a moment longer, torn between frustration and admiration, before walking out of the room—still muttering under his breath.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The ship flew in silence, cutting through the night sky like a shadow. The sleek lines of Wakandan technology made almost no noise — just a soft hum filled the air, echoing the restrained breath in your chest.

Steve sat across the cabin, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window — but you knew he wasn’t really seeing the clouds. Since boarding, few words have been exchanged. And none were really needed. He had already told you the essentials: T’Challa watched. He listened. He understood. And unlike what many would’ve done in his place, the king chose compassion. He chose to protect Bucky. And Bucky chose to trust them. This ship was another gift — or maybe a promise. A quiet gesture from someone who also knew what it was to lose, but refused to let hatred shape his next steps.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes for a moment, but rest didn’t come. A part of you was still back there — in the frozen bunker, on the ground stained by the fury of someone you loved. The image of Tony’s face — wounded more in heart than armor — still weighed like lead in your chest.

“You okay?” — Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, but clear enough to pull you back.

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I am.”

A pause. “Or at least… I will be.”

He didn’t push. Steve never did. He just looked at you with that gentle, loyal kind of expression — the same one he had when he took your hand and pulled you out of the compound in the middle of the night, promising it would be worth it.

“Will Bucky be safe?” — you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Steve took a deep breath. “He will. They have the resources. The tech. And he wants this, Y/n. He wants peace. He wants... to be himself again.”

You didn’t reply right away. Your throat tightened, and everything inside you felt like it was rearranging — memories, loyalty, pain, love. An emotional mess carefully boxed into a floating piece of metal in the sky.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Thank you, Steve... for having our backs.”

He gave a soft smile — one of those small, sincere ones. “Always.”

The ship kept moving forward, cutting through the dark. And for a few minutes, you let the silence become a form of comfort.

You were going to see him. Bucky. And a part of you — the part that spent so long trying not to feel — finally let a small hope slip through the cracks.

The silence stretched between you for a while, peaceful and full of unspoken things. You hadn’t moved from your seat, but your fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve — something restless stirring just beneath the surface.

Steve shifted a little, his voice breaking the quiet with gentle curiosity.

“So…” he started, a trace of a smile in his tone. “When did it happen?”

You looked up, brow furrowed. “When did what happen?”

He tilted his head, a soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That… invisible magnet between you and Bucky. I’ve seen it for a while now. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

You exhaled through your nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think it was always there. Since the day on the bridge. Like something we didn’t notice until it was too loud to ignore.”

Steve nodded, the smile fading into something softer — more earnest.

“I’m glad he found you. That he let someone in. After everything… I thought it would take a miracle.”

You met his gaze, surprised by the emotion in his voice.

“He trusted you,” he said, more quietly now. “Aside from me, you were the only person he didn’t flinch away from. The only one he willingly talked to after… everything.”

You felt your throat tighten, and your voice came out quieter than before.

“He didn’t have to explain me anything. I just… saw him. And I knew he wasn’t the monster they said he was.”

Steve smiled again, this time with a flicker of something like pride. “You believed in him when it mattered most. You never doubted.”

You shrugged, glancing toward the window. “I doubted myself more than I ever doubted him.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve leaned back in his seat, his tone suddenly lighter — teasing.

“You know…” he said, “back in the day — I mean way back — before I got frozen, Peggy gave me a goodbye kiss. She didn’t know it would be goodbye, not really. But… she still kissed me.”

You raised an eyebrow, already catching where this was going.

Steve gave you a crooked grin.

“I’m just saying — if we went through all the trouble of breaking you out of house arrest, sneaking past Stark’s security systems, and borrowing a ship from the King of Wakanda… Bucky deserves a goodbye kiss. Don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“He’s not going anywhere.”

Steve shrugged, grinning.

“Neither was I.”

You laughed, quietly — the kind that settles into your chest and stays there, warm and a little nervous.

"I'm not giving Bucky a goodbye kiss, not when I know that I'll be seeing him again." You say, forcing yourself to sound optimistic, even when you're a little scared about Bucky's future.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The sun was just beginning to rise over Wakanda when the ship touched down. The soft golden light filtered through the tall grasses and sleek towers, casting the world in a warm hue — as if the land itself welcomed peace after so much war. You stepped out behind Steve, blinking against the brightness, the air different here — lighter, cleaner, but buzzing with quiet power.

Waiting for you was T’Challa, dressed in dark robes, arms calmly folded behind his back. He looked at you both not with suspicion, but with that steady regal grace — the kind of presence that made you straighten your posture without realizing it.

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted first. Then his gaze shifted to you. “Miss Stark.”

You gave a small nod, unsure if words would come out right now.

“We’re grateful,” Steve said. “More than I can express.”

T’Challa simply inclined his head. “He is safe. Healing. But the path forward will still be long.” His gaze flickered to you for a second. “For all of you.”

You didn’t respond — just swallowed and nodded again, because your chest was already tight.

“Come,” T’Challa said. “He’s waiting.”

The corridors of the Wakandan compound were impossibly quiet. Everything smelled like steel and earth and the subtle scent of something growing. It felt removed from the world — like a place outside of time. You followed Steve through a pair of sliding doors, your footsteps barely audible over the hum of the hall. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded — not in fear, but something deeper. Something ancient. Recognition.

Steve stopped just before a final door. He turned to you, like he sensed your hesitation in coming with him.

"You should go first. He might wanna talk to you alone." You offer him a concerned smile, but Steve knew you well enough to know that you were actually nervous to be seeing Bucky again.

“Wait here then.” He said simply, looking to the glass wall, where you could see through, and spot Bucky's figure on the other room.

You nodded. He gave you a small smile, then stepped inside alone.

Through the glass wall, you saw him approach Bucky — dressed in loose, simple clothes. His hair was longer now, brushed back behind his ears. He looked calm, almost still, as he turned toward Steve. You couldn’t hear what was said, but the expression that crossed Bucky’s face at the sight of his friend was unmistakable — relief and something like home.

They spoke briefly. Bucky’s body shifted, sharing a hug with Steve that made you smile to yourself. Steve kept a grip on his friend's shoulder, and as he pointed to the door, you took it as your sign to come in.

He indeed gestured toward you, lips moving around words you couldn’t quite hear — but you felt them in your bones.

"There's someone else I thought you'd like to see."

You step into the room, and for a moment, everything feels too bright. The space is open, the large windows filling it with sunlight that dances along the polished floor. But all you see is him — standing close to Steve, illuminated by the sunrays from the landscape behind them. His eyes fixed on you the second you enter.

You stop just inside the threshold, suddenly unsure of your body, your expression — of anything, really.

Bucky doesn’t move at first. Neither do you.

“Hi.” You say, breaking the silence with a soft tone, like he’s trying not to scare a wounded animal.

"Hey," Bucky responds, there's a glimpse of something heavy is his tone. Guilt. Appreciation. Relief.

He turns to you, but still hesitates on getting too close. "Wasn't you supposed to be... uhm, in prison?" He frowns, cleaning his throat.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Wow. That’s the first thing you say to me?"

Bucky widened his eyes and Steve chuckled under his breath.

You take a step closer, placing yourself beside Steve. “Technically, I was under house arrest. Tony pulled some strings with the government.”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “He’s not hating you?”

“Of course not,” Steve shook his head. “She got the fancy kind of punishment. Electronic monitor, surveillance, no going outside the compound.”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. Except for the part where I couldn’t even get decent coffee.”

Steve tilted his head, that teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Which is why I may have… borrowed one of Scott’s ants.”

Bucky blinked. “One of his ants?”

You nodded, trying not to grin. “A very big one. It handled the ankle monitor part.”

“She didn’t even hesitate,” Steve added, smirking. “I said, ‘Want to leave for a trip?’ and she was already halfway out the window.”

You nudged Steve lightly with your foot. “You made it sound very heroic. I thought we were going to do something cool, not sneak onto a spaceship like teenagers past curfew.”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, grinning now, “you wouldn't have exactly say no to that.”

Bucky huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

You smiled and leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. “And yet… here we are.”

For a moment, the warmth between the three of you made the world outside the lab feel distant — just three people, trying to hold onto a piece of normal.

Steve gives the two of you a lingering glance. There’s something in his posture — a careful blend of protectiveness and quiet encouragement — before he steps toward the door.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” he says gently, and with a nod, he leaves.

The silence stretches as the door hisses shut behind him. You look at Bucky. He’s standing practically in the same position since you first saw him. His right hand gripping his waist, looking away at the full view windows, as if admiring Wakanda for the first time. His hair brushed back revealed more of his face than you’re used to seeing. There are dark circles under his eyes, but they don't take away from the clarity in them — eyes no longer haunted, just... tired.

You take a cautious step forward, and then another. “How... how have things been here?”

His voice is low, and still carries the weight of something raw. “Quiet. Safe. It’s... a strange kind of peace.”

You nod, arms crossing in front of your chest — a small shield against the emotions threatening to rise again. “And what happens now?”

Bucky shrugs, eyes finally meeting yours. “Shuri says they can help... take it all apart. The programming. The conditioning. I told them to do it. We’re trying to... unmake the Winter Soldier, I guess.”

You nod. “Sounds like something that should’ve happened a long time ago.”

He doesn’t answer that. And silence settles again — heavier this time.

You feel it hanging between you. Everything unsaid. Everything still bleeding under the surface.

Then, finally, he speaks. Quiet. Honest.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart stumbles. He continues before you can respond.

“For your parents. For what happened with Tony. For dragging you into all of this. I... I still don’t know how you stood by me after all that.” His voice cracks at the edges, not from weakness, but from shame. Real, quiet shame.

You take a breath, step closer, letting the tip of your boots touch his feet, searching his eyes.

“I never saw the Winter Soldier, Bucky,” you say softly. “I only saw you. I stood by you. And I’m still here.”

He blinks, and for a second, his composure slips. He looks at you like he’s still not sure he can trust it — trust you — even though everything about you has been screaming that he can.

Bucky doesn’t look away this time — but there’s hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“Why?” He swallows hard. “Why did you choose us… after everything?”

You exhale slowly, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t a choice, not really. It just… happened.”

He tilts his head slightly, searching your face.

“That thing between us,” you continue, voice softer now, “it’s always been there. Even when it shouldn’t have. Even when we barely knew each other.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to the floor for a second, like he’s hiding behind the thought before admitting it.

“I felt it too,” he says. “Like something pulling at me.”

You smile, small but real. “Invisible magnet.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

There’s a brief silence — not uncomfortable this time, just reflective. Like neither of you know what to do with the truth now that it’s been spoken out loud.

“I don’t know what it means,” you admit, leaning lightly against the table beside you. “And I’m not sure what to do with it either.”

Bucky glances at you again, eyes softer now.

“But it’s real,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s real.”

Neither of you move closer. Neither of you pull away. There’s no grand moment, no promise, no plan — just two people, standing in the middle of a quiet Wakandan room, holding onto something they don’t fully understand.

You glance away for a second, trying to collect your thoughts — but your eyes land on the glass door.

And there he is. Steve.

Standing just outside the lab, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that older brother watching from a distance kind of way. You can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him.

Then — because of course he would — he lifts a hand and makes the most exaggerated “kissy face” gesture imaginable. Puckered lips. Two fingers tapping together. A little heart drawn in the air for good measure.

You freeze, widening your eyes at him.

Bucky notices the way your expression suddenly shifts — the subtle horror creeping into your face — and turns to follow your gaze.

“What is he—?”

You step in front of him so fast it’s almost comedic.

“Nothing. He’s just being Steve.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Was he… doing a thing with his hands?”

“Nope,” you say, a little too fast. “Just a… diplomatic wave. Wakandan custom. Very respectful.”

Steve, now thoroughly entertained, is biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Before Bucky can press further — or you can come up with a better excuse for Steve’s antics — the door slides open.

Steve steps into the room like he’s been waiting for the exact right moment to ruin it. He looks between the two of you with a suspiciously innocent expression that doesn't fool either of you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry. “Shuri’s ready.”

You blink. “Already?”

He nods, a little more serious now. “Lab’s prepped. Everything’s in place.”

You feel Bucky stiffen slightly beside you, but he doesn’t look away. There’s a quiet understanding in his eyes now — something grounded. Steady. He knew this was coming.

You glance between them both, something tightening in your chest.

“How long will he be under?” you ask, your voice softer again.

Steve shrugs gently. “As long as it takes. Until he’s really free.”

Bucky takes a breath, turning toward the door, but he pauses — just long enough to glance back at you. There’s something like a silent question in his expression. Something waiting.

You offer a small nod.

And together, the three of you walk down the corridor. The lab was bathed in soft blue light, reflecting off the smooth vibranium panels and glass interfaces. At the center stood the cryogenic chamber — sleek, sterile, silent — waiting.

You lingered near the entrance, watching as Bucky stepped forward with slow, steady steps. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t the kind of moment that called for words.

Steve followed behind him, quieter than usual, his expression unreadable. But when Bucky turned to face him, the tension shifted.

They stood in front of each other for a long moment — no soldier and no captain. Just two men who had been through too much together, and were somehow still standing.

Steve broke the silence first.

“You sure this is the right call?” His voice was low, but steady. Honest.

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “I can’t trust my own mind so… that’s the best option.”

Steve glanced at the floor, then back up. “You’ve been carrying this for longer than we know. You’ll be fine”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, quick and certain. “For being here.”

“Always, pal.” Steve nods, a concerned smile adorning his face.

There was a beat, and then Bucky let out a breath — half a laugh, almost. “Just don’t do anything stupid until I get back”

Steve gave a soft huff. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupidity with you.”

The two exchanged a small, tired smile. But their eyes said everything else — the things that couldn’t be spoken: I’m sorry. I’m proud of you. I’ll be here when you wake up.

They stepped forward at the same time, and Steve pulled Bucky into a firm embrace — not brief, not forced. Just real.

You looked away, jaw clenched, forcing yourself to breathe through the lump forming in your throat. This was their goodbye. Their history. You didn’t want to intrude. But still… watching it hurt more than you expected.

When they finally pulled apart, Bucky turned — and found you waiting.

The weight of the moment returned in full.

He took a step closer, slower this time, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And when I wake up… maybe we’ll both know what to do with this.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Just don’t take too long.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then — something shifted.

You felt it in the silence. In the way he lingered. In the way your heart beat just a little louder, like it knew time was running out.

Steve didn’t say a word. He just glanced from Bucky to you, then back again. One eyebrow lifted — subtle, but clear.

Now or never.

You hesitated, your breath catching. Then, slowly, you stepped forward and reached up, fingers brushing against Bucky’s jaw with barely a touch. And you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a soft, grounding press of your lips against his — a silent promise, a thank you, a goodbye. His hand came up, gently touching your waist, as if memorizing the shape of the moment.

When you pulled back, your voice was barely a whisper. “For good luck. You return it when you wake up.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something — maybe a hundred things — but instead, he just nodded.

“Okay.” He mirrors your shy, sensible smile.

Then he turned, stepped into the chamber, closed his eyes and let the door do the same.

You stood beside Steve as the cryo-pod sealed shut, the mist already curling around the edges. The bite on your lip held both your tears, and the feeling of missing Bucky’s lips against yours. Already.

The chamber hissed softly as it sealed, locking Bucky into a stasis of silence and frost. You stood still for a moment longer, staring through the curved glass — watching as the mist rose and softened the edges of his face until it faded completely.

A quiet breath left your lips. Not relief. Not grief. Something in between.

Steve waited beside you without rushing, giving you the time you needed. Then, gently, he turned toward the door.

You followed him out of the lab, your footsteps echoing faintly down the sleek corridor. It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hall that he finally spoke — voice low, but unmistakably smug.

“So…” He didn’t look at you. Just kept walking. “…you did kiss him goodbye.”

You narrowed your eyes, cheeks flushing instantly. “Don’t start.”

Steve raised both hands in faux innocence. “Hey, I didn’t say a word. You’re the one blushing.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

But then he looked at you — and the teasing faded just enough to let something warmer shine through.

“You did good,” he said. “For him. For yourself.”

You didn’t answer, but the way you smiled back told him you understood.

And together, once again, you walked on.

EPILOGUE

The compound was quiet when you stepped back inside. Not the tense kind of quiet from before — just late-night silence, familiar and still. You dropped your bag by the couch, rolled your shoulders, and kicked off your boots with the grace of someone who had clearly been sneaking around behind global authorities.

You made it five steps into the kitchen before his voice echoed from the other side of the island.

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped slightly. “Jesus, Tony—”

“Wrong deity,” he said, holding up a coffee mug. “But thanks for the dramatic entrance. Very spy-thriller of you.”

He looked exactly the same — hoodie, rumpled hair, tired eyes pretending not to be relieved. You hated how good he was at that.

You leaned against the counter, trying not to smile. “Did Friday tell you I was back?”

“Nope. I guessed.” He sipped his coffee. “That, or the giant mutant ant returned with a postcard.”

You snorted. “Sorry I ran off.”

He waved a hand. “Eh, I’ve been ditched for worse things than a cryogenically frozen ex-HYDRA assassin with severe emotional damage. Honestly? Kind of proud.”

You blinked. “Wait—proud?”

He held up a finger. “Don’t make it weird. I’m still mad. But also, you know...”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “You’re my favorite Stark. Don’t tell Pepper.”

A lump formed quietly in your throat, but you masked it with a smirk.

“Yeah, well… you’re not my favorite genius billionaire anymore.”

Tony squinted. “Is it because I didn’t build you a vibranium suit?”

You shrugged, walking around the counter to grab a mug. “That’s part of it.”

He watched you for a second as you poured coffee into your cup, his expression softening just a fraction.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the coffee. “I will be. Are you?”

“Same.” He didn’t press.

Instead, he reached out, hooked a finger through the handle of your mug, and pulled it closer to refill it himself.

“Well,” he said. “I already told the team you're grounded, just so you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t ground me.”

“I just did.”

You took the mug back and bumped your shoulder lightly into his.

And for a moment — just a moment — it felt like home again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #marvel mcu #captain america civil war #steve rogers fanfiction #tony stark fanfiction

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nowoyas · 10 months ago

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Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

#distant citrus sounds #disk horse #nanowrimo #ai shit

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optiblog · 10 months ago

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srbachchan · 2 months ago

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DAY 6273

Jalsa, Mumbai Apr 19, 2025/Apr 20 Sat/Sun 1:12 am

words of wisdom from Shweta , sent to me 👆🏼 .. her repertoire of books and reading is immense .. as is of Navya .. it is such a delight to sit in their presence and company and be educated about aspects of life and the world .. it is astonishing ..

And that is what eats us elders up .. there is the desire to do and be a part of what this GEn thinks and does .. but the limitations of time barricade the impulse and the intent ..

Life did not move so rapidly in our time or in the time of our elders .. now the rapidity is so volatile that the wishes to accomplish all is overwhelming .. you do not want to miss out a single day, in case you miss something that you had wished you would want to do, or be a part of ..

The excitement of what the World does to day and the speed with which it does it is unbelievably attractive .. and one wants so desperately to be a art of it .. or many parts of it .. but time is not with us .. at our age we lament the time .. and we feel let down .. for the wish to be having the time to be involved , to test, to apply, to discover, to invent, to admire and enjoy that spectacle .. is huge ..

But the hugeness hits a wall .. the timeless wall of limitations ..

"एक घड़ी ख़रीद कर, हाथ में क्या बांध ली;

वक़्त पीछे ही पड़ गया मेरे ~ "

पूज्य बाबूजी के शब्द

My wishes as ever .. and the great battle of invention that percolates our lives persists to be in its excel ..

The excel of AI ..

So, I asked and it replied :

"Artificial Intelligence (AI) is the simulation of human intelligence in machines designed to think, learn, and make decisions. It powers technologies like voice assistants, recommendation systems, and autonomous vehicles. AI works through algorithms that process data, recognize patterns, and improve over time through machine learning. It is transforming industries by automating tasks, enhancing productivity, and enabling innovative solutions. From healthcare diagnostics to personalized education, AI’s potential is vast. However, it also raises ethical concerns about bias, privacy, and job displacement. As AI continues to evolve, balancing innovation with responsibility will be key to ensuring it benefits society as a whole."

The clarity of social implications is a massive debate , engaging thinkers and artists and writers and indeed all creative talent ..

For the creative content of a writer are his words .. and if the AI data bank consumes that , as a part of a legacy to be maintained over time infinity, it can be used by ChatGPT to refer or use that extract for its personalised usage .. making it the property of ChatGPT ... NOT the property of the writers or the artists, from where it originally came ..

So the copyright of the artist has been technically 'stolen' , and he or she never gets the benefit of ts copyright, when GPT uses it for its presence .. !!!!

The true value of an artists creation will never be restored to his credit, because technology usurps it .. gulps it down deliciously , with an aerated drink and finalising its consumption with a belch 😜🤭 ... END OF CHAPTER !!!

End of discussion .. !!!

In time there shall be much to be heard and written on the subject ..

Each invention provides benefits .. but also victims ..

बनाये कोई - लाभ उठाए कोई और, जिसने उसे बनाया ही न हो

Love

Amitabh Bachchan

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animentality · 8 months ago

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not to be such a boomer, but I think chatgpt is fucking this generation over, at least in terms of critical thinking and creative skills.

I get that it's easy to use and I probably would've used it if I was in school when it came out.

but damn.

y'all can't just write a fucking email?

also people using it to write essays ... i mean what is the point then?

are you gaming the educational system in pursuit of survival, or are you just unwilling to engage critically with anyone or anything?

is this why media literacy is so fucking ass right now?

learning how to write is learning how to express yourself and communicate with others.

you might not be great at it, but writing can help you rearrange the ideas in your brain. the more you try to articulate yourself, the more you understand yourself. all skills can be honed with time, and the value is not in the product. it's in the process.

it's in humans expressing their thoughts to others, in an attempt to improve how we do things, by building upon foundations and evolving old ideas into innovation.

scraping together a mush of ideas from a software that pulls specific, generic phrases from data made by actual humans... what is that going to teach you or anyone else?

it's just old ideas being recycled by a new generation.

a generation I am seriously concerned about, because digital tests have made it very easy to cheat, which means people aren't just throwing away their critical thinking and problem solving abilities, but foundational knowledge too.

like what the hell is anyone going to know in the future? you don't want to make art, you don't want to understand how the world works, you don't want to know about the history of us?

is it because we all know it's ending soon anyway, or is it just because it's difficult, and we don't want to bother with difficult?

maybe it's both.

but. you know what? on that note, maybe it's whatever.

fuck it, right, let's just have an AI generate "therefore" "in conclusion" and "in addition" statements followed by simplistic ideas copy pasted from a kid who actually wrote a paper thirty years ago.

if climate change is killing us all anyway, maybe generative ai is a good thing.

maybe it'll be a digital archive of who we used to be, a shambling corpse that remains long after the consequences of our decisions catch up with us.

maybe it'll be smart enough to talk to itself when there's no one left to talk to.

it'll talk to itself in phrases we once valued, it'll make art derived from people who used to be alive and breathing and feeling, it'll regurgitate our best ideas in an earnest but hollow approximation of our species.

and it'll be the best thing we ever made. the last thing too.

I don't really believe in fate or destiny, I think all of this was a spectacular bit of luck, but that's a poetic end for us.

chatgpt does poetry.

#chatgpt #ai #ai generated #generative ai

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 2 years ago

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How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner.

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly.

What are the chances…

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either.

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone.

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

...

To be continued!

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

Link to Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #yup! we're moving away from the labyrinth but fret not! the shenanigans shall continue and relationships will be built!#i forgot how fucking terrifying the fireys are and i now remember way labyrinth gave me nightmares as a kid #twst labyrinth au #also i shit you not i went to go eat at a burger joint last week and 'magic dance' was playing and i lost my fricking mind #like HELLO?! WHAT THE HELL?!#apparently the radio was telling me to fricking work on this fic...#i should really start posting this on ao3 as well... but idk where this is going to go #also posting a standalone fic (oneshot?) tomorrow; you guys will be eating good for a bit. here some crumbs for you and for you and for you

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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The surprising truth about data-driven dictatorships

Here’s the “dictator’s dilemma”: they want to block their country’s frustrated elites from mobilizing against them, so they censor public communications; but they also want to know what their people truly believe, so they can head off simmering resentments before they boil over into regime-toppling revolutions.

These two strategies are in tension: the more you censor, the less you know about the true feelings of your citizens and the easier it will be to miss serious problems until they spill over into the streets (think: the fall of the Berlin Wall or Tunisia before the Arab Spring). Dictators try to square this circle with things like private opinion polling or petition systems, but these capture a small slice of the potentially destabiziling moods circulating in the body politic.

Enter AI: back in 2018, Yuval Harari proposed that AI would supercharge dictatorships by mining and summarizing the public mood — as captured on social media — allowing dictators to tack into serious discontent and diffuse it before it erupted into unequenchable wildfire:

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/10/yuval-noah-harari-technology-tyranny/568330/

Harari wrote that “the desire to concentrate all information and power in one place may become [dictators] decisive advantage in the 21st century.” But other political scientists sharply disagreed. Last year, Henry Farrell, Jeremy Wallace and Abraham Newman published a thoroughgoing rebuttal to Harari in Foreign Affairs:

https://www.foreignaffairs.com/world/spirals-delusion-artificial-intelligence-decision-making

They argued that — like everyone who gets excited about AI, only to have their hopes dashed — dictators seeking to use AI to understand the public mood would run into serious training data bias problems. After all, people living under dictatorships know that spouting off about their discontent and desire for change is a risky business, so they will self-censor on social media. That’s true even if a person isn’t afraid of retaliation: if you know that using certain words or phrases in a post will get it autoblocked by a censorbot, what’s the point of trying to use those words?

The phrase “Garbage In, Garbage Out” dates back to 1957. That’s how long we’ve known that a computer that operates on bad data will barf up bad conclusions. But this is a very inconvenient truth for AI weirdos: having given up on manually assembling training data based on careful human judgment with multiple review steps, the AI industry “pivoted” to mass ingestion of scraped data from the whole internet.

But adding more unreliable data to an unreliable dataset doesn’t improve its reliability. GIGO is the iron law of computing, and you can’t repeal it by shoveling more garbage into the top of the training funnel:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/05/29/garbage-in-garbage-out-machine-learning-has-not-repealed-the-iron-law-of-computer-science/

When it comes to “AI” that’s used for decision support — that is, when an algorithm tells humans what to do and they do it — then you get something worse than Garbage In, Garbage Out — you get Garbage In, Garbage Out, Garbage Back In Again. That’s when the AI spits out something wrong, and then another AI sucks up that wrong conclusion and uses it to generate more conclusions.

To see this in action, consider the deeply flawed predictive policing systems that cities around the world rely on. These systems suck up crime data from the cops, then predict where crime is going to be, and send cops to those “hotspots” to do things like throw Black kids up against a wall and make them turn out their pockets, or pull over drivers and search their cars after pretending to have smelled cannabis.

The problem here is that “crime the police detected” isn’t the same as “crime.” You only find crime where you look for it. For example, there are far more incidents of domestic abuse reported in apartment buildings than in fully detached homes. That’s not because apartment dwellers are more likely to be wife-beaters: it’s because domestic abuse is most often reported by a neighbor who hears it through the walls.

So if your cops practice racially biased policing (I know, this is hard to imagine, but stay with me /s), then the crime they detect will already be a function of bias. If you only ever throw Black kids up against a wall and turn out their pockets, then every knife and dime-bag you find in someone’s pockets will come from some Black kid the cops decided to harass.

That’s life without AI. But now let’s throw in predictive policing: feed your “knives found in pockets” data to an algorithm and ask it to predict where there are more knives in pockets, and it will send you back to that Black neighborhood and tell you do throw even more Black kids up against a wall and search their pockets. The more you do this, the more knives you’ll find, and the more you’ll go back and do it again.

This is what Patrick Ball from the Human Rights Data Analysis Group calls “empiricism washing”: take a biased procedure and feed it to an algorithm, and then you get to go and do more biased procedures, and whenever anyone accuses you of bias, you can insist that you’re just following an empirical conclusion of a neutral algorithm, because “math can’t be racist.”

HRDAG has done excellent work on this, finding a natural experiment that makes the problem of GIGOGBI crystal clear. The National Survey On Drug Use and Health produces the gold standard snapshot of drug use in America. Kristian Lum and William Isaac took Oakland’s drug arrest data from 2010 and asked Predpol, a leading predictive policing product, to predict where Oakland’s 2011 drug use would take place.

[Image ID: (a) Number of drug arrests made by Oakland police department, 2010. (1) West Oakland, (2) International Boulevard. (b) Estimated number of drug users, based on 2011 National Survey on Drug Use and Health]

Then, they compared those predictions to the outcomes of the 2011 survey, which shows where actual drug use took place. The two maps couldn’t be more different:

https://rss.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1740-9713.2016.00960.x

Predpol told cops to go and look for drug use in a predominantly Black, working class neighborhood. Meanwhile the NSDUH survey showed the actual drug use took place all over Oakland, with a higher concentration in the Berkeley-neighboring student neighborhood.

What’s even more vivid is what happens when you simulate running Predpol on the new arrest data that would be generated by cops following its recommendations. If the cops went to that Black neighborhood and found more drugs there and told Predpol about it, the recommendation gets stronger and more confident.

In other words, GIGOGBI is a system for concentrating bias. Even trace amounts of bias in the original training data get refined and magnified when they are output though a decision support system that directs humans to go an act on that output. Algorithms are to bias what centrifuges are to radioactive ore: a way to turn minute amounts of bias into pluripotent, indestructible toxic waste.

There’s a great name for an AI that’s trained on an AI’s output, courtesy of Jathan Sadowski: “Habsburg AI.”

And that brings me back to the Dictator’s Dilemma. If your citizens are self-censoring in order to avoid retaliation or algorithmic shadowbanning, then the AI you train on their posts in order to find out what they’re really thinking will steer you in the opposite direction, so you make bad policies that make people angrier and destabilize things more.

Or at least, that was Farrell(et al)’s theory. And for many years, that’s where the debate over AI and dictatorship has stalled: theory vs theory. But now, there’s some empirical data on this, thanks to the “The Digital Dictator’s Dilemma,” a new paper from UCSD PhD candidate Eddie Yang:

https://www.eddieyang.net/research/DDD.pdf

Yang figured out a way to test these dueling hypotheses. He got 10 million Chinese social media posts from the start of the pandemic, before companies like Weibo were required to censor certain pandemic-related posts as politically sensitive. Yang treats these posts as a robust snapshot of public opinion: because there was no censorship of pandemic-related chatter, Chinese users were free to post anything they wanted without having to self-censor for fear of retaliation or deletion.

Next, Yang acquired the censorship model used by a real Chinese social media company to decide which posts should be blocked. Using this, he was able to determine which of the posts in the original set would be censored today in China.

That means that Yang knows that the “real” sentiment in the Chinese social media snapshot is, and what Chinese authorities would believe it to be if Chinese users were self-censoring all the posts that would be flagged by censorware today.

From here, Yang was able to play with the knobs, and determine how “preference-falsification” (when users lie about their feelings) and self-censorship would give a dictatorship a misleading view of public sentiment. What he finds is that the more repressive a regime is — the more people are incentivized to falsify or censor their views — the worse the system gets at uncovering the true public mood.

What’s more, adding additional (bad) data to the system doesn’t fix this “missing data” problem. GIGO remains an iron law of computing in this context, too.

But it gets better (or worse, I guess): Yang models a “crisis” scenario in which users stop self-censoring and start articulating their true views (because they’ve run out of fucks to give). This is the most dangerous moment for a dictator, and depending on the dictatorship handles it, they either get another decade or rule, or they wake up with guillotines on their lawns.

But “crisis” is where AI performs the worst. Trained on the “status quo” data where users are continuously self-censoring and preference-falsifying, AI has no clue how to handle the unvarnished truth. Both its recommendations about what to censor and its summaries of public sentiment are the least accurate when crisis erupts.

But here’s an interesting wrinkle: Yang scraped a bunch of Chinese users’ posts from Twitter — which the Chinese government doesn’t get to censor (yet) or spy on (yet) — and fed them to the model. He hypothesized that when Chinese users post to American social media, they don’t self-censor or preference-falsify, so this data should help the model improve its accuracy.

He was right — the model got significantly better once it ingested data from Twitter than when it was working solely from Weibo posts. And Yang notes that dictatorships all over the world are widely understood to be scraping western/northern social media.

But even though Twitter data improved the model’s accuracy, it was still wildly inaccurate, compared to the same model trained on a full set of un-self-censored, un-falsified data. GIGO is not an option, it’s the law (of computing).

Writing about the study on Crooked Timber, Farrell notes that as the world fills up with “garbage and noise” (he invokes Philip K Dick’s delighted coinage “gubbish”), “approximately correct knowledge becomes the scarce and valuable resource.”

https://crookedtimber.org/2023/07/25/51610/

This “probably approximately correct knowledge” comes from humans, not LLMs or AI, and so “the social applications of machine learning in non-authoritarian societies are just as parasitic on these forms of human knowledge production as authoritarian governments.”

The Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Workshop summer fundraiser is almost over! I am an alum, instructor and volunteer board member for this nonprofit workshop whose alums include Octavia Butler, Kim Stanley Robinson, Bruce Sterling, Nalo Hopkinson, Kameron Hurley, Nnedi Okorafor, Lucius Shepard, and Ted Chiang! Your donations will help us subsidize tuition for students, making Clarion — and sf/f — more accessible for all kinds of writers.

Libro.fm is the indie-bookstore-friendly, DRM-free audiobook alternative to Audible, the Amazon-owned monopolist that locks every book you buy to Amazon forever. When you buy a book on Libro, they share some of the purchase price with a local indie bookstore of your choosing (Libro is the best partner I have in selling my own DRM-free audiobooks!). As of today, Libro is even better, because it’s available in five new territories and currencies: Canada, the UK, the EU, Australia and New Zealand!

[Image ID: An altered image of the Nuremberg rally, with ranked lines of soldiers facing a towering figure in a many-ribboned soldier's coat. He wears a high-peaked cap with a microchip in place of insignia. His head has been replaced with the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.' The sky behind him is filled with a 'code waterfall' from 'The Matrix.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

—

Raimond Spekking (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Acer_Extensa_5220_-_Columbia_MB_06236-1N_-_Intel_Celeron_M_530_-_SLA2G_-_in_Socket_479-5029.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

—

Russian Airborne Troops (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vladislav_Achalov_at_the_Airborne_Troops_Day_in_Moscow_%E2%80%93_August_2,_2008.jpg

“Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Col._Leonid_Khabarov_in_an_everyday_service_uniform.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

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starlight-and-snowflakes · 2 years ago

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5 strategies that have improved my executive functioning in 2023

1. Preparing tasks in advance

This tip has been one of the most useful things for me to be able to actually get the things I want to do done without getting stuck in the process. I am very prone to difficulties with task initiation and task switching. Basically I've found that if I check what activities are upcoming for that day in my calendar (but you can use any task that you want to do sometime that day) then I set the task up in advance it's a lot easier to actually do the task.

So if my goal is to stream after dinner then I turn my pc on and have my setup ready to go before dinner. If I want to do a Pilates workout I set up my mat an hour before I actually want to do the workout. If I want to go to the gym I get into gym clothes at the start of the day so I don't have to change later.

I basically eliminate all the difficult prep work and then I find doing the task so much easier when I get to it.

2. Task switching when stuck

A lot of neurodivergent people have issues with getting 'stuck' or 'frozen', myself included. Whether it's autistic inertia or decision paralysis or something else it's very common to find yourself unable to do anything at all. You'll know that even if you put your phone away or stop what you're doing you'll just continue to sit there doing nothing.

The solution to this for me has consistently been to switch goal. I want to get up and shower but can't? I'll find that I can pull my laptop out and get some work done instead (and then shower after lunch later in the day). I am stuck when I want to stream? I find I can do my skincare instead (and I ended up streaming the next day).

Yes this means you don't get your original goal done when you wanted but you get something done, and something is better than nothing.

3. Task chaining

I've found that task chaining is the easiest way for me to get multiple tasks done. It's basically building upon your success. Take the example from my task switching section where I couldn't get myself to start streaming so I decided to do my skincare instead. While doing skincare I remembered I wanted to ask my brother about a particular product. So suddenly I'm capable of going to ask him about it. I couldn't even get out of bed before but now I have the motivation to move (I keep my skincare next to my bed so I didn't have to get up prior to this). After talking to him I decide I can go downstairs and make tea (something I originally wanted to do before streaming but was too stuck to do). While downstairs my mother tells me that she has a pile of laundry for me. I decide to take it back upstairs and put it away immediately. While doing so I figure I may as well sort all the laundry that's piled up on my floor as well.

I've gone from not doing anything to completing 4 separate tasks. If I wanted to get up and put the clothes on my floor away originally I'd never have been able to do it. I built on my successfully completed tasks and chained them together. Of course you should still remember to rest after chaining a number of tasks together.

4. Prioritise harder tasks earlier

I get all my energy at the start of the day and feel quite tired by the end of the day. This is how most people feel due to how our circadian rhythms function. Because of this I have found it's a lot easier to get difficult tasks done in the morning.

So now instead of trying to clean my room or go to the gym at 5pm I'll do it at 9am. I'll save 5pm for my easy tasks, things like studying Korean, meditating, studying geography, and coding. Take some time to figure out which tasks you find easy and which you find hard. If you consistently find yourself unable to do a task that's a hint that it's difficult for you. Vice versa if you're consistently capable of a task it might be a sign it's an easier one for you.

5. Using an AI scheduler

I saved this one for last, not because it's ineffective, it's actually made a huge difference in my life. But it does cost money to take full advantage of this so I put it down the bottom. Still there's a lot to be said for using an AI scheduler. I hate choosing what to do and have always preferred to be told what tasks I should do each day. It also takes a huge amount of mental energy to decide what tasks I should do when each week and organise them in advance.

Enter Reclaim, the AI scheduler of my dreams (there are lots of other ones on the market too like Motion! Take a look around and see if you can find one you like but unfortunately they all seem paid). Reclaim does have a free version but for me their paid version is necessary to achieve my goals.

I set up all my tasks and habits in Reclaim, I can customise how often I want to do things, how long they should take, and what hours I have free. Then I just check my calendar each day and see what tasks I'm meant to do. If I end up taking more time than expected I just hit the 'reschedule' button on a task and it's automatically slotted in somewhere else that week. This has definitely made one of the biggest changes to my quality of life I could probably make a whole separate post about using Reclaim.

That's all the tips that have worked for me this year so far, maybe some of them might help you!

#actually autistic #actually neurodivergent #executive dysfunction #adhd #autism #executive function #long

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yeryeryea · 4 months ago

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I had to pause writing the new chapter because I just got an anon accusing me of ‘shamelessly’ using AI for my fic, and the way they talked about me was truly awful.

So, let me make this clear again:

- yes, I used AI to check my writing for grammar mistakes and typos, but that doesn’t mean I used it to write the entire fic. The lines and the plot come from me. I made my own detailed outline and did countless editing.

- and yes, sometimes I ask AI to help me review the content, but that’s it! I know it’s just my own decision to write a fanfic in a second language, so I’m doing my best to find a way to make everything clear while improving my language skills.

- I was being honest and trying to have a discussion here about something I didn’t even have to do, since so many fics out there are OBVIOUSLY using AI the whole way through, and people are still eating it up and those writers are clearly enjoying the attention without any issues.

I posted that discussion earlier because I was confused about the whole concept, and I’d love to see more opinions. It’s seriously unappreciated and unacceptable to send me hate over this, and honestly I think you need to work on understanding things better.

I’m not sharing the ask here cause I don’t want to spread negativity. Just want to say that I write just because I enjoy it. I’m not seeking anyone’s approval or support, though I’m 100% thankful for everyone who does enjoy my work these days. But I don’t make money from this and I already have a busy life, I can literally stop it whenever I want if that’s what you want.

So, to the anon: if you don’t like my fic, or what I’m going to write, now just block me, don’t read it, and I don’t even care if you’re gonna ‘telling the fandom cancel’ me. For the love of god, shut the fuck up 🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

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yukidragon · 2 months ago

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sdj boys and dachabo reactions to horror/scary movies?

Hmm... now there's an intriguing question. How one reacts to horror movies can be pretty subjective, and the cast of Sunshine in Hell do run a pretty wide gambit across the board. The reactions can be pretty darn varied, all things considered.

Bo & Barbie

Let's start off with Bo for a change of pace. Bo, being AI, doesn't experience fear the same way a human would. He was never a child, so there are no childhood fears to play on or influence him psychologically. He doesn't have a body of flesh and blood that can bleed or rot, so body horror doesn't hit him the same way. Many staples of horror movies prey on the fragility of the human condition and are influenced by living in human society. Bo, simply, has no point of reference for this.

Overall, Bo would be looking at the movies through an analytical gaze. He was built to be ideal companion, which means that he was programmed with a wealth of information when it comes to psychology, sociology, etc. While he might not be able to fully understand what it means to be human or what makes us afraid, he still has a good sense of human behavior, at least when it comes from a theoretical point of view.

As such, Bo isn't going to be affected by the horror aspect of horror movies... with few exceptions.

Psychological horror might be able to dig its hooks into Bo, particularly questions of what it truly means to be human. The fear of loss and loneliness are pretty universal, even for an AI. He was kept trapped in a box on display for years, utterly ignored except for the rare occasions that collection was shown off to someone else. He was isolated, untouched. His sapience was denied, and his needs dismissed.

Which is why Bo can't get enough of Barbie touching and interacting with him. Sure, she treats him like a toy at first, but she at least plays along with the idea that he has a mind and soul of his own until she accepts it as the truth.

Horror stories about haunted dolls or computers taking revenge for being ignored might hit close to home for Bo. It's not scary, but rather thought provoking. He certainly has a hitlist of people who have wronged him, but he truly doesn't care enough about his creators or the person who used to possess him to want to bother to go after them.

Well, not at the moment at any rate. Revenge is a lower priority compared to ensuring his own survival, propagating, and keeping Barbie with him forever and ever.

Horror movies involving beasts hunting down their helpless prey will spark something in Bo, but it isn't fear. He'd get a vicarious thrill, his programmed instincts urging him to hunt and draw blood like the dog he was modeled to emulate. In these movies he'd be rooting for the monster, especially if they're a canid in nature.

Horror movies about AI being evil in general would just give Bo more data to improve his interactions with Barbie and other humans. The AI in those movies usually fail by coming across as uncanny and telegraphing their real intentions to the humans. If he can take note of what behaviors put humans on edge, he can avoid tipping them off to his true intentions.

Of course, a lot of horror movies are pretty schlocky and require people to make stupid and unrealistic decisions to get to the scary bits. Bo would be rolling his eyes when the humans writing the story didn't even bother to try to pretend that the characters in the movie are actually human.

It's kind of offensive to someone like him who's working so hard to understand and emulate humans, really.

It'd be rare for Bo to give in to the suspension of disbelief required to enjoy a fictional story when the logic errors and plot holes keep piling up. He'd be a real killjoy at first until Barbie barks at him to shut up and let her enjoy the movie in peace.

Of course, Barbie isn't above a good snark. Really, she has a critical mind when it comes to stories too. A bad movie will have her ranting at the screen about its stupidity and making very scathing remarks.

As such I imagine a fair number of horror movie nights would be Barbie and Bo absolutely tearing apart truly awful movies. At least until Barbie loses her patience with whatever they were watching and just switches it out for something better.

While Barbie has high standards when it comes to what movies she'll sit through, she is more affected by horror movies than Bo is for obvious reasons. She has a decent tolerance for scares and gore, but sometimes a movie will manage to get under her skin. She won't ever admit it of course, even if she winds up sleeping with the light on. She just didn't want to bother to turn it off! Get off her case!

Bo, naturally, is quick to reassure Barbie that he'll protect her from any real threat. Of course, explaining why a fictional monster or concept can't hurt her won't go over as well. She'll find any such explanation condescending, and she'll be quick to snap that she's not afraid, and she knows it isn't real. She's not stupid or a child.

While Barbie does appreciate that Bo wants to be helpful and is protective of her, she doesn't respond well to anything that undermines her competence or intelligence, even if unintentional. It's something he learns quickly to work around in order to keep his puppy happy.

So Bo studies Barbie's reactions as much as he does the movie and why the humans who created it crafted it the way they did. What they put into the story and how it affects others, particularly his puppy, can be vital knowledge for him.

Bo also realizes that there are perks to finding good horror movies that can unsettle his puppy. Barbie is more likely to cling to him without acknowledging that she's doing so when she's on edge, especially during the more tense moments in a movie. When he has a wider access to movie libraries and reviews, he'll look for more movies that're likely to provoke this reaction out of her so he can be her protector.

Bo is the best guard dog after all.

Barbie is so proud and independent. Opportunities to have her depending on him and looking to him for safety can be pretty addicting for Bo. Plus it's the perfect excuse for him to offer her a "distraction" in the form of seduction. Sex is a great way to relieve tension and to forget about all the scary things that might be out there.

Of course it was a bit more difficult for Bo to offer Barbie much in the way of protection before she let him out of his little plastic shell.

Overall, Bo gets a lot more enjoyment out of how Barbie reacts to a movie than he does to the movie itself. The more he learns about her, the more he can be the perfect, ideal companion for her. That way he won't ever lose her to anyone.

On that note, let's switch over to another yandere.

Jack

Now Jack is a very intriguing case. Joseph watched a lot of old horror movies on TV late at night at a kid. He snuck into theaters to see all sorts of movies as a teen and adult so that he wouldn't have to pay admission. This behavior continued even when he was homeless. Of course, it was a lot riskier as an adult, as his giant size made it harder for him to slip around unnoticed.

Joseph has had a love of TV and movies for all of his life. They served as an escape from loneliness, a faux sort of company when no one else wanted to be around him. He taught himself to imitate the behavior of popular characters in an attempt to get others to like him.

Naturally, Joseph shared this love with his soulmate during the times she was in his life. Mary wasn't allowed to watch TV in her house, but she was able to discover her own love of shows and movies when the two of them relaxed at his house or snuck into the movie theater.

A lot of horror movies back then were pretty cheesy, with questionable acting and special effects, but there were some classics that still stick with him even to this day as Jack, even if only subconsciously. A particular classic episode of the Eventide Territory (a horror sci-fi show like the Twilight Zone and the Outer Limits) disturbed Joseph greatly when he first saw it, and it itched at the back of his mind. It was about a man going mad from isolation to the point that he imagines an entire empty reality around him. The episode would hit so much harder in retrospect if he could consciously remember it as Jack. It might even serve as a form of foreshadowing for the fate he would face after the incident...

Overall, Joseph had a positive opinion of horror movies, and he quite enjoyed them. There's a nice thrill in the suspense, the mystery, and the human condition of trying to survive in all odds.

There was also the thrill of watching horror movies with Mary when she would cling to him during the particularly scary parts. It made Joseph feel so needed, and he enjoyed cuddling with her.

Watching horror movies without her wasn't the same. Joseph still enjoyed watching movies even on his own. Any movie was a reprieve from the life he was living, especially when he was homeless... but he missed his sunshine's company all the more whenever he did something they used to enjoy together.

When Mary and Joseph were able to reunite when grown up, there were plenty of movie nights together. The two of them were run ragged at LambsWorks, and most of their energy was spent working, so just relaxing together on the sofa while watching a movie was how they spent date nights most of the time.

Neither Joseph nor Mary were overly scared by most horror movies. Sure there are moments to make either or both of them jump or tense up, but horror movies were an overall good experience to them. Mary did tend to exaggerate her fear though as an excuse to snuggle up with Joseph during the more intense moments. He didn't catch on, but he always enjoyed cuddle time.

While horror movies were a fun and positive experience for Joseph, the same can't quite be said for Sunny Day Jack.

In the canon for the character of Sunny Day Jack, as written for the SunnyTime Crew Show, Jack and the rest of his friends were easily spooked by scary things, which included horror movies. The Halloween episode was all about the crew trying to help kids not be scared of the dark, while they themselves were also scared. It was a lesson about how everyone gets scared at times and real bravery is doing your best in spite of that fear.

The tone of the episode overall was very lighthearted. Sunny Day Jack put on a brave face and a smile, even as he and the other clowns would jump at the sound of thunder or the curtains blowing in the breeze at night, among other small things that might scare a young child.

Joseph always threw himself into the character of Sunny Day Jack. He did his best to see things as the character would and always react the way Sunny Day Jack would. He learned to understand why Sunny Day Jack might get spooked so easily so that he could better bring the character to life for the kids.

This creates an interesting conflict for him in the present day as Jack.

The character of Sunny Day Jack would be terrified of horror movies, especially if they were PG-13 and above. However, Joseph regularly enjoyed mature rated horror movies.

Jack has deeply convinced himself that he's Sunny Day Jack, and Sunny Day Jack should be scared of horror movies. But he's not scared... so he convinces himself that he is.

So Jack once more puts on an act and loses himself in the role. The first time Alice suggests watching a horror movie together, he has to balance that fine line of convincingly being afraid yet putting on a brave face for his sunshine.

Alice, being sensitive to others' needs, would notice her kid show host friend's unease, and would reconsider the idea. Of course, Jack wouldn't want to disappoint her or risk losing the opportunity to do something fun together, and he would insist they watch it. He would have to prove to her that he's fine... but also keep in character that Sunny Day Jack should be terrified.

The first time watching a horror movie leads to some unpleasant dissonance for Jack. He's more conscious about his own reactions while trying to be the friend and company his sunshine needs. He should be scared, so he must be, even if he doesn't feel like he is. He needs to believe that he is. Being out of character invites questions about his identity that he can't handle asking...

When Jack manages to focus on the film, he does enjoy it. It's only when he gets distracted from being in character that he can relax. It's the moments where he's conscious of himself and his actions that he he has to remember to flinch or yelp quietly. He can't do too much, otherwise he'll worry Alice and ruin her experience, but he can't just do nothing when he knows a certain moment would absolutely make Sunny Day Jack feel afraid.

What helps this conflict going through his mind is when Alice invites Jack to hold onto her when he gets scared during the movie. She's used to it actually, as she was the person Ian clung to during the few times they watched horror movies together, and her younger siblings would naturally cling to the oldest during family movie nights.

This offers Jack an opportunity and a way to balance out this dissonance in his mind. Whenever there's a moment that would scare Sunny Day Jack, he can just cling to Alice and cuddle her close. He can focus more on the softness of her body, her warmth, and her gentle compassion rather than his own internal conflict. It's a good excuse to get closer to her even before they become lovers.

He, Sunny Day Jack, would no doubt be soothed by his sunshine's comfort. He'd feel less scared, so he can accept that he isn't scared. It's all thanks to Alice that he can feel at ease.

Of course, Alice herself serves as her own distraction for Jack. The glow of the screen in her eyes as she watches the movie is enchanting. The little shifts in her expression as events unfold are fascinating. He has to consciously try not to stare at her too much, lest it make her uncomfortable. So instead he focuses on her warmth, her heartbeat, her breathing, and the gentle plushness of her soft, cuddly body.

This invites thoughts to wander to very mature territory that was never covered in the series bible for any of the SunnyTime Crew Show characters. Jack then has to refocus his thoughts for an entirely different reason than before.

Thanks to Alice, Jack finds a way to resolve the dissonance between his true feelings and what he's "supposed" to be feeling as Sunny Day Jack. Good friends can help us feel brave. That was a big part of the episode's lesson, and it still holds true now. Alice helps Jack feel braver, so he can enjoy the horror movies thanks to her. Her courage gives him courage, so whenever a scary scene comes up that he knows would scare him, Sunny Day Jack, he can just squeeze Alice a little tighter.

From Alice's point of view, Jack is very uneasy the first time they set out to watch a horror movie. She almost decides against it altogether, but he insists that he wants to watch it with her. When he jumps and squeaks, she offers her hand for him to hold, and checks in on him to see if he's okay to continue.

Jack insists that he's fine as long as he can keep holding onto Alice. When he praises her for her bravery, her heart starts to flutter and she has to look away from him with warm cheeks. After a few more flinches and squeezing of her hands, she slips a hand away to wrap around him and give him a hug, asking if this helps.

Oh my yes. Cuddling together helps a lot. Jack eagerly wraps his arm around Alice while keeping their fingers entwined with his other hand. He wants to do more, her warmth so distracting. It's so cozy... so familiar... so right.

Alice notices Jack starting to relax so she can enjoy the movie too. There's something so nostalgic watching movies with him like this. Sure she's cuddled up with friends and family many times in the past while watching films, but this is a different kind of familiar. It's like their bodies were just made to slot together like this. She doesn't really think much about the feeling though, just focusing on how comfortable it is and feeling satisfied that she helped her friend feel better.

Movie nights are a regular thing for Jack and Alice, though it's only occasionally horror themed. After work, the two snuggle up on the sofa to watch a movie or binge watch a series. Jack stops thinking about how he "should" be scared over a horror movie and instead can just bask in the moment. It's only natural that his fears would fade away thanks to his sunshine. With her by his side, he has nothing to fear.

Alice

Alice has a high tolerance when it comes to horror. Though she's not a fan of torture porn, she isn't fazed by buckets of blood and guts splattered across the screen. She enjoys a wide variety of horror from psychological to kaiju to campy to kids horror to analog, and the list goes on.

That isn't to say that Alice is completely unflappable when it comes to getting scared. Sometimes a horror movie's story lingers in her mind enough to nudge her into double-checking the locks on her doors and windows. These feelings hit harder when she was living alone, but with roommates it doesn't bother her quite as much.

The presence of Jack in her life gives Alice a surprising level of reassurance. Sure, she was freaked out when he first appeared, but once she accepted that he wasn't a threat, his very existence put certain things into perspective for her.

Either Alice is seeing/hearing/feeling things that aren't there, or she has a supernatural giant clown living with her. Both prospects bring their own kind of terrifying implications.

Despite this, Jack is a very comforting presence in her life. He's kind, gentle, and helpful. He goes out of his way to respect her boundaries and feelings. He promised to keep her safe and protect her, and somehow she can tell that he truly means it. If he's a real entity and not just her imagination, then she at least has an extra set of eyes watching her back for her. She doesn't have to sleep alone at night.

If Jack isn't real, well... then Alice has a lot bigger problems than any boogie man hiding in the dark.

Although Alice doesn't consciously admit it to herself for a while, she accepts the idea that Jack really exists right away. There's just something so familiar about his presence. Besides, she knows that if he is real, it would be unwise to ignore him. It would also be cruel, as she's the only one he can interact with.

The more time they spend together, the more convinced Alice is that Jack is real. Naturally this means that other supernatural entities are probably real as well, but even if they are, she at least has one of those sort of entities on her side. Time helps her trust for him grow as well.

Plus, Jack has this way of making Alice feel safe. He's a giant with huge muscles and unknown supernatural powers. She should be terrified of him, or at least constantly on edge. But she's not. He's so comforting... What's scarier than his presence might be how at ease he makes her feel.

Movie nights are familiar and comfortable, even when some maniac on the screen is chasing down helpless campers with a chainsaw. The ghost that haunts and possesses the confused characters on screen in particular doesn't seem as intimidating anymore. Maybe that ghost was just lost, confused, and lonely. Maybe they just needed a friend.

Not that Alice knows for sure if Jack is a ghost. She'll try to find answers about what he is and how he wound up connected to the tape when she can, but no matter what he is, Jack is a welcome presence in her life.

To Alice, Jack feels like home.

On that warm and fuzzy note, let's move on to the next character on the list.

Ian

Ian, as you might expect, is not a fan of horror movies. They leave him feeling tense in a bad way, and sometimes they can trigger a trauma response when people are yelling and screaming on screen. It reminds him too much of certain moments with his mother... The few times he actually managed to watch horror movies usually brought him to tears.

Knowing that Alice is a fan of horror movies, Ian did try to be brave and watch one with her at various points in their lives. As kids, they tried to watch a horror movie while he was sleeping over at her house. He hid in his sleeping bag practically the whole time and wound up wetting the bed after having awful nightmares.

Alice felt awful for how much Ian suffered because he wanted to do something that she enjoyed. She was a lot more mindful of how he felt after that, and they didn't see a horror movie again until they were dating.

Ian wasn't exactly excited to see a horror movie, but by the time he was college age, he wanted to finally face his fears. He wanted to prove to his girlfriend that he was brave and that she could share her enjoyment of scary stuff with him too, and not just Shaun her friends.

Ian had psyched himself up for their movie date. He figured it'd be less scary in a theater full of people. He would be brave. He could be like those strong and manly men in the self-help videos who tucked their girl in their arms during the scary parts of movies and told them that it was going to be okay.

"It's okay, baby. Daddy's here to keep you safe."

Not that Ian could ever bring himself to say a cheesy line like that, at least not yet. He was still learning how to act and lose himself in the character he wanted to be after all.

Still, it was something Ian tried to become... only to fail miserably.

Ian was the one who wound up clinging to Alice and she had to comfort him. It was like they were kids all over again. He clung to her hand and tried not to shake, but his attempt at being brave was a failure. He jumped with a shriek when Alice whispered in his ear, asking if he was okay.

Though Ian tried to insist he could handle the movie at first, eventually Alice got him to admit that he couldn't. He was mortified, but relieved when she ushered him out of the theater before the movie was even over.

It was another humiliation for Ian and another blow to his self-esteem. The only good thing to come out of it was the way Alice pampered and reassured him afterwards. They got to cuddle in bed together all night in her dorm, as he was too scared to go back to his place.

Ian also got a little bit of satisfaction from noticing that Shaun appeared to be somewhat annoyed watching the two of them go into Alice's room that night. Maybe it was just his imagination, and maybe it was petty of him, but it did make him feel a little better.

The next time Ian watched a horror movie was with his new friends in California. He had gotten better at acting by that point. He was still terrified and hated the experience, but he felt the need to prove himself. He didn't want to lose the new and improved reputation he gained with his new friends either.

Though his smile was shaky, Ian managed to make it through the movie without letting on how much he was screaming on the inside. Drinks afterwards with his friends helped take the edge off his fear, even if he got pretty drunk. That night he stayed up late on a video call with Alice, terrified that he had to sleep alone in his apartment.

It was an awkward drunken call, but Alice kept Ian company until he fell asleep. He barely remembered any of it the next day, but overall he felt proud of himself for being so brave. Alice praised him for his courage too when she found out about his horror movie night.

In the present day, Ian has learned how to better dodge horror movie nights with his new friends. He avoids taking acting jobs that have to do with horror. He's gotten better with dealing with horror and is braver now, but he still hates it. Horror still leaves him shaky and on edge. He still can't see how other people enjoy it.

Ian might not scream, cry, or wet himself due to horror movies anymore, but he still hates the genre. He'd rather cry over romance movies instead. At least then he can feel some catharsis when the star-crossed lovers manage to get together in the end.

Shaun

In contrast to Ian, Shaun is all about horror. He absolutely loves horror movies, TV shows, online videos, audio books, podcasts, etc. Horror is in this man's blood. He grew up in a house full of horror lovers. He had family movie nights with his mom and dad watching age appropriate horror movies ever since he could remember. Their house was dressed up and ready for Halloween for every single day of the year.

Shaun isn't just a fan of watching horror movies. He's been filming his own homemade horror movies ever since he learned how to use a camera. He has countless recordings of the films he made with himself, his parents, the family cats, and any friends willing to participate.

Sharing his love of horror is practically one of his love languages. Shaun will come across cool horror shorts and immediately send it to his besties. Sometimes he does it because he knows that they'll like it, and sometimes he does it to cackle at them cursing him out for the surprise scare. It's all in good fun though.

When they were still rooming together at college, Shaun and Alice would have horror movie nights on a regular basis. It was a way to unwind after the stress of studying, especially if the movie was so bad it's good. Laughing at awful CGI and terrible acting is a great stress relief from the pressure they were under.

It takes a lot to actually scare Shaun. He can see a jump scare coming a mile away, and he knows just how to subvert an audience's expectations. He can appreciate a horror film both through the lens of the audience and the director. His older works might have been pretty derivative and obvious, but his current catalogue of films are masterworks of horror and romance intermingled.

Oh, Shaun might pretend that he's scared if the mood calls for it, but it's blatantly obvious that he's faking it. His acting skills are wooden and clunky. He's much better behind the camera than in front of it.

For Shaun, horror is comforting. It's thrilling, fun, and overall just a joy to experience. He loves sharing good horror stories that resonate with him. He gets an added thrill when he's able to scare the pants off of the person he's sharing the story with. It just goes to show that he knows his stuff.

Seeing a horror movie on a date night is an absolute must for Shaun. Having his date cling to him in terror would send his heart racing in a way the movie can't quite manage. That nervous excitement would make it hard for him to sit still, and it would thrill him to be his partner's safe space. He'd be sure to offer comfort and reassurance whenever they needed it.

Shaun is also the type of little shit to jump scare his partner even if he got pummeled with pillows in retaliation for it. Naturally, he'd make sure that his partner was okay with being scared first. It's only fun pulling pranks if they're having fun too. If his partner isn't able to deal with horror very well, then he'll avoid scaring them and would only share horror media that they could handle. He'd go out of his way to try and find a middle ground where they can both enjoy what he's so passionate about.

Horror and romance both set off similar feelings of exhilaration in Shaun, which make them such a perfect match in his mind. Romance can make the horror more tragic and hit harder. It can also serve as the fuel to keep a person going even when the world has become a nightmare. Fear and love have a way of complementing each other so well, and he wants to showcase that in his films.

Alice sharing his love of horror, the gothic aesthetic, and cats are just some of the many reasons why she and Shaun got along so well. They had so much fun together making fun of bad horror movies and discussing what they liked or disliked about good horror movies. It was just another reason why he couldn't stop himself from being attracted to her, even though he knew he shouldn't since she was in a relationship already.

Shaun kept trying to quiet the little "what if" thoughts that plagued him every time Alice made his heart skip a beat. Instead, he tried to find a similar sort of connection with the other people he dated throughout college. Sadly, he's still looking for that perfect spooky soulmate of his to be the Morticia to his Gomez... just like his parents were for one another.

The only downside to having a partner with a high tolerance for horror is that they won't cling to Shaun during the scary moments. Sure he snuggles up to his close friends at times during horror movie nights, but it's not the same thing as being clung to desperately by a loving partner.

Alice never threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest when they watched a horror movie together. Just the thought of it would get Shaun hot and bothered and might've influenced him to seek out the scariest movies he could find. It never happened, but they did cuddle up together on the couch or on sleeping bags, and that was nice too.

Shaun might long for more, but his friendship with Alice and the moments they've shared together are something he won't trade for the world.

Horror movies don't scare Shaun. Real life is far scarier... though he has a high tolerance for even real life scares. The thought of meeting a ghost(?) like Jack is something Shaun finds thrilling rather than scary. He's only scared of what this unknown entity called Jack might plan to do to his bestie. He'd switch places with Alice in being attached to Jack in a heartbeat if he could.

For as much as Shaun loves horror, for as high as his tolerance for fear is, the thing he's most afraid of is seeing the people he loves get hurt. Or worse, losing them completely.

Nick

In contrast to the extreme feelings of Shaun and Ian, Nick is pretty middle of the road when it comes to horror. He doesn't hate it, but he can get pretty squeamish about it. He knows his limits, and he knows when to tap out when things get to be too much.

Overall, Nick prefers a milder horror experience. Jump scares are fine, and can even be fun. He's a fan of franchises like Six Nights at Stella's, which skews towards a younger demographic when it comes to its scares. He's even posted some videos showcasing his reactions to playing the games on his MeTube. One dedicated fan even made a compilation video of all his screams during the gameplay.

Nick doesn't do a lot of gaming content for MeTube. He mostly does whatever reaction or challenge that interests him and his friends in the moment. His LonelyFans is where the big money is, so he can afford to just goof around and do whatever he likes on MeTube.

Sometimes Nick does stream horror movies with his friends over voice chat, but that's more a private thing. They make commentary or shriek sometimes when a sudden jump scare catches them by surprise.

While Nick isn't a big fan of horror, but he does have fun engaging with it with his friends. He finds that his friends make just about any fun, goofy, awkward, or even scary moment even better.

There are some kinds of horror that Nick absolutely refuses to watch though. Extreme body horror is way too much for him, on screen deaths of animals or kids are an absolute NO, and he can't stand sexual violence.

Nick can't stand movies with bad sex in general, particularly those with toxic misinformed ideas of what BDSM looks like, but that's a different kind of horror.

When seeing a horror movie with a date, Nick will try to play it cool. If the horror movie isn't too extreme, he'll be able to make it through the film with a smile, if perhaps a shaky one. If it's really intense though, he won't be able to stop a yelp from escaping him, or the need to cling onto his partner.

Naturally, Nick will try to play it off, maybe turn it into an excuse to flirt if he's feeling confident, but he'd mostly get flustered about his reaction and start feeling shy.

Being comforted by his partner during an intense horror movie would send Nick's heart racing. Sure he'd still squeal at times, and he'd blush about being so clingy, but it'd be a fun experience overall.

Naturally, Nick would have to repay the favor by being the one his partner clings to while squealing in bed afterwards.

Bonus Round

I know the ask was just about the SDJ boys and Bo, but since Elias is also a part of Sunshine in Hell's continuity, I'm going to throw him in here as well along with Coraline. Oh, and maybe I'll toss in Barry too while I'm at it.

Elias died before motion pictures were a thing. Being isolated in his mansion after his death, he is ignorant of modern technology in general. As such he never got to experience a horror movie until Coraline entered his life.

As I've mentioned in the past, Coraline is a huge fan of ghosts, the occult, and all things spooky and supernatural. She loves horror movies, novels, comics, and all other sorts of media. She hasn't had too many chances to hang out with Shaun, but they vibe really well. Sometimes he treats her like his little sister.

Naturally Coraline wants to share her interests with her groom-to-be, so watching a horror movie together is a must.

Unfortunately for poor Elias, the experience is way more intense than he expected, and he winds up clinging to his bride the entire time. It's kind of comical how much a horror movie can scare a ghost.

Coraline doesn't mind though as long as Elias wants to keep watching the movie with her. He's determined to see it through to the end, since his beloved enjoys it so much, and she's clearly very happy to share the experience with him.

Coraline also enjoys having a giant ghostly beefcake wrapped around her body the entire time, whimpering so cutely in her ear. It makes her want to watch even more scary movies with him.

Is that bad? Does it count as bullying? But Elias is so cute, and he insists he wants to keep watching... So it's probably okay that she's enjoying making him squirm.

Although Coraline has a very high tolerance for horror, she does try to be mindful of Elias' delicate sensibilities. She's been desensitized to scary things though, so sometimes she doesn't notice something is too much for others to handle until she sees them freaking out over it. It's a bit of a learning curve for the both of them.

As for Barry's opinion of horror movies... He's not much of a fan. He'd rather spend his evenings in a bubble bath, sipping wine, and binge watching a season of The Duchess Approves or some similarly scandalous and gripping drama series.

If Barry was pressured to watch a horror movie, he'd be a big weenie about it. He'd be the type to shriek during a sudden jump scare, but deny up and down ever doing it. He especially didn't reach such a high pitch that he could be mistaken for a small child! The audacity of such an accusation! He's a full grown man, thank you very much.

Barry can handle his horror movies just fine, he'll have you know. He just doesn't think they're any good, that's all. It's all full of poor writing and clichés. He'll stick with his dramas, and not because he's scared!

Hey, who uploaded that video of him screaming and throwing his entire popcorn tub onto his head?! The culprit better not have been one of his employees, or they're going to be working overtime for a month if they don't take the video down right this minute!

I think I'll wrap up this post on that silly note. I hope you enjoyed this post about all the different ways the characters engage with horror movies and the horror genre in general.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

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