#❛ CIPHER DIVISION / ( answered asks ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eorzeashan · 1 year

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Okay, the agonies of deciding to play the uno reverse card in dms or ask, but I feel like it's only right lest the game continues with tag yelling akdnfladsfnl (I want to frame them on my wall and cherish them 5ever) So, at the risk of repeating tags, sliding an Uno reverse card across the table. Eight's thoughts on Tyr. Hit me. xD

Asdghjkl Ok whew. Man. Let's just say I did the old parent stereotype of folding my hands behind my back and staring into the distance in contemplation over this one and now I popped an ibuprofen just to answer it the universe conspires against me-

Where to even start. Let's begin with his whole deal with Cipher Nine in the first place, which is only part of the identity of Tyr, though one can hardly be divorced from the other, yet where does Nine end and Tyr begin? Are you a number like me, or are you more?

Eight has spent his entire career living parallel to Nine. In his own mind, he's already made a relationship of his own with that character, the one he can only watch the deeds of from afar and see how their actions affect all those he cares about and his home of Intelligence in an undeniable ripple effect. He very much lived in his shadow, but not in a negative way- it was like they were mere feet away from each other in the same place, in the same time, yet they never crossed during their tenure as Ciphers. So there he was, across the pond. He saw it all as the "reserve" Cipher of the bunch, in the aftermath of the Watchers scrambling around or Intelligence going on lockdown and in the heavy slump of Keeper/Minister's shoulders. Eight was never allowed to meet the other Ciphers as he was assigned to "clean up" the missions that went awry as a last resort, so if he did, chances were that he only existed next to them for the briefest of times and it was an extraction mission that had them unconscious from being captured or something that left them too busy to talk. A bit like a Death's Angel that swoops in only when an agent has no way out. That kept most of them away from him, his presence a reminder of a traumatic moment or agonizing failure.

Yet as agents who are trained in all the skills that make them impossible to exist in society, it makes them inevitably drawn to one another no matter how many lines divide them in the same way both Tyr and Eight try to form a relationship with Shara.

Eight sees Cipher Nine. He was there. Nine was the star of their division, the hero of it--even reluctantly, and how could he not feel close to the one Cipher who isn't nonexistent in his own space, almost close enough to touch? You can't really know someone by their deeds alone, but he felt as if he did because Nine had such an impact on Intelligence and everyone he knew that it was like he was right there next to him. Something something the objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear.

And he admired him. It's that wandering thought when they briefly loosened his leash for him to go out in the field where he considered what made Nine so special to all of them to affect them so profoundly, while he'd be in a room littered with bodies and the dirtiest of work up to his knees in muck. Nine, do you use violence as a tool? Would you ever come down here with me? Or are we as far apart as the lines they draw between us? He thought things like that everyday. He'd come into Intelligence with the routine and see what new shakeups Nine had brought in their wake, prod Keeper about his latest stressor, or Watcher 2 (not likely, she shoos him off half the time. He sees the way her eyes look a little wet).

Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever have to be the one to pull Nine out, but Nine was so brilliant that it never happened. It was a heavy burden in the end even with his success, and I think that's a huge point they both understand; to always carry the fate of your world on your back in do or die scenarios. Eight's side of espionage was just a more miserable one that few came back from, and I think the entire reputation and concept surrounding Nine made him feel a little better knowing someone out there just like him was fighting for everything they believed in. The heroic stories Keeper would come back with were remarkable. It put a bandaid on Eight knowing he was very much doing not...that.

Then Nine's tenure got impossibly dirty and Intelligence was mired in some complicated stuff that resulted in its imminent dissolution.

Eight has always on some level, looked out for his fellow Intelligence workers. It was his duty and form of curiosity because he lived in Intelligence much more than any of his other Cipher counterparts, with being stuck at home base and unwitting witness to it all. He stuck his interventions in where he could to preserve their sense of selves as the one who'd already thrown his away, so it meant he could bear what they couldn't. Stars knew that being in this business for too long took chunks out of you if you had too much heart, but having too little resulted in... well, him.

Nine seemed to hit that perfect balance between operative and person, but that made them such a prime target for a whole world of misery that Keeper's protectiveness became Eight's own out of a desire to ease his burdens as well. And THAT sums up just about what Eight feels about Nine.... just one face of Tyr.

Tyr himself, behind the mask when they're both alone and Intelligence is gone.... is not someone Eight knows. Yet. He wants to. He has no reason not to. This person is the one Keeper gave everything to protect as did countless others, and in essence, is Intelligence's last legacy. So this is home. His life is already his before he even meets his eyes. He also... thinks Tyr must be what Keeper wanted him to be. Which raises a lot of questions in his mind, but all he knows is that he will follow him to the end of the galaxy. He needs to know if he's the answer he's been searching for.

Tyr doesn't even quite know for himself what that means, but Eight, as always, has the patience of the stars to help him find it together. The fact that Tyr tugs on that little thread that ties them together through their shared history is incredible to him, when he's spent his life being everyone's shadow and part of what most would leave behind in a heartbeat- both a sordid past in Intelligence and Jadus. Why? is the question that colors both their minds, and it's okay if the answers aren't there immediately...because they came in the form of someone else. All they have to do from here is decide what two Ciphers are going to do next in this big, empty universe without the people who'd ordinarily tell them to.

I think Eight would be amused by how Tyr admires his conviction, which he downplays as just his resilience and training. Tyr himself is fascinating to him. Incredibly new and different from just the uniform that existed in only Intelligence, and with a lot more experiences under his belt Eight wasn't privy to. He's full of contradictions. He has a protectiveness that feels like Keeper's but far more bold and outgoing than the old man's mitigations. His hands are very warm, too. It's like watching ideals and pragmatism constantly at war with one another in one man. Eight's instantly attracted to it like a moth to flame. He's never quite met anyone who cares so deeply on a personal level for no-names either, and it's nothing like his own oath of loyalty to Keeper's flock.

I suppose that's called being seen, because he's out of masks to present when there's no need for any around Tyr. It's starting from scratch with each other and between agents, that's not a basis you can have so easily in this galaxy. I think they'd be just fine getting into trouble together, learning what the hell life is when you're not just a number and how fucking scary it is to finally ease yourself out from that. But you're not alone. You're not alone.

This is getting long but I still haven't encapsulated how confronting Jadus might go. Eight loves him. He does. Yet he's very aware of the position this leaves them in, and he has to choose. Every mission comes to a conclusion, and Tyr is about once-in-a-lifetime as it gets; I think he battled the entire time he was with Jadus in seclusion over where his loyalties would lie and the potential end it presents. Jadus gave him the world, and he in turn did the same for the one Lord he'd ever swear to. So he doesn't see it as betrayal when he leads Tyr to finish to what he started, if Jadus isn't quite willing to let sleeping dogs lie either. But it is the turning of a new page where whatever happens in the dark of that cave is where his life goes next.

Jadus might even be testing if Nine-- Tyr is strong enough to take Eight away from all this. Only the worthy. And in turn, Eight can only fight for ideals that cannot break under the hammer of the world. But he believes in him. He knows Nine's strength, and if Tyr the person has conviction just as iron, he'll go with him anywhere. Jadus has to acknowledge that, and Eight, ever-changing, would give up his home in the Dark Side if Tyr's character is true and he wished it. That's the extent of his promise. The best result would be to not break off his connection to Jadus and still find newfound freedom with Tyr, but that is how far he is willing to go, personal heartbreak included. And what a conversation that would be, about how fear when you've lived in it your whole life-- the fear of being caught as a spy is a fear of a fate worse than death, the fear of losing loved ones, the fear of failing but in turn realizing what it is you must value most-- becomes a beloved friend.

#swtor #ask meme: answered #tyr deckard #oc: orradiz #i dont even feel like this fully captures my thoughts!! there's so much to be explored #the main one being the weapon who is a weapon above all else wants to be a person with the person who was also a weapon #it must be so strange looking at this person you watched from afar and now it's just you and them.#like two last people in the world #and eight is just all 'oh i'm not actually good at anything except killing. i hope that's ok' tries to fade quietly into the nooks #gets pulled back out #what do you want beyond this spy business? hmm well...keeper wanted me to fail a little more I guess. do you know what he meant by that?#tyr has so much life to him eight would be in awe.

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loveoaths · 3 years

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@bredfaith mangetsu chuckled: "i remember carrying you like this, years ago," mangetsu says, crooked smile curling across his cheeks as he shifts his hands beneath haku's thighs to better carry them on his back, except this time, their ankle isn't swollen and sprained. there isn't anything wrong, in fact, as they trail along the shore of the beach. nothing beyond haku being tired. "you were so much smaller. i guess i was, too. zabuza was so annoyed with me, said i babied you too much. good thing he didn't know shit, huh?"

❛ Zabuza-san knows lots of things, ❜ haku replies instinctually, but the words lack the bared attack-dog teeth that usually accompany a defense of zabuza. instead, their voice is relaxed and loose, sounding as distracted as they feel. they can feel mangetsu’s rough hands grip their thighs as he pushes them higher on his back with a snort. haku keeps their arms tight around his shoulders, dutifully ignoring the voice in their head reminding them how close they are to mangetsu’s neck, that they’d have a plausible excuse to rest their face against it if they wanted. no. it is one thing to have a crush on a friend ( again ), and another entirely to take advantage of it. no matter how beautiful the boy carrying them is, or how safe they feel in his hands.

❛ I do not remember being coddled during training, ❜ they say pointedly, reminiscing. ❛ You were a terror. Suigetsu-kun loved when you ‘put me in my place’, as he used to say. He was so jealous of me. He went out of his way to get me in trouble when he could. I suspected you were pitting us against each other. ❜ their fake lofty tone implies they still think as much.

mangetsu laughs, carefree and wild, and haku is weak; they give in to their urge for closeness. haku rests their chin on mangetsu’s shoulder and blows a puff of cool air on his neck just to see him squirm.

❛ I thought about you a lot, after. You and Suigetsu-kun. ❜ their their arms around him at the thought. a cool cheek presses against his neck. ❛ ...When I saw you again years later, I was surprised you remembered me. ❜

it isn’t sad; it’s a statement, a plain allusion to the tragedies that befell the hozuki brothers. ❛ Everyone thought you were dead, but once again you told everyone to go fuck themselves and came back alive. ❜

haku shuts their eyes and lets themself cling shamelessly to the man they have, once again, fallen hopelessly for, who they once again never confess to. the ocean is a constant roar in their ears. sun prickles the backs of their legs, neck, and bare feet. mangetsu’s hands are rough and strong beneath their thighs, as solid and real as the happy sigh that escapes their lips.

❛ I am glad I stuck in your mind. I hope I was good company. ❜

#bredfaith #❛ CIPHER DIVISION / ( answered asks. )#i finally got up and did this hehe #two homies :-) hanging out on the beach :-)

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ironharvests · 3 years

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IM SORRY BUT 💝 FOR FUNOSUKE FROM JASHIN MAYBE???? I DONT KNOW

kiss meme.

you exist for FIRE and SACRILEGE, BEAUTY and HORROR, PAIN and PLEASURE, LOVE and HATE, LIFE and DEATH, SOOT and SEDITION — for all things that burn hot and fast and bright. you love them all. you cherish them in the way only a primordial can: deeply, breathlessly, destructively, and without mercy.

you are the god of all these things. how could you not love yourself? funosuke stands at the center of your godmark slick with blood. it drips off him in waves, the spillage hot and ink-dark with every jerk of his arm stabbing his blade deeper into his chest. ”For you, m-my lord Jashin,” funosuke chokes wetly around a leaking smile. at his feet are the bodies of a darling family made ever more precious in death. smoke rises from the bloody chalk sigil, trickling over corpses gentle as a kiss before sinking beneath their skin and corroding them from the inside. they did not know you in life, but in death they will see the first of your true faces. you love meeting your earthly neighbors. how polite of funosuke to bring them to you first without asking. you will not hunger tonight. ( here is a secret: those killed by your followers are windowdressing, not the sacrifice itself. your worshippers are the sacrifice. every time they bend the knee to you they sink a little deeper into your grasp, your marshy, pitch-dark heart. ) you form in pieces: a crown of mossy, water-logged bone and red mangrove blooms hovering above the boy’s head; an angular chin tucked casually into his messy hair; two boney talons and a skeletal ribcage bracing his neck and flanks; arms, and arms, and arms, and arms steepling palms overhead in wisping constellations; a deep, lily-sweet voice smooth as water trickling into the boy’s ear, drip drip drip, even as the grip on his body tightens.

“Such a good boy,” you mumur, you hum, you hiss, you simper, you BOOM. the blood-spattered living room shakes with your presence; photographs skew on walls. black flies gather at the windows like voyeurs, eager for your gifts. “You taught them pain, and in doing so showed them truest love. But you must know them in return.” the palms on his cheeks, neck firm and press, and at the startled squeak of his voice and the creaking resistance of his spine you know he is hurting. good. it is important that he hurts. you may give your followers immortality, but you would never take their pain. you are not cruel.

“Take my hand, Funosuke.” a paternal kiss is pressed to his forehead. you rub a thumb gently across his knuckles as you begin to slowly, deliberately, twist the boy’s neck to the opposite side. “I will take care of you.” SNAP. “I ALWAYS WILL.”

#love they neighbor indeed #i am still making up jashinism so here u get some vague ass baloney!#jashin loves u funosuke!#tw violence #tw murder /#tw death /#kyousei #answered.#answered: jashin.#❛ CIPHER DIVISION / ( answered asks )

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rabbitcruiser · 3 years

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National Navajo Code Talkers Day

As World War II raged, the need arose for the improvement of coded messages on the Pacific Front. These messages conveyed secret information from battle lines to air bases and other locations. Cipher machines, which did the coding, didn’t work well in the jungles of the Pacific Islands. Additionally, the Japanese were adept at code-breaking, because many knew English well—many even had been educated in the United States. Ultimately, the Navajo Code Talkers were the answer, and we celebrate and remember them today, on National Navajo Code Talkers Day.

Philip Johnston, a World War I veteran, hoped to contribute to World War II as well. He had been raised by missionaries on a Navajo reservation and had grown up speaking the tribe’s language. He came up with the idea of basing a code off of the language, as he knew other tribes didn’t know the language, and that the general public didn’t know it either. In February 1942, Johnston visited Camp Elliott near San Diego, along with four bilingual Navajos, who demonstrated the language to Marine staff officers. The officers were impressed, and Major General Clayton Vogel requested Marine Corps Headquarters in Washington, D.C. to authorize the recruiting of 200 Navajos to be Marine communication specialists. Headquarters approved the authorization of 30, and 29 ultimately became part of the original Code Talkers. These men had all of the qualifications that were required to be a Marine but also were fluent in English and Navajo.

On May 5, 1942, the recruits arrived in San Diego for seven weeks of basic training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. They then went to the Fleet Marine Force Training Center at nearby Camp Elliot and did intensive training with transmitting and radio operation. They also developed the code that would be used in battle. At the time, the Navajo language had no alphabet and no written form. The recruits—who became the 382 Platoon, U.S. Marine Corps, and were referred to as “The Navajo School” while at boot camp—came up with a two-part code. The first part was a 26-letter alphabet that corresponded with Navajo words. The second part of the code was a vocabulary with 211 English words that had Navajo synonyms. Over the course of the war, this expanded to 411 words.

In August 1942, most of the Code Talkers went to Guadalcanal, the first place where the code was used in battle. More Code Talkers were requested, and by August 1943 there were almost 200. In all, 421 Code Talkers were trained during the war. The Navajo Code Talkers served in all six Marine divisions in the Pacific, as well as with the Marine Raiders, and with the Marine parachute units. They were integral in many battles in the Pacific, and besides Guadalcanal, participated in assaults at locations such as the Solomon Islands, the Mariana Islands, and Iwo Jima. The Japanese were unable to decipher the telephone and radio messages that the Code Talkers conveyed.

The role of the Navajo Code Talkers was largely unknown for many years, and the program was classified until 1968. In 1982, Congress passed House Joint Resolution 444, which requested President Ronald Reagan to designate National Navajo Code Talkers Day on August 14. On July 28, Ronald Reagan issued Proclamation 4954, which said that the day was “dedicated to all members of the Navaho Nation and to all Native Americans who gave of their special talents and their lives so that others might live. I ask the American people to join me in this tribute, and I call upon Federal, State and local officials to commemorate this day with appropriate activities.”

In 2000, the Honoring the Navajo Code Talkers Act was signed into law. It authorized the president to present the Congressional Gold Medal to the original Code Talkers. This presentation was done the following year, and the Code Talkers that weren’t a part of the original group were given the Congressional Silver Medal. In addition to today being National Navajo Code Talkers Day, it is also Navajo Code Talkers Day. This day was designated by the Navajo Nation Council in 2007.

How to Observe

There are numerous ways that you could celebrate the day. If you are up for some traveling, you could stop at the Navajo Code Talkers Museum in Tuba City, Arizona; the Navajo Code Talkers Museum in Gallup, New Mexico; or the Navajo Code Talkers Exhibit in Kayenta, Arizona. If you wish to stay at home today, there are many books or films related to the subject of the Navajo Code Talkers that you could explore. You could read Code Talker: The First and Only Memoir By One of the Original Navajo Code Talkers of World War II or The Navajo Code Talkers. You could watch the documentary Navajo Wind Talkers of World War II or the feature film Windtalkers. In addition, there are many interviews with Navajo Code Talkers that you could watch online.

Source

#National Navajo Code Talkers Day #NationalNavahoCodeTalkersDay #14 August #Gallup #New Mexico #summer 2014 #Southwestern USA #cityscape #WW II #World War Two #world war II #history #original photography #sculpture #Native American history

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akkivee · 3 years

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Kuukou's Unexpected Efforts

Located in Nagoya Division’s mountainous region stands the Kuugen Temple. Here we can find Harai Kuukou, a monk in training, on his way to perform some good deeds in an area where his presence has become indispensable to those living there.

hypster fc magazine vol. 2 had a section that focused on division topics and the community section featured kuukou!!! It was really good so i did my best to translate it and write it out like the story that it was lol

“Heeeeeeeeeeey!!! Come gather ‘round, your local monk’s just arrived!!”

The passing of noon is marked by a loud voice roaring through the neighbourhood; this booming voice belongs to none other than Kuukou. After driving around the area on his moped, Kuukou came to a stop in a nearby vacant area, unpacked various groceries and foodstuffs from the cart stall attached to the back of his bike and set up shop. Everyday he brings different products, ranging from karaage, corndogs, and other junk foods, to even mitarashi dango, rice cakes and other sweets.

It doesn’t take long for word to spread and soon the residents of the neighbourhood, one by one, were lining up. The area is home to a lot elderly folk, all who have lived there for a very long time and were familiar with Kuukou, fondly greeting him and calling him, “Kuu-chan.” They always reminisce how Kuukou has been known as that troublemaking monk, even as a child. The neighbourhood kids all followed his lead, and he was always playing with a lot of people. “You guys always act like I’m still just a brat!! Geez, these old bats are annoying,” he says with a grumpy expression, but it’s obvious he doesn’t mean anything by it.

Once the elderly residents have gone home, a gaggle of children come rushing up and Kuukou was quick to rearrange the moped’s cart into a picture show stand. Kuukou tells the dramatic tale of a hero, one whose adventures take them on a journey of laughter and tears. The art style was bold and very unique, and rumour has it that the story and pictures were all hand drawn and written by Kuukou. After story time, Kuukou transitioned to a question corner that all the children enthusiastically participated in. Some time in the middle of said corner, Kuukou asks them, “What dream did I have last night?” and hands flew into the air, eager to share their guess, despite the difficulty of the question. However, nobody could correctly guess the right answer. It was then, one young boy said, “You don’t remember your dream,” and he got it; that’s the correct answer! He received a piece of candy for it. Kuukou wrapped up his time with the kids at his makeshift picture show stand by roping everyone into doing a cipher. Up until the temple bells rang, chiming that the day was drawing to a close, their cheerful voices could be heard throughout the neighbourhood.

When inquiring about this matter at the Kuugen temple, Harai Shakku, the Head Monk, doesn’t understand what Kuukou’s doing either. This is just his opinion, but he thinks Kuukou is simply trying to fast track some good karma. But regardless of how unconventional his methods may be, those living in that little corner in Nagoya Division have been helped out by that monk’s efforts.

#kuko harai #hypmic #hypnosis mic #*tentatively places this in the tag*#anyway WOW WHAT A GOOD BOY KUUKOU IS??????????#so like idk if he's taking any money for it but i believe the food he's bringing the locals are their dailies and some snacks thrown in #like in his first hypradio i think he mentions that the temple is out in the hood #so he's probably running errands for those locals that cant go that far to pick up their necessities #i'm literally dropping uwus rn hf i love kuukou wow #lol and shakku has the gall to guess kuukou's just doing this out of his own satisfaction #*slaps him upside his head with kaigen* kuukou says to do not whats right but do whats kind #give your kid a little bit more credit here lmao

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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It is appropriate to begin to understand yourself as a combatant in a war that you may only be dimly aware is being waged. You are in fact operating in the battlespace at this very moment. Consider the implications. Consider that you are marked.

Your self-identification as a combatant, or not, is irrelevant. You have been declared an adversary of the True and Just cause of Democracy. The adversary in this war is a floating signifier anyway, purposefully undefined. Don’t go searching for your name in any database (though you may find it there). The adversary can be anyone, at any time. He is a cipher. The territory under contestation is perhaps even less well-demarcated. As a matter of physical geography, it may be said to not exist at all. And yet we are in it. We are fighting it. The war is on.

…

The proclamations of those declaring this war leave vanishingly little room for uncertainty. Their rhetoric is becoming more explicit every day. No one can deny this. Even the soberest mind must acknowledge their increasing belligerence.

“In the aftermath of the insurrection on January 6th…” This is by now a common refrain. Oliver Stone also said — or maybe it was Homer — that every war must start with an event. No doubt they have been waiting a long time to declare their intentions, but now they have finally found their casus belli. When they say that January 6th is their 9/11, this is what they mean. It may seem that the incoherent, spontaneous nature of what happened at the Capitol might vitiate such lofty comparisons. But for the regime, all the better. The ambiguity allows for the widest possible net to be cast over their enemy, as John Brennan would have it, the “unholy alliance” of “religious extremists, authoritarians, fascists, bigots, racists, nativists, even libertarians.”

Tag yourself. Not that any of these terms matter. Again, they are floating signifiers. They mean everything and nothing. Importantly, they mean you. They mean me.

Brennan of course is not alone. Just days after he delivered his ominous remarks, his CIA colleague Robert Grenier wrote an op-ed for the New York Times declaring the forces responsible for January 6th — again, never clearly defined — to be regarded in the same terms as ISIS and Al-Qaeda. He spoke of an ongoing “domestic insurgency” and the need to put it down with the same degree of force as his own Counterrorism division applied to jihadists in Afghanistan and Iraq. Stanley McChrystal echoed nearly identical sentiments within the week. Javed Ali, whose bio reads less like a human being’s than the formless node of the Foreign Policy blob that he is, writing for the Security State rag the Cipher Brief, in an article indicative of the borg-like mass to which he belongs, suggested the “New Right,” which includes the usual litany of conservative bogeymen all the way up to those with such alarming views as, for example, being “pro-2nd amendment,” warrants the creation of Domestic Terrorism laws that would include a domestic surveillance program mirroring the British Security Service to monitor online speech and circumvent Constitutional protections against prior restraint.

…

But beyond the morality play, and the heady drama of the fate of Western man, it’s Lind’s attention to the form and processes of war that are most relevant here. In the 4th Generation war everything is muddled and inexact. Military and civilian life merge into a fluid, indivisible state of mind and being. Everywhere is a potential target. There is a kind of atemporality to it, too. Individual battles never clearly begin or end. Much of it is fought in the digital ether. Fixed points of planning and operation become obsolete, too easily identified and subverted. There are questions about the status of the war itself, and it is often an advantage of the stronger side to plausibly deny there is any war at all.

In the end, Lind resolves these ambiguities in no uncertain terms. His 4th Generation civil war, however abstract and indistinct, eventually reverts to the classic mode. Its wages are measured in lives lost and territory gained. His heroes shoulder their rifles and vanquish their enemies in pools of their own blood. A Christian nation of local, artisanal economies blooms in a Jeffersonian spirit of revitalization. It’s a chilling read, the Minecraft meme brought to life.

But it is in this latter reversion to classic military confrontation where Lind’s map loses touch with the territory we are actually living in. We are not in a war that accommodates armed conflict, nor should we want it to. Let me repeat that for the minders reading this: violence, kids, is not the answer to our current problems.

Rather, some have speculated that what we are living through now is better described as 5th Generation war. A fifth-generation war is one where the ambiguity stands, even more so, but is never quite so manifestly resolved. (This Twitter thread from last October by anon user Reality Gamer provides a useful summary of the concept.)

This war, if we are to adopt the model, which I believe we should — and for which there is much compelling evidence — is fought almost exclusively over ideas. As in Lind’s concept, everything is indistinct, everything is abstracted right up to the point of nonexistence. War and peace, civilian and combatant, battlefield and neutral territory all collapse in a morass of ever-present meta-conflict. The conceptual boundaries between debate, activism, and terrorism are themselves the site of primary engagement. What matters is not who controls the streets in the wake of a clash of forces, but he who decides that the clashes are “mostly peaceful” and their own soldiers just an “idea.”

That is, it is a war over narrative control. Instead of armed battalions, it’s a loose affiliation of entrenched interests — deep-state operatives, media conglomerates, NGOs, lawfare apparatchiks, academics, the many-sided face of globohomo — controlling information networks to shore up their resources and guard against whoever they identify as a threat. These threats and the methods to neutralize them never have to be explicitly stated or shared across the network. In fact, it is better if they aren’t. It obviates the problem of what Edward Luttwack calls the “paradoxical logic of strategy.” Instead, the system, like a black box AI, manages its agenda according to its own hidden processes.

And what is this agenda exactly? To enforce the conditions of consent.

…

What we are experiencing now is something quite different, the regime on war-footing, no longer confident enough in its own legitimacy to dare put that legitimacy to test. And as is the case for all regimes in such a weakened, sclerotic state, though the strategies and tactics are more diffuse and perhaps less blunt than in eras past, we are treated to the same predictable response: crush dissent, flatten and homogenize the culture, divide and alienate the population from one another, declare a monopoly not just on knowledge and belief, but on the asking of questions themselves. Vaclav Havel, writing on the withering Communist regime of his native Czechoslovakia, described this final desperate effort to coerce the population into consent as the “nihilization of life.”

…

When vast swaths of non-compliant Americans are declared domestic insurgents, it behooves us to conduct ourselves accordingly. This is not to say that whatever might broadly be called the ‘Dissident Right’ ought to assume a defensive crouch, or retreat into passive quietism until the regime exhausts itself. Though we may be in the midst of a 5th Generation war, some of the old rules still apply, and the insurgent, however diminished, however outgunned — metaphorically, of course — has certain advantages he can make use of.

Another war historian, David Gallula, describing the Cold War spasms breaking apart and reforming the global map after World War II, wrote in 1965 what has become the textbook on the nature of insurgencies. Gallula was a man of his time, and most of his examples are superficially outdated, Communist rebels from Greece to North Africa to Southeast Asia asserting themselves with greater and lesser effectiveness throughout the Third World. We are not Communists, and this is not the Cold War, no matter how much our State Department might wish it were so. Nonetheless, Gallula provides a few key insights that broadly apply to our fight, and that we ought to keep in mind as we ask the question of what comes next.

To begin, the site of contestation in the 5th Generation war against our decrepit regime is not firstly the halls of power, certainly not the Capitol building, and not even really the formal political arena at all. Borrowing from Yarvin, I’d echo that Republican electoral victories are not sufficient for breaking the regime until the Republican candidate sees himself as an outsider prepared to tell the regime that it must submit. Still, contra Yarvin, winning political fights is good, where we can get them, and there are ways of engaging in local politics, especially, that may achieve certain desired effects. But ultimately, political victories are downstream of a more fundamental fight, which is winning the support of what Gullala coarsely calls “the population.”

…

That is, the normie must be given a cause. This cause must exist outside the political paradigm within which he has been accustomed to understanding these conflicts. Scott Alexander is not entirely wrong to propose that Republicans wage a “class conflict” against the strata of elite sense-makers who despise them. It is indeed a righteous cause, and an effective message. He is wrong however that Republicans, as such, ought to do this. No. This is not a partisan conflict against Democrats, though there is much overlap. This is a conflict of insurgents against a failing regime. That is the way it must be framed and its campaigns prosecuted.

I am cautiously optimistic that Americans understand this cause and the nature of their enemy instinctively. There is no denying the rot at the heart of American life, of Western life. There is no denying the ever-presence of the bugman and his sickly designs for us. The energy leaking out against this is everywhere in sight. However misdirected, however frenetic and decoupled from meaningful objectives, a spirit of disobedience obtains. They feel the quickening incursion of the public life into the private, no doubt accelerated by Zoom World and the bright eye of our screens watching and recording our every thought. Americans can feel caught in a straightjacket of preference falsification and coercive moral decrees, the stiltifying HRization of their inner universe. What a bleak and limited existence!

…

Finally, as Gullala observes, an insurgent movement in its infancy is necessarily small. It is necessarily weak. It needs time to build. It cannot on day one confront the regime on its turf and presume to use the regime’s own weapons against it. Again, this is not to advocate for quietism, but rather to recognize the limited usefulness of operating within the domains of social and political activity the regime already controls. You are not going to take back the universities or Hollywood or the news desk. Infiltrate these places and expose them for what they are, but to destroy them rather than to save them.

Before anything else, we must build a culture of our own. Any meaningful insurgency will be downstream from its capacity to imagine. Direct action politics will flail and follow, rather than lead, if it is not tethered to the kind of self-understanding that can only be achieved through art. The regime understands this, if only intuitively, and the ban waves and censorship are an attempt to tear apart the communities where this art can be cultivated and shared. But they are not yet omnipresent. They have not yet, as in Havel’s Czechoslovakia, managed to altogether “nihilize life.” There are cracks still to penetrate. There is, deep in the American soul, a resilience that is not yet extinguished. Build the communities, forge the relationships, online and off, where this resilience can manifest and triumph over the enemy and its machines.

#lomez #im1776 #read the whole thing

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barcelona-sergei · 4 years

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Haru Katō : Clandestine

disclaimer: this short fanfic is based only on the 2 episodes of FKB:U that has been aired so far. the events and some characters are solely my work and no spoilers from the actual series. if i have misjudged the characters mentioned once new episodes are released, please kindly understand.

Chapter 2

Word count: 5.3k

The detective woke up from his deep slumber. Dazed, he did his usual routine for work then. Buttoning one of his white dress shirts, sloppily doing his tie, slipping on his grey slacks, belt, his cozy brown jacket and styling his bed hair into something presentable. Upon slipping on his dress shoes, Haru drove off to his workplace.

Parking his car near the headquarters with a tumbler of coffee, Haru was not aware of his surroundings just yet. Sleep still resting in his brain. A car had been tailing the tired policeman, stalkers of his hiding their faces.

[Y/N] strutted her way to the headquarters of the metropolitan police department to have a meeting with the chief and her commissioner. Her unprompted partner from the night before came into her line of sight, letting a small smile grace her beautiful face. About to raise her hand to wave at Haru, her peripheral caught another familiar face from the party.

A not so welcome and friendly face.

The woman examined the tailing car, concluding that the faces of the two men belong to the kingpin’s son, Kodama Yashiro, and a dog under him. She questioned and cursed in her mind, how the fuck did they find us so fast?

Hopefully it was just a coincidence, rather than hunting her beloved Haru.

[Y/N] hastily moved towards Haru to meet at the entrance of headquarters, startling the detective. The cogs in his brain still aren’t warmed up enough to function properly. She hooked her arm through Haru’s and harshly pulled the man against her once more, using the wall of the building as a shield.

“[Y/N]?!” Haru yelled incredulously and stared at the agent with wide eyes.

But the agent didn’t pay attention to him. Taking a peek from behind the wall, [Y/N] confirmed her unfortunate suspicions. She took out her phone and discreetly snapped pictures of the two men, as proof for her upcoming meeting. Now her plan to make Haru join the operation solidified. The woman wordlessly kept their linked arms, walking inside the headquarters for safekeeping.

Now in their shielded work environment, [Y/N] snatched her arm away with a deep frown, upset eyes staring into Haru’s golden ones. The man swallowed thickly, tensing underneath the intimidating gaze from the woman’s. Her mauve lips moved, “Haru-chan, did you know you were being followed?”

The man was sweating bullets at this point, he couldn’t recollect any signs of being tailed this morning to save his life, literally. Taking his silence as an answer, the agent clicked her tongue and led the way to Haru’s office.

“Who was following me?” Haru sheepishly asked, one other question itching to come out. But he held his tongue and just accepted [Y/N]’s presence in headquarters. “My dearest, Kodama Yashiro and one of his men were the ones following you,” [Y/N] handed her unlocked phone, Haru instantly recognizing the men in the picture.

“HAH? How did they find me already?” Haru’s outburst caught his colleagues’ attention, his question falling quieter with each word. “I’m not too sure. I just hope it was a coincidence they saw you in the streets then followed,” [Y/N] thought out loud. The agent eyed the tumbler in the detective’s hand, desperately needing caffeine to fuel her brain due to the turn of events. Haru followed her gaze down to his hand.

“And I’m here to meet with Takei-san and the commissioner.” She continued, answering his non-verbal question. It’s as if she could read his mind. Haru mutely nodded and handed his slightly sipped drink, the woman gratifyingly taking a swig of the energizing beans. The woman before him stopped in front of his designated office, opening the door.

“I’ll see you later, if this meeting goes well,” she motioned for him to enter, the man nodding as an understanding and a farewell, coffee now back in his hand. The door shut behind him, Haru instantly felt prying eyes on him. Shunned silence… “What?”

“WHAT? That’s it? Are you not gonna explain who that hot babe is?!” Kamei screeched as the detective sat down at his desk. His over-dramatic choice of friends might be the death of him. Haru shrugged, “she’s an acquaintance.” The detective very much so lied, for [Y/N] was nowhere near an acquaintance. But he needed to tread lightly on this topic because it may come back and bite him in the ass.

“Yeah right! I heard her say ‘see you later.’” The blond detective air quoted with a high-pitched voice to mimic a woman’s, exaggerating [Y/N]’s farewell. Haru could only roll his eyes at the dramatic blond, “just get back to work Kamei.”

But Kamei scoffed in response, “you’re really gonna say that? Am I the only one who cares about this?” The blond man’s outburst was met with silence from his co-workers. No one was actually listening to his and Haru’s bickering.

Kamei sighed in defeat and grudgingly went back to work.

“I have successfully transferred files to this hard-drive from one of the main bases,” the agent slid the brown sealed bag towards her superiors. The authoritative men nodded in approval and the commissioner put away the vital piece for their operation.

“About Inspector Katō, my suspicions were proven correct right before we clocked in this morning. Kodama Yashiro and one dog stalked the Inspector.” Chief Takei visibly and the commissioner rubbed his temples. Commissioner Mitsuhiro leaned forward from his couch, “what do you propose to do, agent?”

The cunning woman repressed a satisfied smirk, her plan laying out right before her. “Let Inspector Katō join us. I strongly believe he is reliable, he can be an asset in this operation. A positive effect is I can protect him the entire operation, which I promise on my badge.” [Y/N] laid out her proposal with confidence, cowering away now won’t get her anywhere with the brass.

Her words weighed heavily on both men, silent quick thinking to outweigh the pros and cons of the agent’s proposition. Chief Takei deeply thought about his precious subordinate, if he was risking Haru’s wellbeing by accepting.

“In my opinion, I do not see any flaws for the Inspector to join and I am confident in my agent. It is your final decision Takei-dono, he is one of your men.” The attention now shifted on Chief Takei’s thinking form. The chief removed his hand from his face and straightened his back, giving a slight nod to the agent in front of him:

“We’ll make it a collaboration between the detective division and the cipher pol division.”

Satisfied, [Y/N] leaned back on her designated seat. Chief Takei dialled the detective division and commanded instructions through the phone.

“Katō-kun, Kambe. Make your way to Takei-kun’s office please.” Chief Kiyomazu states with cheer, before tinkering away with his plastic model ship. Haru sighed and led the way to the Division 1 head office, with Daisuke stepping next to the taller detective.

“Your acquaintance has good taste,” Daisuke oddly commented. “What?” Haru’s eyebrow arched in question, weirded out that the rich short stack made small talk. Reasons beyond Haru’s mind, his annoyance against Kambe doubled with that comment towards his ‘acquaintance.’

“The Valentino cape. Looks flattering on her.”

“Thanks…?”

The small talk awkwardly died, for the two men arrived at the door of the Division 1 head office. The taupe-haired detective knocked twice and immediately received a muffled approval to enter. Speaking of the devil, the woman with the supposed Valentino cape sat on one of the couches. [Y/N] locked eyes with bright golden ones that she dearly loves, then catching the gaze of piercing blue eyes, the infamous Kambe she did her research on.

“Let’s rid of formalities. Inspector Katō, due to your involvement with Cipher Pol’s operation against the yakuza Kodama Yoshio, Commissioner Mitsuhiro and I agreed for you to join.” The hairs on the back of Haru’s neck stood at Chief Takei’s command. The detective doesn’t know if he’s excited, confused or scared of this outcome. [Y/N] and Kambe? He might actually go crazy.

“You will be working with the main squad to take down the final boss. Inspector Kambe you will be working with the tactical team in destroying the farms, your work was impressive with the drug cases of celebrities.” Haru nodded stiffly, glancing towards the scheming woman. [Y/N] returned his glance with a hidden smirk. Daisuke let out a small smirk and nodded, excited for his new assignment to test out new technology.

“You will be briefed once you arrive at your respective teams. Your participation immediately begins today, don’t slack off at this important collaboration.” Chief Takei firmly commanded, face darkened with seriousness. Both men thought the meeting was over, before the commissioner spoke:

“This is a confidential operation, only personnel in this room, your respective squads and your original division are aware of this case. If a single breath is leaked, you will be faced with irreversible consequences.”

The atmosphere in the room grew incredibly heavier with Commissioner Mitsuhiro’s grim threat. The police officials remained in silence, until Chief Takei cleared his throat, “one more thing, Inspector Katō.”

“This is what you get for being such a stickler to justice and sticking your nose in other people’s business, your life’s in danger!” Kamei scolded as Haru’s ears were about to fall off. The rest of his co-workers looked at him with such worry. Nonetheless the detective continued packing his things from his desk.

“If you’re not gonna help me pack then don’t make this harder for me and shut up.” Haru huffed with annoyance, earning an equally annoyed huff back from his blond friend. He could still feel the concerned gazes on him. Mahoro finally broke into loud wails that she’s been fighting off, flinging herself unto Haru. The detective stumbled back, a light blush dusting his cheeks from the sudden contact.

“Katō-kun! You have to be really careful ok?!” Mahoro cried out. Haru awkwardly patted the small woman’s back, quite unsure how to comfort a crying Mahoro. A frail hand petted Haru’s messy locks, the respected detective Nakamoto gently looking up to Haru: “You must come back to us alive and well.”

Haru chuckled at his colleagues’ overreaction, “to ease your minds, I’ve been assigned a security detail. They’ll keep me safe.” As if she functions life clockwork, the aforementioned security detail opened the office door. Now all eyes are on the mysterious woman.

[Y/N] scanned the shabby office, her blank expression turning to a deep frown the second time today. Her sharp eyes zeroed on the pink-haired woman’s arms that were around someone too comfortably, igniting the ugly emotion of jealousy through the agent’s veins. Haru could see the dark fiery aura emitting from [Y/N]’s body, puzzled why the woman was in such a bad mood.

With the shake of her head, the woman kept her emotions in check and rid of such a childish feeling. She then proceeded to display her badge, “My code name is Agent Velia. I am here to escort Inspector Katō as a security detail and to provide safekeeping. Pleasure to meet you.” The woman bowed after her introduction.

Much to [Y/N]’s delight, Mahoro removed herself from Haru to shake hands with [Y/N]. The detectives crowded around the agent, one by one introducing themselves. Then bombarded the poor agent with questions that she either couldn’t answer due to confidentiality or to protect her identity and lectures on keeping the beloved Haru safe.

“Alright everyone, stop interviewing her. We have to go, we’ll be off now!” With loud protests from his colleagues, Haru exclaimed his farewell and grabbed [Y/N]’s hand to escape from the noisy bunch.

“For your maximum comfort, you have the choice where to stay. You can remain in your own place but that means I stay there with you.” [Y/N] explained the protocol of security detailing as the couple walked to the rear exit of the headquarters, the destination being [Y/N]’s ride. It was decided to leave his car for a while in the care of the department, having a high risk of being tailed.

The man silently contemplated his decision. His place isn’t exactly a top notch residential space. Decently safe area, only a few drug deals here and there, his apartment could put up a fight from break-ins and has livable facilities.

“Let’s go to my place first.”

Ah, his worries about his place became evident as the two officials stepped foot in the genkan. Having two people removing their footwear at the same time was rather cramped. The hallway was even a bit too narrow. The agent noticed how the doorknob easily rattled. She noticed the dainty windows that are spelled out as an entrance to intruders. The living room was not spacious enough to run from an attacker. A flimsy door that’s supposed to be a barricade to the single bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

The woman didn’t want to judge her friend’s living condition, but it was far from ideal for a safe home. Haru didn’t need to hear her words to know this wasn’t the safest place for his life. “Haru.” The man turned to look at her.

“We can stay at my house.” If you’d like… Haru finished the sentence for her. The two didn’t need long winded explanations from the other, what they shared in the past simply enough to know what’s on the other’s mind. The detective nodded and went inside his bedroom. Normally he’d be a stubborn spitfire and immediately refuse such a bogus suggestion. Heck, even he wouldn’t want a security detail watching his every move.

Though his childishness knows a limit. He’s neck deep in a life threatening matter. Sure, being in the front lines is already a near death experience, but being targeted by the yakuza was a whole new level of experience. The man may be stubborn, but he knows to put absolute trust in [Y/N], no matter what.

[Y/N] examined the living room and settled her gaze on a picture frame. She stepped closer and held the frame, nostalgia crashing through her. A photograph of their graduation day. Her and Haru in their police uniforms, styled to the nines and saluted the camera man. The woman let loose a good old smile, the same one as the photograph staring back at her, touched that the detective still treasured their memories together.

She was relieved she wasn’t alone.

Haru silently stared at [Y/N], golden eyes softening with upturned lips. She still had the carbon copy fox smile of hers, canines slightly peeking from her plush lips and her eyes expressing the smile too.

“We ready to go?” The detective broke the ambience, startling the agent a tiny bit. She turned to look at him, though she didn’t bother hiding the grin from her face, which he was truly grateful for. He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things, cause he thought her [E/C] eyes sparkled more. If that was even possible.

“Is that all you need?” [Y/N] gawked at the singular large duffel bag on the detective’s shoulder. Haru shrugged, “dress shirts, slacks, underwear, toiletries and pajamas. Just the necessities.” The woman scoffed with disbelief, “Haru-chan you know this operation can take a month or more.”

“You have a washing machine and dryer don’t you?” The man answered back with retort, leading the way out of his apartment with the woman towing behind. “Dear, hate to break it to you but we have a dress policy. I’ll purchase a few suits for you.” Now it was Haru’s turn to click his tongue in annoyance, [Y/N]’s words reminded him too much of a certain black-haired man.

“One is fine. I have an old suit I can wear.”

“And you need a whole wardrobe of disguises whenever we go undercover or in public.”

“[Y/N]-kun, I’ll make do with my own purchased clothes.” The woman could only bite her tongue against Haru’s frugality.

“No this is for your safety too. I have a friend who can give us a discount. We’re settling you first in my house then we’re going shopping. No arguments.” [Y/N] stated with finality and slamming the trunk shut, strutting to the driver’s seat before Haru could process her command. The man opened his mouth in protest, then just closing it again: speechless. Indeed he had no arguments, so he sat in the passenger seat in defeat.

The small dispute between the officials ended with the agent as the victor.

The drive felt short as the two filled in the other of the past 4 years of each other’s lives, with a hint of banter and casual flirting. Soon enough, the car entered a secluded hill then the agent’s villa came into the picture. [Y/N] entered the garage, killing the engines. Haru could only let his jaw hang and marvel at the impressive building [Y/N] called home. The officials emerged from the garage into the main foyer with Haru’s belongings in hand.

“Xander, with me, is Inspector Katō. He will be living here indefinitely. Make sure to recognize his face.” [Y/N] spoke to no one in particular, immensely confusing the hell out of the man. Kinda scared him because he didn’t want his face to be documented.

“Don’t worry Haru-chan, Xander is a personalized virtual assistant from a friend in the technology division. He’s kinda a robot butler cause I don’t want to hire one.” [Y/N] explained as if it was the most common thing to own in the world. Haru just dumbly nodded.

“Now let’s give you a tour of the Veila Villa!” The agent exclaimed with excitement and tugged the detective along. In the span of 30 minutes, Haru’s mind couldn’t comprehend how one woman could own such an automated grand home. Damn, his bank account was ashamed. It slightly irked him how [Y/N]’s home really reminded him of a certain flashy detective.

The tour ended in Haru’s appointed room. It was bigger than his whole apartment. The detective plopped down on the cloudy king-sized bed, feeling the mattress dip above his head. Haru turned his head towards the high-ceiling windows. The second floor gave a fantastic view of the small woods that expanded to the cityscape.

“How’d you manage to get this awesome place?” Haru asked quietly, entranced by the blue skies and floating clouds. [Y/N] let out a sigh and lay on her side, hand supporting her head. “The technology is from amazing friends, I agreed to be their guinea pig. As for the lot, the government offered it to me as compensation, as long as it can be a safe environment to experiment new inventions…” The woman answered with minute hesitance, which the man caught on to.

[Y/N]’s hand found itself playing with taupe locks, as she pondered whether to shut up now or tell Haru the whole truth. Haru relaxed under the gentle touches of the woman and waited patiently for her to finish her story.

“I nearly died twice undercover,” [Y/N] trailed off somberly. Terrifying memories flashed through her mind in an instant, but she felt numb. Her heart no longer clenched in pain nor did her body remember agonizing inflictions. Haru’s eyes enlarged and immediately sat up. He looked down on the lying form of the woman, looking for the sparkle in her eyes. But was met with dulled pairs.

Haru stroked her soft tresses and lay down in front of [Y/N], then enveloping his arms around her body. Haru pulled her close. [Y/N] closed her eyes and delved in Haru’s comforting body warmth, placing her hands on his toned chest. The detective’s hand ran through the long locks of the agent, as if time was turned back for the couple, this scene of comfort replayed.

Serenity dwelled in their presence.

“Do you want to eat first?” The woman whispered into his chest, afraid to ruin the peaceful atmosphere. The man nodded, “I’ll make something.” The woman’s heart leaped in joy, about to taste the legendary cooking of Katō Haru once again.

The detective led the way to the kitchen, like he owned the villa, rummaging through the stocked fridge then setting to whip up a meal. [Y/N] placed herself on one of the stools of the kitchen island, face resting in her hands to watch the man do his thing.

“Why’d you get such a big place?” Haru piqued with interest, spreading the oil on the pan. The woman’s cheeks dusted with pink and turned away to hide her blushing face from the man. Haru wouldn’t miss it for the world to see the usually collected [Y/N] to be flustered, laughing at her reaction.

“Why are you pink? Is it that embarrassing?”

The woman fanned herself with her hands and exhaled a breath to calm herself. “Kicking out the government, I plan to live here with the love of my life and have a family.” [Y/N] locked eyes with Haru, in her heart every word was meant just for him. Haru’s eyes dilated, the same pink gracing his cheeks and the hairs on his nape stood in attention. He was now flustered too, drinking up [Y/N]’s every word to heart.

“Oh what the hell, it's not even worth getting worked up on. That’s a normal thing to want.” Haru plated their meals.

“It is a bit. I’m already twenty-nine but marriage seems like a fever dream for me.” [Y/N] helped bring their meals to the dining table. The man made a mental note of that, having an idea of a plan for the end of the operation.

The two officials ate their lunch, the woman complimenting the man’s impeccable cooking skills. Soon enough they hit the road again, the destination to [Y/N]’s frequented boutique. “[Y/N]-kun you really don’t have to do this.” Haru whined in protest as the agent entered a rather boujee automated revolving door.

The two officials are now surrounded by rows, mannequins and racks of lavish articles of clothing. The detective felt he stuck out like a sore thumb in the boutique. It should be the damned Kambe who should be looking at the gorgeous suits, not some poor wannabe. He felt a tug, twice, from the agent, meaning to pay attention up a head.

“Veila-chan!” A woman exuberantly bellowed and appeared before the officials, dolled up with beautiful fabrics that probably cost more than Haru’s car. [Y/N] walked into the open arms of the stylish woman, hugging each other tightly and giving kisses on each cheek. A rather strange greeting in the detective’s books.

“Chisato-san! Long time no see.” [Y/N] greeted back with the same energy. Both women giggled and quickly caught up, leaving Haru in his own world. The agent grabbed a hold of Haru’s shoulder and introduced him to her friend, “Chisato-san, meet Inspector Katō Haru, Inspector meet my dear friend Chisato-san. She owns this boutique and the designer friend I was talking about.”

The two adults bowed to each other. The eyes of Chisato-san examined Haru closely, the detective under exceptional discomfort. “We’re actually here for Haru, we need a few suits and outfits.” [Y/N] requested from her friend. The fashion designer yelped in joy and clapped her hands, “I’ll take good care of him!”

Haru was dragged away from [Y/N], the agent waving towards him with a mischievous smile, Chisato-san instructing him to pick different colour palettes and styles of his preference. It amazed him how Chisato-san worked like a bot, once receiving his preferences, the fashion designer zoomed off to piece outfits together.

The detective found himself by himself in a well-lit dressing room with at least ten customised outfits on the hooks. Haru sighed for the umpteenth time today, discarding his own clothes, unable to win against [Y/N]. He donned on his first suit out of many, striped with thin white lines. The man looked dashing, if he could say so himself.

The detective emerged from the dressing room and looked at the agent straight away, wanting her approval. Well, he definitely got more than enough of an approval. [Y/N]’s blown out eyes drank the sight in front of her, the pink on her cheeks deepening every minute. Haru sauntered towards the fitting platform, as though it was a runway show.

Haru relished for being the reason for [Y/N]’s flustered state. Set on exploiting her reaction, the man put on a smug expression with a hand pushing back his hair and his other in his pocket. His actions definitely had an impact, now the woman’s face a nice shade of pink with a hand covering half her face. The man knew how to elicit a beautiful reaction from her.

Stepping on the fitting platform, Haru fully surveyed his form in the suit on the wall of mirrors. Him and Chisato-san discussed the quirks of the suit and what to alter, whilst [Y/N] was in the world of her own, checking out the detective.

That is one fine ass…

The fervent tension between the officials did not go past Chisato-san. The designer couldn’t exactly put her finger on her wandering thoughts about Haru. But upon seeing her dear friend’s loud expressions, the puzzle pieces matched. She could see what Haru was trying to do, for Chisato-san also loved to see a rare flustered [Y/N].

“I was wondering earlier why you sounded familiar, Inspector.” Chisato-san caught Haru’s attention as he appeared with a new suit on. “Why do I sound familiar?” Haru stretched out his arms, as Chisato-san pinned certain areas of the fabric to adjust.

The designer had an evil smirk etched in her eyes and smile, as she and [Y/N] glared at each other through the mirror. The woman finally snapped out of her daze and was fully listening to the conversation.

And she did not like Chisato-san’s evil expression.

“Well, I was always wondering why [Y/N] stayed single throughout our entire five years of friendship. Without fail she turned down my offers of blind dates or mixers. I thought she only wasted her beauty and personality by seeing no one.”

Ah, [Y/N] was right on the dot. Her dear friend was about to expose her and there was no stopping her. The woman felt cold sweats on her forehead and her breathing hitched. Flirting and using each other’s body to relieve stress was one thing, but a flat out confession was a whole new level. Haru nodded along to Chisato-san’s story.

“One day she told me stories of her academy days, specifically mentioning one trainee that stuck through thick and thin with her. She gushed on and on about how heroic, how strong and how handsome he was. Veila-chan sounded so cute, like she was a highschool girl. That was when I found out that one hero held her heart.”

[Y/N] wanted to commit numerous crimes on her dear friend right on the spot. She did not care if she was sent to prison for a lifetime. The designer exaggerated and romanticized their memory together way too much. The story she told was as good as [Y/N] confessing to Haru she loved him for five years now.

The woman was afraid that it would turn their relationship sour, things between them becoming painstakingly awkward, especially now that they have to live with each other for an uncertain period. She desperately didn’t want to find out Haru’s reaction, but that would back up Chisato-san’s story if she shied away.

It wouldn’t take an idiot to understand that the strong, handsome and heroic trainee [Y/N] squealed about was indeed him, Katō Haru. Judging by the beet red tone of her face, Haru’s doubts of the story ceased to exist. Excitement and gladness coursed through his body, a hue of pink across his cheeks as a physical sign. How he wished he could jump, clack his heels and shout in celebration.

Though the detective settled with a bright smile on his features. He caught [Y/N]’s eye for a millisecond, before she whipped her head to the side. The man just chuckled, finding her hidden timidity adorable.

With the swipe of [Y/N]’s black card, ten bags on each person, the officials made their merry way back out of the boutique with Chisato-san’s farewells. “I know she’s supposed to be protecting you, but take care of her well, Katō-san.” Chisato-san spoke to Haru in confidence. Haru chuckled and nodded, the two adults bowing to each other as a goodbye. [Y/N] blew her a flying kiss, before racing out of the area. Haru didn’t dare speak of the incident, waiting for a better chance to tease [Y/N] about it.

After shopping in a few more boutiques and eating dinner, the officials went back to [Y/N]’s home. Shopping and being on his feet all day, Haru felt a new type of exhaustion. The massaging shower of his guest room eased off the day’s events, the new set of silk pajamas [Y/N] bought felt soft against his skin.

Finishing drying his hair, Haru tucked himself under the cozy blankets. Upon hearing soft knocks on his door, he sat up against the headboard and gave permission for [Y/N] to enter. “Cozy?” The woman inquired with a smile, making her way towards the large windows. Haru nodded in response, hiding a yawn behind his palm.

The blinds whirred down by the buttons of the remote, [Y/N] briefly explaining the functions of the device. “I’m in the room beside you, don’t hesitate to knock if you need anything.” [Y/N] offered her hospitality as she put away the remote. Haru watched her move, contemplating whether he should put his plan into action or not.

“Goodnight, Haru-chan.” The woman honoured Haru with a soft smile. It’s now and or never. His hand flew to grab a hold of her wrist, stopping the woman from leaving. [Y/N] froze and peered down to their point of contact, confusion occupying her mind. Wordlessly, Haru shifted to make room and towed [Y/N] in his bed. Pulling the blankets over their bodies, the man encased the woman in his arms.

[Y/N] was about to satirize Haru’s actions but became awestruck. Her mouth flew shut. His brilliant eyes held melancholy and such tenderness. She felt a warm hand caress the side of her face, the woman can melt under his gaze and touches.

“I don’t like the way you gained this house. I don’t like how you had to recover from near-death experiences alone.” Haru spoke softly, playing with the tresses framing [Y/N]’s face.

Haru’s hand moved to the back of her head and pulled her against his chest, “I promise I’ll be by your side...” the man stroked her hair.

“Through thick and thin.”

The man ended his covenant to the woman with a gentle kiss pressed to her hair. His words and affection swayed her heart vastly that she could cry. She placed her hand on his chest as an answer of accord, soft and steady thumps of his heart at her fingertips.

She thought she was already deep in. But she fell further in her feelings for the man who’s holding her dearly. Though it was reciprocated.

previous || next

#this isnt proofread #too tired fam #fuguo keiji #fuguo keiji balance unlimited #fuguo keiji balance: unlimited #Haru Kato #kato haru #haru kato x reader #daisuke kambe #kambe daisuke #haru kato fanart #haru kato edit #fkbu #fkbul #fkbuedit #haru kato fanfic #haru katou #haru katō #barcelonawrites

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veliseraptor · 4 years

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I was just about to Ask you on a related subject... do you think it's possible to write a feminist story (let's say, in any of those categories) where the female lead has the least screentime, or is even offscreen entirely? The closest I can think of is "A Scandal in Bohemia".

(Relating to this post from a while ago because I took approximately forever to answer it.)

I guess…I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I’m gonna say no? Because at least to me it feels like for a story to have any kind of “feminist” aspect to it (whatever that means! and I’m not actually all that interested in the question of whether or not a text is feminist, tbh! I do not find it a productive point of discussion!) it should probably at least…have a woman in it somewhere, and not just as…well, what I feel like Irene Adler kinda is in “A Scandal in Bohemia,” which is to say, a plot device.

She’s there to drive the action forward, but at least in my recollection she is more cipher and mystery than person or character. And that’s the problem with having a character be largely absent - it’s hard to build a significant character without giving them that space, and without a significant character I’d say it’s hard to fit any of those categories.

I think I’d feel a little funny about calling something “feminist” in the absence of a significant female character who not only plays a driving role in the narrative but also has a character of her own.

But, and honestly this is the bigger thing I think I was wrestling with while I was working on answer this ask, this is exactly my problem with designating a story as feminist/not feminist (usually with the implied division of good/bad). I’m thinking of things like the Imperial Radch series, which engages (or perhaps, doesn’t engage) with gender in a way that has nothing to do with the category of “women,” or The Left Hand of Darkness, which also futzes with gender but I wouldn’t necessarily call “feminist.”

I think that’s what I mean when I say I don’t have a lot of interest in the “is this feminist” question - I’m much more interested, overall, in asking “how does this text engage with gender?”

#anonymous #conversating #is this coherent? good question!#sometimes i read things #actual english major lise #that's...the closest things i've got anyways #lise has opinions

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captainderyn · 4 years

Note

1, 2, 19, 21, 22 + 29 for the ship headcanon meme for anyone :)

Thank you for the ask! Sorry that these took me a little while to answer :’) doing these for Vitaliya (V) and @delavairesslegacy‘s Julian

1. Who makes the first move and how?

V makes the first move romantically because Julian is so deep in his feels that he can’t see daylight. After years of being friends with benefits its really V that wants to push things into something more serious and ‘real’ for lack of better term. Not that that’s a bad thing--they both needed their years without strings attached to really realize what they wanted.

V more likely than not flat out asks Julian if he could ever see himself as anything more than her hookup/friend one time when they’re cuddling. Because she realizes that she likes it when he’s just holding her. When they wake up next to each other.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

I think Julian is a little more insecure of the two of them, just because he’s had different life circumstances than V has when it comes to family and love. And also in other areas, like with his scars and AI, Seven. I can’t speak for what makes him feel better but I know it varies from situation to situation.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

Aside from a few failed dates that never went anywhere, their first real date-date was going out to dinner somewhere. Just a fairly relaxed place, somewhere they could just talk and vibe. It was funny in a way, because they know each other’s bodies like the back of each other’s hands, they’ve been friends for years...and yet that next step is completely new and scary territory for them.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

They don’t really get nervous about going with one another, but I’d say its any place that has their ranks attached to them. Where Julian is Seven (or the rank he takes after he, Thea, and Five all shift positions from cipher agents*) and Vitaliya is Sergeant Major Slovoko.

(* Five becomes...Minister of Intelligence and Julian becomes head of the Cipher division...right? And Thea goes on to work alongside Five?)

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

To be honest it was probably in one of their rooms when they were first hooking up. When is probably sometime when Julian is in the later years of his Academy time. It’s a little bit prior to when V decides she’s going to enlist into the Imperial Army instead of going to higher education or entering the Intelligence Academy like her brother did.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

V falls a little bit more in love with Julian the more domestic life she gets to spend with him. The moments when she’s had a rough day at work and she comes home to find Julian making a pillow fort in their living room with the dogs swarming around him. Things like that.

#I answer things!#i think I mightve done a few of these for them before but ohh well #oc: Vitaliya #other people's ocs: Julian

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vinidra · 5 years

Text

i got tagged by @kurumeki to answer these hard music questions. thanks my sweetheart ♥

favourite band: dir en grey, luna sea, kuroyume, d’erlanger, decays, sukekiyo, lynch., the gazette, plastic tree, the novembers, plasticzooms, nocturnal bloodlust, asking alexandria, attack attack!, bring me the horizon, i see stars, eskimo callboy, parkway drive, ac/dc, pink floyd, the cure, led zeppelin, depeche mode, modern talking, linkin park, pro8l3m

favourite musician: kyo, die, kiyoharu, cipher, kyo (from d’erlanger), hazuki, inoran, j

favourite song: "tefu tefu” by dir en grey, “heavenly” by kuroyume, “sweetest coma again feat. dj krush” by luna sea

favourite genre: rock, metal, electronic music, korean pop, city pop

favourite instrument: electric guitar, bass guitar, drums, synthesizer, auto-tune

favourite era of music: -

favourite years of music: -

least favourite genre: folk metal, symphonic metal, country, ska, underground alternative, celine dion

been to any concerts?: really?

favourite broadcast concert: -

favourite album: “dum spiro spero” by dir en grey, “withering to death.” by dir en grey, “headache and dub reel inch” by kuroyume, “la vie en rose” by d’erlanger, “nakigara wo...” by kuroyume, “kuro to kage” by kuroyume, “the price of being a rose is loneliness” by d’erlanger, “mother” by luna sea, “lunacy” by luna sea, “baby who wanders” by decays, “red or maryam” by decays, “division” by the gazette, “the unraveling” by dir en grey, “immortalis” by sukekiyo, “toxic” by the gazette, “under the sun” by kiyoharu, “i believe in me” by lynch., “adoratio” by sukekiyo, “feminism” by kuroyume, “style” by luna sea, “shine” by luna sea, “reckless & relentless” by asking alexandria, “the singles 86>98″ by depeche mode, “man of the woods” by justin timberlake, "ultra" by depeche mode

any upcoming concerts?: -

#vinidra

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a-mad-scientist-approaches · 6 years

Text

The Cipher Conspiracy (5)

Another one! I think we’re getting to the halfway point now. I swear I don’t mean to make the chapters so long, it just happens. In other news, university has started up, so that’s why this took a little longer than usual.

If you don’t know what EMP stands for, it’s electromagnetic pulse. That’ll be useful for this chapter.

Many thanks to @hntrgurl13 for letting me unleash my imagination on her OC Adeline Marks. Both these people are so awesome!

The Addiford ship belongs to @scipunk63. It’s so fun to write!

AO3 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Chapter 5: Pyat' raz Ocharovaniye

Sacramento, California (USA) ∆

Icy rain dripped down Carla’s back, causing her to shiver even more than she already was. Today was a cold, cold, day. Since Stan had taken the car when he left for Oregon, she was left to make do with public transport, and she had to say, she couldn’t wait for her boyfriend to get back. Walking to the train station on a winter morning was not something she would have done by choice.

“Agent McCorkle?”

Carla looked up from the rivulets tracing their way around her boots, her umbrella momentarily threatening to fly away. A tall, dark woman was walking towards her. Carla did not envy her shaven head – her own was covered in hair and yet it still had goose bumps.

The woman’s voice sounded familiar. “That’s me,” Carla replied with a hint of caution.

“You wanted me to tell you everything I know about the Cipher Wheel,”

“Jheselbraum,” she realised.

Jheselbraum motioned to an undercover alcove provided by a closed coffee shop. Stepping into the shelter, Carla said, “I didn’t expect a face-to-face meeting,”

“There’s no way to say this without sounding creepy, but I wanted to catch you completely by yourself,”

“You’re right, that is creepy. Explain, please,”

Jheselbraum glanced around, making sure they really were really alone, and then said, “The FBI field office has a leak. Someone is feeding information on your investigation to the Cipher Wheel,”

There were several things that Carla could have answered with, but none of them seemed adequate. Sure, her paranoia had been spiking ever since she took the lead on the Cipher Wheel case, but being right? That was a whole other deal. She hadn’t thought there actually were spies watching her every move, but now it turned out she was wrong on two counts.

“You see why I wanted to talk with you alone?” Jheselbraum said into the silence. “Your case is being monitored, and by extension, so are you. Only within the workplace, I expect.” she added as Carla’s mouth opened in alarm. “You haven’t become enough of a problem for constant surveillance. However, this mole is also slowing down the investigation, and so I urge you to keep your collaboration with Oracle Division to yourself.”

“You still want me involved?” asked Carla, surprised.

“Against the Cipher Wheel, our best chance is to stand together.” Jheselbraum raised her umbrella and stepped back out into the rain. “I will send an agent to you shortly who can provide you with the information we have collected. Until then,” Jheselbraum nodded her farewell and smiled, then walked off. She soon disappeared into the deluge.

Marks Incorporated building, Beijing (China) ∆

Stan had to say, he was not impressed with Beijing. Smog clogged the city and it was not uncommon to see people in breathing masks walking the streets. Although, he supposed the cover on really bad days could be useful for committing crimes, which, to be honest, was probably what was going to end up happening.

Oh wait.

It was happening right now.

He really hoped this wasn’t going to get on Carla’s radar.

At the moment Stan was being led to a meeting of most of the board members for Marks Incorporated, using his (slightly tarnished) silver tongue to pose once again as Stetson Pinefield, a representative from the owners of the company themselves. Stan wasn’t sure what he was going to talk to the board about, but it was going to be good and would completely captivate them. When he thought of something, that is.

The breaking and entering was occurring at another location. Ford was at the actual manufacturing facility, and it was Stan’s job to provide a distraction which would stop the board members from realising what was up when – if, if – something went wrong.

On the subject of Ford, Stan was getting worried about his brother. He hadn’t opened up an inch since Stan had first talked to him in Oregon, which was unexpected to say the least. He had thought Ford would loosen up eventually, but no luck, even after two weeks straight together. His questions about what the shimmern was for were shut down. His prying about who they were working for was diverted. “Primarily research-based” his ass, nothing was this secretive unless it was dangerous. And if Ford was involved then Stan would stop at nothing until he found out exactly what was going on.

“In here, sir,” said the aide, directing him through the conference room door.

Crap. Maybe he should have been thinking about a cover story rather than Ford.

The board members stopped talking and turned as one to stare at him when he entered the room. He could feel their gazes nailing him to the wall. Stage fright started to freeze him up, even though weaving lies and charming the uncharmable was what he was born to do. It was as though he was in second grade giving a class presentation all over again. It would be so easy for the mild confusion on their faces to change to accusation. All he had to do was mess up, say the wrong thing, use the wrong lingo, and they’d be on him like piranhas.

Maybe there is something to this ‘planning ahead’ thing Ford’s so keen on.

“Uh, hi, I’m, er, Sta – Stetson Pinefield, I’m a representative from James and Constance Marks, and I’ll be sitting in on this meeting-type deal.” More stares. Stan started to sweat.

The door opened again.

“Howdy there, ladies and gentlemen, ah’m Fergus MacIntyre, and I’ll be representin’ James and Constance Marks in this meetin’ today,”

It was the bean man. The bean man from Oklahoma – who was actually a spy. What the hell? How was this even possible? Stan was sure he’d left no trace, nothing to identify himself by, or be tracked with, so what was this guy doing coming after him?

The man in question didn’t give any acknowledgement of Stan. He simply waited coolly for the board members to respond.

“You are . . . both . . . here representing Mr and Mrs Marks?” queried someone hesitantly.

Now the spy looked at Stan. It was barely for a second, but Stan saw all he needed to: the man was taken aback and very worried at that comment. He was here for some other reason, and he thought Stan was the actual representative.

Everyone was caught off guard for some reason or other, but Stan was back in his territory.

“Yes, good catch, we are both straight from the bosses ‘emselves. You were expecting this, weren’t you? I mean, there’s two bosses, so there’s gotta be two reps! Of course, that would be obvious to you, wouldn’t it? Mr and Mrs Marks wouldn’t employ a bunch of idiots to run their business!”

There was a hurried clearing of throats, shuffling of seats, and murmuring of agreements. One person gestured politely to the table, and Stan and the spy took their seats. The spy was stealing glances at him from the corner of his eye, but other than that he was inexpressive.

“So, what did Mr and Mrs Marks wish to discuss with us?”

Stan blanked again. Why hadn’t he thought this through?

“We’re here to negotiate the reestablishment of the original release date of all of Dr Hansen’s products,” said the spy. He then sent Stan another side-eye, as though preparing for a contrary exclamation.

Jeez, why is he in the field? He’s about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

“Yep,” Stan affirmed.

Marks Incorporated manufacturing facility, Beijing (China) ∆

Ford crept around the side of a long, low, brick building. He was walking parallel to the manufacturing facility’s security fence, after finding and subsequently rejecting several entry points. It was very well guarded tonight. Or maybe this was average for Marks Incorporated.

Passing into an alley between two buildings, he could barely see five feet ahead. The spotlights were not able to shine any light here. Ford pulled the night vision goggles out of his bag. These were much lighter than the military version, and looked more like skydiving goggles than anything else. Plus, they were much more effective; one of Ford’s own inventions.

Looking through them was like looking into a shady alley on a reasonably bright day. Full colour, everything thrown into sharp relief. This was the only reason Ford saw his attacker coming.

He sidestepped as a shadow on the wall lunged at him. The figure regained their balance quickly, spinning around to face him, sophisticated night vision goggles covering their own eyes, blonde hair tied out of the way –

“You!”

Agent Marks gaped at him, and Ford had to admit that he was astonished as well.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“Why are you here?” she said at the same time.

“Oh,”

Neither of them had been expecting to see the other here, apparently. They were on their own independent missions, which both just happened to be at this location. Looking at Adeline’s face, it seemed she was just as lost as him.

Well, first step was to notify his partner.

“Stan, come in,”

“Fidds, something’s happened,” Adeline was a millisecond behind him, and they both straightened up and gave each other interrogatory glares, trying to give the impression that they were the agent in control of the situation. Which was pointless, because he was the one in charge, and he should know it!

Stan finished making his excuses to the bathroom. “What is it?”

“Agent Marks is here,”

“Ford, this is getting ridiculous! How have you run into her on three separate missions now? I swear, either you’ve rigged up some kind of Adeline-magnet or you’re intentionally tracking her!” Stan burst out.

“How would I even-? No, never mind. It wasn’t intentional!”

“Whatever, Ford. Next time, I’ll do the field work and you can be holed up in some room by yourself. That way we might be able to avoid any more close encounters,”

“‘Close encounters’ is usually used to refer to aliens. Although, you do bring up a good point. This has been a very weird set of incidents in recent days. Perhaps if weirdness itself was a measurable activity, and it existed in a state of flux, pulling in certain things, or people-”

“You’re not fated to be together, Ford,”

“I never said-!”

“Just keep going as best you can. I’ve got my own situation: that other spy from Oklahoma’s here. He must be Marks’ partner, and he thinks I’m the actual representative,”

Ford got his mind back to the mission. “Keep it that way for as long as you can,”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna tell him ‘Hey! I’m an intruder too! Let’s be buddies!’ I gotta get back,”

“Copy,” said Ford.

Adeline had finished her conversation as well. “Okay, Agent Pines, listen up.” She said authoritatively. “I’ve had clashes before. The best thing to do is stay out of each other’s way, otherwise it’s going to end up as one big mess.”

Her eyes widened, as if she’d just remembered an important fact. “Like in Oklahoma! Give me back that necklace!” She dived at him, propelling him back against one wall and rooting through his pockets and bag.

“Adeline! Hey! Stop it!” She did not. “Why would I have it with me?!” He said, before she attempted a cavity search.

Adeline narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but stopped all the same. “Fine,”

“Alright then. Let’s get to it,” Ford said decisively, carefully edging out from the gap between her and the building and heading for the last possible entry point.

Adeline followed.

“What now?” he asked, ready to fend off another attack.

She raised an eyebrow. “To our missions? I need to get into the facility and plant an EMP, and I assume you need to steal something and ruin someone else’s day,”

Ford ignored the jab. He had other things to focus on.

This entry point was not as secure as the others, but it was still flooded with spotlights and watched by private security enforcers. A high chicken wire fence, topped with barbed wire, enclosed this section, but unlike the rest of the compound, it was not electrified. This must be a frequently-used loading yard.

He would not be able to get past this point either. At least, not alone.

“Should we work tog-?”

“Yes,” Adeline answered resignedly, with a glum look at the fortifications.

Marks Incorporated building, Beijing (China) ∆

Stan sat down in his chair, and the supposed Fergus MacIntyre did the same, coming in from another bathroom to unobtrusively rejoin the discussion. There was a screen on the wall displaying a graph which Stan tried to look interested in.

“. . . indicates that yes, we are rich . . .”

The meeting so far seemed to be a general overview of the company’s profits and losses. Nothing he needed to pay attention to. All he had to do was sit back and make sure these people were kept occupied until Ford was finished.

Well, this is boring. Might as well do something useful.

The spy was sitting right next to him, and as far as Stan knew, his brother hadn’t managed to figure out who he or Marks were working for. Then again, he might’ve and just not told me, he amended sourly.

“Whaddya think?” he asked quietly, nudging the man.

MacIntyre was staring at the screen slightly open-mouthed. Then he massaged his temple with two fingers.

“This is . . . unconscionably skewed data,” he said in disbelief. “Where’re their analysts? Why’re they employin’ them?”

Stan shrugged. “Business is business, I guess. But that graph looks like things are going well, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is those results just can’t be right. I might not know a lot about corporations, but a loss of zero percent in the past decade? I don’t believe that,”

“How can you not know a lot about corporations?” Toyed Stan, holding back a grin.

That seemed to bring MacIntyre back to reality. Stan could see the words “You’re a spy, act like it,” float across his brain.

“I – ah – I’m new in this here field. Mainly worked with computers before.” He coughed, and got back on track. “But if these darn moneywranglers are makin’ this much dinero, it ain’t through legal means. They must be underpayin’ the workers or bribin’ their allies, or somethin’,”

“Seems pretty smart to me.” Shrugged Stan. “More for yourself if you underpay your workers.”

“’Course ya think that.” Scoffed MacIntyre. “Why wouldn’t you? Yer on top. You don’t need ta think about helpin’ up people who’ve fallen in a hole and can’t get out. But that don’t mean you should shovel more dirt on top o’ them. That’s just cruelty.”

“So, what, your weapon of choice is the metaphor?”

“I just think people should help each other is all,” the spy said tightly, turning back to the presentation.

Stan couldn’t believe how easy it had been for the guy’s composure to slip. He was clearly used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, so Stan pegged him for someone who didn’t usually do this kind of thing. He’d mentioned computers, so a hacker? Probably. He was smart, that was for sure. Ford would like him. To be honest, Stan might have too, if not for that snub about not doing enough to help people. Hell, he’d been in that hole the guy was talking about – until Carla pulled him out (mostly). No one could say he didn’t understand what it was like to be in that position. Who was this guy to say that? He was trying to help, he was doing enough for Ford. He was.

Marks Incorporated manufacturing facility, Beijing (China) ∆

Addi dropped to the ground on the other side of the fence. Stanford joined her a moment later. It would only be seconds before the few guards noticed them in this glaring light, and to be honest, it was a miracle they hadn’t been spotted already.

Stanford made a reassuring gesture, then drew a gun with a triangular barrel. He aimed at an area across the compound, to the other side of the listless guards, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

“Nevermind, I can-” Addi started.

Then a truck exploded. She could feel the heat from thirty metres away, the flames were so intense some burnt themselves into invisibility, and the sound was so impressive it didn’t just deafen her, it slammed into her chest like an extra heartbeat. The spotlights blew out from the shockwave, shattered glass and melted metal flying everywhere.

“What is that thing?!” Her yell went unnoticed in the guards’ panic.

“Laser gun!”

“Cool!”

Stanford beamed and started running for the vacated entrance. “Thank you! Everyone else I’ve shown it to just complains that they can’t see the laser!”

“Well, you’ve got to be stealthy, right?” said Addi, darting through the door he held open for her as a second explosion rocked the facility. There must have been a chain reaction. “This is espionage. We need subtlety in our line of work.” More flames painted glowing sunsets on the wall before the door closed. Guards screamed for emergency services.

“I’m glad someone understands,”

Marks Incorporated building, Beijing (China) ∆

The talks kept droning on. MacIntyre hadn’t even managed to say his part on release dates or something. Stan stayed out of it all for the most part, occasionally volunteering an opinion or agreement to show he was paying attention (which he wasn’t). The spy sat in stony silence, probably trying not to give himself away any more than he already had. He was damn lucky Stan was a spy too.

Through a wall of glass windows, he saw the light for the elevator blink on and watched it with mild curiosity. The doors opened to reveal a very harried aide who looked more like they’d run up the stairs rather than taken the elevator. That wasn’t good. Coupled with the loud crackle in his ear a minute ago (which had sounded suspiciously like an explosion) that he had heard despite the fact that his earpiece was switched to the lowest volume setting possible, then it was probably because of Ford.

Time for a distraction.

The aide passed out of Stan’s view and a moment later there was a frantic knock at the conference room door before it burst open. “I am so sorry to interrupt but there’s been-”

Stan stood up and interrupted him. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think now would be a great time to talk about bankruptcy,”

The entire room went silent, all eyes fixed on him. The aide went stock-still, then quietly closed the door and left, pretending nothing had happened. Stan congratulated himself.

“Bankruptcy?” said someone in a small voice.

“Shut your mouth! The B-word is not appropriate language for an office environment!” snapped someone else. Then they addressed Stan. “What’s this about bankruptcy?”

“How come you get to say it?”

“It’s for your own good, sweet innocent pastry,”

“Aww,”

“Also, I’m older, so I’m the boss of you,”

“No fair! I’ll tell human resources on you!”

“Human resources are older than you too!”

“Bankruptcy is what this board is leading us into!” Stan said loudly over the emerging din. Jeez, these are the people in charge? They’re complete babies. “And it’s all because you’re making an irreversible mistake by launching those products early, as my good colleague will now explain.” He stared pointedly at MacIntyre.

“Ah! Right, yes.” The spy stood up as Stan sat down. “Ya can’t release Dr Hansen’s inventions.” He said, addressing the executives seriously and professionally. “Not until the original launch date. That time was decided on because it was safe to do so, an’ for the life of me I can’t imagine why you changed it!” MacIntyre lifted his arms in slight exasperation. “These products are so valuable that the stock market will be put way outa wack, not to mention more’n a few banks will close up shop. Marks Incorporated will make some big bucks for sure fer a while, yes, but in the long run we won’t be much better off. Bankruptcy’ll definitely be an optio-”

“He means it’ll definitely happen!” Stan hurriedly stepped in. “One hundred percent certain of it.”

“We’re going to need to see some research before we commit to anything,” said someone at the head of a table.

“You didn’t before you committed to this. Anyway, the word of James and Constance Marks, the owners of this company, should be enough for you. What are you, some kind of CEO?” Sniped Stan.

“Actually, yes,”

“Well even better! Because have we got some data for you! Right, Fergus?”

MacIntyre gave him a strange look. “Yes, er, Stetson, o’course I do,”

“Oh, good,” Stan sighed in relief and settled back into his chair. He’d been worried for a minute there, but he should have expected someone like MacIntyre, or whatever his real name was, would prepare well for this.

A whole bunch of papers came out and were spread across the table. That should be enough to keep them occupied for a while. At least, until the next off-site disaster.

Marks Incorporated manufacturing facility, Beijing (China) ∆

They found themselves on the ground floor of the main production warehouse. Addi had never seen a place so big. Conveyor belts stretched into the distance, and a few machines efficiently worked away at screwing pieces of metal together, flattening out sheets, and scanning devices, all the while monitored by screens displaying the interiors of whatever was on the line. No people were in sight, as it was late at night, and Addi (and no doubt Stanford too) had already ensured that the security cameras were playing on a fifteen-minute loop.

There was still the problem of what to do with Pines. Usually, she would stay as far away as possible and hope their missions didn’t clash. But then again, their missions had already clashed several times, and she still didn’t know who he worked for.

She glanced at Stanford out of the corner of her eye. He was glancing right back at her.

They drew their guns at the same time.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” said Stanford ruefully.

“Really? I’ve been looking forward to it.” Countered Addi sweetly. “All you’ve done is make things difficult for me, and I’d really like to repay that favour.”

“Believe me, you have. With interest,”

“Who’s the one with the necklace, Pines? Stop complaining.” She said sharply. “Especially when you consider the way you got a hold of it.”

All she could say was that she hadn’t meant to make things personal.

He cocked an eyebrow and Addi had a feeling that she’d just completely submerged herself in this can of worms. “You mean, when I helped you establish a cover story for no reason other than to help you complete your mission, and then proceeded with my own assignment, which you were perfectly able to prevent, but didn’t?”

That stung, as though an elastic band had been snapped across her wrist. “I was not in any position to stop you and you know it!” She seethed. “I was completely off my game because of that – that whole mess with my – you know! Don’t act all innocent like you weren’t exploiting it! I know you could tell I was tense; you wouldn’t go five minutes without giving me some concerned puppy-eyes! But you still thought it was okay to use my situation to your advantage so I wouldn’t be expecting it when you went for the necklace,”

“Adeline, you know in our line of work the mission comes first and sympathy last. Would you not have done the same thing?” He was sure he was right about this, that was obvious, but was there also a tinge of regret in his voice? She might be imagining it.

To be honest, Addi wasn’t sure what she would have done in his position. She knew the demands of her work, but she’d like to think she also had some compassion left.

“I would have at least considered . . . not . . . maybe doing it,” Addi said reluctantly. She frowned and looked away. This was ridiculous and she knew it. She would accomplish nothing by castigating him now, and while she was angry at him, it would be more accurate to say she was angry at the whole situation. She felt . . . betrayed? Was that the right word? By her parents’ expectations, by the sudden aid Stanford had given and then so unceremoniously taken away, by Fiddleford’s absence when it really mattered (not that it was his fault), and by her own self-confidence. Yeah. Betrayed.

After a quiet moment, Stanford said slightly shamefacedly, “I, um, I did. Consider it, I mean. I realise that doesn’t mean a lot now, because I went ahead with it anyway, but . . . if that’s the least you could have hoped for then it’s far less than what I should have done. I know what it’s like to be a disappoint to your parents . . . and vice versa.” He cleared his throat, like the next couple of words were a struggle. “I’m sorry.”

Their guns were almost lowered all the way anyway, but Addi made the truce official by holstering hers. “Thank you,” she said steadily.

There was an unsure moment.

“I think this is against orders.” Stanford ventured, but made no move to redraw his weapon. “We’re still technically enemies, even if we’re not on opposing sides of a mission.”

Addi volunteered a grin. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,”

Stanford seemed to seriously consider the legal implications of this for a minute, which made her wonder about who he worked for that would police something so sternly he even had to analyse his friends. She knew Jheselbraum for one was happy to let her keep private moments to herself if they did not overly influence a mission. These were kind of vague parameters, so Addi took some liberties.

Eventually she decided to break the tension by giving him a warm hug.

“Oh. Um,” said Stanford, carefully hugging her back. She didn’t think he was used to this.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Said Addi. “I need to arm an EMP in here in case my partner can’t convince the board to stop the manufacture of Dr Hansen’s other inventions. That should put this place out of action until I can figure out something more permanent. What do you have to do?”

“I need a some of these machines.” Stanford gestured around the warehouse.

“You mean those big assembly line machines?” Addi asked doubtfully.

“They’re collapsible.” Stanford assured her. “I should be able to fit the two I need in here.” He unslung the bag he was carrying from his shoulder and showed her.

“Have you accounted for the mass? They’re not going to be any lighter just because they’re smaller,”

Stanford faltered, then shook his head. “It should be fine,” he said confidently.

“Tell me if you need help,” Addi said, walking off to the centre of the building.

“You too,”

Addi set up the electromagnetic pulse safely under a workbench. No one would find it accidentally, and she could activate it remotely at any time, shutting off all power in the building indefinitely. If Fiddleford did manage to convince the board, then there would be no need for it, and she could permanently deactivate it. Although, Jheselbraum’s superiors would most likely tell her to leave it online.

There was a banging and grating sound, where it looked like Stanford was trying to dismantle a large pair of tongs.

“What are those things?”

“They’re – oof – used to shape – dammit – materials before they solidify.” He huffed, succeeding in folding it up and shoving it into his bag. “Just one more and then I’m done.” He searched eagerly around, finding the one he was after quickly. “Ahah! This is for the intricate insertion of miniscule parts which are too small for people to work with directly.”

This machine was considerably smaller, and looked like it had been awarded a position of honour with its solitary space on a metal table.

“Sounds like you’re building quite a contraption,” Addi prompted. Stanford pretended not to hear her, and proceeded with unscrewing some of its delicate arm lengths so they folded over, making a neat box.

“You’re into all this science-y stuff then?” she asked, leaning against a belt while he worked.

“Very much so.” He responded emphatically, with a smile. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather spend my time researching than doing this sort of thing. I always meant to, but I guess things just . . . worked out differently. I’ll go back to it one day, and it’s not like I’m unable to do any now.”

“Wow, a regular little genius, aren’t you?” Addi teased gently.

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly. Addi snorted.

“What about you? Are you interested in all this ‘science-y stuff’, as you put it?” Stanford asked.

“A little. I dabbled.” She said playfully. “When Jheselbraum offered me a job I accepted.”

CRAP.

Stanford looked up at the name, but didn’t inquire further. Oh thank God. He doesn’t know about her.

“Alright! All done,” he said proudly, and lifted the machine off its place and into his very full bag.

“Did you check for alarms?” Addi said suddenly, snapping back into mission-mode. She shouldn’t have been snapped out in the first place.

“No need to worry, these things aren’t guarded as closely as you might think,” Stanford said airily.

BEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAA!

“Nice,” grumbled Addi as alarms and red lights blared.

“Don’t worry, I can fix this!”

The entrance they had come through burst open again. The (now smoking and sooty) security guards ran in, spotted them, and charged.

“Fix it faster!” Addi said, drawing her gun again.

“Over there! I have an idea!”

Addi followed him without question, and they stopped at a maintenance station beside what looked like a streamlined forklift.

“Hop in!” Ford leapt into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Don’t worry-”

“Stop telling me not to worry!”

The forklift careened off, heading for an exit. Addi drew her gun and aimed at the pursuing security guards. Warning shots made them scatter, but they regrouped near a cleaning cart and piled on, the vehicle’s dusters whirring as they gave chase.

Marks Incorporated building, Beijing (China) ∆

“Well, we can’t argue with that,” said one of the executives, and the others nodded in agreement. One by one they signed the form Fiddleford handed to them, signalling the end of the negotiation. He had done it. Marks Incorporated was back on track.

Now he just had to sit through the rest of the meeting without dancing around in joy. He thought that would be fairly easy once the board went back to discussing tax policies.

Unnoticed, Fiddleford unmuted the volume on his earpiece. He did not like what he heard.

“Go faster!”

“We’re already at maximum speed!”

“Then we need to figure something out, because they’re gaining!”

Addi was in trouble. He tried desperately to think of an excuse which allow him to leave without appearing suspicious, or jeopardising the contract he’d written up. It had to be good, something like –

“MY WIFE’S GONE INTO LABOUR!” Pinefield screamed, and sprinted out the door.

That’d work.

“Er . . . MINE TOO!” Fiddleford yelled, and ran after him.

He ignored the elevator, which would most likely be full of people, and headed straight for the stairs. Banging open the door, he saw Pinefield had had the same idea and was already a floor below. Thankfully, they were only on the fifth floor, so there wasn’t much distance to cover until he reached ground-level, and then it was a simple matter of getting back to the car –

He swore. The taxi. He’d taken a taxi to get here.

He ran out the lobby doors, hoping to see a taxi nearby. No luck. What else could he do? Addi might be fighting for her life right now!

There was a helicopter pad at the rear of the building. He raced for it. It wasn’t long before he realised he was running alongside someone.

Was Pinefield heading for the helicopter too?

“Stan Pines, CIA – maybe,” the man said, stopping suddenly and turning to him. “Short version is we’re both spies and our partners are in trouble. Wanna share the helicopter?”

That . . . actually made a lot of sense. He’d thought the guy didn’t really seem like a corporate representative. “Fiddleford McGucket, classified. Do ya know how to fly one of these?”

“No clue.” Said Stan. “You?”

Fiddleford looked at the machine. He knew how it worked, in theory. He peered through a window at the controls.

“Fiddleford?”

“Get in, agent,”

Once he was strapped into the pilot’s seat he took stock of the gauges and dials in front of him. They seemed simple enough. He’d designed and built far more complicated things while drunk.

“That should be the start . . .” he muttered.

The rotors began to spin.

“Wait, you have flown one of these before, right?”

Fiddleford flicked a few more switches and donned a headset.

“Fiddleford?”

He handed another headset to Stan, who was looking pale, and clutched it tightly.

“Talk to me, McGucket, have you done this before or not?!”

“No,” grinned Fiddleford, staring out the windshield in excitement, “but how hard can it be?”

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind. Ford can die. I did not sign up for this. Let me out, McGucket. Let me out now. No! NONONONO!”

The helicopter lifted off the ground, wind whipping around the platform, Fiddleford’s dream of flight taking root in his mind. He laughed maniacally. Stan yelled.

Marks Incorporated manufacturing facility, Beijing (China) ∆

The forklift and the cleaner were both severely dented, not to mention overturned. The forklift’s arms were moving up and down – or, well, side to side – on their own, scraping against the hallway floor. Adeline’s parent’s security did not mess around when it came to intruders. Ford was not sure whether they were trying to capture or kill them. Hopefully capture.

A gun went off next to one of his ears, deafening it. The other was ringing badly. A shout left him, but he could only feel it. He pushed the shock and pain aside and snatched the gun away, chopping down on the man’s arm and sending an elbow into his face. He turned and shot another guard who was sneaking up behind him in the leg, then turned back to the first, and kicked him out cold just as he bent double from the previous strike.

Adeline had moved further up ahead, and was facing off against her own two adversaries. Ford regained some of his hearing as he ran over. Before he arrived, she managed to incapacitate one, however she was barely a second too slow to stop the other from drawing a stun gun and pressing it to her side.

She gasped sharply, freezing up completely as the electric shock went through her. Fortunately, the guard was too distracted to notice Ford. A swift strike to the head sent her to the floor. Adeline’s knees buckled, and he caught her under her arms, sparing a moment to check on her. She was shuddering, and had broken out in a sweat, and looked like she was going to throw up. The adrenaline in her system might have exacerbated the electricity’s effects.

“That sucked . . .” she breathed.

“Can you walk?”

“Urrgh . . . give it a second,”

The last guard to be dispatched groaned, letting Ford know she was conscious. They needed to leave.

“Your second’s up!” He pulled Adeline’s arm around his shoulders and hurried away, quickly finding another hall. As that set of doors banged closed, he heard footsteps, slow at first, but gaining speed. He hurried faster, Adeline trying her best to find her feet.

Through an office, down a small hallway, hope there’s no security cameras, in here!

They stumbled into another warehouse, this one substantially smaller and darker. The lights were off, but Ford could dimly make out rows and rows of shelves, all bearing boxes.

“Storage room,” grunted Adeline.

They rounded a corner just as the guard followed them inside. Evidently this wasn’t as good a hiding place as he’d thought.

Adeline tugged him towards a tiny, narrow recess, almost completely pitch black. They scurried into it, Ford repressing the urge to ask if Adeline could stop breathing so laboriously.

He half- propped her up against a shelf and half- kept a hold of her, so that they were facing each other. If he looked to his left, he could see the entrance to their nook, and the dim light beyond it.

The footsteps neared. The guard was just around the corner. She was coming up the aisle. All too soon she was one shelf away. What little light Ford and Adeline could see by was blocked out as the guard slowly eclipsed their hideaway, silhouette menacing their eyes, gun drawn, stepping carefully. Adeline stopped breathing altogether. Ford readied himself either to push her to the back of the niche or launch himself at the guard.

They were plunged into absolute darkness as the entrance was completely covered. After a few agonising seconds of listening into the strained silence and trying not to make any noise whatsoever, the dim light began to leak back in. The guard was passing by. She had not seen them. Her footsteps receded into the distance, and she evidently decided to give up, because they heard the door close again a minute later.

There was a huge gasp as Adeline took her first full breath in a while. Ford sighed as well.

“That was close,” he said quietly.

“No kidding.” She replied, and huffed out a laugh. “‘I can fix this!’ You dork.”

She smiled again, inciting him to give one in return, and – yes, they were really close. He would have backed away but there were boxes pressing into him from every direction except forward. Adeline was still smiling. Everything seemed really quiet. Was that normal? It was better than noise, he supposed. Her arm was still slung partially around his shoulders, and she did not seem inclined to remove it. She was so close and she looked so beautiful, even in the half-light, and he felt like smiling forever and God he wanted to kiss her – kill her! Kill her! Because . . . she was an enemy . . . right? Except he didn’t think that label applied anymore.

“You two okay?”

Adeline shrieked, and Ford instinctively shot forwards to heroically shield her from the guard who had come back to finish the job – or that was his intention. During the process he elbowed her in the gut and winded her.

“Jeez, it’s only me,” Stan said in mild offence.

“Addi! Yer alive!” cheered the man with him.

“Uh huh. Unless you give me another heart attack,” coughed Adeline weakly. Ford hurriedly extricated himself from the cranny, trying stop his own heart from pounding its way out of his chest.

“Er . . . Stanford?” asked Adeline worriedly, following him out only to be met with a subtly different-looking Stan.

“Stanley, actually. Ford’s my brother. And you must be Agent Marks.” Stan grinned. “Nice kicking my bro’s ass in Italy. Very original.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Adeline grinned right back, winking at Ford. He was positive he went so red his face was luminous.

“You’re brothers?” said Adeline’s partner in disbelief, also examining them. “And yer both called Stan?”

“Don’t you try to be funny about names, Fidds,” Stan said irritably, but Ford was good at recognising the signs, and knew his brother was not genuinely annoyed.

“Fair point. Fiddleford McGucket.” The other man introduced himself. “Adeline’s told me about you, Stanford.”

“Call me Ford,” Ford requested without quite knowing why. He figured Adeline at least had earned the right.

“Then you can call me Addi,” Adeline told him. There was no mistake there. She was definitely looking at him, specifically asking him to call her that. Did people usually feel warm inside when talking about nicknames? He smiled back at her.

“Well, we should go. Nice finally meeting you when you’re not, y’know, unconscious or on the other side of a room. It’s kind of weird that this is the first time we’ve introduced ourselves, when you think about it. Anyway, see you around, I guess.” Stan waved and turned to go.

“Where are we going?” inquired Ford.

“To get a cab. NOT any helicopters or other aviation vehicles.” For some reason he looked pointedly at Fiddleford, who rolled his eyes.

The goodbye seemed rather abrupt to Ford, but then again, what was he hoping to stay for?

Adeline waved, and he tried to breathe evenly.

∆

Addi dropped her hand, which appeared to have leapt up on its own. She still felt a bit jittery, and she didn’t think it was from the electroshock.

“I doubt we’ll be seeing ‘em again,” said Fiddleford as they walked to their own exit point.

“Well I doubt that.” said Addi mischievously. “We still don’t know who they work for, and I want to find out.” She showed him the watch on her wrist. A blue dot pulsed on a map of the building they were in, slowly moving away.

Fiddleford looked up. “You put a tracker on him,”

“Oh yes. I’m looking forward to seeing those two again,”

Maybe Stanford a little bit more.

Okay, a lot more.

Beijing Ya Mei International Hotel, Beijing (China) ∆

Ford came back from the bathroom to see Stan still sitting in front of the television, watching a show neither of them understood, without the subtitles on. At this point they were just killing time until someone came by pick up Ford’s machines.

On the table, his phone rang. Before he could stop him, Stan answered it.

“Ford’s phone,”

Ford raced around the table to gesture frantically at his brother to give it to him. Stan went through a whole range of expressions in under a minute, starting with vague disinterest. Next was surprised comprehension.

“Ford’s boss? Yeah, I mean, he’s been so secretive about you.”

The sudden suspicion that overtook Stan’s face was jarring. “Er, thanks. Ford’s right here if you want to talk to him.” He handed the phone over.

“Sixer!” Greeted Bill.

“Sorry about that, I was out of the room for a moment,” explained Ford.

“No harm done. At least, none that can’t be rectified. Anyway, as you’ve probably guessed, the last part of your mission is at hand! Then we can finally get to work on making that gun. You mentioned how we needed a filament material for the bulb?”

“Yes. You’ve found something suitable?”

“Indeed I have. It was not easy, lemme tell you, but I’ve gotten in contact with someone ready to make a deal,”

“That’s great! I can’t believe we’re almost there, this design seems to have been in the making for an eternity!”

“You read my mind, buddy,”

“So where do I have to go? Who do I need to meet?”

“You ever heard of the Russian Mafia?”

∆

Stan thought that Ford’s boss seemed strange, to say the least. The guy had barely said two sentences to him, and already he was getting strong Stay Away vibes. The fact that Ford trusted him did not bode well, either. Stan knew a conman’s wheedle when he heard it.

Ford quietly hung up the phone. His face was twisted into extreme concern, as if he had an exam the next day that he wasn’t confident about. In short, Stan hadn’t seen that look before.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Stan nudged him, trying to sound casual. “We’ll face it together, huh?”

Ford sighed. “I’m not sure how long you’re going to keep saying that for,”

Stan didn’t really like to show people he had, y’know, feelings that often, but his next words slipped out on autopilot.

“However long ya need,”

Jeez, he was getting soft.

#gravity falls #spy au #double o sixer au #stanford pines #stanley pines #adeline marks #fiddleford mcgucket #carla mccorkle #jheselbraum #bill cipher #starla #addiford #the cipher conspiracy #fanfiction #my writing

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shark-myths · 6 years

Text

Dizzy On Dreams

With the concept of dreaming showing up on almost every Mania track, I’ve been itching to dig into this metaphor that Pete has used so consistently over the years. Then I thought about IOH being framed and styled as entirely within a dreamscape; then I thought, what is Folie a Deux, a shared madness, but a dream shared by two—a madness outside of reality? And remember when Pete said of Patrick, on one of his many pre-hiatus blogs, I think I dreamt him?

And then I was like, fuck. I need to write this post.

Three days later, Pete posts THIS on Twitter, framing the whole tour and possibly even the concept of touring as a dream? HOW IS A GIRL SUPPOSED TO COPE WITH THIS SHIT HONESTLY?????

So hello and welcome to shark-myths’ DREAM EXTRAVAGANZA!

Lines like FUCT’s I’m sleeping on your folks’ front porch again, dreaming show us an early romantic association with the phrase. It lays early groundwork for the use of ‘dream’ as referring to an imaginary, might-have-been, wish of a relationship that is not grounded in reality. That is not grounded in waking life. (I woke up, no luck, if you’ll permit a brief time-traveling leap to Mania—and I do devoutly believe this is how Mania is meant to be used, as a time-traveling cipher to fill out more context for earlier songs and themes, earlier joyous, unsustainable madnesses from Pete’s life.)

One of the first really meaty appearances of the word is in notorious gay anthem Gin Joints. (The Petericks definitely made out inside a crashed car; some theories place the Van Crash on the way to the Grand Theft Autumn video shoot as the likeliest time point for their first kiss, as memorialized on the cover of FUCT.) Gin Joints gives us this: We’re making out inside crashed cars, we’re sleeping through all our memories. I used to waste my time dreaming of being alive, now I only waste it dreaming of you. This gives us an early division between his lived life and whoever (*coughPATRICKcough*) he’s dreaming of/with.

Next, IOH. It’s 2007 and, in his suicide song, Pete writes, You are the dreamer and we are the dream. This is generally read as a loving message to the fans, a reading that I fully support. The definition it gives us, of the band and/or the Petericks being the dream, is what I’m going to go with for most of this analysis.

Next significant invocation is of course, Disloyal Order, the anthemic opener for Folie, their most ambitious, artistic, and personal record yet. The record opens: I’m coming apart at the seams, pitching myself for leads in other people’s dreams. (And does this evoke the stitch line from Hold Me Tight or Don’t for anyone else? Just saying.) Disloyal Order, with the boycott love/detox just to retox chorus, is one of my all-time Peterick jams. The drug use metaphor that is so incredibly linked with Patrick alone it prominently in the realm of #trysttheory. Significant is the ‘someone else’s dreams’: it tells us Pete is focusing on a relationship, a shared and aspirational happiness he can only conceive of in dreamspace, that does not belong to him. Let’s just go ahead and assume he’s thinking about Patrick. The numbness and the blurry headedness of this song also speak to the pill addiction and other maladaptive coping Pete was relying on during this time period. He was erasing himself, trying to disappear into dreams that he hates himself for having. He was sick with what he could not have, with what he was trying to make work instead—sick on reality (Young and Menace, anyone?). And he sings about how sick he is, in Disloyal Order and throughout the album.

America’s Suitehearts, of course, is played entirely as a dream/nightmare/alternate reality. The video and the alternate personas of the boys gives us that much. And Pete writes why won’t the world revolve around me? In my dreams, trees grow all over the streets. Then the song turns into the anthem of I’m in love with my own sins; you can bow and pretend you don’t know you’re a legend; time just hasn’t told anyone else yet; I’m sorry, I just let my love loose again. What do we think this song is about guys. What sin i n p a r t i c u l a r.

And even before Disloyal Order, FAD opens with the hidden pre-track Lullabye, a song tied closely with the album art and with many people’s reaction to the stitch line in Hold Me Tight Or Don’t. The chorus is pure hope, but tinged so sad: it’s not what it seems in the land of dreams. Don’t worry your head, just go to sleep—when you wake up the world will come around. To me, this song seems to speak almost directly to the questions asked in America’s Suitehearts. It reminds Pete of the reality—that whatever he shares with Patrick is not what he wants it to be, whether it’s sex or just intimate friendship—and it also shows his hope that maybe, one of these times, he’ll wake up and reality will come around to what he’s dreaming of.

You ready to kick things up a notch post-hiatus? We need, like, the Mario Kart star song playing double-time here, because this is a new intensity level. Like, fucking grab onto something. The albums are about to transition from gay reading to gay reality.

Because what is the first SRAR single but My Songs? Besides, in the mean time, I’m just dreaming of tearing you apart. Pete is becoming bolder and more explicit about what he’s dreaming of. He writes too, now the world can never get me on my level, as if saying—even with all we’ve been through, hiatus and not talking and everything, I still love you this much. There is no dose of reality that will talk me out of this dream. All these years and I’m still dreaming of tearing you apart. The whole song speaks very aptly to the idea of secret trysting in the pre-hiatus years too, doesn’t it?

Oh, fucking Where Did The Party Go. We were the kids who screamed ‘we weren’t the same’ in sweaty rooms, now we’re doomed to organizing walk-in closets like tombs speaks to clearly to the passage of time and the way their lives have changed, how fame and age have changed them, and to nostalgia for the Van Days era Pete has always glorified in his writing. Then: so let’s fade away together one dream at a time.

My. Fucking. Heart.

As we move into post-hiatus material, you’ll notice that very often, the dreaming of becomes dreaming with in implication—Pete is identifying a collaborator, a fellow dreamer. How many times do u want me to scream TRYST THEORY ‘cuzzzzzz…

The Mighty Fall: Your crooked love is just a pyramid scheme and I’m dizzy on dreams. But if you ask me two’s a whole lot lonelier than one. Baby we should have left our love in the gutter where we found it. ‘Cause you think your only crime is that you got caught. IF THIS ISN’T ABOUT TRYST THEORY I WILL TURN IN MY BADGE AND TIN HAT, GUYS. Our love—this is not Pete watching from a closet, anymore. This is a Pete who held in his hands what he wanted most in the world and has seen it sullied or slipped away or ruined. The loneliness of trysting and each pretending they don’t want more, believing the other doesn’t either. The idea of their love being a gutter-thing pulling up associations of queerness/social taboo and infidelity. The idea of crimes and getting caught. And Pete, not caring that the trysts would never pay out on the full bid of his aching heart, because he’s dizzy on dreams. His reasoning is shot and he’s outside of reality again, so intoxicated on the moments they do share. Our drugstore cowboy. Our self-identified medicine man.

And finally, we close out the album with this: I need more dreams and less life.

😭😭😭😭😭

I CANNOT

On Pax-Am, the track Demigods (which is, imo, an incredibly important Pete-reflecting-on-himself song) gives us the question: what if it were all a dream? What is we were demigods? They’d take to our knees, raging at the half of our sins. Someone who can think about something other than blowjobs and secret sinful queerness pls offer an alternate explanation because I’m having a heart attack. If they were demigods, they’d still be half-human. They could do anything, but they’d still have to answer to the human world, wouldn’t they? And if we knew even the half of their sins…

Cue AB/AP, the Gayest Album So Far. The title track gives us I wish I dreamt in the shape of your mouth/but it’s your thread count I really care about, which is explicitly about sex. As you’re drifting off to sleep, all those dirty thoughts of me, they were never yours to keep. If this is directed at Patrick, it’s the idea that when they slip off to sleep together—in every sense of the phrase, but especially in the sense of entering dreamspace, the sometimes-shared fiction that they can enjoy for a few hours: that they are together, that they love each other out loud to each other and everyone else—that when they slip into this, it is never yours to keep. Our boy cannot set down what he knows of reality. Not even here. Altar boys (once sacred, once holy), altered boys (who they are now), we’re the things that love destroys. AB/AP is so gay and so seeded with small hopes and so, so sad. I absolutely believe that the Pete who wrote it believed he had been destroyed.

I have a lot to say on the song Centuries and the theme Pete plays with about immortality through embracing gay love—Immortals, all his references to the afterlife, all of his Pete Pan/Lost Boys fuckery has this thread—but for now, let’s talk just about mummified my teenage dreams and who we think his teenage dreams were about. The idea of legends/demigods and gold comes back here, and he evokes the concept mistake, which is a way he often writes about trysting. And: I was only born inside my dreams; I am the opposite of amnesia. Pete won’t let himself be forgotten, won’t let Patrick forget. He’s only felt wholly, truly alive and realized in those moments where they were together, or where he dreamed they were.

Uma Thurman: I slept in last night’s clothes and tomorrow’s dreams. Is Patrick tomorrow’s dreams? If you went to your own home for the night, rather than someone else’s, you wouldn’t be left wearing last night’s clothes…

Immortals: I’ll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams, I’m the sand in the bottom half of the hour glass (meaning: something that’s already gone past), I try to picture me without you but I can’t. Also, the line you pull the blackout curtains down (just not for long) seems like Patrick denying feelings, moving away from Pete and the tryst—plunging them into daylight, reality, wakefulness. Denying him at daybreak and all that Judas-y stuff. And then returning, again and again, to the shared and darkened space of dreams.

And then. And then there’s fucking Mania.

Young and Menace: Woke up on the wrong side of reality, and there’s a madness coursing right through me. Is Pete saying he’s tired of this waking life reality that doesn’t hold space for him and Patrick to be together? Is that the madness he means—that he’s ready to throw caution to the wind and really ask for, and believe he deserves, to love Patrick out loud for the first time?

Champion: I’m back with a madness… I got nothing but dreams inside.

Last of the Real Ones: I’m here at the beginning of the end of infinity with you. I’m done with having dreams, the thing that I believe, you drain all the fear from me.

Wilson (Expensive Mistakes): on the wrong side of paradise (evokes Y&M, the idea that he’s on the wrong side of something that could be so perfect and good.) There’s nothing more cruel than to be loved by everybody but you.

Hold Me Tight Or Don’t (and the all caps here is consistent across sources and deliberate, I think—like. Pete is not being subtle anymore and he wants us to know it.) I just pinch myself, no longer comatose. I woke up, no luck. I woke up, no luck. …I want to sleep on every piece of fuzz and stuffing that comes out of you.

Hold Me Tight, Or Don’t. Is Mania Pete’s way of saying—I don’t want to wait anymore? Let’s not just pretend, let’s have it all? Even if he’s growing out of the idea of running away down south from all of their problems, is he asking Patrick for—whatever version of a big poly happy ending he can have? Is he saying, I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you? I’ve taken too many hits off this memory and now I need more? We were never just friends? Hold ME TIGHT or DON’T????

ARE YOU GUYS WITH ME HERE????? BC I AM D Y I N G

Some gems from related themes for my true believers out there:

Grand Theft Autumn: when I wake up, I’m willing to take my chances on the hope I forget that you hate him more than you notice I wrote this for you.

Reinventing The Wheel To Run Myself Over (the lyrics of which are written by Patrick, so it doesn’t fit as well with this obsessively deep dive into Pete’s interiority, but let’s acknowledge it in the canon): I can’t wake up to these reminders of who I am

I’m Like A Lawyer: me and you, setting in a honeymoon, if I woke up next to you (AAAAAAAH)

She’s My Winona: Never the same person when I go to sleep as when I wake up (likely about the fickleness of media coverage and the vagaries of fame, etc)

w.a.m.s.: when all the others were just stirring awake, I’m trying to trick myself to fall asleep again

20 Dollar Nose Bleed: Who will I be when I wake up next to a stranger?

Alone Together: I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead

Novocaine: I am your worst, I am your worst nightmare

Thank you for joining me for a thorough screechy documentation of Pete’s use of the dream metaphor and how I think it relates to Peterick! Hit me up with your own thoughts and theories and let me know if you’ve got any meta requests! More to come, and check out my lyrics meta and/or tryst theory tags to tide you over.

Brought to you by Fyne Purveyors of Bandom Crafts, the manufacturers of Tryst Theory ™, and our mother organization, the Peterick Institute

#lyrics meta #peterick #fob #fall out boy #pete wentz #tryst theory #mania #dreams metaphor #fall out boy meta #fob meta

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loveoaths · 3 years

Text

@sunchascd asked: plots please for temari

PLOTTING MEME ! ( accepting )

okay okay, lots of ideas here!

one: diplomatic relations. before haku becomes mizukage in their mizukage verse, they shadow mei and go on diplomatic missions to other villages. for the first time in history, kirigakure is considering outside alliances, so it's a pretty big deal. as suna's ambassador and sister of the kazekage, i can imagine haku either visiting suna and working with temari, or inviting temari to kiri to negotiate a path forward between their two villages.

( this option could work with any of haku's verses tbh, including the no-gen.ocide and chieftain verses. )

two: rival interests. ( tied to my crime boss au ) now that haku and zabuza are running gato's criminal empire, they have a finger in every nation's metaphorical pie. some nefarious dealings could get them on someone's shitlist, and temari is deployed to look into this criminal empire.

three: monsters and men. ( tied to my edo tensei verse ) after the fourth shinobi war has come and gone and peace has shakily settled over the main elemental nations, word of strange disturbances at one of wind country's main oasises has reached temari. she is deployed to discover what is going on, and is startled to find an undead kirigakure shinobi ... and, more shockingly, the ghost of her uncle yashamaru. ( because i write him too so why not ;} )

i have a few other ideas for plots with temari and rasa, kimimaro, yashamaru, and a few others, but i'll handle those over on my multimuse.

#❛ CIPHER DIVISION / ( answered asks. )#:) i just think they have very different personalities and could have some cool banter / arguments #❛ OOC.#❛ HENGE! / ( ooc. )#sunchascd

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rabbitcruiser · 4 years

Photo

National Navajo Code Talkers Day

As World War II raged, the need arose for the improvement of coded messages on the Pacific Front. These messages conveyed secret information from battle lines to air bases and other locations. Cipher machines, which did the coding, didn't work well in the jungles of the Pacific Islands. Additionally, the Japanese were adept at code-breaking, because many knew English well—many even had been educated in the United States. Ultimately, the Navajo Code Talkers were the answer, and we celebrate and remember them today, on National Navajo Code Talkers Day.

Philip Johnston, a World War I veteran, hoped to contribute to World War II as well. He had been raised by missionaries on a Navajo reservation and had grown up speaking the tribe's language. He came up with the idea of basing a code off of the language, as he knew other tribes didn't know the language, and that the general public didn't know it either. In February 1942, Johnston visited Camp Elliott near San Diego, along with four bilingual Navajos, who demonstrated the language to Marine staff officers. The officers were impressed, and Major General Clayton Vogel requested Marine Corps Headquarters in Washington, D.C. to authorize the recruiting of 200 Navajos to be Marine communication specialists. Headquarters approved the authorization of 30, and 29 ultimately became part of the original Code Talkers. These men had all of the qualifications that were required to be a Marine but also were fluent in English and Navajo.

On May 5, 1942, the recruits arrived in San Diego for seven weeks of basic training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. They then went to the Fleet Marine Force Training Center at nearby Camp Elliot and did intensive training with transmitting and radio operation. They also developed the code that would be used in battle. At the time, the Navajo language had no alphabet and no written form. The recruits—who became the 382 Platoon, U.S. Marine Corps, and were referred to as "The Navajo School" while at boot camp—came up with a two-part code. The first part was a 26-letter alphabet that corresponded with Navajo words. The second part of the code was a vocabulary with 211 English words that had Navajo synonyms. Over the course of the war, this expanded to 411 words.

The role of the Navajo Code Talkers was largely unknown for many years, and the program was classified until 1968. In 1982, Congress passed House Joint Resolution 444, which requested President Ronald Reagan to designate National Navajo Code Talkers Day on August 14. On July 28, Ronald Reagan issued Proclamation 4954, which said that the day was "dedicated to all members of the Navaho Nation and to all Native Americans who gave of their special talents and their lives so that others might live. I ask the American people to join me in this tribute, and I call upon Federal, State and local officials to commemorate this day with appropriate activities."

In 2000, the Honoring the Navajo Code Talkers Act was signed into law. It authorized the president to present the Congressional Gold Medal to the original Code Talkers. This presentation was done the following year, and the Code Talkers that weren't a part of the original group were given the Congressional Silver Medal. In addition to today being National Navajo Code Talkers Day, it is also Navajo Code Talkers Day. This day was designated by the Navajo Nation Council in 2007.

How to Observe

Source

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yesyunniechan · 7 years

Text

Detective Conan File 1001 [Japanese to English Translation]

This is just like the blood ceiling...

Se: Just like the Blood Ceiling...

S: Yeah...

S: What's more, the bloody footprints on the ceiling...

S: Lead to the window...

Se: The criminal wanted to pretend that they’d lifted the victim up and stabbed him...

Se: Before walking on the ceiling...

Se: And disappearing from the 15th floor window...

Se: As if they had both wings capable of flight and the ability to move the human body as they wish...

Se: Like it was done by some monster...

[It was supposed to be a fun school trip...]

K: Tengu...

K: Are you saying that Nishiki-kun was killed by a tengu?

I: T-Tengu?!

K: I mean, if we’re talking about a monster that can fly and possesses supernatural powers...

A: W-what are you saying?! There’s no way they actually exist in real life, right?!

K: Well, what else could it be?

M: Tengus are fictional...

M: They only exist in stuff like that movie we recently shot...

M: So are you saying that some fictional demon killed Nishiki?

S: It does look like the criminal wanted to imitate a tengu at all costs, doesn’t it?

S: Even the victim’s pocket

...

S: Contains an aralia leaf, which tengus usually carry with them...

S: What’s more...

S: There’s a new cipher...

S: Maybe the cipher resembling this one that Nishiki-san received last week...

S: Was a murder notice?..

I: M-murder notice?!

I: Oi-oi, another cipher appeared, so that must mean...

K: That somebody else will be killed as well?

Se: Did the Dekuri guy who created the cipher hold a grudge against Nishiki-san?

I: N-no... Right?

A: Y-yeah...

S: Well, maybe the crime was committed by someone who was discontent with that Crimson Shura-Tengu movie that was meant to premier this weekend...

S: Since its script has been scattered around...

S: By the way...

S: What’s with these slippery pieces of paper stuck onto the paper here and there?

M: Post-it notes! Nishiki has been using these sorts of sticky notes lately, claiming that they are easy to paste and to tear off...

M: Since the film was to be novelized, Nishiki brought the script with him to the Hotel in order to do some tweaking...

K: He was so eager to finish it before the premier...

Se: Hey, you said that you’d all planned to gather in Nishiki-san’s room in ten minutes to go to the bar, so...

Se: Who was the first one who came to this room?

I: M-me and Agata....

A: When we arrived, there was no answer even though we rang the doorbell...

S: If that’s true, then it must mean that the criminal killed Nishiki-san and left those footprints within those 10 minutes...

Se: Right... When we visited this room earlier, there were no foot-prints...

S: So? Have you called the police?

M: Yeah... the bellboy that opened the door with the master key

left to report it... He just contacted us and said that Ayanokoji-keibu of

the Kyoto prefecture is on his way...

Se: Ayanokoji-keibu of the Kyoto prefecture,huh...

S: That person has a chipmunk, so he’s a bit of an unorthodox police inspector... But he’s pretty quick-witted, so no worrie...

S: ..s?!

Se: Hm? Is something wrong?

S: N-no, nothing...

S: Damn... the medicine's effect is wearing out...

S: I-I'll leave the rest to you... Sera...

Se: O-oi...

R: Shinichi...why is your face so pale?

So: Was it that bad?

S: Y-yeah... So you two shouldn't go in there...

S: M-my cold got worse, so...

S: I'll return to my room and sleep...

R: S-Shinichi...

N: What, Kudo?

S: S-sorry, Nakamichi.... I forgot my room key inside...

N: So how was it? Meeting the famous actress Kurachi Keiko....

S: L-let's talk about that tomorrow...

N: What? Everybody's been waiting to hear about it...

N: Though I'm only interested in idols myself...

S: I-I'm tired, I'll sleep... Don't wake me...

N: O-okay...

N: Oi, you OK, Kudo?

M1: Leave him, leave him!

M2: He's excited that he finally go to meet up with his wifey!

S: Phew...

N: Right!

S: Oi, it's about time...

H: Kudo, just so ya know...

H: Ya owe me big time for this...

C: Yeah, yeah... I got it...

C: Don't blow my cover...

H: Have some faith in me here!

N: Right-right, let's ask him about his London confession to Mouri before he falls asleep!

N: Don't be shy, Kudo~ <3 You're not asleep yet, right?

N: Did you kiss?

C: Damn it... the voice changer is under the pillow...

N: If you don't answer, we'll tear off that blanket off you, y'know?

H/S: Yeah! 'Course! Innit obvious that we'd hit it off? Ya idiot!

N: W-why are you speaking kansai-ben?

H: When in Rome, ya do as the Romans do! Ya lot should use kansaiben too!!

N: Ah, okay...

M1: So they kissed...

M2: Cool...

C: Starting from tomorrow, I should carry my voice changer with me at all times...

C: Buut.... it's such a pain to follow Haibara's instructions...

H: There are three key points, got it?

H: After the last one wears off, you need to wait eight hours before taking the next one...

H: Come up with some way to keep people's eyes off of you while you're stuck in your kid body!

H: Once you're back in Kudo Shinichi's body, don't do anything that will bring you too much attention!

H: Also, don't flirt too much!

C: Flirting... wasn't that your fourth point just now...

H: W-well, that fourth one is... trivial... Point is, it's only under these three conditions that I'll give you the APTX 4869 antidote!

C: 8 more hours... how long...

C: Right! I should show this to Hattori for the time being...

H: Hm? An email?

H: A cipher...

A: Ho...

A: So that’s what Kudo Shinichi-kun, highschool detective, said about

me...

Se: Yes... That you’re pretty quick-witted, and that there’s no need to

worry...

A: Thanks a lot... But this is quite strange... I’ve never met Kudo-kun before...

[Ayanokoji Fumimaru 28

Police inspector of first division of Kyoto prefectural police]

Se: He does carry a chipmunk with him...

A: Maybe he asked Conan-kun or the others?

Se: ...wait, so he brought a pet to a crime scene?

A: But that’s just an awful way to kill someone... not only a knife to the heart...

A: But two bumps to the head on top of that...

A: Anyway, we need to investigate the crime scene properly, which might take some time...

A: Please return to your respective rooms and wait...

A: Since both the victim and you, the suspects, are celebrities...

A: I think we might see quite an uproar once dawn breaks...

C: Ouch...

C: Riight... I fell asleep under the bad...

C: Great, eight hours have passed...

C: It's medicine time~

S: Phew...

S: I... will these last me until the end of the school trip?

S: Oi-oi they...

S: Never returned to their rooms?

S: Hm?

S: A message from Keiko-san...

[Shinichi-kun, help! Now there’s trouble with Agata-kun!! Go to room 1504, quickly!]

S: Eh?

S: Oi, Hattori, wake up!!

H: I can’t eat any more...

S: It's a case!!

H: Hah?...

A: Was Agata-san really that loud?

K: Yes... He shouted at the top of his lungs, so much so that I could even hear it from the next room over ...

K: Heelp~ I'm being killed~

I: Really?!

S: Keiko-san!!

K: Shinichi-kun!

A: So you're Kudo Shinichi-kun...

A: Oh? And the one behind you...

A: Hattori Heiji-kun, son of the Osaka prefectural police superintendent, if I’m not mistaken?

H: K-Kudo invited me to visit him at the hotel... I just happened to be around!

H: That aside, what happened?

A: Agata-san shouted strange things while in his room...

A: The bellboy is opening his door for us right now...

A: I bet it’s just because he saw last night’s murder scene...

A: Probably had a nightmare...

[Te,

Tengu?!]

TN: THANK YOU GOSHO

WHEN EVERY LINE IS DIVIDED TO 6-10 DUE TO THE LINEBREAKING GLITCH

A PAGE WITH NO LINE IS EVEN MORE BLESSING THAN USUAL

A: F-forgive me... forgive me....

H: Oi! Do ya have a weapon of some sort?!

A: Ah, no...

S: Shit!

A: Stay away...Stay away...

A: Stay away!

[Eh?]

M: H-he disappeared?!

I: Vanished into flames?!

K: No way?!

A: Awawawawa...

H: Oi, Kudo...

H: There’s no way...We’re still asleep, right?

[Finally appeared... the real tengu?!..]

P.S. This file is cursed. First it came out at my 2 AM when I went to sleep. Then due to misunderstanding we lost the proofread version of case, and we had to copy it from the typeset version, which took a lot of time. AND ON TOP OF THAT, since it was photoshop to notepad transition, there was a linebreak glitch and it looked like THIS:

At all pages.

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