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m42-fr · 3 years

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Here’s my Lore Post™ on various types of common currency around Sorneith! Note that this covers only major forms of currency that can be found broadly throughout their territories of origin, or are otherwise culturally relevant in some way. This post does not include forms of currency that may exist between individual clans. If you happen to find that any of this worldbuilding goes well with your lore, feel free to use it so long as you credit me somewhere for the idea!

And, of course, a mandatory disclaimer: the names and lore of these currencies comes from my own head (and a random name generator). Any resemblance to anything from the real world is unintentional.

Vahrani (vah-RAH-nee) are small bronze coins that originate from the Ashfall Waste. Thanks to the Flamecaller’s ceaseless forges, vahrani are the most common and well-established metal-based currency in the world - and, in fact, are the most well-established currency in the world, period. Trade with the neighboring Windswept Plateau, which exports the products of Fire’s industry to every technologically developing region on the continent, has spread Ashfall coinage far and wide.

Most vahrani have been in circulation for decades, their surfaces oxidized completely teal-black. Pristine, metallic vahrani, either newly-minted or freshly polished, are considered a status symbol by some, but certain dragons may refuse to accept them as payment for fear that they have been recently (and illegally) forged. Vahrani jewelry makes use of the holes at their corners, stringing them together into necklaces, earrings, and other forms of decoration. In a pinch, vahrani can even be tiled together to create makeshift armor.

Vahrani come in units of one, five, and ten. These coins bear an identical picture of the Flamecaller on one side and have a number inscribed on the other, which indicates their worth. The runoff copper from the creation of vahrani bronze is pulled into small lumps and stamped with the sigil of Fire while the metal is still hot, creating small, misshapen coins called vasi - or, in common slang, slag - each worth a tenth of a vahrani. Vasi are not nearly as widespread as vahrani, but they make up the majority of the payroll for poorer dragons within the Ashfall Waste.

Suuram (SOOH-ram) are long, paper-thin copper chits used as currency within the southwestern Shifting Expanse. The very first suuram were copper wires that had been pounded into rough rectangular shapes, but modern suuram are machine-punched from massive metal sheets, ensuring an incredibly consistent size and weight. The asymmetrical pattern of crescent holes at their edges is meant only to distinguish them from simple copper pieces. In practice, the holes are often used to hold chains of coins together with cord or metal clips.

There is only one value of a suuram piece. Rather than create different coins with higher values, dragons exploit the extreme thinness of suuram sheets by packing pieces into small containers; informal higher-value units consist of rectangular boxes holding a carefully-counted number of coins. Carrying around large blocks of copper sheets can become awfully inconvenient, so five-and-ten vahrani pieces have become a popular alternative currency in the Expanse. Suuram are used mostly as pocket change.

Due to the relative geographic isolation of the far coast of the Stormcatcher’s territory, suuram are not particularly popular outside of the Shifting Expanse, and lack traction everywhere past the Charged Barrens. However, suuram are acknowledged as a valid currency in every territory with flourishing trade and worldwide connections, including the Ashfall Waste, Windswept Plateau, Sunbeam Ruins, Tangled Wood, Starfall Isles, and Dragonhome.

The northeastern region of the Shifting Expanse is home to independent scavenger-clans who have little need for formalized currency. Rather than conducting trade with stand-ins like coins, they prefer to directly exchange goods and services, determining the value of each with every new trade. That being said, they do occasionally make use of a form of unregulated, low-value currency, colloquially known as scrap.

Scrap refers to any collection of relatively small, portable, usually worn-down and otherwise useless metal chunks - rusty nails, old gears that don’t fit anywhere, spare nuts and bolts found half-buried in the sand, weathered iron spring-coils and copper wires, and so on. While scrap has no immediate survival value, it serves much the same purpose of currency in that it acts as a metaphorical stand-in for something that is of value, and can be exchanged with others for goods and services. Scrap is considered a valid currency within the northern Expanse, although it is often looked down upon as a ‘primitive’ coin in the more technologically developed regions around Goldensparc and the Lightning Farm.

Paxa (PACKS-uh) are hand-carved wooden chits infused with sparks of magic that keep them pristine even under the worst of abuse. Native to the Sunbeam Ruins, paxa owe their remarkably high value to the painstaking process of crafting them. Each coin is hand-carved to impossible standards of consistency, stained a beautiful deep ebony, and protected from damage with ancient Light artefact-preservation magicks. Their magical ‘fingerprint’ is nearly impossible to fake, which guards them from forgeries. The secret to creating paxa is zealously guarded by a handful of dragons who have dedicated their lives to the craft.

Paxa are a universally recognized coin, spread throughout the world by Light’s investment in research as well as their inherent value. Future-minded dragons convert their retirement savings into paxa, knowing that unlike many other currencies, the tight control on paxa production ensures that their value remains constant. Paxa is also the coin of choice for most illegal operations in Sorneith thanks to their high value and their impossibility to falsify.

The average working-class dragon, even in the Ruins, will struggle to get their talons on any significant amount of paxa. Paxa are used to facilitate expensive transactions, and as such are favored by merchants, the wealthy, and the criminal; throughout most of the Sunbeam Ruins, workers are paid in vahrani, with the occasional handful of suuram thrown in for variety.

The origin of wek-ya, (WEK-yuh) Shadow’s mercurial coinage, is shrouded in mystery. Nobody knows when or where the first wek-ya were made - and, in fact, nobody knows how to make wek-ya at all. Ambitious blacksmiths who try their hand at smelting some are invariably struck with tides of bad luck that force them to close shop. And, moreover, the Tangled Wood can hardly be said to have an established government, so the presence of such a widespread and standardized currency is a curiosity in and of itself.

Wek-ya are crafted of pure silver, or something that resembles it. Each coin has two unique patterns - one to either side - that depict an incredibly broad array of subjects. The most common motifs are crescent moons, mushrooms, thorns, and dancing dragon figures, but there have been wek-ya known to picture oddly specific situations, such as trees being struck by lightning, rats climbing atop bookshelves, and draconic silhouettes that bear a strange resemblance to the viewer in the midst of suffering some catastrophe. Many dragons believe that wek-ya are infused with divination magic; coins are commonly drawn from bags to determine future events, and some individuals claim that their fortunes are told by the wek-ya they receive in trades.

While wek-ya are the most common form of money in the Tangled Wood, they’re incredibly rare elsewhere. Common superstition holds that removing a wek-ya from its homeland will curse the coin’s bearer until it has been returned. There appears to be some vague truth to the statement, as the coins are known to have a way of mysteriously disappearing when they’ve spent too much time away from the Shadowbinder’s influence.

Wek-ya are capable of emitting a dim glow for several hours after being exposed to moonlight. Conversely, they’ve also been known to spontaneously melt when placed in sunlight, permanently disfiguring their faces - such coins are considered overwhelmingly taboo by most residents of the Wood and are traditionally thrown into bogs, rivers, and liquid-shadow ponds, such that they may be forever forgotten.

Dazal (day-ZAHL) are large, chunky coins cut from smoky quartz. They come from Dragonhome, make for an uncommon sight in the northern Starfall Isles and Tangled Wood, and are rare elsewhere. No one institution governs the production of dazal, but most dragons don’t go out of their way to fake them - the coins are used predominantly within the handful of high-population regions of Dragonhome, particularly Terraclae and the Colonnades of Antiquity. Thanks to Light’s vested interest in archaeology, paxa are the most common currency in Dragonhome’s urbanized regions, followed by the eponymous vahrani.

Unlike suuram, which are largely shunned by Lightning’s more independent desert-dwelling clans, the value of dazal is respected by clans among even the most rural and harsh environments of Dragonhome. Most groups will carry at least a handful of them to use in trades - a few dazal will buy a weary traveler water and other goods. The nomadic routes of the Snappers often bring them to urban areas every now and again, which makes holding onto the currency useful, if occasionally burdensome.

The distribution of colors and patterns in a dazal is unique to every coin. Dazal have no varied values in a legal sense, but many individuals within Dragonhome will accept morion dazal - that is, those made of smoky quartz so uniformly dark as to be nearly black - as being worth twice as much as a singular dazal (or equivalent to one wek-ya). Some seek out dazal with unusual color schemes for collection purposes. Another commonly-sought variant is a coin without any scuffs; though crystalline, most older dazal are ridden with chips and cracks.

The Sea of a Thousand Currents has no legally recognized currency. The stinging seawater makes metal-based money impractical, and even the magical toughness of paxa and arcslivers will wear under the waves. Among the more isolated, aquatic clans, though, an informal coin known as vanes (VAIN) are used in some transactions. Vanes are seashells that have been chipped and polished into glistening, guitar-pick shaped chits.

The production, distribution, and value of vanes is entirely unregulated. Any dragon with strong hands and sandpaper can collect seashells and file them to the right shape and smoothness. As such, individual vanes vary widely in color, texture, and shape. The value of a vane is equally variable - no bank in the world accepts vanes as legal tender, although they are acknowledged as being incredibly low-value, presuming they have any worth at all.

Bags of vanes are often exchanged by coastal and reef-dwelling clans as stand-ins for the payment of debt. If an individual needs a good or service, but cannot pay for it at the time, they can hand over some vanes that serve as a sort of credit, later giving something of real value in return for their lent vanes.

Among the roughshod sailors of the Sea, bilgespray is a tawdry term used to refer to any collective mix of multiple types of currency. The wide variety of territories that they visit throughout their trading routes means that they inevitably collect a number of different types of coin. The term, ‘bilgespray,’ usually refers to a singular payout given in more than one type of currency, but used more broadly may account for any messy assortment of multiple types of money.

Popular within the urban areas of the central Starfall Isles, arcslivers (ARK-slih-vur) are tokens cut from the same magically-refined arcglass that makes up the shell of the Astrolodome. Their edges are inscribed with faintly-glowing runes that, like paxa, protect them from damage, although their enchantments are comparatively weaker. The appearance and value of an arcsliver is standardized; their production is controlled by banks within the Astrolodome and neighboring communities.

Well-wrought trading routes have established arcslivers as a valid currency throughout the entirety of the Isles. However, they have very little steading outside of Arcane’s territory. Similar to suuram, geographic isolation has kneecapped their spread, with traveling arcslivers found mostly in the neighboring regions of Dragonhome and the Windswept Plateau; a handful make their way to the Sea of a Thousand Currents and beyond from there. Though rare, they are legally acknowledged in institutions around Sorneith.

Given the extremely well-connected, trade-focused culture of the Windswept Plateau, every currency - even strange or worthless ones, like wek-ya and vanes - can be found in abundance among Windsinger’s children. Vahrani from the neighboring Ashfall Waste are the most common coin, followed by paxa and arcslivers. Wind does not have a traditional currency in the way that other territories do. Rather than use a standardized object to represent physical value, Wind’s unusual currency holds strictly social value. These objects are called kuo (KOO-oh). They are long, ribbonlike textiles, made from hundreds of tiny interwoven beads, and are as much art as they are money.

The length of an individual kuo can vary considerably. Most are long enough to be used as sashes and belts, or be hung up as colorful banners. The harvesting, sculpting, weaving, and painting of their miniscule beads takes a painstaking amount of time and skill. As a monetary system, they indicate debts, allegiances, and other forms of social ‘money,’ whether paid or owed. The perceived value of a kuo is usually based on its size and craftsmanship - the longer and prettier, the better.

While more rural and traditional clans will use kuo for their original purpose, younger generations - particularly those living in more urbanized areas - forgo the social value of kuo and create them for artistic purposes. The creation of an individual kuo ribbon is considered a long and meditative pastime. The patterns in every ribbon are unique, and the abundance of beads and paints mean that elaborate images can be threaded along the strings; given the extensive length of most kuo, many are used to depict the events of stories, be they mythical or factual. The longest kuo is rumored to be a ribbon that stretches the distance of the Cloudsong and depicts an embellished version of the Windswept Plateau’s entire history.

In recent times, dragons have begun to weave kuo as gifts and decorations. Many young lovers and best friends will create kuo for one another, its pictures personalized to the other’s interests and personality, and wear the bands that they themselves were given (usually as scarves, sashes, or bracelets) in an open declaration of their bond. Kuo are becoming an increasingly popular export of the Windswept Plateau. Eager to share their culture with the world, Wind dragons often sell and gift kuo to travelers, and some have even begun to export them to other territories.

The rough, lonesome barrens of the Southern Icefield makes the establishment of currency incredibly difficult. Like other harsh environments in Sorneith - the Shifting Expanse, Dragonhome, the Scarred Wasteland, and so on - coins are not particularly useful for immediate survival, and so trades are preferentially conducted with goods and services rather than coins. Northernmost or otherwise trade-savvy clans may occasionally cut deals with foreigners using vahrani, arcslivers, and even suuram.

The ancient institutions of the Gaolers, for all their fervence with law and order, never had reason to establish an expansive currency amongst themselves. The basic needs of all individuals are cared for free of charge; anything fancier is either owned communally, acquired by advancing in rank, or traded for without monetary stand-ins. Among a few circles, though - and particularly popular in teaching discipline to younger recruits - is a token system using units called snowcoins.

Snowcoins are very simple constructions. At their core is a singular link of a metal chain, which is encapsulated in magically-unmelting ice. The surface of a snowcoin is smooth and convex, forming an oblong shape not unlike a river stone, and they are remarkably translucent. Snowcoins, then, are a small reward earned through various services and good behavior, and can be traded in for small personal luxuries. The things snowcoins can buy consist mostly of curios and other decorative trinkets.

Given that snowcoins are used only by the Gaolers, their existence is almost completely unheard of throughout Sorneith, even in the neighboring Snowsquall Tundra. Only a tiny handful have ever made it out of the Icefield - and even then, most of those found away from the Icewarden are replicas, not genuine. Those who are in possession of snowcoins usually regard them as oddities and collectibles. They hold some mildly curious historic value, but little else.

For all their hatred for one another, the territories of the Scarred Wasteland and Viridian Labyrinth share a similar trait: neither has much in the way of currency. The Labyrinth prizes self-sufficiency and its clans want for little. Their isolationist nature has created a strict limitation on the influx of foreign currency - not even vahrani have made it past their coastal regions. Those from Nature who detest outside influence often use the derogatory term rootmuck to refer to any form of outside currency.

While Plague has a similar lack of established money, they don’t hold the same wariness of foreigners that the Gladekeeper’s children do. Most Plague clans see no reason in shunning something that may help them acquire useful things in the future. Various currencies are common at their respective borders - dazal in the north, wek-ya in the east, vahrani to the south, and arcslivers to the west.

That being said, their central clans, much like those of the northwestern Shifting Expanse, trade mostly survival supplies with one another. Guttergunk is an informal term from the Wasteland that applies to any assortment of individually worthless items that are bundled together to have some collective value. Guttergunk is not anything that could keep you alive; it’s made of things like small trophies - teeth, scales, horns -, the last of old food preserves, tattered pieces of canvas, balls of string, and so forth. Trade offers of guttergunk are considered trashy, greedy, or desperate; in other words, a sign of either arrogance or weakness, perhaps both.

Alternatively, the term may apply to anything considered gross and worthless: “Your efforts are guttergunk,” is an example of a common insult. The word has become popular in neighboring territories, particularly by residents of the Driftwood Drag and sailors of the Sea of a Thousand Currents, and among them it has much the same meaning.

#flight rising #my lore #my headcanons #my art #my worldbuilding #long post #the flamecaller #THREE. THOUSAND. WORDS.#this post KILLED me to write #but man did i have fun... the drawings were especially really neat #I'm very fond of how vahrani. paxa. and vanes came out in particular #rip vanes my worthless children but i love you anyways

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alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

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Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader V

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter V

Word Count: 7900+

[Chapter IV] [Chapter VI]

Summary: [Y/N] “Bell” [L/N] was content with dying. Shot by the person whom they admired and left to die, the world was now left in the hands of the team they once thought as family. However, it seems that fate had other plans in mind…

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, unreality, drugs, war crimes

Notes: I had to revise this chapter a lot, the original draft and final turned out way different, but I’m satisfied with the results. Also posting a bit early since I might be too busy next week! I ran out of gifs to use for the header too.

[Y/N] “Bell” [L/N]

August, 1983

CIA Safehouse, West Germany

The escape from Berlin was a success, albeit the minor inconvenience.

Right when you got back to the safehouse, you threw off everything on you to take a shower before heading off to sleep, mentally and physically exhausted. You would fill out your action report tomorrow whenever you woke up.

The intel Mason found was a bit lackluster, mainly consisting of a tiny vile of a peculiar gas and a few papers of names. You could see why he was a bit disappointed. Despite your initial speculation, Hudson seemed satisfied with the outcome, and the canister containing the substance was sent back to the U.S. for analysis.

It was remarkably chilly when you woke up. Your blanket was on the floor and the sheets, despite the cold, were sticking to your skin, and your limbs were heavy as you stood up and stretched. You felt a bit lethargic, swaying a bit as you walked out the door, but you brushed it off. Looking at your watch, it was around eight-thirty in the morning.

“Morning Bell,” Mason greets as you walk out to the main area. He was near the weapon wall, polishing up one of the rifles.

“Hey. How’s the head?”

“I’ll live. Oh yeah, Adler was looking for you."

You gave him a confused look. "Why?"

"Something about the evidence board. Wanted you to check the intel on the table."

"Of course he does."

You pulled out a stool from underneath the table, hauling it over to in front of the evidence board with the dossier in hand. In the end, your connection with Perseus was still being put to use, Adler and Hudson wanting you to scour the evidence for any potential connections or correlations they don't have insider knowledge on. If that’s what their use was for you, then so be it.

The folder, along with the board, was starting to get full with papers and polaroids. There were newspaper clippings here and there, yellow post-its with plausible theories written on them, red string connecting one thing to another. A picture of the tiny capsule the team retrieved was even on there.

You paused, eyes lingering on a photo of a younger Perseus. His hair was much darker than it was now, nor did he have the mustache. Next to it, a note with "Perseus on the move again?", as well as an iron-on patch of the group's symbol. Some files relating to Operation Greenlight were also plastered next to him.

There was the symbol. The colors were yellow, black and red. Something that you used to bear proudly on your arm. Perseus himself even gave a patch to you after you made the effort to prove yourself.

Shaking off the memories, you turn your attention back to the dossier. You meticulously took everything out and placed it neatly on the table. Examining the documents, there wasn't much to decrypt, since most of it was typed in plain words. There were a few names, none of which you recognized, but there was one that was blacked out.

[Feigenbaum, Wilhelm

Nikitin, Mefodiy

Kutznetsov, Oriel

Borga, Felipe]

Whoever scribbled the name out must have been in a hurry; they did a good job. You held it up to the light, seeing if you could read the original text through the ink, but to no avail.

However, you did notice that something did reveal itself. There was a collection of random icons at the bottom, although in code. Huge gaps were between each one, and the symbols themselves were miniscule, so you had to bring out a magnifier to read it. The text was written in a format you couldn't understand.

But the more you scrutinized it, comparing it to other commonly used codes, you came to recognize a few patterns.

They were the ones Perseus uses to relay information. You even wrote some in the format.

You held up more papers to the light, trying to see if there was anything else. There were only two other hidden messages, both spaced out in similar fashion: one on an old newspaper clipping and another on a piece of scrap paper that looked like someone's diary entry. Something noticeable was that the material of the three pieces were thinner than average.

"You're either going to go blind or fall off the chair if you keep doing that."

Removing the papers from your view, Lazar gleamed down at you.

"Don't jinx it now," you respond.

"Here."

He brings over a table lamp, plugging it into a nearby surge protector. You thank him, turning it on. It flashed brightly in your eye, and you could feel your headache tighten around the back of your head.

Lazar watches you work as you knit your brows in a concentrated fashion. It was a bit chilly in the safehouse today, and yet he could see little beads of sweat forming on your forehead. "You look a little pale, Bell."

"I'm fine."

Checking your suspicions, you gathered up the three papers, straightening them up on the table before hovering them over the lamp light. Sure enough, the codes at the bottom lined up perfectly.

"Can you hold this for me Lazar?" you ask.

"Can I?"

A long exhale. "May you hold this?"

He keeps the papers suspended in the air as you write down the code on a piece of paper. You then collect it from him, switching the order around before letting Lazar hold it in place.

"Okay, I think I got all of them."

He hands them back over. "How do you even understand these codes anyway?"

You shrug. "Lots of studying and pain."

Going to the computer, you access CIA records and look up the names from earlier. Interestingly, one of them was already deceased, being Felipe Borga. You wrote the info down on a nearby post-it before slapping it onto the paper. About to pin your findings to the board, you see the picture of young Perseus staring back at you again, his dark irises boring holes into your being.

"̶I̶'̶v̶e̶ b̶e̶e̶n̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ f̶o̶r̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ y̶o̶u̶r̶ s̶k̶i̶l̶l̶ f̶o̶r̶ q̶u̶i̶t̶e̶ a̶ w̶h̶i̶l̶e̶ n̶o̶w̶.̶"̶

Adler had called him handsome, though you could never see it that way. While you never met Perseus when he was younger, that man was your superior, so to belittle his name with useless romantic descriptions felt like an insult. Despite working for the CIA, it was difficult to paint him in a different light other than your old boss. Looking at the brood expression only brought an unwanted sense of longing. You didn’t regret working with the CIA, but it served as a horrid reminder of your ties with Perseus, and the things you have done under the name.

As you recall your past, the throbbing pain from earlier felt like it was only getting worse, the pressure on your temples further tightening. Not only that, but the auditory hallucinations were joining in. It wasn't Adler, nor Park, Lazar, Woods or Mason who were speaking, but Perseus in the mother tongue. He sounded odd, voice deeper and warping; it felt like he was right there, standing next to you.

"̶I̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶ y̶o̶u̶ t̶o̶ j̶o̶i̶n̶ u̶s̶.̶"̶

Whatever peace you had was short-lived.

I’m fine, you tried to assure yourself. Maybe you just needed a glass of water. Then, after that, you could work on the code.

You tried to move away from the board, hoping that the headache was just temporary, but each step felt like sandbags were strapped to your legs. The room felt unusually longer and wider than you remember, and the sunlight seeping through the windows were blinding. You were swaying and your vision was twirling around counter clockwise. Someone called out to you, but you couldn't figure out who.

“Fuck,” you heaved, leaning onto the wall for support. Your fingers dragged along the wall as you tried to make your way to the sink.

“T͌͝h́͝͝e̓̈́̈́ U͐̽̕n͒̈́͠ì̿͘ẗ́͝͝e͆̐͊d̈́͠ S͐̚͝t̾̒̕a͐̾t̾̓̈́e̽͋̚s͛̈́͋ à͋̾n͑̾̓d́̔͝ i̓̚̕ẗ́̽̀s̓͝͝ á̿̓l͑̐̈́l̐̾̈́i͒̒͝e̾̈́̈́s̀̕͝ s͊̓̐l̓̒͝o̐̽̽ẁ̐l̚̚y̓̓͐ c̀̚͝o͑̾́n̓̔̕s̈́̿͝u͒͑͝m̒͌̈́è̽̀ t͋͌͛h͋̚a͐̔t̀́ w̐̈́̚h́̒̿ì͑͠c̽́h̔͋͐ i͋͛̈́s͑͒̓ d̒̐e͑̓̓a̐̓͘r͛̓͊ t͆͊̒o̾̕̕ u͝͝s͐̓͊.̀͌͝”

There were papers in front of you. Volkov sitting on the left, and several other influential leaders at the table. Arash and his blue bomber jacket—

No, Arash is dead, you’re not in the Bunker—

“I̸͉̪̻̿̒̕t̴̫̠͔͛͋͝ i̸͓͍̔́͒s̵̪̘͛̒̾ ẗ̵̝͔̺́̈́͝h̴̡̠͚͑͝e̴͇͔͓͑̕͠ m̵̺̼̘̽͐o̴̢̘̽̓͋͜r̵͙͔̙͆̈́̿à̸͇͍̓͘ĺ̴̝̻͇̐̐ d̵̟̝̐͑͘ǘ̸̘̻̦̽̔ẗ̸͔͍̺́̓͝y̵͕͖͋͘͝ o̸̟͎͎͑̾f̵͇̞͓͒̿͐ P̵̢̘̝͆̓̀e̴͚͎͆̈́͐r̸̪̻̝͒̒͘s̸̡̟̦͛̈́̈́ë̴͚̺̼́̒u̴̻̻̞͋͌́s̸̞̞̘̈́̓͊ t̸̙͎̝̓͋́o̴̢͔̻͋̽ a̴͕̞͉͆͐͑ć̵͙͖̼̚t̵̢͕͉͐͐͝,̴̦̠͉͐͘ w̴͓̪͕̐̾̕h̵̙̙̫͘͝e̵̠̞̘̾̈́n̵͖̘̫͛͋ t̸͍̻̼̓̀̓h̴̘͉̟̒̀͊e̴̺̺͖̽̀y̸̡̞̺͑̀̕ w̸̙̻̻̒̓i̴͖̺͉͒̒͌l̴͉̦͕͠͝l̵͔̠̔̐̿ n̸̻̿̿͜͠ö̸̦̘́͑͋t̴̟͉̙̿́͊.̴̢̢͕̀̀͝”

The safehouse begins to fade out of your vision, and you collapse to your knees, covering your ears as your sense of time becomes lost. You tried to fight it off, but were thrown into a pit of memories that mixed with one another.

“Ḯ̵̦̻͚̒’̵̪̘͓̐͆͠v̵͖̙͖̔͊͊e̵̦͖̒͠͝ s̸̡͉̈́͐̚͜e̴̢̠͓̔̾̚e̴̟̟͇͛͌͝n̵͎͎͋͊̓ y̸̟͍͓̓͐o̴͍͛̈́̕͜u̵͔͓̠̒̓̚r̵̦̙͔͛͛͆ p̴̟͎͎͑̚͝i̴̡̡͍͊͊͊c̵̦͓̻̀͝t̵͇̺̼̐̓u̴̞͇̦̐̈́͋r̸͚͙͕̈́͐́e̴̫͚͇̽̀̐s̵̢͍̺̓̒̈́.̴͉̺̺͛̔ T̴͍̪̟͐̈́̓h̴͕͖̘͒̈́̔e̴̪̠̙͋̓̿y̸̡̘͋̈́͝ w̸͚̪̾̐e̸̦̦͕̓͑̽r̴̟̘͍̓͆̓e̸̟͙̓̿̓ l̸̼̠̝͊͝o̸̪̙͊͊͒o̴͙̻̞̐̈́͝k̵̠̠̦͌͊͌ḯ̴̡͕̙͑͐n̸̻̪͋͝͠g̵͉̻̺͒͒̾ f̸͇̦̘̾̀͐o̸̡͕̻̿̕͝r̴̻͇̫̐͒̐ y̴̪̦̓́͜͝ö̵͚̝͇́̕u̴̝͎͋͊͆.̴̡͚̔̚͜͝”

I'm not Perseus, you try to convince yourself. He's not here—

Even so, they kept resurfacing, even ones you never saw before. You shut your eyes; you didn’t want to remember, but it was involuntary.

Get out of my fucking head!

"̴͚͖̽̀͜͝Shit, B̴̡̪͑͑͑è̵͚͕̼͑͊l̵͎̦̦̈́̓͝l̴͔̫̀͜͝͝!̴͚͕͚̔̐̚"̵͔͖͓̔̈́̿

“R̵̘̺͇̒̿̒è̵̪̘̞́̾b̵͕̘͍͋͘̕i̸̢͍͓͑͘͝r̸͓̙͒̐͌t̵͖͍̝͊̈́h̴̢͎̟͐͐̕ I̴̼͇̝̽͛͠ś̴̠͖̘̚͠l̸͓͓͔͑͆a̵̡͚̘͐͛̓n̸͕̟̼̈́͛d̴̡̼̞̐̈́͌.̸͍͖͓͊́̚”

“Ḯ̴̢̞͔̓͝ t̴͍̻̪͐̿͠r̴̫̪̈́̈́̐͜u̴͕͙̪͛̚s̵͇͚͖͊͊̀t̸̪̫̪͑́͝ t̵͎̠̞͛͆͝h̴̠͔̿͐͠a̵͔͚̿͘͝t̸̙̞̠͒̽̽ y̸̠̪͝͝o̵͙͕̝̐̕u̴͖̟̾͌̈́ k̵͕͓͌́͌e̸̡͓͉̿̚͝e̴̘͚͉͑̈́̚p̵͓̙̝̈́͑̕ t̴̺̦̽̓̒͜h̸̘̺̘̀̒͘i̵̡͚̠̓̕s̴̫̼̼̔͝͠ a̴̺̝͔͌̾ s̴̡̠͙̽̚ë̸̟̘́͛͛͜c̸̡̙̙̈́͊̽r̸̪̻̪͐͋͊é̴͕̠͕͆͊t̴͇̞̫͐͋̾ f̴̻͉͇̀͋͠o̴̦̫͍͛̽̐r̸͇̝͖̾̀͒ n̸͖̠͊̕͝ò̴̟͇͙͛̈́w̸͓͙̝̿͊.̴̡̝͎̓͑̕”

Make it stop.

“Ö̵̦̘͕́͋͝u̵̫͕͓͐͠͝ŕ̵̪̝͊͝ n̴̢͖͓̽͝͝e̴̢͓͐͑͆w̸̼̠̙̓̿͒ c̵̪̞̐̔͛͜o̴̻̺̞̓̿͘m̸̡͍͓̐͋͋r̴̡̼̘̓̿͐a̵̝̦̓͆͜͠d̴͖̼̓͜͝͠e̴̡͎̝̐̔̔ ḧ̵͙͎̦́̈́͌a̴̟͓̦̔̈́̒s̵͇̫͚̔̐͘ a̵̦̟͇͒͊̽ p̵̡͉̻͌̒r̸̡̺͙͑͝o̵̘̼͚̽̓̽j̵͕͙͖̓̓͝e̵͉͎̦̔̈́͑c̸̪͔͑̐̐t̸͉͔͚͊̚ t̸͓͚̻̽̒̀h̵̻͎̟̓͋̓a̵͖̞͍̓̓̕t̸̝̺͑̿͜ w̵̞̟̙̽͆͝i̵̡̺͙͑̓́l̵̻͇̪̿̒́l̴͉͓̻̀̓͘ a̵̝̙͍͐́̀i̴̝͇͔͆̔̕d̴͉̼̙͐̐ ḯ̵̟͓̕͜n̸̞͍̘̓̒͘ o̴̺͔̘͊͊͊u̴̢̫͊͐͠r̵̘͔̀̾̓͜ g̵͖͙̕͘͜͝o̵̡͖̦̓͑͑a̸͉̻̐͊l̸̪͚̔͐͜͠ o̵̞͎̻͊͛̽f̴̢̺̠͒̈́̚ ǵ̵̟͖͍́͘r̸̻̘̺̔̚e̴̙̞̫̐͑a̸͚̼͙͒͆t̸̻͚̻̐͒e̴͚̦̓̒̚͜r̴͚̠̈́͒͒ p̸͓͉͖̓͝͝o̵̡͙͚͑̚̚w̴̡̠͛͑̚é̴͓̦̈́̓r̴͕͕͓̿̀͑.̵̠͖̘͊͠͝”

You couldn't breathe. It was like someone had pulled a bag over your head. What was he saying?

"̴͕̺͕͋̀͛W̴̢̡͕̽̽͋ḧ̸̻͔͙́̽͝á̴̺̟̼͘͝t̴͉͓͇̽͘͝'̴͓͔͉̒̾͠s̴̡̼̓͘ ẃ̸̺̟̙͐͑r̸͚̘͙̈́́͝ó̸͚̘͚́͝n̴̼͍͙͛̐͌g̴̟͔͘͘̕ w̵͓͚͕̽͊̿i̵̪͉͔̐̐̾t̵̙͍͇̾͛͘h̵͖̞̒͛͠ B̴̻͇̦̈́̿͝e̴̻͚̠̿̓͘l̸͚͛͌͜l̴͓͚͉͌́̚?̴̢̙͕̿̐́"̵̢̫̼̓̾̐

It hurts.

"̸̠͇̠̀̀͑A̸̢̼̘͆̔͝d̴̪͖̘̈́͌l̵̢̺̦͌̈́̚e̴̻͖͋̓̈́͜r̸͕̪͖̒̐̚!̵̦͇͖̒̽̒"̴̘͎̝̐̒̓

“I̵̫̝̞̿͛̓ t̴͔̻͛͆͋r̵̻͇̘͛͑̚u̸̻̝͚͑̓͝s̴̼̫̒͌́͜t̸̢͓͉͐̓͝ t̵͎̟̀̾̿h̸̫͎͍͋́͘a̴̘̺̦̓͊̈́ẗ̸̡̺͎́̽͠ y̵̡͙͖̽͛̓o̴̢̡͖̒͛̽u̸͖̫̪̓̾͐ t̴̻͎̦͒͒w̸̼̠̓͛̾o̴̡͇̻͆̒͘ ẅ̴͚͚̞́̒͘i̵͉̺͍̒̿̚l̸͉̻̒̈́͊l̴̼͖̦͋̾̚ g̴̻̻̫̾̔e̴̻̟͐̔ẗ̵̝͉̫́͛ a̸͉͙̘͋́͌l̵͉̘̻̈́̈́͛ö̴̡͇̼́̔͊n̸͖̻͇̈́̈́̒ǵ̴̻͎͕̕.̸̝͉͔̿̾͝”

Something grabbed your arm abruptly. Your eyes snap back open, but you didn't dare to find out who it was. The only viable option was to stare at the cold concrete floor, but every scratch or imperfection embedded in it seemed to move on its own, forming letters from the Russian alphabet. Even the radio, which was dead, sprung back to life, reading the words to you.

"̴̼̻̼̀̐̚B̵͓͉̦̐͋e̴͖̞͖̓́̒l̴̢͇̐̀l̴̟̼͚̓͊͘!̴͖̪̠͊̚ I n̶e̶e̶d̶ y̶o̶u to listen to me."

Someone was talking to you. Whoever it was, they managed to peel one of your hands away. They held your arm firmly as you tried to stick your hand back in place.

"Go away!" you yell.

"Bell!" Adler said once again, calm and steady. You stiffened and stopped struggling as you recognized his voice, your eyes finally meeting his.

Adler noticed your eyes were glazed over. You were short of breath, hyperventilating. He never seen you in a state like this before.

Once he had your attention, he reached over, slowly, taking your other hand away from your face. They felt unnaturally warm. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead and was met with beads of sweat and heat.

It was raining heavily last night on the mission, which would explain your feverish symptoms. It never occurred to him that the side-effect capabilities were determined by your health; you seemed fine before. Unless, you were just good at hiding it.

Your hands were shaking ever so slightly as he held onto your wrist. "Bell," Adler begins slowly. "Where are we right now?"

"The… safehouse."

A chime.

"Yes, that's right. We're going to get through this. You just need to listen to my voice, okay?"

You nod.

"I want you to take a deep breath. Everything else you see, and everything else you're hearing… They're not here. Perseus isn't here."

"We–."

"Perseus isn't here, Bell."

Adler’s words repeated constantly in your head. His eyes were a nice piercing blue, you’ve come to recognize. The scar was still quite a mystery to you, you never seen any wounds like it before, yet it looked… good on him. As you observed his face, analyzing each of his movements, Perseus’s ghost began to fade away from your mind.

It was ironic. The man that had the power to make you forcibly remember these things was now the same man who's trying to pull you out of them. All he had to do was speak. Your eyes move away from Adler’s face, knowing that you stared at him for too long, instead shifting your attention to a random spot on the wall. A strong urge to thank him was fighting against your internalized indignation against him.

Your breakdown caused the rest of the team to gather around you, clearly worried and concerned for your wellbeing. You couldn't bring yourself to look at any of them, feeling a tad disappointed towards yourself for being rendered incapable that easily. You were perfectly fine before, so what was different this time?

"You have a fever."

"I'm fine," you snap suddenly, ignoring Adler’s helping hand and standing up. You held up your arm, leaning against the wall to support your weight. "Just… give me a moment."

"You're sick Bell," Adler states, standing back up. "You can't work like that."

"I don’t need you to tell me what I can or can’t do.” Without waiting for any reaction or response, you were about to return to your desk, but someone blocked your way. "Move, Lazar."

"Sorry, Bell, but I'm with Adler on this one," he said with a concerned expression. "You look like Hell."

He was right. You were pale and extremely cold, yet you were sweating and your breath was warm. It was difficult to remain standing and your vision was crooked.

"The faster you recover, the faster you get back to work," Lazar attempts to convince. "Just rest for today."

You click your tongue. If there was one thing you knew, it was that you couldn't argue with Lazar. Giving a sigh of defeat, you turned around and headed to the back.

The team members shared a look of worry as you left. A door slammed from your direction, bringing down bits of dust from the vents.

"I'll go talk to Bell," Mason volunteers, breaking the silence. He was about to go down the hall, only for Adler to stick a hand out.

"Just leave them be."

"...You're fucking joking, right?" Woods jumps in. He gestures towards the spot you cowered at moments before. "You're just going to leave Bell alone after all that? Damn, you're way dumber than I thought."

"The best way to go about it is to wait for Bell to calm down. Then, you can talk."

"The best way is for you to talk to them, Adler," Lazar digresses. Even he was dumbfounded at his own thinking. It was probably the worst suggestion Lazar ever made, but his gut feeling told him that it was the best approach to tackle the thin line between you and Adler.

"Me? I think I'm the least suited for that."

"Yeah, the fuck? If anything, Mason or I should go."

"Look," Lazar reasons, "What I'm saying is that he can't avoid Bell forever. We all reconnected with them. Now, it's Adler's turn. He set everything into motion, he should be the one to fix it."

…

You slam the door close to your room, somehow affording to grab the Walkman off your desk before you fall onto the bed. The throbbing sensation never ceased, and you rub your eyes, trying to ease yourself into a sleeping mindset.

Everything had been working out so far since you arrived, and you thought you were getting to a point where the hallucinations wouldn't bother you anymore. It was an uphill battle to keep your mental and physical health in order while also having work to do. Every little thing became a chore, but you committed to them to get through the day. But, with the awful chance of getting a fever, they came back in your moment of vulnerability.

The music that served as your usual escape had no effect as your thoughts raced at breakneck speed. Perseus's voice was calling out to you, his words iced with a sweet, yet sickening, sense of pride as he talked. You knew it held some sort of importance but you couldn't figure out the context. Something about a new colleague.

Lingering on his words, you barely noticed the knock at your door.

Shit.

You forgot to lock it.

The door is held ajar by Adler as he takes a quick peek inside to see if you were there. You glimpse over, and he assumes eye contact with you.

"So it's your turn to talk to me now?" you scoff, averting your eyes back onto the ceiling.

"Let's not make this awkward Bell."

You turn down the volume of your music as Adler closes the door behind him, and sit up. "What do you want?"

"They suggested that I talk to you," he answers. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I had a choice."

"Good to know. What happened out there never occurred." You see a hint of white in his hand, only to recognize it as a pill container.

"It's a fever reducer with antihistamine. Helps you sleep."

"Don't get the wrong idea, Doc. Just because we're on talking terms now doesn't mean that I want your help. Especially with the fact that you used to drug me without my knowledge."

"We didn't have much choice, Bell." Adler set down the container on your desk before leaning against the door, arms crossed in scrutiny. "You're were our only connection to Perseus. Hudson wasn't too keen on you being on the team either, so that was one of the sure-safe methods to keep you in check."

You scoff. "That's all I am, huh? The CIAs connection to Perseus."

"Your decision in Solovetsky saved millions of lives."

"I saved plenty of lives, yeah. You called me a hero. And yet, apparently my own life wasn't worth keeping."

Adler gives out a groan. "Let's not start this now—"

"No!" you cut him off. You trudge over to him, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Enough dancing around. We're going to talk about this, whether you like it or not. You came in here to talk, so let's talk."

"Stop acting like a fucking child," Adler scolds. “I came here to help you, not to argue.”

“I didn’t ask for help, especially from the likes f—”

"Well, you haven't exactly given me the chance to talk to you either!" he snaps, raising his voice and causing you to flinch. It was like walking through a minefield with you, so might as well set the entire damn thing off ahead of time and get to the point. "Whenever anyone tries to get closer to you, all you do is push them away. We want to help you Bell, but you always put up this arrogant, tough guy act and refuse to let anyone in because you're too scared of being hurt again–"

"Well I wonder whose fault that is?! You act like it's so easy to just get over the shit I've been through, but it's not. You have a lot of balls to walk in here like I'm just going to accept what happened without reasonable doubt, and I had enough of being used like some fucking chess piece! You never looked at me like your teammate, I was just another means to getting to Perseus for you. Did you really think treating me nicely would just make everything okay?!"

"Since when did I ever treat you like a chess piece?"

"Oh, you know very well when. You know how it feels, Adler?" You balled your hands into fists, your pent up anger finally reaching its boiling point. "To have your memories erased, and be forced to believe that the men you worked alongside with were the same people that were the ones that erased them? Or how they also subjected you to psychological torture and tried to reinvent you? I'm not a fucking toy!"

He didn't say anything. You were yelling at him at this point, and seeing a lack of reaction only made you more angry.

"It fucking hurts. I used to think 'there's nothing worse than this', but life continues to prove myself wrong. The damn bell that you trained me with, the injections to keep me in check… I even saw Park's notes, at least she cared for my health. But it only took her death for me to find out the truth. And then, when I think it's all over, I get fucking shot by you! Then I met these four old Soviet soldiers, they saved me. I spent months, believing that everyone thought I was dead. And then you took that all away."

You could feel the remains of your energy drain away as your voice began to strain itself and head throbbed. Your hands were grasping at his collar, pushing him against the door. You didn't even remember grabbing him, but let go and backed off.

"I-I thought I could live with it. But, they just keep coming back. You, sitting behind the glass pane, with a coffee and the microphone, a couple scientists watching... I think about the cliffside and… It's just been a nightmare I've been living in, and I'm fucking tired of it. You…”

You cut off, catching your breath.

“...Should have just gone for the head... "

You should have died.

Adler gives out a long exhale through his nose, unsure how to respond.

Of course he didn’t know how you felt. But what he did know was that he regretted every single thing he did to you. Maybe he did push too hard. They were necessary, sure, but if there was another way they could have gone about it, he would have taken it if he knew things were going to turn out this way. In the end, though, he had to use the cards he was dealt.

Coming to a decision, Adler takes a seat.

“Do you want to know what happened?” he comes to ask.

“...What?”

“You want to know why I did it?”

You sat, perplexed at his reaction. You practically yelled at him, and he still persisted in confiding the issue between you two. At the very least, you expected him to have a snarky reply, or attempt to convince you that it was for the greater good, but he seemed to already exhaust himself from any other excuses.

It felt like he was pleading for you to listen to his side of the story. His voice felt off, it was a tone you never heard him speak with. It was husky like always, but this time wasn't too harsh or too soft on you. He spoke in a way that wasn't demeaning, but instead made it easy to listen to.

No, you weren't going to let him do that.

Don't trust Adler.

"Because you fucking hate me, that's why," you hiss. "Orders first, that's what you're all about. Who cares what everyone else thinks, right? In the end, I was always your enemy. Was I a burden to you? Is that how it—"

"After Solovetsky," he interjects sternly, lighting up a cigarette. He takes a drag before continuing, looking at your disoriented yet pitiful expression. "I was instructed to erase anything that could potentially inform the general public about the nukes Hudson placed around the world. We may have stopped Perseus from detonating them, but they had to ensure that no one else could get a hold of the codes. And that included you.

"I didn't want to do it, Bell, trust me. But… orders were orders. You're right, they do come first. That's how we made it this far, by following them. Except, because of those orders, there's bad blood between us. You can hate me, Hudson, and Black all you want, but it's not going to change what happened.

"In the end, regardless of what you think about me, you're one of the best spies I worked with. Your skill set is one of the best I’ve seen, even surpassing the CIA's best cryptographers. Your attitude on the job is what we need, and one of the things that I admire about you."

You couldn't look at him while he told you this. It hurt, knowing that he finally said the things you've been dreading to hear. It was one of the things you weren't excited to listen to, but at the same time a part of you demanded for someone to tell you that you were needed. That you weren't just an object to be disposed of once fulfilled of its purpose.

"After all the things we did to you, nothing in the world could probably make up for it. You and I may haven't known each other for as long as I said we have, but we damn well went through a hell of a lot. Berlin, Lubyanka, all that shit. And following our little… fiasco on the cliffside, it made me realize how much your presence meant to the team, and what we had just lost. You kept it lively, helped keep our morales up. And most important of all…

"It made me realize how special of a person you are to me. So don't you fucking dare think for one second that you would be better off dead. Understand?"

You were at a loss.

Did Adler– Russell Adler just say the words you heard him say?

That you were special to him.

"We already lost you once, and we don't need a second time."

You couldn't formulate any words, and you just sat back down, letting it sink in.

"So, just... tell me what's going on, Bell."

It was easy to tell that he had been rehearsing this. That he struggled endlessly to find the right words to say without hurting your feelings any further. Adler may have not said "I'm sorry" directly, as expected. Nevertheless, you could still see and feel the meaning behind his words. There was regret as he spoke about the incident, but when he addressed yourself as a person, the way he enunciated it just made you feel warm and vulnerable. You didn't know it meant, and it confused you.

"I-I'm scared, alright?” you admit reluctantly. “Everything may be fine now, sure, but what if the day comes where I turn my gun on you? What if I lose myself? Or, or what if I just can't take it anymore–"

"Bell." You stop rambling. Adler took a puff of his cigarette, before exhaling. "That’s what we’re here for—”

"It's not that. It's here." You point to your head. "I can't even trust myself anymore. Earlier I started hearing Perseus. It was like he was there, but—" Your sigh in frustration. There was no good outcome when you thought of it. "Like, last night everything was fine. I was functioning like a normal human being. But now look at me, I can't think straight. One little look at the evidence board and I was on the floor. It won’t stop."

Something wet rolled down your cheek. Who the hell were you supposed to trust now?

"From prior experiences, both mine and others, in the end, it all comes back to you to make the decision as to whether or not you let those thoughts and feelings take over you." Adler rubs out the butt of his cigarette on a tray before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Still, if you need to talk to someone, anyone, we're here. I'm here. It may not be our field of expertise, but it's the least we can do. Some things we have to live with, and it's hard, but in the end you'll get through it."

How long has it been since you cried? You weren't sure if it was due to Adler talking to you, or if it was due to your feverish state, but there was no denying the heartache that grasped at your chest. You sniffled and hiccupped, rubbing your eyes with your palms to stop yourself from crying.

Stop crying.

"Bell, look at me."

You despised him. How he made you feel this way, the way he spoke in such high regard about you.

"[Y/N]."

You didn't want to. The moment you look at him is the moment you confront those emotions. You couldn't hate him, no matter how hard you tried. He did all this shit, and yet you couldn't do it.

It was decided since that day you survived Adler's bullet that you would hate the man. To cut him off and anything related to him out of your life, but it was inevitable. Now here you were, bawling your eyes out in front of him after hearing his side of the story. You told yourself to not let him catch you in your moment of weakness, yet he had a way with his words. You may have vowed to never forgive him, but it was damn obvious that he whole-heartedly regretted his actions, and was trying his hardest to make up for it.

In addition, just hearing him say your name for the first time… It was unbearable.

Adler gets up from his chair, placing a hand gently on your wrist and pulling your hand away from your puffy eyes. The strange feeling returned. Oh, how his hair looked soft; you wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through them. You just felt weak under his gaze, as if he knew what you were thinking.

Fuck.

"Sorry… It's just…"

You couldn't look at him.

He lets go of your arm. "You’re going to be okay."

Scooting to the side, you gave him some space to sit down. Adler's eyes dart between you and the empty spot, unsure whether or not he should take you up on the offer, but goes with the flow in the end.

Your heart was basically pounding against your ribcage, and you were too tired to depict the difference between your feverish symptoms or pure shyness. It felt weird. Adler was showing a side of him you've never seen before, and yet you felt almost honored.

"Do you really mean it?" you ask. "Everything you said?"

"You tell me. Does this face look like that of a liar?"

You grin a little, indulging in his stiff sense of humor. "I can't tell with your glasses on."

"Then take them off."

You almost forgot to breathe. "...What?"

"You heard me."

Adler was devilishly close, making it even more tempting. It was an odd demand from him, and yet you couldn't help bring a hand up. It hovered in the air next to his cheek, pausing to gauge a reaction from him. He was adamant on letting you do the work. Getting nothing else, you ethereally take his sunglasses, revealing his deep blue eyes. The man didn't even recoil as you did so, and instead just watched your movements in captivation.

"Well?"

"I… can't tell."

You were too distracted.

"Well, I'm not lying," he states, voice hoarse, yet pleasing on the ears. His eyes never strayed away and were instead engaged with yours. "Want to know the truth? Crying doesn't suit you."

"You think so?"

Adler leans in a bit and tilts his head, as if to get a better angle of your face. "For sure."

Unable to withstand it, you break eye contact, feeling bubbles arising within the pits of your stomach. Somehow, the temperature of your cheeks rose even more. “Thanks, I-I guess.”

You feel the tips of his fingers splay lightly on your chin, and he makes you turn your head back to him.

“Wha—” you start, only to freeze.

The both of you were practically touching noses, breathing each other in. You could smell the cologne on him. It wasn't too strong, but it was enough to accent his character. Some part of you was practically just yearning for him to close the gap– daring him to. It felt like the devil was tempting you, but you withheld yourself.

"I'm kind of sick, you know…" you disclose breathily. "Should we be this close?"

"Don't worry about it."

Without warning, he moved slightly, and his lips met yours.

It felt like time had stopped.

But the butterflies continued to flutter.

The fans in the background slowed to nothingness, and the music from the player was but an afterthought as the earbuds fell out of your ear.

His lips were softer than you imagined, and there was a lingering taste of nicotine. They were warm as they brushed against your own, and you could feel the soft tickle of his breath. You wanted to open your eyes to get a better look at Adler's face, but in the end they refused to open, his lips distracting you. The way they fell against yours almost seemed unreal, like they were meant to lock with each other. You brought a hand up, caressing his face as you trace the scars on his face, running over the little bumps with your thumb. The kiss was slow, yet tender, and you felt warmth blossoming from your chest.

You didn't know how long it lasted.

When the time came, you both pulled away. Your eyes fluttered open, lingering on his lips for a moment before they left.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he murmurs into your ear with a small smile. The hairs on the back of your neck stood as you listened to the low timbre of his voice; God, his voice.

"Yeah."

You couldn't even think, your mental cogs just slowing down. Your brain short-circuited the moment you both locked lips. The bastard practically stole your breath away.

The opportunity arose and Adler couldn't resist. Was he allowed to feel like this, despite everything he's done? He didn't intend to kiss you when he first walked in your room. The plan was to talk it out with you, maybe figure out the boundaries between you and him, but in the end the line was crossed.

Adler jerks his head back as this dawns on him. "Sorry, I–"

Fuck, what did he just do?

It was just in the heat of the moment—

"Thank you,” you say feebly.

Your head was turned away from him, pursing your lips in a tight line to save yourself from exposing your flustered state. You could see that he was having difficulty coming to terms that you two did in fact share a kiss, and it was a bit cute to see him fumble with his words, as opposed to his usual stoic demeanor.

"For what?"

"Whatever that was."

You look at your fingers, remembering that they were the same ones that glided over Adler's scar. You could still feel the ghost of his stubble rubbing against your palms, the scene just playing over and over in your head.

"A kiss?"

"I-I mean, for putting up with my bullshit," you stammer at his outspokenness. "And for the Walkman and watch, of course."

Adler gives out a laugh at your flustering as he stands up. It was one you haven't heard. Actually, did he ever laugh before? You couldn't remember if he did, or if he ever even smiled. It was like you were with someone new. Who would have thought Adler had a soft side to him?

"How'd you figure it out?"

"Well, no one else seemed to recognize it…"

“I'm glad you like them."

Sensing that he probably overstayed, Adler gets up from his spot, heading in the direction of the door in a bit of a rush manner. Was he still stunned with what had just occurred?

He opens the pill bottle from earlier, popping one into his mouth before tossing the container to you. “Here. Take a couple.”

You did as he told, the bitterness of it caking your tongue before you downed some water. The euphoria was beginning to die down, and you could feel your body once again trying to drag you to the floor. Adler’s hand reached out for the door handle, and a pang of disappointment and fear crossed your mind. "Wait—”

He raises an eyebrow, slipping his shades back on. "What’s up?”

“You're going already?"

"Those papers aren't going to finish themselves. I need my best cryptographer at their best, so get some sleep."

He was still diligent, like always. You lick your lips, hesitant. You didn't want him to leave yet. "Can you stay for a bit longer? Just until I fall asleep?"

“You’re not a kid.”

“I know, but…”

Trying to sleep was always the hardest part.

"You better knock out quick then," Adler indulges, noticing your painstaking scowl.

He gets comfortable in the wooden chair near the door, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket as you settle back into bed. You could already smell the ashes coming from him.

"Do you ever stop smoking?" you interrupt as he takes out a lighter.

Adler let out an irritable sigh, closed the lighter, and shoved the stick back into its place. He leans back in the chair, arms crossed with his foot on a knee. "You used to smoke too, you know."

"I did?" This was news to you.

"Oh yeah. During your initial interrogation, you would just laugh at us." He chuckles. "Even asked for a cigarette a couple times. It was a bit unsettling, even for my standards. Not only that, you had a sharp tongue. Colorful vocabulary. That was another thing we couldn't exactly get rid of."

At your request, Adler continued to talk about his own experiences. The topic of MK-Ultra was something you thought would be taboo to talk about, but, on the contrary, it was rather amusing to hear things from his perspective. Of course, he didn't get into the details of the procedure, but instead remarked about your growth from it: how you recovered unusually quickly from Arash's attempt to take you out the picture, or how he found it surprising as to how well you got along with the other members.

"We pulled everything we had in records, just trying to figure out who you were. Our informants in the KGB couldn't find anything either, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack."

You hummed in acknowledgement. "They made sure there was no evidence of my existence when I joined Perseus. Personal history and sentimental values were nothing but a hindrance."

"Sounds rough."

The conversation went on for a while, and the worries you had faded away. He took the opportunity to point out your weird habits. Adler found it amusing how you would fall asleep in the weirdest places, catching you sleeping in the red room while waiting for photos to develop, or on the floor in the garage.

You could feel the medicine kicking in with each story, and you could barely keep your eyes open within an hour.

"And your scar?" you mumble drowsily.

"That's a story for another time."

"No, tell me what happened."

"Still curious as ever… Alright, have you ever been attacked by a tiger, [L/N]? Cause I have. It was a mission back in seventy-three—"

"Wait a minute, that's not what you told me last time. You said you got mixed up with the wrong crowd."

"Did I? Age must be catching up to me."

"Cut the crap. Earlier I poured my soul out to you, at least tell me how you actually got it."

It was a long story.

Too long, actually.

Adler kept talking and adding random details until you fell asleep. It was a novel laced with lies and exaggerated events, as if he were telling some kind of adventure you only see in movies. From skydiving to fighting a tiger barehanded, Adler certainly had the enjoyment of toying around and making up stories of his scar on a whim. He was a great talker without a doubt.

His voice soothed you to sleep.

When he noticed that you were out like a light, Adler walked over to you, feeling your cheek. Your lashes twitched slightly upon contact, but nothing else. Your breath felt warm as it blew against his palms, but at least your temperature was already stabilizing.

You were shivering a bit, so he shaved off his black leather jacket and placed it over you. Stirring, you pulled it over yourself before rolling over.

His heart jumped as he took in your facial features. Just to see your face in such a complacent state made him relieved.

How could he not like you? You're a hard worker, not easily deterred; if you set your mind to it, you got it done without fail, although you were witty and a bit short-tempered. There were still the demons you had to take care of, and he wanted to assist you in getting rid of them. He owed it to you.

After reassuring that you were dead asleep, Adler left you to slumber.

It felt like a huge weight was pulled off of his chest, a two year burden finally taking its leave.

0000

The sun was beginning to set by the time you woke up. Blinking your eyes reluctantly, a blueish grey darkness began to settle in your room. The sheets were wrapped comfortably around your body, and your nauseating headache settled to a mere tick. For once you managed to get more than eight hours of sleep without being interrupted by repeating nightmares.

You get up and stretched, only to feel something heavy slide off your shoulders and land onto the floor below. Bending down, you come to recognize it as Adler's jacket, and it reminded you of what occurred that morning. A blush crept up to your cheeks.

Burying your face in embarrassment, his jacket smelled of cigarettes and cologne, with hints of soap.

It didn't mean anything, right?

Yet, you had a hard time convincing yourself it was anything but.

Heading out of your room, you came across a new cassette tape on the table, labeled MIX 2. You chuckle in amusement at his lack of creativity, but pop it into the player, removing the first one and placing it down. What kind of songs did Adler have in store for you now? His taste in music didn't seem definitive, the songs never failed to impress you.

Wandered into the main area, you could smell something good wafering through the air, and made it just in time for Lazar to return with dinner.

"Lo and behold, Lazar back at it again with the Chinese food," you comment as he plops the bags down on the table.

"Hey, it's good. Got your favorite right here." He hands you a tray, along with a small bowl of soup.

"Fuck, I'm starving." Woods wanders over as well, sifting through the containers until he finds his. He took a fortune cookie out of the bag before finally noticing you. "Oh, look who's finally awake! Feeling better, Bell?"

"Yeah." You take out a seat from under the table and sit. "Do you know what happened to the folder I had this morning? It had the stuff I was going to work on—"

"I think Adler took care of it."

"He decrypted the code?" you muse.

"Well, no. He probably had Sims do it."

Mason comes over, a few beer cans in his arms. Woods gives out an impressed whistle, taking one for himself and cracking it open. He takes a good swig, before giving out a quenched sigh of approval. "Now, that's the shit."

You chuckle at his reaction. The beer brand was nothing special of sort, yet Woods seemed to treat it like a luxury. "Did something good happen?"

"You tell me, Bell. How'd the conversation with Adler go?"

You pause, stabbing a plastic fork in your food before taking a bite. "Good, I guess."

"Damn Bell, don't leave us in the dark here." Woods voices his disappointment. "Loosen up a bit, take a drink. We're all friends here."

"I don't drink," you inform curtly, detecting underlying intentions stemming from this conversation.

"Aren't Russians the number one consumer of alcohol?"

"I'm sick, Woods. I don't think drinking will help me at the moment."

"You hear that? Bell's sick," Mason reiterates with a wry smile.

"Lovesick, more like," Lazar adds.

You were about to take another bite, but instead placed the utensil down, giving Lazar a dirty look. "What'd you say?"

"Bingo!" Woods crushes a can in his hands, tossing it into a nearby bin. "Bell has a—"

"What the fuck?" You slam a hand on the table. "Is this what you guys wanted to talk about?!"

"Come on, Bell. Adler spent a while in your room earlier, I was starting to think you killed him after all the yelling.”

“You heard that?”

Mason nods, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kinda..."

You thought back to this morning, reminiscing on Adler’s words. And how it ended. “You guys really shouldn't stick your nose into things. Something bad might happen."

"What kind of stuff?” Woods pries, leaning in a bit.

You dry laugh nervously. “Who knows? I'll think about it."

“I think Bell’s getting a bit defensive, Mason.”

“I think so too.”

Lazar points his plastic fork at you. “It went well, didn't it? I knew it. Adler came back to the garage in a good mood."

“I think you should all choose your next words carefully,” you growl, trying to ignore your heart hammering against your chest.

You didn’t like Adler. You hate the man. He shot you on the cliff. He…

Gave you the Walkman. Lended you his jacket. Comforted you during your moments of weakness. Kissed you.

Well, shit.

You bury your face into your hands.

“Is Bell blushing? Bell's blushing!” Woods nudges you with his elbow.

"I'm SICK!"

"Keep making excuses Bell, they might come true."

"I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Sure, whatever you say," Mason grins.

“See, what did I tell you Mason? Pay up." Woods holds out a hand. His friend grumbles, remembering the bet he made, and pulls out his wallet.

“Nope!" you exclaim, snatching the five dollars out of Mason's hand. “Here's how it's going to work: this conversation never happened. If I hear even a sliver of anything related to this, you better pray that you wake up the next day. Got it?"

If looks could kill, the three of them would drop dead at this very moment.

“...Pucker up, Bell's boyfriend is coming over," Mason comments, before downing a glass of water.

"What the f—"

"[L/N]."

All eyes turn to Adler, who had just hung up on the phone after a discussion with Hudson. He had no problem looking at you, and maintained a decent distance, despite both of you just having a tender moment just a few hours earlier. Props to him, you suppose.

"You have a minute?" he asks.

You clear your throat, giving a glare to the trio before closing the lid to your dinner and heading over to Adler.

"Did I interrupt something?"

"No," you assure. "You didn't."

“Anyways—" Adler hands you a thin file. "Hudson has something for you to do.”

“Again?”

Flipping through the contents, there was a transcript of a conversation between Belikov and the person of interest.

“He wants you to meet with someone. Apparently Belikov knows a guy who is willing to give us a tip. Only catch is he only wants someone to meet up with him, alone.”

You set the folder aside and cross your arms. “And why am I going?”

“Because you speak the same language?”

“But you speak Russian too.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, I’m kinda injured at the moment.” Adler gestures towards his abdomen. You roll your eyes.

"Hudson's been a bit keen on giving me missions," you point out, tucking the file under your arm. "When do I leave?"

"September, most likely."

#russell adler #russell adler x reader #adler x reader #russell adler x bell #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #call of duty #bo:cw #text #bell #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #fanfic #and then it all goes downhill from here #abcd briefing

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j-minte08 · 3 years

Text

Why do I award BalanWonderworld as a masterpiece?

Introduction

⚠️I'm using a translator, so I apologize if any parts are difficult to read.

In this article, I will write about why I award Balan Wonderworld as a masterpiece, with answers to criticisms.

When I played the demo version, I thought this game was SO BAD. But I believed Yuji Naka and bought the full version. (Before I knew it, I had bought four of them...) I'm not raving blindly about it.

At first, I was hopelessly disappointed because nothing had changed from the demo version. However, in chapters 2 and 3, I was impressed by the three-dimensionality and beauty of the stages, and in chapter 4, I realized the comfort of gaining freedom through the acquisition of costumes.

By the time I was completely finished, I was convinced that this game was a great piece of work.

This is an article that I wrote after spending nearly 100 hours on this game.

I hope you will read it.

Main part

First of all, this game is not a game with flashy action as its primary objective. (Flashy battle action is possible in some scenes.)

【Puzzle】　【RPG】　【Exploration】

It is structured around these three main components.

The game also features a "Balance AI" that senses the player's movements and makes changes to the difficulty and world. There is also a presentation of my own work, so please take a look!

Please read with the above in mind.

■ One button action is stressful.

▶︎ As mentioned earlier, this game is not intended for flashy action. At its root, it is an RPG and does not require multiple buttons. The reason it's a simple operation is because it doesn't need to be.

There is only one button, but instead the player is given the freedom to select up to three actions of their choice. The way to play Balan is to find your own strategy within these constraints.

Some people point out that you can't jump, but only a few outfits limit jumping. Most of them are attack-oriented outfits. It's up to you to decide whether you want more attack power or more movement power.

If you're still not convinced, this game just isn't to your liking.(If that's you, I recommend the Wii version of Rodea.)

NiGHTS and Sonic are also action games with simple controls, but the concept is different from Baran, as explained below.

From the very beginning, NiGHTS and Sonic are one-button games that allow for exhilarating action. The action feels good and allows for improvement through trial and error.

However, Balan begins in a state of helplessness. One of his goals is to use his wits and eventually gain the power to run freely around the three-dimensional stage.

Freedom from discomfort. This catharsis is the best part of Balan.

It is also linked to the story's theme of opening closed minds.

■ The structure of the puzzle is sketchy.

▶︎ There is an intention behind this. By making the puzzle structure more flexible, the player is given more choices.

Therefore, each player will have a completely different solution to obtaining a single statue.

Also, each time you play the game, you will find new strategies, making it a game that can be played repeatedly.

This is the reason why Yuji Naka was so confident about this game.

Personally, I think that this action with a puzzle concept has a similar point of view to card games and rock-paper-scissors.

The Mega Man series is a typical example of a game that requires you to observe the situation and your opponent's movements to find the right technique and move. In fact, there is a famous episode where it was derived from rock-paper-scissors. This is also a game where you can enjoy improving through trial and error, but I think the structure of the rules is similar to that of Balan.

■ It's a pain to stock up on costumes.

▶︎ There is no need to overstock costumes. The minimum number of costumes needed to clear the course will naturally be available. Dependence on certain costumes can make the game monotonous. Also, the BalanceAI can sense your movements and take countermeasures.

As the difficulty level increases, you will have a hard time because the costumes will not come back.

The game is made more interesting by the style of play that allows you to use all the costumes to their fullest extent and bring out the true value of each one.

If you run out, explore the stage while collecting costumes. It may lead to new discoveries.

Even if you don't have a specific costume, there are many situations you can get through by applying other costumes.

This degree of freedom is what makes Balan so interesting. The strategy is left to your imagination.

■ The stage is curved. Isn't this a useless design?

▶︎ The curvature of the map allows you to see every corner of the stage. You may be confused because there is no other game that tries to do something like this. However, this is an ideal map for exploration games.

The basics of this gimmick are used as of chapter 1. Chapter 7, which has particularly large differences in elevation, makes good use of this gimmick.

■ The difficulty level is too low.

▶︎ Basics → Application → Review (Boss battle)

This game is designed to follow the above flow thoroughly. As a result, the difficulty level in the early stages is kept low, but the endgame is quite difficult. I almost lost my mind in chapter 12.

The bosses are easy to defeat. However, it is difficult to conquer all three strategy patterns.

Also, if you keep defeating enemies quickly without taking damage, the difficulty level will increase.Stronger and faster enemies will appear in large numbers.I found the difficulty level increased at chapter 3.

In other words, the difficulty of the game depends on how good you are.

■ I want to have a HP separate from my costume.

▶︎ This system prompts the player to use a different costume in case of failure.

Depending on the situation, you can either sacrifice valuable costumes, or use inconvenient but well-stocked costumes... The game throws a variety of choices at the player. This gameplay becomes more apparent as the difficulty level increases.

If you separate the HP from the costume, this tense gameplay will be lost.

The system of choosing outfits based on what will happen next fosters the ability to think and survive on one's own. It will also help the child's ego independence.

■ I need more explanations and hints. It's designed in an unfriendly way.

▶︎ It's not a game that requires you to do anything difficult, so if you think about it, you should be able to understand it to some extent. All you have to do is immerse yourself in collecting statues by any route you can think of.

Some people criticize Balan for being old-fashioned, but they are missing the point.

Games are essentially content that teaches you to think and act for yourself. This is a posting of what games should be, and a refreshing return to the basics.

However, I don't mean to criticize modern games. The immersive feeling of being in a movie, and the friendly design of the UI that shows you where you are going so you don't get lost. I think it's a beautiful evolution for today's hectic world where it's hard to find time to be alone.

However, to be honest, it is abnormal to say that only works that follow the latest trends are evaluated, and it is difficult to say that there is creativity in such works. Evolving technology and the presence or absence of originality have completely different meanings.

I would like to say that games like Balan, which have their own rules and think for themselves, are what we need today.

■ I don't understand the story. I want subtitles.

▶︎ With both video and dubbing, the amount of information is extremely high. By not using real words, all the people in the world have the exact same experience. Very romantic, don't you think?

It's not to dismiss the unspoken parts as non-existent, but to let your imagination run wild and have fun with it.

Since ancient times, there has been an aesthetic in Asia that finds meaning in blank spaces.

If you want a more substantial story, I recommend the novel version, which probably has what you want. It is available for Kindle.

At the end

Balan Wonderworld is a game designed to grow with the player the more time they spend playing.

Despite its gorgeous visuals, the reality of the story is deep and Yuji Naka's philosophy shines through, making it a masterpiece that can be called a compilation of his work.

At first, you may find some scenes difficult or the system annoying. However, they all have a meaning and will make sense as you continue to play.

Balan is built on a very complete system.

EVERY MOMENT IS AN ADVENTURE... This tagline is true.

But the fact is that Balan is a very peaky game. But that's also true for Sonic and NiGHTS.

If you have enjoyed Yuji Naka's past works, you will surely understand the quality of Balan. I recommend that you take the time to face this game first without any preconceived notions.

Now that I've spoken highly of Balan, I'd like to offer some criticism of the official advertising.

I think the main reason for this failure was the poor choice of stages included in the demo version, which made it difficult to convey the fun of expanding the degree of freedom by acquiring costumes, the sense of freedom, and the fun of being able to create a number of unique strategies.

As for the official SNS, rather than introducing the costumes and the storyline by themselves, the official should have done a better job of showing how they are all connected to make this game interesting.

That's how it looked from my personal point of view, but I believe that the current situation is the result of continuous failures in the area of advertising.

I'm so disappointed that this masterpiece is being buried, and I hope that the officials will have the guts to turn its reputation upside down even now.

Hopefully, this game will get the recognition it deserves. I love Balan Wonderworld.

#balan wonderworld #game #square enix #game review #yuji naka #naoto oshima #バランワンダーワールド #playstation #bww #nights #nights into dreams #sonic #sonic the hedgehog

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clonewarslover55 · 3 years

Text

Memories AU Verda Tal Rose in Triple Zero

Part one(1) out of five(5)

Part two Part three Part four Part five

Summary: Random drabbles based off of parts in the Republic Commando book Triple Zero where Etain interacted with Walon Vau! @just-some-girl-92 wanted to know how Etain would react to Rose, so here’s a new series lol

Notes: If you have no idea who Rose is check out Memories here! And her many many character notes on my masterlist!! Please do, I’m really proud of Rose and Memories!!

This is the part where Etain meets Walon, adding Rose of course!

The formatting, plot, dialogue, etc! Are not mine!!! This is all from Republic Commando: Triple Zero, chapter nine. Written by Karen Traviss. So none of this is mine but the Rose parts!

If you haven’t read Triple Zero or Memories then I suggest you don’t read this until you do!!

Warnings: Canon violence, Rose is a bitch ngl, Walon Vau is polite, Rose is not,

+Safe house, Brewery zone, Coruscant Quadrant J-47, 1000 hours, 371 days after Geonosis+

Vau, sitting at the table, looked tired. He still seemed like a professor who wasn’t very happy with his class, but the physical effort showed in deeper lines from nose to mouth and the way he was drumming his fingers on the table in front of him. It was his trick for staying awake.

A woman sat beside him. She was leaning back in her chair, an ankle propped on her knee. Her dark auburn red hair, which was greying, was in a messy braid, her emerald green eyes half lidded. She blinked slowly and glanced at Etain, a bemused expression on her beautiful face. The woman was around Walon’s age it seemed, her freckles and frown lines prominent.

The man who had his head resting on the same table in front of him didn’t look awake at all. Vau leaned forward and lifted the man’s head by his hair, peered into his face, and set him down carefully again. The woman sighed, Vau glancing at her. Both were clearly exhausted and irritated.

“You’re the relief watch, then, Jedi?” Vau got up and stretched extravagantly, joints clicking, and indicated the empty chair. “All yours.” The woman sat there a little longer, looking Etain up and down. She clearly did not like Jedi it seemed. When she stood Etain noticed she was tall, a few inches taller than Skirata but still shorter than Vau.

Etain looked surprised. Skirata had expected her to register horror at the blood spatter on the otherwise pristine cream walls, but she just looked at Vau like she was expecting to see someone else.

She looked back at the fellow redhead. “I thought I was only meeting-” The woman cut her off, she was very rude. “I’m Verda Tal Rose, which means Warrior Blood Rose. You may call me Rose, I’m Walon’s wife. I help him with these kinds of jobs.” Kal sighed, “She wasn’t supposed to be here.” The woman, Rose, rolled her eyes. “I don’t need your fucking permission Skirata. You know I can keep my mouth shut.” She spat the words, Kal glaring back at her.

Etain was even more shocked. How Skirata described Vau he didn’t seem like the man to take a wife. Let alone one who was incredibly rude. Kal quickly cut the tension by directing his attention to Walon.

“Where are the other two?” Skirata asked.

“Nikto number one is M’truli, and he’s secured in the small bedroom.” Vau was perfectly polite: this was just business after all, and even Skirata felt too centered on the task at hand to resume their feud where it had left off. His wife on the other hand, was not. Rose despised Kal more than her husband did, but not because of the feud between the two men. “Nikto number two is Gysk, and he’s in the study.” Rose spoke this time, irritation in her voice.

“Your tunics could use a wash.”

“It’s the little horns. You can’t punch a Nikto. Had to use something else.” Rose nodded in agreement with her husband, a little smirk coming across her face. Etain looked at her and swallowed thickly. Rose seemed quite unhinged, and she had just met her.

Etain sat down in Vau’s seat and placed her hands flat on the table, still looking puzzled. Skirata leaned against the wall. Vau wandered into the ‘fresher: water tinkled into the basin. Rose stood near the table, watching Etain with an eyebrow raised.

“You want to tell me what you know,” Etain said soothingly. “You want to give me the names of the people you operate with.”

Orjul twitched. He raised his head from the table with some difficulty and stared into her face for a second.

Then he spat in it. Rose pulled a dagger from her boot and snarled. Kal grabbed her shoulder and held her back, “She can handle this Verda.” He whispered, Rose only sneered and yanked from his touch. She was wound up, Orjul must have spat on her a few times already as well. Rose was easy to piss off though….So Kal was scared to guess what he had said so far.

Etain jerked back, visibly shocked, and wiped the pink-stained spittle with one hand. Then she composed herself again.

“Keep your stinking mind tricks to yourself, Jedi,” Orjul hissed. Rose glared at him, the man not looking at her out of fear. Rose dropped the blade back into her boot, crossing her arms.

Skirata didn’t expect her to break at that point. And she didn’t: she simply sat there, although he knew it wasn’t blank inactivity. She had been trained from childhood just like the clone army, except the first weapon she seized would be her control of the Force and her ability to read it like clamoring comlink signals.

Darman had told him. “She could tell us apart right away by how we felt and thought, Sarge. Wouldn’t that be a handy trick to have?”

“Can I see the Nikto?” She asked suddenly. Etain looked at Rose who just gave a half shrug letting Etain know she wasn’t in charge.

Vau came out of the ‘fresher, wiping his face with a fluffy white towel. “Help yourself.” He gave Skirata a “you-know-best” look and unlocked the doors for her. “They’re securly trussed. You know we keep them from talking to each other, don’t you?” Rose spoke, walking to her husband.

“I worked that out,” Etain said.

Rose gave her a tired smile, it was the smile of someone who had been up for hours. It nearly looked like a mothers smile, and for some reason it made Etain’s heart ache. There was just something in Rose’s smile and force signature. Odd.

She looked back at her husband, “You missed a spot.” She mumbled, taking the towel from him to wipe some blood from his neck. Walon glared at her like an embarrassed child. Rose only pecked his cheek, a loving smile on her face. Vau sighed, looking like he hated the attention. Only a blind man would miss the love and admiration in his golden eyes though.

Etain laughed to herself at their antics, she couldn’t wait to have that with Darman. The small cute moments in the future. She shook the thought away and disappeared into one room for a minute and then came out and went into the other. When she emerged again, she walked up to the three Mandalorians and lowered her head.

“I’m pretty sure those Nikto have no information, and know they don’t have it,” she said quietly.

“People have useful information all the time and don’t know it,” Skirata said. “We piece together apparently useless stuff together and come up with connections.” Verda Tal Rose snorted loudly, “We??” Vau elbowed her, he was too tired to listen to her and Kal argue. Rose glared at her husband, Walon looking at Etain to avoid his wife’s murderous gaze.

They had clearly been married for quite a while.

“What I mean is that they have this distinct sense that they’re just afraid of dying.”

Vau shrugged. “So much for Nikto grit, eh?”

“Every creature avoids death. The difference is that Orjul is afraid of breaking. It feels different to me. It’s not animal dread. It’s not as deep in the Force.” Etain had her fingers meshed in that Jedi way that made her look as if she were wringing her hands. “I might as well concentrate on him. He has information he’s afraid to reveal.”

They watched her walk the few meters back to the main room and settle down at the table opposite Orjul again and stare at him.

Vau shrugged and put an arm around Rose’s waist. “Oh well. At least we can have a nap while she’s minding the shop. Then I can get back to work with more tangible methods.” Rose smirked at him and chuckled. She pulled away, nodding at Skirata before walking into the bedroom, leaving the two men alone.

There was a sharp gasp from Orjul and Vau looked around. Whatever Etain was doing, she wasn’t even touching him. Just staring.

“Kal, those people scare me more than Orjul does,” Vau said. “Even more than your wife?” Walon snorted in that royal way of his, “I have yet to find something scarier than my Blood Rose.” Kal could agree with that.

“I’m just going to get my head down for a couple of hours. Wake me if she gets anywhere….Or kills him, of course.” Kal nodded and waved his old friend off. Vau’s golden eyes stayed locked with his blue ones for a moment before he left the room.

~Some Jedi interrogation and Orjul having a mental breakdown later!!~

Skirata grabbed Vau’s shoulder and shook him awake. “Get in there. She’s broken him down enough for you to finish the job.” Rose sat up and rubbed her eyes, unbraiding her chaotic hair. Vau stayed down for a moment, he was clearly exhausted.

Verda suddenly grabbed Kal’s hand that was still on her husband's shoulder, yanking it towards her so she could see his chrono. “Not bad.” She spoke, her voice still groggy. Walon looked at Kal once Rose dropped his arm.

“What’s up? Don’t want to let her face the real consequences?” Vau spoke.

“Just do it, will you?”

Vau swung his legs off the bed and stalked into the main room to usher Etain from the chair and steer her and Skirata towards the doors. “Go and have some fizzade, Jedi.” He turned to Orjul, who was staring after Etain with wide-set eyes. “She’s just stepping out for some refreshment. She’ll be back later.”

Walon spoke like a teacher, his accented voice helping him sound even more regal and in control. Rose walked out of the bedroom, twirling a dagger between her fingers with skill. Etain blinked, Rose’s hair was now in a perfect braid instead of a messy one. She’d have to ask her secrets for controlling crazy red hair later.

Skirata led Etain out by her elbow. He sat her down on a little bench at the back of the landing platform and took out his comlink to call for transport.

“No, I'm going back in,” said Etain.

“Only if Vau calls us back.”

“Kal….”

“Only if he really needs you. Okay?”

They were still waiting for Ordo to collect them when Etain flinched and then looked back at the lobby doors.

They opened and Vau wandered out, rubbing his eyes. There was a distinctive tang of ozone clinging to him, like a discharged blaster.

“Retail zone, Quadrant B-Eighty-five,” said Vau simply. He held out his datapad with the coordinates. “But he hasn’t given me a date, if he knows one. He was supposed to drop the explosives off in the warehouse, and someone would be along to collect it. He never knew who.

Skirata sniffed the ozonic scent again and switched to Mando’a, although he was sure Etain had flinched because she had sensed what had happened. Rose walked out just as the men began to argue, quick to distract Etain.

“Gar ru kyramu kaysh, di’kut: tion’meh kaysh ru jehaati?”

Translation: “You killed him, you moron: what if he was lying?”

Vau made an irritated pfft sound “Ni ru kyarmu Niktose. Meh Orjul jehaati, kaysh kar’tayli me’ni ven kyramu kaysh.”

Translation: “I killed the Nikto. If Orjul’s lying, he knows I'll kill him. Orjul would be dead sooner or later anyway.”

No prisoners: not on this run. It was amazing how many people overlooked the inevitable while hoping for a way out.

Kal knew Etain couldn’t speak fluent Mando’a, but he was still happy Rose was there to distract Etain from picking up any of the words in the conversation that she might know. “Seriously it works wonders Etain.” Rose spoke, smiling a little at Etain. She’d definitely listen to her hair advice.

“Darling.” Walon spoke, motioning to the doors. Rose winked at Etain and walked to her husband, walking back inside with him.

Etain looked at Kal, “She’s a rude one…..but I think she likes me?” Kal chuckled, “Yeah, which means you’re lucky.” Etain frowned at that, “They’re an odd pair, but they somehow work. Just wait until you see them in action….or arguing.” Etain wasn’t sure if she wanted to see any of that.

Etain almost bolted to the speeder when Ordo settled it on the platform.

~Back inside~

Walon hugged Rose from behind, both procrastinating moving the corpse. “That girl is smart but naive. She’s too reliant on Skirata, which is never good.” Rose suddenly spoke. Vau sighed, he agreed with her.

Tags: @the-arctic-violet @crimson-dxwn @cherry-cokes-world @thealluringsink @seafoamandlilliesinthesea @leias-left-hair-bun @catsnkooks @royalhandmaidens @simping-for-fives @valkyrieofthehighfae @mxndalorians @colorfulloverbatturkey @peacefulwizardfox @ahsokatano-thetogruta @hounding-around @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @fyrepen33 @ct7567329 @mistflyer1102

#walon vau #walon vau x original characters #verda tal rose #walon vau x verda tal rose #delta squad #walon vau’s boys #kal skirata #omega squad #The Null's #Null Arcs #Republic Commando #republic commando novels #republic commando: Triple Zero #republic commandos #republic commando game #repcomm novels #repcomm game #repcom #repcomm

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 4 years

Text

Blood Stained Name (AldoxFem!Reader)

Requested by @svonschroeder

@owba-chan @inglourious-imagines @war-obsessed @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67

Let me know if you wanna be added to the basterds or OUATIH taglist :)

You were, what some may call, a legend during the war. And like many other legends, you served as a warning to the cruel, and an idol to the just. And, like any other legend, you were hunted. In fact, there was quite a large bounty placed on your head, complimentary of the nazi party.

Dead or alive. The only problem was...your name was unknown. Your age was unknown. Your nationality was unknown. Any general description of you was flawed, full of anomalies thanks to fearful stutters and shudders. You made it known that you were helping resistances and rebellions throughout Europe. With that many allies, and so few clues, you were even harder to track down. The truth was, it was hard to hunt a hunter...because in spite of all you'd done for others, every rescue, every code, every message... your real gift was hunting. Nazi hunting, to be precise. So, with nothing better to go on than "nazi-hunter," you were dubbed 'Orion,' and filed as an enemy of the state. The Orion Initiative started in 1941: An extensive mission and intensive investigation aimed at tracking you down, led by your polar opposite, the Jew Hunter: Hans Landa. Rumors of the nazi hunting started just months after the nazi party took over... An official (though top secret) report was started in 1940, when the hunt was clearly more than just a rumor. An official investigation was launched in 1941. By late 1942, a group of nazi hunters was identified, and originally considered a set of 'copy cats.' The theory was struck down...and the group became known as the ‘basterds.' It was now 1944... The Orion mystery remained unsolved, making it the longest investigation Landa had ever been on. It was a record... Something he was not proud of. He had to solve it.... The only problem was he'd never seen such a clean trail...such meticulous murder... Nearly a perfect crime, every time. Just enough evidence left behind to drive him insane, and just less than enough to piece anything together. It was done on purpose. It was a mockery, and he knew it.

What he didn't know was your name... In fact, nearly no one knew it. The French Resistance knew you as Anaïs Bellamy, a saving grace. To the Soviets, Tatiana Zima. To the Belgian Resistance, you were Cassandra Willems. But that was as many names as Landa could collect (through the most heinous means). Neither of them were legitimate, and all of them led to dead ends. You were a myth with a thousand names. Faceless, but full of lore. Each resistance that knew you, knew you as a hero. Nothing more, nothing less. Each nazi that knew you, never saw anything again. To the allies, you were an asset. To the nazis, you were a faceless, nameless menace. To Hans Landa, you were an abomination, and an embarassment. He would uncover your name and face, and close that case and file, if it was the last thing he did.

He swore that he'd find you. You were just like him at the end of the day. You used the same strategies, same intimidation, you played the same game... Of course, you knew that. And it drove you crazy. Because you wanted to be nothing like him... Nothing like your father. Unaware of your million names, you were simply Y/n to him. His daughter. To you, he was simply a nazi. Dead to you, the moment he first put on his SS uniform... But he didn't know that. He was too busy with work, and you didn't quite mind your game of cat and mouse. You liked driving him crazy without him even knowing. As he worked overtime trying to find a single connection, you smirked, as he rattled on and on about names and clues. He’d never been so frantic over any case before... Every once in a while, you’d throw him a bone. A useless, broken bone, at that. A puzzle piece to a puzzle without a picture. Still, he’d smile at you, the only thing in the world he had, and sighed, “Danke, Y/n...” Y/N. Very few people knew that to be your name. And one yank hillbilly by the name of Lieutenant Aldo Raine knew it....

By accident, of course. He never quite had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, but he did know enough of your friends in the resistance, and as a basterd, he was privy to some information most people weren't. It was rare, but he somehow connected the dots. He saw one of your identifications. One of the many.... He may have been a bootlegging redneck from the humble Maynardville Tennessee, but he was no idiot. And he practically had a photographic memory.

There were faces he never forgot. And yours, on those fake French papers, was one of them. Your name stuck with him... Your name....the thing you hated most about yourself. "You're so much like him!" "Same eyes!" "Same brains, too!" You forced a smile through it all. You couldn't take much more of this. You were trapped in a crowded lobby, in a cinema, surrounded by your enemy. Your name... This was the exact reason very few of your allies knew your real name. They equated you to your father. They were suspicious of you, a possible double crosser... It took so much to convince people of your true colors. But...you couldn't blame them. You still carried all the blame of your father's sins. You didn't think twice. You just fought. And you fought the urge to cry and scream, and burn the place down in that moment. Landa was a blood stained name, and there was nothing you could do about it... You sighed, as your father interceded, accepted compliments on your behalf...and proceeded to encourage you to mingle. "I want grandchildren some day." It took every ounce of you to brace yourself, and remind yourself that there was already a plan for the night. You forced a smile as you lost yourself in the crowd, away from him, and leaned over the railing of the second floor, watching the final night of your life come and go, there at the Nations Pride premier. ******** The war went on, and the basterds built up a way into Emmanuelle Mimeau's cinema: Operation Kino. Along the way, Bridget revealed she had eyes on the sinde of the regime....and the theater. She showed the basterds the picture of her spy. A 'darling little thing,' as she held up a newspaper clipping. A daughter of a renowned nazi officer. A face Aldo recognized.... but no... It couldn’t be... He’d believe it when he saw it. And there you were, in the lobby with the rest of the nazis, for the premier of Nation's Pride. Aldo spotted you from across the room as he walked in with Bridget, Omar, and Donny. He was caught off guard, seeing a legend like you in person was almost like seeing a ghost story come to life. He whispered with astonishment, "Y/N Landa." You had spotted them from a mile away, on the second floor, as you leaned over the rails. You smiled, having learned to read lips long ago, as you looked Aldo in the eye. You knew time was running out. You knew Operation Kino in and out. It was a sign of the times...so you may as well have fun with what you had left of it. You winked at Aldo, and blew him a kiss. He was flustered for a split second.

Donny snickered, Omar smirked, and Bridget looked away, blushing as she giggled. Only moments before the boys could make their way to you for last minute updates, they ran into a little problem. Your father. ....Still, Aldo smiled and nodded snarkily as he made conversation in an embarassingly tragic excuse for Italian. Aldo couldn't believe it.... Hans Landa had no idea who his own daughter was. **********1943*********** "Monsieur Raine, you've just missed her!" The Basterds' contact in the French Resistance, Etienne, chuckled. "Who?" He smiled, "Your counterpart. Orion." Donny raised his eyebrow, "You said 'her'?" Etienne nodded, "Her." He held out a copy of your resistance identification. Aldo held the paper, and looked up, "Orion's a woman?" He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the fake name: Anaïs Bellamy. Hirschberg leaned over his shoulder, inspecting the documents... a bit disappointed, having hoped that Orion was an American. Etienne rolled his eyes, "German. Y/n Landa. One of the best we got." Another resistance fighter smiled as he cleaned nazi blood off his guns, "Good kid. Good aim. Fast runner." ---Meanwhile--- "Verdammt. Verdaaaamnt. Verdamnt." You muttered under your breath, as you climbed through your bedroom window, threw off your bloody, war-torn clothes, and threw on something presentable. You quickly glanced into your mirror. You popped your thumb in your mouth, and then wiped away some blood from your cheekbone. Your hair was a mess, and you looked tired. Perfect. You practically flew down the stairs, and rushed down the halls. You had a job to do in Paris. You couldn’t exactly waste time conversing with that fiend that dared call himself a father.

But you were stopped by an old familiar voice. "Another bad night, liebling?" You sighed, and shuffled toward the doorway in the dining room. "Ja..." Your father sighed as he put down his newspaper, and looked at you, as he smoked his pipe. He shook his head, and went on about being worried, and telling you for the millionth time that you should see a doctor. "No, but I-" "Your grades are slipping! Don't think I haven't noticed." He grumbled a little.

"I'm still graduating next semester." "You're still seeing a doctor." "But-" "Tomorrow morning." "But." He raised his voice, "Case closed." That was it...

Once Hans Landa said 'case closed,' he meant it. ************************ The night went on, as expected... Mostly.

As he interrogated Aldo and Smitty, he expected he had it all figured out. "What shall the history books read?" Aldo raised his eyebrow, "Yeah? An' what about Y/n? Ain’t that kid still in the theater? Be a shame. Ain’t that right, Utivich?" Utivich smirked a little, “Yes, sir.” Landa stopped smirking... His face grew spiteful, his eyes narrowed with the intent to kill, "Tell me how you know my daughter's name or I swear I'll send word to the theater, I'll have the rest of your men shot, and-"

"Relax Landa. I know all my associate's names." Landa shook his head, "Associates?" He smiled, thinking he had it figured out again, "She was infiltrating your basterds, and didn't tell me!" He grinned, "I tell you, that girl is just like me. That's it, isn't it?" Aldo smirked this time, and shook his head once, "Nope." Landa's face fell. If looks could kill... "So you either make that there deal, or not. Y/n is my man on the inside. And ain't no way you takin em boys out without settin' em bombs off." Landa left the desk, and immediately sent orders out for you to be found, and escorted directly to him. Then he took the deal with the general. He would deal with you later. He couldn't tell if what Aldo said was true, but he desparately hoped it wasn't... and even more so, he wanted you out of that cinema. As Smitty and Aldo were escorted onto the truck to be taken behind allied lines, a nazi ran up to Landa with some news. You were not found... He was silent for a moment, and looked down as he nodded slowly, bracing himself for the possibility that you never would be found. Perhaps, you'd gone out for some air. Maube you'd gone home, and finally got some sleep. Or you went out looking for your dear old dad... Maybe....maybe you'd met someone worth loving there, a high ranking officer. (You had...but Aldo wasn't exactly the man Landa had in mind for you.) "Sir." Hans snapped out of it, and nodded as he made his way to his seat. Everything went well...too welll... The next thing he knew, Aldo had carved a swastika onto his face, and as he screamed in agony, Landa saw a nazi truck pulling up. A hijacked one. One with three familiar faces. Two basterds, and a hunter.

Landa was a smart man, but, his hope and sentimenatality won out for once. He believed for a few moments you were there to save him, that you'd apprehended Donny and Omar, and you'd given him a fighting chance. You were just like him, after all, all the people said so. Maybe you'd be a double crosser, and help him. But you didn't. As blood from Aldo's mark dripped into Landa's eyes, he looked up at you, betrayed for a moment. Then....it all came together. He pursed his lips, as he pieced every single bit of evidence together. You knew things there was no way for you to know. You had been right under his nose all along. It had been the perfect place to hide.... He gave one psychotic smile, as he watched you raise your pistol, and aim it at him. "I knew you'd outsmart me some day." You heard Aldo step up from behind you, "Y/n...he's still your father. We can take care of this." Landa, at the moment, was truly intrigued at what would happen next. But you didn't put your gun down. You shook your head, not even looking at Aldo. In fact, you looked at your ‘father’ the whole time. You muttered, "I don't have a father." He seemed betrayed again, for an instant, but then again, you were just like him. A double crosser with a mission. He nodded. He smiled as he nodded.

He accepted it... You were just like him, after all... And he finally had an answer to the Orion Initiative. It would remain unofficial, and lost... But the case was finally closed. To him, at least. The Orion Initiative had an answer. It had been right under his nose, all along. He really was impressed, and psychotic as it was...he was proud of you. But the feeling was not mutual. You knew even after all that, he wasn't sorry. And the guilt of the nazis had done would forever weigh on you...So one less nazi in the world, one last hunt was all you could ask for. The war was over, but at that moment, there were things you and every other resitance, soldier, and victim would never forget. This was it... He smiled, and shrugged, "Case closed, Orion." You pulled the trigger. At that moment, there were thousands filing into streets, drinking, celebrating, dancing in the streets.... But when the confetti was swept up, and the soldiers went home, and the toppled regimes’ dust settled...everyone would have somewhere to go.

The gunsmoke cleared, and you took a breath, for the first time in a long time. You lowered your shoulders, and unclenched your jaw... For the first time in a long time, you could rest... But you had no place to call home. No one to call your own, in spite of the thousands that knew you, your face, and your story, few knew your name... Even fewer knew you. But you felt a hand on your shoulder, and a soft voice with a strange accent. "Y/n..." And you turned to see a warm smile, and kinder eyes: Lieutenant Aldo Raine... But he'd tell you you could call him Aldo, later that day. And your world turned upside down. "Well...” He put his hands at his hips and sighed as he smiled at you, “You ain't part of the deal, Orion, and I sure as hell am gon' get chewed out for this...but I think we'll find somethin' for ya." You smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time... That was the first, honest thing you'd heard in longer than you could remember... He took your hand, as you walked with the basterds to the west, to the general, and to freedom. As you smiled at Aldo, and he smiled at you, you knew you were going somewhere safe, somewhere far. Perhaps on a mountain, somewhere in the middle of Tennessee. It wouldn't be like the mountains in Austria that you knew, but, a kinder place, one far from war, and farther from your memories of it. There in Aldo's eyes, you found something new as the sun began to rise in the horizon. A beginning... A place to call your own, a name without a blood stain.

#Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #aldo raine #aldo the apache #aldo raine x reader #hans landa

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thelittlesttimelord · 3 years

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The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 38

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 38 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 38/? SUMMARY: Elise Smith is now a teenaged Timelord. In addition to losing the Ponds, the fields of Trenzalore are calling. But first they have to figure out exactly who Clara Oswald is.

[A/N - I’m having so much fun with Elise and the Cyberplanner. I have a special conversation planned for them in the next chapter.]

They found Angie with the platoon.

“Angie! Angie!” Clara yelled, running up to her.

“She always has to turn up and spoil everything. I wasn't doing anything. Why can't you just leave me alone?”

There was a loud crash and a Cyberman came stomping in.

“Cyberman! Attack formation!” the captain yelled.

The Cyberman moved faster than Elise had ever seen one move before. A man rushed forward, but the Cyberman batted him away.

“No! Attack formation, quickly.”

The platoon started shooting at the Cyberman, while the Doctor grabbed Clara and Elise and pulled them away.

“Upgrade in progress,” the Cyberman said.

“Angie!” Clara yelled.

The Cyberman grabbed Angie and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her off.

“Angie!” Clara rushed after the Cyberman, but the Doctor grabbed her and pulled her back.

“Clara. Clara!”

“That was a Cyberman. But they're extinct,” the captain said.

“Well clearly they’re not,” Elise snapped.

“Listen to me. I will get her back,” the Doctor told Clara. He walked over to the captain. “Captain, a word please. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I take it your platoon doesn't do much fighting.”

“What do you expect?”

“What?” Clara asked.

“We're a punishment platoon. It's why they sent us out here, so we can't get into trouble.”

Elise rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.”

“Right, right, well, okay.” The Doctor took the captain’s insignia and pinned it to Clara’s jacket. “As Imperial Consul, I'm putting Clara in charge. Clara, stay alive until I get back, and don't let anyone blow up this planet.” He grabbed Elise by the arm and they started to leave.

“Is that something they're likely to do?” Clara asked.

“Get to somewhere defensible.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm getting Angie, finding Artie and looking for funny insects. Stay alive. And you lot, no blowing up this planet!”

The Doctor and Elise left.

“Why exactly am I coming with you? You could have left me with Clara,” Elise said.

The Doctor turned to her. “Because Clara can handle it. I need you to have my back.”

“I always do. You know that.”

The Doctor smiled. “I know you do. Now come on.”

They made their way back to Webley’s room.

“Artie?” the Doctor called.

A small Cybermat sat on an end table.

“I knew it looked familiar,” Elise said.

“Firstly, if anybody's watching this, those children are under my protection. I'm coming to get them. And secondly, little metal machine, you are beautiful,” the Doctor told it. He soniced it and then picked it up. “Not even a Cybermat any more, eh? Cybermites.”

“They’ve upgraded.”

The Doctor gave Elise a smirk and she playfully rolled her eyes.

“Shut-up.”

The Doctor carried the Cybermite into the chess room, where he soniced it again. “Now, there's a local transmat link open to your home. If I can just find the frequency…”

Elise and the Doctor appeared in a lab.

“Hey, that really shouldn't have worked,” the Doctor said.

“Doctor, help us,” they heard Artie say.

“Angie? Artie?” The Doctor ran over to the two children.

They were standing completely still with blinking devices attached to their temples.

Webley stepped out of the shadows, half of his face looking like a Cyberman.

“Webley.”

“We needed children, but the children had stopped coming. You brought us children. Hail to you, the Doctor, savior of the Cybermen!”

“Excuse me?” Elise asked.

“As the battle raged between humanity and the Cyberiad, the Cyberplanners built a Valkyrie, to save critically damaged units and bring them here, and one by one, repair them.”

“The people who vanished from the amusement park, they were spare parts for repairs,” the Doctor said.

“We've upgraded ourselves. The next model will be undefeatable.”

“Nothing's undefeatable.”

“We needed children to build a new Cyberplanner. A child's brain, with its infinite potential, is perfect for our needs. But we no longer need the children. The Cybermites have been scanning your brain, Doctor. It's quite remarkable.”

Elise stepped in front of her father. “Over my dead body.”

Webley cocked his head at her. “Is that an offer?”

“I’d be completely useless to you. Cybermen use human parts. I'm not human. You can't convert non-humans,” the Doctor said.

“Well, that was true a long time ago. But we've upgraded ourselves. Current Cyberunits use almost any living components,” Webley told him. Webley knocked Elise aside and threw the Cybermites onto the Doctor.

“No!” Elise yelled.

The Cybermites burrowed into the left side of his face.

“Incorporated. Yes. Ah. Unfamiliar pulmonary set-up. Nervous system hyperconductive. Remarkable brain processing speed. Ho, ho. Amazing,” the Doctor spoke in a different, more sinister, voice.

He jerked and was once again himself. “Get out of my head!”

Elise could only watch in horror as the Doctor switched between himself and the Cyberplanner.

“Stop rummaging in my mind.”

“Just you try and stop me. Ooo, who's Clara. Why are you thinking about her so much?”

“Enough.”

“Fascinating. A complete mental block. Highly effective. Relax, relax. If you just relax, you will find this a perfectly pleasant experience. You are being upgraded and incorporated into the Cyberiad as a Cyberplanner.”

“Get out of my head! What is this place, a network? A hive? You're getting signals from every Cyberman everywhere. How many of you are there?”

“Oh, this is brilliant. I'm so clever already, and now I'm a million times more clever.” The Cyberplanner spun in circles around the room. “And what a brain. Not a human brain, not even slightly human. I mean, I'm going to have to completely rework the neural interface, but this is going to be the most efficient Cyberplanner!”

The Cyberplanner jumped up on the pedestal in the room. “Not a great name, that, is it? I could call myself Mister Clever. So much raw data. Time Lords. There's information on the Time Lords in here. Oh, this is just dreamy.” The Cyberplanner’s eyes fell on Elise. He jumped down and approached her.

Everything in Elise was screaming at her to run away, but she stood her ground.

“Ooo. You’re a pretty one aren’t you?”

“Get away from her!”

“Oh don’t worry. We have no intentions to harm your precious offspring.”

“Right, I'm allowing you access to memories on Time Lord regeneration.”

The Cyberplanner laughed. “Fantastic!”

“I could regenerate right now. A big blast of regeneration energy, burn out any little Cyberwidgets in my brain, along with everything you're connected to. Don't want to. Use this me up, who knows what we'll get next? But I can.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t…”

“Who says I wouldn’t?”

The Cyberplanner pointed at Elise. “It would break her hearts and you know it. Stalemate, then. One of us needs to control this head. We're too well-balanced.”

“What did you say? No, no, no, no, no. I heard you. Rhetorical device to keep me thinking about it a bit more. Stalemate.”

“We each control forty nine point eight eight one percent of this brain. Point two three eight of the brain is still in the balance. Whoever gets this gets the whole thing.”

“Do you play chess?”

“The rules of chess are in my memory banks. You're proposing we play chess to end the stalemate?”

“Winner takes all. Nobody can access that portion of the brain without winning the game.”

“You can't win!”

“Try me.”

“You understand, when I do win, the Cyberiad gets your brains and memories. All of it.” The Cyberplanner looked at Elise. “…And we get to do whatever we want with your pretty daughter.”

“When I win, you get out of my head, you let the children go, and nobody dies. You got that? Nobody dies!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elise set up the chess board.

“Why are you really with him?” the Cyberplanner asked her.

“Because he’s my father.”

“No. He’s not. You could have gone anywhere.” The Cyberplanner laughed. “Or is it because you have nowhere else to go. What happens when he tires of you? Where will you go then? You don’t have a home to go back to.”

“Stop talking to her,” the Doctor snapped.

The Cyberplanner rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

The Doctor picked up a chess piece and moved it. “There. That was easy. The game has just started.”

“Doctor, why is there no record of you anywhere in the databanks of the Cyberiad? Oh, you're good. Oh, you've been eliminating yourself from history. You know you could be reconstructed by the hole you've left.”

“Good point. I'll do something about that.”

“The rules of chess allow only a finite number of moves, and I can use other Cyberunits as remote processors. You cannot possibly win!”

“I can. I know things you don't. For example, did you know very early versions of the Cyber operating system could be seriously scrambled by exposure to things, like gold, or cleaning fluid? And what's interesting is, you're still running some of that code.”

“Really. That's your secret weapon? Cleaning fluid?”

“Nope, gold.” The Doctor pulled out the golden ticket and pressed it onto the implants, restoring him to his normal self.

“Oh ho, ho! Like a charm. Right, you, Cyber Webley, and you kid things. I'll bring the chessboard. Let's get out of here.” The Doctor picked up the chess board and they left the lab.

“You are so clever, you know that?” Elise told him.

The Doctor smiled. “Been told a time or two.”

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor imagines #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the fall of the eleventh #nightmare in silver

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may8344 · 4 years

Text

The Journey of a Forgotten Soldier (Levi x OC)

Finally, I’ll now be caught up with this fanfiction on Tumblr, Wattpad, and AO3. Updates are still going (try) to be on Thursday at 6pm CT.

Relationships:

Alana Frey (OC)Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s)Levi Ackerman/Alana FreyFurlan Church/Original Character(s)Furlan Church/Alana Frey

Characters:

Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)Furlan ChurchIsabel MagnoliaAlana Frey (OC) - CharacterErwin SmithHange ZoëPetra RalGunther SchultzEld JinnOluo BozadoKeith ShadisSpecial Operations Squad | Squad Levi

Additional Tags:

Graphic Description of CorpsesBlood and InjuryViolenceMurder

Summary:

Alana Frey, a girl born in the Underground City, longed to see the true sunlight every morning that she would wake up. Alongside her comrades: Furlan Church, Isabel Magnolia, and Levi, Alana’s life as a thug continued with no way around it; until the sudden day she and her companions were offered the deal of a lifetime.

“Once you complete this job, not only will you be generously compensated for your work,

but you will also earn the right to live above ground.”

Word Count: 2.2k

CHAPTER 5: The Survey Corps

A couple of weeks prior to the quartet’s capturing, an important meeting had taken place. Erwin Smith was accompanied by the Commander of the Survey Corps, Keith Shadies, and the Supreme Commander of the three military branches, Darius Zackly, who sat at his desk.

“I cannot accept that!” Kieth yelled in disagreement at Zackly. However, he paused, discouraged by the look he earned from the Supreme Commander. “Sir, have you looked at the proposal I sent you? If it’s put into practice, we should be able to drastically reduce the number of Survey Corps deaths outside the Walls.”

In a low, grumbling voice, Zackly lightly touched the packet of papers that sat on the wooden desk in front of him. The papers had contained a whole new proposition for the regiment. “Commander… Keith Shadis. Of course I’ve reviewed your request.” His gaze made its way to the younger blond who stood further back. “This ‘long distance enemy scouting formation.’ I hear you developed it, Erwin.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s ingenious. I mean that sincerely.” He put a hand to his chin in thought, his finger’s ruffling his gray beard. “On previous expeditions, the corps focused entirely on how to defeat the Titans it encountered. But your proposal puts greater emphasis on how to reduce the number of Titan encounters. This totally original thinking is most admirable.”

“I am honored that you would say so, sir.”

Humanity lived inside of three fifty meter tall, concentric, stone walls: Wall Maria, Wall Rose, and Wall Sina. On the outside of their protection, monsters known as Titan’s roamed around, eating any human in sight. They ranged from three to fifteen meters tall and mostly resemble humans but with... deformities. Most walk on two feet, and some on all fours.

Three Regiments were created in order to keep humanity alive. The Garrison Regiment is the group that maintains and patrols the Walls. If there were to be any emergency, they would help evacuate the citizens to a safer area. Their badge bore two red roses.

The second is the Military Police Regiment. They keep order within the Walls and dedicate themselves to protect the King or Queen. Only the top ten training cadets get the option to join them. Despite having the best recruits, they are often known as corrupt and incompentent due to them staying deep within the Walls and far from the dangerous Titans.

Finally, there is the Scouting Regiment. This division is tasked with reclaiming the treacherous land beyond their outer wall, Wall Maria. Despite being very well trained, they suffer many losses and poor results in their reclamation. More often than not, they are under the constant threat of being disbanded by the government.

“If we use conventional formations together with this new formation… we should be able to embark on even further-ranging expeditions with fewer casualties.”

The brown haired Commander spoke once more, “General. If you understand it, then why…”

“I can’t get approval of the council.” He replied bluntly. “For a long time, many members have opposed continuing the expeditions beyond the Walls. In the past, I’ve managed to persuade them to provide funding. But now, even the public doesn’t particularly believe in sending you beyond the Walls.”

“Of course. We know that.”

“Now I have Councilman Lovof demanding the outright dissolution of the Corps. He has great influence even in the house of peers, and has a lot of cronies who sympathize with him.”

Commander Shadis began to raise his voice. “But, sir! If we stop here, all of our sacrifices up till now will be in vain! If we use Erwin’s formation, we’re sure to-”

“Keith. Please understand.”

Erwin spoke out, his voice calm and collected, “Have they already decided to suspend our activities?”

Zackly sighed as he stood from his chair. Peering outside of the window, he responded quietly. “The council won’t vote on it for another five days, but… there’s probably no way to stop it.”

“Understood, sir.”

Commander Shadis and Erwin retreated from Zackly’s office and into the horse-drawn carriage awaiting them outside. The men sat across from each other on the nicely cushioned seats. Light clomping from horses could be heard from the outside as they began moving towards their next destination.

After a bit of silence, Erwin spoke up, “It was just as you suspected, Commander.”

“...Yes. So the leader of the dissolution faction really is Nicholas Lovof...”

“According to the information I’ve gathered, Lovof has connections to the Lang Company which is delivering goods to the Military Police Brigade. He must be hoping to redirect the funds that will be freed up by suspending our expeditions.”

“Is your information reliable?” Commander Shadis questioned, shocked by the details.

“Lovof sent someone to infiltrate the Survey Corps and report on it from the inside. That spy is our source. I believe the information is highly credible.”

“And if that’s true, what do we do about it? Do we appeal to the Commander in Chief? I think that, to some extent, General Zackly is already aware of it.”

“It’s likely that there are circumstances preventing him from going public.”

Their driver slowed the horses to a stop as he hopped off of his seat and made his way to the door of the vehicle. Disrupting the two soldiers’ conversation, he opened the door and notified them that they had reached their destination. “We’ve arrived, sirs.”

Commander Shadis gave him a nod, but sighed at Erwin. “I see. I’m useless with these political intrigues.” He began to step out of the carriage, but stopped as the blond called out to him.

“Sir, would you leave this matter to me?”

“What’ll you do?” Commander Shadis turned his head over his shoulder, intrigued by the sudden request.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Ideas?” Shadis continued to walk out of the carriage.

“Even if you did have contacts in the nobility, they’re not the type to be convinced by words alone.”

“You can’t mean… Lovof himself?”

“Sir. Please don’t ask me any more than that. All of these decisions must be mine alone.”

“Erwin… you’re planning to use some shady method to force Lovof to change his position, aren’t you? Even if it is for the sake of the expeditions beyond the Walls, for a young man like you to…,” He paused, worried thoughts filling his mind for his subordinate, “The palace is a bed of vipers. Do you have a way to get out in one piece?”

“Sir.” Erwin stood up, standing in the doorway of the carriage. One of his hands held onto the side and his foot rested on the small running board. His face was stern and determined. “When I entered the Survey Corps and fought the Titans face-to-face, I learned exactly how perilous humanity’s situation really is. Wealth, authority, lofty ideals. If the Titans make it inside of the Walls, all of them will disappear in an instant.” His voice suddenly rose, “And that is why… no matter what four means we must use, we can never abandon our efforts to take this world back from the Titans. Come what may!”

The commander stared at Erwin in shock and his thoughts were scattered. It took him a moment to decide what would be the best course of action. “...very well. I will leave it all to you. No matter what, we must hold onto our hope for the future.”

“Yes, sir. And at the council meeting five days from now, we will lose the first arrow in that fight.”

Days later, both Keith Shadies and Erwin Smith were called to Darius Zackly’s office once again. The older Supreme Commander readjusted his round glasses as his eyes focused on Shadis. “It passed. I never would have imagined that Councilman Lovof would change his mind. Keith, do you have any idea why he did?”

“No, sir, not personally.”

Zackly eyed him with suspicion before turning towards Erwin. “I see. There are still many voices calling for dissolution. This time, you got the go-ahead, but I can’t guarantee there will be a next time. You’ll have to produce significant results this term if you want to change the situation.”

“Yes, sir! We’ll do our utmost!” Both Scouts declared.

“General,” Erwin added, “what about the matter we asked about the other day?”

“Hm? Oh. You mean the plan for the underground operation? I passed it along to the Military Police.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But, Erwin, no matter how good they may be with Omni-Directional Maneuvering Gear, are you sure street thugs will be of any use outside the Walls?”

“Sir, I happened to see them with my own eyes recently. I believe their skill cannot be overestimated. The man who seems to be their leader, in particular, is on a level beyond even that of even a Survey Corps veteran.”

“Is that so? Remarkable.”

“I intend to make use of anyone who has even the smallest potential during this expedition. But first while I’m close by, I plan to make contact.”

[~]

“This is humiliating, plain and simple!” A voice boomed as his fist slammed against a table.

Deep within the capital city of Mitras, securely within Wall Sina, an important meeting was held. Five figures sat at the wooden table inside an older, rundown building shaped like a castle. Each person wore a military uniform with the Survey Corps' badge attached to both shoulders and the front left pocket of their brown jacket. Both Erwin Smith and Keith Shadies were in attendance.

The angered Captain continued his ranting as he turned to Commander Shadis. “Are you honestly telling us to accept criminals into our fold when we’ve always held dutifulness in the highest regard!? The morale of the men will plummet if we allow those bottom feeders to join the ranks!”

“I agree with Flagon,” another admitted. “And to suggest we take these criminals with us on the next reconnaissance mission…”

“I understand your concerns. But I can personally vouch for their ODM Gear skills,” Erwin said, staying calm and collected as always.

Their Commander was the one who had the final decision on the matter. He was a man in his later years, amber eyes sunken in, with wrinkles and a receding hairline. He was positioned at the end of the table with his arms strongly crossed. “The new formation that Erwin has been working on is ground-breaking. It takes the emphasis away from how best to kill Titans, and places it firmly on how best to avoid them. I believe it’ll greatly reduce the number of casualties we sustain.”

Continuing his argument, Erwin spoke up, “This formation is likely to become accepted as the norm for our forces.”

“What those cretins lack are discipline and manners. It shouldn’t take too long to drill it into their skulls. They seem to have brains in their heads. Right, Erwin?”

“Correct.”

Coming to a conclusion, Commander Shadis stood from his chair. “Meeting adjourned.”

[~]

“Attention!”

The clattering of boots rang through the air in response. About fifty military soldiers were each lined up in an orderly fashion of rows awaiting commands.

Commander Shadis’ deep, authoritative voice rose as he continued. “Starting today, these four will be fighting alongside all of you! Introduce yourselves!”

Isabel, Levi, Furlan, and Alana each were dressed in a military uniform as they stood in front of the soldiers on a pedestal type area. However, Levi wore a white cravat around his neck.

“Name’s Levi.” Levi had his arms crossed and spoke with complete indifference. He wanted absolutely nothing to do being here, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. This act caught the eyes of almost every soldier and they stared in disbelief at his disrespect.

“Levi, the first thing you need to learn is some goddamn discipline.” Shadis responded in annoyance. “Next!”

Isabel proudly stepped up, head held high. With a solid voice and her thumb pointing towards her, she spoke, “I’m Isabel Magnolia! Nice to meet ya!”

“My name is Furlan Church.” Furlan introduced himself with a saluted fist on his chest, palm facing down. His eager smile lined his face, and then he turned to Alana who was beside him.

Unlike her friends, Alana lowered her chin as she cowered away and her left hand gripped onto the charm on her necklace. Strangely enough, the girl was afraid of the crowd. With a soft, welcoming nudge from the blond, she mumbled. “Alana… Frey.”

“Speak up, soldier!”

She raised her voice and repeated herself. “I’m Alana Frey!”

“Flagon, these three will be assigned to your squad. Look after them.”

“M-My squad, sir?” Flagon, the dirty blond haired captain, looked up to his superior in shock. Just earlier that day, he had been arguing the idea of having them here in the first place.

“Any objections?

“N-No… But shouldn’t Erwin…”

Shadis cut him off immediately. “Erwin is tasked with overseeing all the soldiers. The new recruits will be your responsibility. Is that understood?”

Flagon quickly saluted his commander; right fist on his chest, palm upwards, and the other behind his back. It was the sign of ‘devoting your hearts’. “Yes, sir! Understood!” Even with his words, it was clear that he was uneasy about all of this.

Especially under Levi’s glare.

---

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi #levi ackerman #fanfic #levi x oc #OC #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman x oc #furlan church #isabel magnolia #alana frey

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 8: The Hunters

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Katherine returns with a friend and some bad news. Nadya meets another member of the Council.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Hey, Adrian?”

“Hm? Yes?”

“I think I put that I knew shorthand on my resume.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I think now’s a good time to point out that I don’t know shorthand.”

Adrian’s delayed laughter is like a lag in the matrix. He looks up from his files and offers a comforting smile. “No worries. You’re not here in an official capacity.”

She hopes it isn’t obvious how she slowly slides three of her four colored pens off the tabletop and into her sweater pocket. If Adrian notices he doesn’t call her out in it. Not like orange pen would show up well on yellow office paper anyway.

Before she can ask him to clarify there’s a sharp rap of knuckles; the conference room door opens to Nicole with a stack of papers tucked neatly in her elbow. Not a hair out of place. God what Nadya wouldn’t give to look so impeccably perfect right about now.

Everything in the VP of Operations’ body tenses when she catches sight of the pair of them sitting thick as thieves at the end of the long white board room table. Nadya tries a small wave, but she’s not surprised that Nicole ignores her.

“Mister Raines, your ten-thirty has arrived.”

“Great,” he nods and starts piling up the spread of documents and research he’s slowly been hoarding, “send her in.”

Nicole looks as if she’s debating saying something — whether it’s her loyalty to Adrian or her professionalism in the workplace that wins out it just leaves Nadya feeling even more confused.

“She’s brought a guest.” When Adrian looks up; “Another one of them.”

The vampire’s expression darkens and Nicole takes her leave. Professionalism her butt — Nicole looked delighted to have upset her boss just so.

Nadya watches him pace with growing concern. “Then what am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”

“Keeping you in the dark just doesn’t sit well with me anymore,” explains Adrian, “not on anything.”

The door opens again — this time without announcement — and they both turn to greet their guests. The vibrant punch of colored hair sends Nadya reeling into another moment of nostalgia. She’s been having a lot of those in the last month. But it isn’t Lily who joins them — it never will be.

“Katherine, a pleasure to see you again.”

Adrian crosses the room in a single bound. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, Nadya notices. His eyes scanning documents faster than her heart can beat and the occasional vampiric dash to catch something falling. Even his familiar black-matte water bottles no longer carry the guise of a tea bag string hanging over the cap.

How hard must it have been, she wonders, for him to pretend to be human with me?

A charade he obviously doesn’t need to have around Katherine. With everything going on she’s not thought about the mysterious stranger from the Gallery in a while but now she’s just another piece of the puzzle that’s growing faster than Nadya can solve it.

Katherine backs up; nearly into the figure behind her, at Adrian’s approach. Plasters on an obvious grimacing smile and doesn’t take his offered hand.

“Yeah, wish I could say the feeling’s mutual but — it’s not, so.”

At Katherine’s back the dark-haired man’s face grows somehow more stern; something Nadya wasn’t sure was possible. Were his brows furrowed any lower they’d obscure his eyes. He doesn’t move to put himself in the way of Adrian but there’s an obvious connection between the leather-clad guests that Nadya can see even at a distance.

Adrian’s well-versed in the world of business transactions; knows he’s not going to be able to force either of them to ease the tension through stiff-if-polite interaction. He nods curtly to the man and gestures for them to take any of the open seats at the conference table.

Katherine pulls out one of the chairs and only then seems to notice Nadya.

“Well look at you,” though everything she says seems laced with sarcasm there’s an impressed sparkle in her eye, “all grown up and at the big kids’ table now?”

In her confusion, Nadya only fumbles. “I—huh?”

Katherine’s friend yanks his chair back and practically falls into it — kicks his snow-caked boots up on the pristine white table and gives less than zero fucks about the flecks of mud that dirty the marble.

He jerks a thumb at Nadya; still floundering. “This the muggle you were talking about?”

Katherine nods. “Yeah, but I could’ve sworn she didn’t know a thing.”

“What, that vampires are real?” She pushes up her glasses and puts on her best fake smile. “I’m pretty perceptive.”

“Not just vampires.” There’s a chuckle hidden deep in the man’s Southern twang that brings a pink to Nadya’s cheeks. Before she can ask what he means, Katherine hits his legs.

“Can you at least try and act professional, Ryder? Christ.”

“Anything for you Kathy.”

Ryder’s boots find their way firmly onto the floor. He gives Katherine a ‘What?’ look with only his face but remains silent.

Back at the front of the room Adrian clears his throat. “If we could begin… I have another meeting in an hour.”

Not that Nadya expects Katherine or her friend Ryder to suddenly pull out a presentation on the overhead projector, but whatever this meeting is (importance aside) she hoped for something a little more official. But apparently official just doesn’t exist outside of secret meetings at city events.

“Anything for you, boss.” The word drips off Katherine’s tongue with nothing less than her full sarcastic capability. “Did you follow up on the information I gave you on Courette?”

Courette. Even hearing his name sends a shiver down Nadya’s spine. Makes her remember everything Courette led to; The Shrike, the Baron, Maricruz — what happened to Lily — the Cellar…

“Yes, thank you for that again,” Adrian sifts through his papers and pulls out a small packet, slides it down the table where Ryder snatches it up to lazily peruse, “but it led to a dead end.”

Nadya glares at him sharply. “Seriously? What about the Summons?”

“He appeared in front of the Council as per the pact. But Courette stopped showing up for work a week prior to his attacking you. Sometime in between the two events he was Turned Feral. The Council voted and decided there was no connection.”

When was this, Nadya wonders; can’t help but wish she could give that Council — and The Baron — a piece of her mind on the matter.

Adrian squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. It helps and it doesn’t. Too many things were complicated these days.

“I hope you know info’s info and I demand payment regardless.” Katherine warns. Adrian gives her a curt nod.

“Kamilah’s already transferred your funds as well as a compensation for hazard pay. We do appreciate the danger you’re putting yourselves in — whether you believe us or not.”

The comment seems directed at Ryder; who snorts and goes back to reading. He’s not a man of many words.

Coming into this, Nadya had hoped Adrian would at least fill her in beforehand. Trying to pick up the story from context is proving harder than she thought — but there’s no way in Hell she’s raising her hand and asking what’s what. Katherine and the Ryder guy were hired by Adrian and Kamilah for something involving the Ferals — something that was starting even before she was attacked.

“Well that’s mighty generous of you,” drawls Ryder, “but I think it’s in Kathy’s best interest to up the pay anyway.”

Adrian stills. “And why is that?”

“You wanna tell him or should I?” Ryder seems to be getting some sort of delight in whatever information they’re withholding. Katherine smacks his arm but his smirk doesn’t abate.

“We think we found a couple of viable candidates for the Feral that Turned Courette.”

“A couple?” asks Adrian, appalled.

“Well, a few.”

“I need a number.”

“Eight.”

The color drains from Adrian’s cheeks. “Ei — over half a dozen?”

“Well, there were ten, that’s why Kathy called me up from the Bayou.” Ryder explains. “But we took care’a two of ‘em.”

It’s Nadya’s turn to offer comfort as Adrian sinks into his chair with a hand on his forehead. He’s not sweating — she doesn’t even know if he can — but he’s definitely more pale than usual. With the bright fluorescents overhead the shadows under his eyes are more prominent, too.

“Is that more than you thought?” she whispers while pushing his water bottle close. He shakes his head like he can’t even stomach the news let alone a drink.

“We’ve killed a good baker’s dozen on our own… and thought the problem handled.”

Ryder clears his throat to draw their attention. “We’ve narrowed down their territories to a couple square blocks per target. I’m sure I don’t gotta tell you these bastards are normally pack-oriented — but they ain’t smart enough to divide and conquer.”

“So most likely scenario we can come up with is that someone’s making Ferals with no relation to one another to keep them separate. Nothing to tie them to each other or whoever holds the leash.” To her credit, nothing in Katherine’s voice is amused. In fact Nadya wonders if she catches a quiver of unspoken fear.

Adrian doesn’t immediately reply — the duo wait in patient silence. She feels so useless, so ignorant; like any suggestion would be met with Ryder’s laughter and scorn and an explanation as to why she’s so wrong. She doesn’t know what to do and it’s an awful, awful feeling knotting inside her.

When Adrian finally stands the room lets out a collective exhale of relief. Palms flat on the tabletop, he keeps his eyes downward.

“Nadya, can I have you head back up to the office and set up a meeting with Kamilah before the night is through?”

It’s a little bit of a shock. Takes her a moment to realize he’s talking to her even though he very clearly said her name.

“Uhm, yeah,” because that technically is part of her job, but… “like, right now?”

“Yes. Please.”

It takes her a few seconds to catch up, but she does. It’s in the way Katherine suddenly won’t meet her eyes — how the Ryder fellow’s dark gaze hints at pity. Whatever Adrian has to say — really say — he doesn’t want her to hear.

She wants to argue even though she knows it’ll make her look like a petulant child. After all wasn’t that why he’d asked her down here? So out of respect for her dignity she doesn’t. She does, however, make sure she pushes back her chair a little louder than necessary when she grabs her things.

“Let her know it’s urgent.”

“Yes, Mister Raines.” She finds small satisfaction in his almost imperceptible flinch.

“Nadya…”

“Anything else I can do for you, Mister Raines?”

He sighs. “No. Thank you.”

“Of course Mister Raines.”

So much for not keeping me in the dark. She gives a nod to Katherine and a polite smile Ryder’s way as she leaves. Finds herself lingering by the doorway — literary irony thou art a cold-hearted witch — to catch the turn of the conversation just briefly before it closes.

“How much will extermination cost?”

“For something like this? A favor.”

When she tiredly scrapes her key in the door the first thing she hears is the faint lilt of opera music through the thin wood.

Nadya’s gotten used to living alone. She didn’t want to — sometimes her brain even tricks itself into hearing the familiar sounds of digital violence and Lily’s cheers of inevitable victory. “The harder you hit the buttons and the louder you yell the more powerful you are,” that’s what Lily would say. And she played like it was a proven fact, too.

But there’s no pretending this is Lily. Winter’s been melting into spring and her grief still burns bright but not so much it makes her ignorant.

Her thumb hovers over the button to dial Adrian as she slowly pushes the door open. Yes, most people would call the police. But most people didn’t have a two hundred year old vampire for a boss and yes she’s still frustrated at that very vampire but that wouldn’t stop her from letting him make a midnight snack out of anyone stupid enough to break into her apartment and listen to opera.

When a voice she doesn’t recognize calls from inside she almost drops her phone from fright.

“Miss Al Jamil, finally. Here I was starting to worry something terrible had befallen you on your commute home.”

It’s not quite sunrise yet. Maybe an hour—hour and a half until it would be dangerous for Adrian to drop her off. Yet the living room curtains are drawn and the whole place smells of faint spices she’s not indulged in since she moved away from home.

She closes the door behind her and tries very very hard to understand the broad-shouldered figure sitting at the tiny table she’d forced Lily to buy prior to taking up her share of the lease.

“Senator Vega.”

The Senator smiles; all charm and one left dimple in the way that’s won him at least the household wife vote. He looks dreadfully out of place — Adrian was the last time something that expensive walked through her doorway — but at the same time doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable. He just is. But he is in her apartment.

“I gotta tell you,” yes, she’s disturbed beyond belief, but Nadya follows her routine like it’s any other day — leaves her shoes by the doormat and goes to put her dirty lunch container in the sink, “there’s such a thing as going too far with your constituents. This. This is too far.”

But why else would Senator Vega be in her apartment? She’s not dumb.

“The sun will be up soon.”

Vega laughs with a shake of his head. His fingers drum continuously on his starched pants.

“Well, Adrian wouldn’t have signed you into his Clan if you weren’t bright. But I have to say Miss Al Jamil —”

“Just Nadya is fine.”

“— Nadya, then; you should be a little more careful going forward. I’m sure you can guess our kind aren’t deterred by locks and deadbolts. Do you even carry a stake in your purse?”

She chugs half a bottle of water from the fridge before turning to Vega fully. “You know, until now I hadn’t seen the need.”

“Tsk tsk, then Adrian has failed you in properly ensuring your protection.”

Her fists clench at her sides. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t break into my place to tell me what Adrian’s not doing right, Senator.”

“Please,” with that same politician-smeared endearing tone he uses during newscasts, “call me Adam.”

“No thank you.” Even in the darkness barely permeated by the overhead kitchen lamp she sees the tick of his frown — there and then gone in a flash. Vampires are cunning and politicians are cunning so what happens when you put all that cunning into one vessel? Nadya’s got a sickening feeling she’s close to finding out.

He waves it off easily. “I digress. Yes, Nadya, I am not without ulterior motive for visiting you tonight. But I’m not the only Council member eager to put a face to the name Adrian praises so often these days. My associate Cecil had the, ahem, pleasure, I was told, but he’s not the most hospitable even on a good day.”

“Cecil?”

“Our friend ‘The Baron.’” He says the name like it’s on the same tier as ‘The Boogeyman.’ Nadya sucks in a breath and nods.

“Yes, yes we were told you two had been acquainted. Dreadful business — certainly something that never would have happened under my purview.”

“Sucks you weren’t there, then.”

Vega obviously finds her funny but he’s the only one laughing. “Indeed. Now, onto business…” Nadya does her level best not to tense when Vega starts pacing the apartment. His angular nose twitches — makes her wonder if he can catch some whiff of what happened to Lily. Adrian tried to insist on a cleaning crew but Nadya refused — wanted to take care of it herself. Took a long weekend and spent it on her hands and knees scrubbing industrial bleach over the tiles and threw away everything with even so much a speck of dirt on it just in case that dirt was blood.

He stops opposite her, the kitchen island between them, and thumbs the leather strap of her purse idly.

“I don’t know how much your dear employer has told you about the Council. How it was founded. Why it was necessary — why it continues to be a necessity in these troubled times. What we stand for, and what we stand in the way of when it comes to the balance of things.

“This city is teetering precariously, Nadya. We’ve become a mountain on the head of a pin in the middle of a hurricane. And if things continue as they are…” He doesn’t have to give her the visual. “I’ve already prepared for the inevitable; as many of us in the Council have. But I fear Adrian may be too ensconced with the present to be thinking ahead as he must.”

She fumbles for words. It’s a lot to take in. “If you think — or know — something bad is going to happen, why don’t you try and stop it?”

“Such a finite way of thinking about things; part of that mortal charm, I’m sure.” Answers Vega — only it’s not an answer at all. He’s just talking in circles.

“The Council and I need Adrian Raines to be looking far ahead — his sights set on the future. Your influence has apparently been enough to keep him fixated on the present, so perhaps your influence might be enough to tilt his chin up a bit — if you get my meaning.”

No, I don’t, she wants to say. Get the hell out of my apartment, she wants to say.

But he’s waiting for an answer, so…

“Yeah.”

“Good. If you value him as much as he values you then I think you’ll find this leads to an outcome beneficial for all.”

The sudden beeping of her phone cuts through the tension harshly. Makes her jump and grasp her chest before she looks down at it. Her sunrise alarm greets her with a digitally smiling sun.

Vega’s the one who turns it off — takes a moment to look at the screen with something akin to amusement before hitting the snooze. “I believe that’s my cue to leave. This has been an enlightening discussion but the sun waits for no vampire — no matter his age.”

Discussion? She can’t remember really discussing anything. Only talking in circles.

“No need to show me out, I remember the way.” Vega takes her hand without prompt and kisses the back of her knuckles. God, how she wishes chivalry was dead right about now. “Thank you for entertaining me, Nadya. I hope you found this meeting as delightful as I did.”

She resists every urge to yank her hand back, but crosses her arms defensively. “Sure. That’s a word for it.”

The Senator heads out likely in the same manner that he came in; as though he owns every piece of ground he walks on. He stops just shy of closing the door behind him and gives Nadya a final farewell with his unnerving politician-practiced smile.

“Don’t forget to vote.”

The door clicks shut but Nadya doesn’t move. She stares at the blank wood with a trembling lower lip. Just waiting, waiting for him to come back inside. Or for another vampire to invade her space.

Her snooze alarm snaps her out of her trance. Nadya sinks to the kitchen floor in blubbering tears.

“I do not seek to invalidate your fear but leaving your front door unlocked sends a message even I am confused about. Has it been this way all day? Nadya? Where are y — Nadya.”

Kamilah sighs as she takes in the sight before her. Nadya on the kitchen floor, legs curled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand. White knuckles that won’t thank her for keeping such a tight grip later on in life.

“What are you doing down there?” She waits for an answer but Nadya… she doesn’t give one. Doesn’t think she can speak more than the dozen desperate voice messages left on Adrian’s cell.

A dozen whimpering, tear-filled pleas for him to come protect her and what did she get in reply?

[TEXT]: Nadya I’m so so sorry. Out of the city. Calling Kamilah ASAP. -Adrian [TEXT]: Kamilah en route. Stay there. Have a bag packed. -Adrian

“Stand.”

She lets out a shaky breath and shifts her legs. Pins and needles race along her skin and her knees ache in protest. How long has she been down here?

“Are you impaired, now? Or injured in some way?” Then Kamilah’s face comes into her sight line; the vampire crouched before her in a way that lesser, confused people might call concerned.

“Nadya, look at me.” Her voice, like smoke and cinnamon, draws Nadya’s eyes to hers. Lets her map every little crease that was allowed to set in before she was Turned — frozen in eternal beauty. Holy… wow. “Are you injured?”

It takes a second for her to recover but Nadya manages to shake her head. Kamilah nods, satisfied, and when she stands she has a slim hand extended in offering. With her help Nadya pulls herself up.

“Oof!” The pins and needles catch up with her; angry at her audacity to move after being still from sunrise to sunset. She sways and reaches out for purchase. Finds herself held steady by a lithe and impossibly strong grip.

“You said you were uninjured.” chides Kamilah; who now looks Nadya over with almost medical scrutiny.

“I’m fine,” though her voice probably shouldn’t sound foreign to her own ears, “seriously — my legs just fell asleep. I’m fine, Kamilah. I promise.”

Only when the vampiress seems satisfied does she let go of Nadya — Nadya who’s desperately putting every brain cell she has left into resisting flushing crimson red. Without another word Kamilah vanishes in a blur — reappears not a moment later. The opera music no longer plays.

“The premises are empty.”

“Yeah, I could have told you that.”

“You seemed incapable of doing much of anything.” Kamilah glances back where Nadya had been on the floor and, well, she’ll give her that. “Adrian contacted me hours before, but I could do nothing until sunset. He said you were attacked. But I see no evidence of —”

“Not — it — lemme explain—”

“I expect nothing less. After we’re far from here.”

Nadya packs under Kamilah’s careful surveillance. She has to wrangle her old suitcase out of her closet — runs past her vampire protector several times to grab her things from the bathroom, the living room, Lily’s room — but manages to shove in a couple changes and enough comfy hoodies to last a prison sentence in Siberia. And a change of work clothes just in case.

“Make what you can carry last,” Kamilah advises her from the doorway, “you likely won’t be returning soon.”

Nadya pushes up her glasses — a reminder that has her rifling for her spare pair in her bedside table. “What do you mean?” Well there’s one pair… what happened to the third?

Kamilah scoffs. “You’re unprotected here.” She says it like a fact; something obvious. And in retrospect the fact that she continued to sleep in the same place where Lily was attacked — where Lily was killed — for weeks after… It makes Nadya pack just a little bit faster.

She’s known objectively that Kamilah and Adrian were very different people — but learns just how different when Kamilah opens the passenger side door of a car that would look more at home on a 60s spy film set. Her suitcase stays clutched in her lap while she waits for Kamilah to join her; both taking in the dark leather-lined interior and finding herself terrified of damaging it.

Kamilah shuts her door with possibly more force than necessary. “What are you staring at?”

“My student debt cost put into one vehicle — how did this thing not get stolen while you were upstairs?”

“If that is truly your only curiosity then you should really reconsider your living arrangements.”

“A broke girl lives where a broke girl can afford.”

Kamilah looks at her sharply — Nadya quickly backtracks. “Something Lily used to say; but without the expletives.”

It’s no surprise that Kamilah’s empathy has a limit — and she’s expended all she can manage. The car peels away from the curb in a squeal of tires and blaring taxi horns. If she wasn’t so exhausted she’d be a little more terrified of crashing. Instead Nadya lets the purr of the engine and the lights of the emerging New York night lull her into a snooze until they arrive.

There’s one thing glaringly wrong with all the splendor of Ahmanet Financial and the apartment Kamilah sets her up in: it’s nothing like the condo at Raines Corp. at all. Still wide and spacious but every turn of her head makes Nadya dizzy — no surface left un-adorned with antiques older than she can even fathom. And despite the night every curtain is still drawn shut and clasped with a wrought iron hook. Nadya wouldn’t mind seeing the view from this side of the city but she’s not going to impose on Kamilah more than she already is.

“I thought we were going to Adrian’s.” She follows Kamilah’s lead and toes off her shoes at the doorway. Steps on the raised hardwood floors and feels the cold leech through her socks.

“Adrian is out of town until tomorrow. Urgent Council business.”

“You didn’t go with him?” The arched brow she gets makes Nadya fumble to take her words back. “I—I just mean, you know, as a Council member too.”

“No. I did not. Lucky for you.”

Her tour is brief — closed doors mean stay out and she’s strongly encouraged to take a shower. “Or a bath, if you prefer, I trust you know how not to drown.” And the way she gestures to the single fanciest bathtub Nadya’s ever seen in her entire life incites just a hint of jealousy.

All too soon Kamilah’s sliding her heels back on at the doorway. Nadya stares silently — she can’t help but feel a little like a babysat kid… or a house pet left to its own devices.

“Try not to have any life-threatening emergencies. My butler Gerard can be reached through the landline.” Christ she’s not seen a landline outside of an office in ages. “Keep up after yourself.”

“You’re not going to…”

Kamilah’s stare stops her words in her mouth. “What,” asks the vampire, “did you think I would stay?”

Adrian would, she thinks, and definitely doesn’t say it out loud because she values her head on her neck.

“While it may be the single most bothersome occupation I’ve filled my time with, the running of a Fortune 500 company does not simply happen. We’ve made ourselves titans of business and now we must follow through.”

“Yeah, yeah no, of course.”

Kamilah opens the door; seems to remember something and flashes a look over her shoulder.

“And one more thing — do not leave. This is where you are safest.”

She wasn’t planning on it. “Thanks — again. I mean… for everything. Thank you, Kamilah.”

“Mm.” The door closes with Kamilah on the other side.

Nadya wraps her arms around her middle and tries — with little success — not to feel so utterly alone.

#bloodbound #nightbound #adrian raines #nik ryder #playchoices #bloodbound mc #katherine nightbound #mc: nadya al jamil #adam vega #kamilah sayeed #oblv: bound by destiny #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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soulstied-a · 4 years

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𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 // 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ↳ 𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐤𝐢 @313248317

❝ You sure you want to test this with me, Connor? My test subjects haven’t been alive before, or rather conscience, I’m actually unsure of the effects it’ll have on a Deviant much less an Android. ❞ Never mind the fact that there was a high chance of him frying his own brain, he didn’t want Connor to die. He knew how this worked between Androids but Elijah was human, he didn’t store his memories in a memory bank that can be uploaded. This was accessing through nanobots and electromagnetic pulses his Hippocampus and hoping he didn’t fry himself.

It was dangerous.

But, apparently, despite his warning Connor would rather be the test subject then have Elijah subject someone else to this and perhaps die because the person he used was untrustworthy. Elijah shrugged, he had given the choice to Connor and the Android said he wanted to. Elijah moved away from the other to gather up the new test object. He placed something against his temple, put a contact lens in his right eye and then slid a bracelet onto his hand. Finally he stuck five clear sensors onto the tips of his fingers and turned to Connor.

❝ Remove your artificial skin on your hand. I understand the base premises of interfacing is to share information, though I’m not entirely sure how that works. I never anticipated Androids sharing memories. I’m going to try to direct where this goes. ❞

Elijah held his hand out toward Connor and waited. He really should have done more research.

Androids, unlike humans, had control over their thought processors. The human brain never stopped thinking for even a second. Brains like Elijah’s run on ADHD and hyperinflation moved from one thought to the next and the next, occasionally getting stuck on one topic but never stopping. Although he had an idea of what he could show Connor, apparently whatever his brain was focused on when the connection hit--was what the interfacing pulled him into.

Elijah Kamski had never seen his own memories played out before him so surreal, so vivid, that he could feel his physical body jerk despite being currently in the body of an older him. It was odd, it was jarring and he felt pure fear run through him. There was something else beneath that, curiousness, interest, worry--those weren’t his. They were Connor’s.

It took a second for Elijah to realize what his head had decided it wanted to show Connor. He recognized the room they were sitting in, the meeting room at CyberLife. Elijah sat at the head of the table, ten other share holders, board members and the chief operating officer that asshole that would become CEO when they force Elijah from the position.

❝ Elijah that project your proposing, this idea, to make Androids more--human--we discussed it and think it’s a little much. People like Androids because they’re just machines. They don’t feel, they don’t care if you hit them or yell at them. To change that up and suddenly make them capable of something as useless as crying? I don’t think the public would react to that well. ❞ Mark, the idiot fish of a man, flapped his jaw away in some poorly woven excuse that the others just agreed with.

He remembered this meeting now, it was the one that ended with his abrupt removal from the company. Though the joke was on them--Elijah saw it coming. So as they kept talking he just sat there, watching, waiting. ❝ We’ve decided to go through with the Perfect Lover Series. We respect your decision to not want to be a part of it. ❞ His hands clenched beneath the table, rage boiling in his gut despite the calm expression. ❝ The PC200 will be released as planned, it’s a remarkable piece of technology you’ve invented. ❞ A steady blink. ❝ I’m telling you this because we’ve taken a vote, Elijah. ❞

He inclines his head a small bit, watching them. ❝ It would appear that you’ve lost sight of CyberLife’s goals, your most recent actions and inventions haven’t been made in the betterment of the company but rather Androids. You’ve even refused an idea that the board purposed that has been a demand of the public. So, it is with a heavy heart, ❞ bullshit fuck these people, ❝ That we unanimously voted for you to step down as CEO. Effective immediately. You still own CyberLife, we can’t make you sell your company, but you’ll no longer be running things here as of today. ❞

The door to the office slammed shut a little more rough than he would want it to and Elijah rushed to the computer terminal, fingers flying across it as he typed rapidly to open up all his files. ❝ Elijah? ❞

❝ Not now Chloe! Go get RK200 from my lab, and anything else down there. Make him help you! ❞ She was gone before he even finished speaking. Elijah sent everything he could to his computer at home and then put the one at his desk on a factory reset to delete everything else. He moved across the office in a blur of motion, chucking things either in the trash bin or toward his bag on the floor.

The door opened again and Chloe returned, this time with the RK200 in tow and a box of stuff. Elijah moved toward their side and took the box from Android, dragging him toward the couch and pushing him onto it. Awkwardly he straddled the RK200′s lap and reached around the back of his neck, opening the panel. ❝ Elijah? What are you doing? ❞

❝ Revenge Chloe, they can make me leave but they can’t stop me from burning their world down around them. Grab my lap top, the RK200 needs a few tweeks. ❞ She did as asked, holding it up for Elijah to work with while the RK200 sat there silently and uncomfortably. He was still a work in progress, but Elijah was sure it was going to work. There was something there. As the project, the VIRUS, dubbed RA9, uploaded into the RK200 Elijah stood off of him and moved to grab his stuff.

❝ Elijah? ❞ He hummed briefly and grabbed the framed photo of Amanda from his desk. ❝ What happens if you fail? What if the Androids don’t win? What if we’re not what you think? ❞ What if they’re not capable of emotions and free will?

He sat the picture of Amanda into the box in his arms and turned his head to look over at Chloe. ❝ Then, I suppose, I made a mistake. But, I believe. ❞ A twitch to his lips, a smile, and sets the box down onto his desk. ❝ I created Androids, I know what they’re capable of. What you are capable of. ❞

❝ I will win. ❞

The memory ended abruptly and Elijah yanked his hand from Connor, cutting the connection far to quickly and far to abruptly. He stumbled back, hands grasping at his head as a sharp pain shot through him. Connor was not supposed to see that, or any of his memories actually, he just wanted to see if the project worked. Clearly it worked to well.

#△ ╍ ⟨ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎 ⟩ ↬ Elijah Kamski.#∵ ┊ 「ɪɴʙᴏx」 ┊ SMS REPLY.#313248317 #;long post

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sterwood · 6 years

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it's wild to see how so much of your content is relatively high-effort (you don't seem to just make claims and make it your audience's task to figure out what the fuck you're saying) and even wilder how homestuckposting is the exception to that. I fundamentally disagree that it's good, and I feel like if you had a good argument to the contrary you'd have posted it by now.

This is such a weird ask to me, since I’ve barely been postinganything of substance lately given that I’ve been so damn busy with grad schoolstuff. (And the stuff I’ve been reading, thinking about, etc., wouldn’t makefor very good posts here, since it’s a lot of stuff about Rawls and pragmatismand I just...don’t care, lmao.)

But at the same time: thank you! That’s a very nice thing to see,that one’s effort is recognized even if the culmination of that effort isdisagreed with.

As far as the homestuck stuff goes though, part of the reason Ihaven’t given any justification of it is that I don’t really see it needing anyjustification, insofar as I’m not often making claims about how great it isoutside of some obviously hyperbolic claims. It’s mostly a private interest,forged out of a depression-fueled quick-read of the comic and the fact that thecomic appeals to a bunch of personal interests/themes/etc. I do think it’sactually great, but I haven’t put forth any effort to flesh out that claim or convinceothers of it in any serious way, mostly because I figure that no one cares.

I’ll attempt to spell out a few reasons that I think it’s very good,or at least important, but I want to recognize at the outset that I’m at adisadvantage in talking about this. You say that you ‘fundamentallydisagree that it’s good’ and that I probably have some ready made argument ofwhy it is, in fact, good. Since you’re anonymous, there’s no set standardbetween us for evaluating this claim (good/bad how?),and so I kind of just have to jump in with some generalities about the comic.If you’re serious with your intent in sending this message though (and I thinkyou are, since you started out with a compliment that shows me that you’veprobably given a looking over at my blog and even, dare I say, follow me onhere), then feel free to message me after with something more specificabout why you don’t think it’s good, so at least there’scommon set of propositions that we’re working with (”I think it’s bad becauseit’s overly convoluted” to which I’d disagree; “I think it’s bad becauseof the whole tumblr parody which was really reactionary” to which I’d agree;etc.) and we could move from there.

Let’s move on though. (This will be along post, and I apologize, especially for those on mobile.)

Reasons why Homestuck is At LeastImportant

There’s two major reasons why I thinkhomestuck (HS) is important, or at least should be regarded as a significantmedia product. Firstly, I think it’s a unique contribution to what mediaproducts can do on the internet;secondly, I think it’s important by virtue of what it contributed to mediaculture generally. Note, in this section I’m not strictly saying why I thinkthe comic is good, but only why I think it’s worth paying attention to,especially if you’re a media studies student, say, or someone interested incultural studies generally or whatever. But let’s turn to both of those points.

A quick reflection: I remember howfrustrated I was growing up when I would read articles online that were aboutmovies or paintings or some piece of visual culture that would only pointtowards the media product. I was frustrated, because there seemed to be noreason to simply talk about mediaproducts when you could actually incorporate them into your discussions. Whyonly talk about a scene in a movie, say, when you could include a clip of thatscene in your essay to provide more exacting context? Media productions andcommentaries weren’t simply bound to text, but writers and creators tended to restrictthemselves to this without need. (There are some reasons for this, especiallywith the state of the internet 9 years ago or so [when homestuck began],principally that pictures and videos loaded slowly and would be overlycumbersome. Still, I was frustrated at the unrealized potential.)

I was similarly frustrated by the typeof content that popped up in most webcomics that I was reading at the time. In2010, I believe, I took an on-campus job working in a geology lab. There waslittle work to be done, and, being nineteen, I stupidly blew off the smallamount of work I had. Even in blowing off that work, though, I still needed tooccupy my time while I was working in the office, and for whatever reason Itook to reading a lot of webcomics. I read all of Questionable Content, xkcd,Diesel Sweeties, Achewood, and (most important for my appreciation of HS,coincidentally) Goats. I didn’t actually read HS at this time (that didn’thappen until 2015), but this set the scene for eventually reading it. And whilereading all of these comics, despite liking them, I was sometimes frustratedhow they still read like traditional comics. It was hard to see how thesecomics were webcomics: I couldn’t seeanything that made them particularly different from normal comics, except forwhere they happened to be located.

In this context, Homestuck is the firstpiece of media that I’m aware of (and certainly the largest) which actually expandedthe ways that a comic could operate. Instead of a series of panels with textincorporated, Homestuck is primarily single panel pages with lots of textattributed to them underneath (of course, this barrage of text is also why manydon’t care for the comic). But it is also a series of flash videos, embeddedvideo games, youtube videos, parody accounts (like the DeviantArt one), albums,etc. It really is astoundingly expansive. Again, this is neither good nor bad,but is a reason for its importance. This is the first media production that I’maware of that attempted to take up the internet as a medium for communicationin its full power (even including user generated actions up through parts ofAct 5). This, alone, would make Homestuck worth paying attention to, even ifonly antagonistically.

Now for the second (shorter) point. Isaw someone joke once that HS is ‘the comic of the Obama era’ since it spansthe whole of his presidency, more-or-less (2009-2016). In that time, it createda *massive* internet presence that simultaneously influenced the content,themes, style, and other aspects of many diverse media forms (the wholeUndertale experience is just one gigantic branch sprouting from this Yggdrasilof memes known as Homestuck). It’s impossible to account for the massive impactthat Andrew Hussie has had on the content and form of the internet as weexperience it today (I mean, for one minor aspect of this, just look atSB&HJ and how those aesthetics have informed a massive amount of memecreation).

In this sense, I think it’s impossibleto regard HS as anything other than important. The pure, impossible to measurecultural impact it has had on media artifacts that we enjoy daily—even if theydon’t seem connected—is hard to overstate. For this reason alone, readingthrough some of HS is probably something worth doing (again, even if it’s onlydone antagonistically). To put this somewhat polemically, at the very leastHomestuck should be read as many novels are: not as a great artistic work, butas a window into a certain kind of cultural logic operating during a given timeperiod. And if that is the approach taken, then it’s hard to try and movepassed HS: I can think of no other media product that has had more of asingular impact, more breadth, and more userinteraction than HS has had on popular culture (except for, perhaps, HarryPotter, though that’s in an entirely different way and also—here’s,potentially, my real polemic—HS is much better).

Now on to some reasons why HS may, infact, actually be good.

Reasons why Homestuck is Good

I’ll break this into a few (hopefullyshort) themes: pacing, conversations, villainy, coherence, characterization, and (most controversially) the ending. (I would urge you—thecollective ‘you’ that may have been foolish enough to get this far—to not readthat last section if you haven’t read the comic. I’m trying to keep thisspoiler free, by and large, because part of my purpose in writing this is tosuggest that you should read it aswell [keep in mind Kant’s claim that aesthetic judgements are normativejudgements, lmao], though I think the ending is too important not to tough onto some extent.)

Pacing.HS does one of the oddest and most interesting things I’ve seen with pacing inany sort of media production. Perhaps this is a reason why some people haven’tenjoyed the comic, but it’s one of the reasons that I find it so thrilling toread, even on my multiple re-reads. The comic tends to move at a snail’s pace,with conversations that drag on and don’t advance the plot much (but they dodevelop characters, so it’s notuseless dialog by any means). This pace is enjoyable, but can get frustratingwhen you can see elements of the story building up to…something. Then, in abrilliant flash, the story erupts with tons of action: many diverse strands ofthe story are woven together into a single tapestry, lending coherence,consistency, and progress to the story. And the contrast between the slowtextual pace and the hyperspeed of the flash videos. The most obvious case ofthis is [S] Cascade, though I’d rather focus on [S] Make Her Pay, because Ithink it’s one of the strongest moments in the comic. (You can see the videohere, if you’re interested: https://www.homestuck.com/story/2578.A warning, though: I believe the video still autoplays, and it has music, sojust beware before opening that link.)

I don’t think I’m spoiling much bypointing to this flash video, since I think that almost everyone that has heardof homestuck at least knows that characters often referred to as ‘the Trolls’play an important part. They show up at the beginning of Act 5, which isperhaps a quarter of the way through the comic (given that [S] Cascade isnearly the halfway point). Their entrance into the story marks a kind of ‘reboot’to the story, where similar themes, tropes, etc. that were built in earlieracts are redeployed with these new characters. Further, it marks a definiteincrease in the complexity of thestory, given that it focuses on 12 difference characters, rather than 4, as thestory had done so far. The whole of Act 5 up until [S] Make Her Pay had beentext-based storytelling: detailing the complicated and twisted history of these‘troll’ characters, their involvement in the ‘game’ that forms the basis forthe whole of HS, and exploring new depths for the comic. But it is alsoslow-moving: the comic even makes reference to this pace in multiple partswhere it coyly talks about how we, the readers, ‘don’t have time’ to exploresome such gag, or go into depth about some story point, or to develop a flashanimation for some aspect of the story (e.g. Karkat’s Strife! with his lusus). This all is cut through with theappearance in the story of [S] Make Her Pay, which weaves the whole of Act 5Act 1 together, filling in many gaps of history that were left intentionallyunexplored at that point, and advancing the story by leaps and bounds. Therhetorical and affective dimensions of this contrast are hard to emphasizeenough: going slowly through all this history, all this plot, all this teen drama, in one of the longesttext-only sequences in the comic, only to have that pace flipped upside down bya single short video that connects so many disparate strands is really,well…exhilarating. It’s one of the things that makes the comic so intenselyenjoyable, dynamic, and, I think, worthwhile. I’ve never seen another piece ofmedia do such wonderful things with pacing.

Conversations.Due to this varied pacing, the majority of the comic is comprised of longdialogues. These dialogues have strong rules of how they’re allowed to beconducted, though. Conversations (until a certain element is introduced intothe story) have to take place through some medium: through a chat client(similar to AOL/MSN messengers), dreams, sprites, hand-written messages, etc.No direct conversations can happen between two people. There’s always somethinggetting in the way of conversations. I’ve never seen anything other than HScapture this element of conversations in the 21st century,especially without taking some condescending tone about how ‘screens rule ourlives’ or something. The fact that all the speech in the comic is mediated bysome form of media isn’t meant as a critique, but an accurate representation ofmany actual dialogues that happen. Perhaps this is only a good part of HSbecause it appeals to some of my sensibilities, so I’ll keep this short, butit’s an aspect that makes me enjoy the comic a lot. Growing up in the late90s/early 00s (I graduated high school in 2009, for a sense of my timelinehere), and having forged many friendships—even with friends I knew‘IRL’—through similar chat clients and such, this aspect of the comic simplyseems very real and intimate to me. I know that weird sense of closeness withpeople that you only, or primarily, know through text, and the kind of yearningthat can engender—and I think HS captures that very well.

Villainy.In sending your message, I assume you were prompted by the post I rebloggedthat mentioned that HS features many of the standard tropes of a literary epic.Of those kinds of tropes, one that wasn’t mentioned (and which tends to beparticular to post-1940s epics or pseudo-epics) is the presence of some kind ofabsolute evil entity which corrupts and destroys beyond any realm ofrationality. A figure of ‘radical evil’ if you will: an evil which is cold,calculating, perhaps even intelligent in many respects, but which displays akind of horrifying excess of humanness which is warped into some kind ofabominable evil. HS has such a figure and fleshes him out very well, and healso ends up being one of the best characters in the story (best in the senseof developed, engaging, important, etc. – not ‘good,’ obviously): Caliborn.

Caliborn (and LE) is a reallyinteresting villain because, as Dave mentions at one point, he hasn’t had muchof a direct evil influence over any aspect of the story (“what kind ofvillain is someone you never met who hardly did anything evil to you or yourfriends directly/or even to anyone in your universe for that matter other thanthrough some vague insidious influence/who even is this guy and why should ihate him” (6385)). By and large, he’s been absent fromany direct engagement with any character in the story, and yet his evil isomnipresent. As his constantly tagline goes “he is already here.”

The major way in which Caliborn is evilis through excessively narcissistic he is, how thoroughly self-involved, andhow he desires to make his will reality in all instances. He bends the fabricof time around himself to propagate and ensure his own existence: hisimmortality is guaranteed simply because he will to continue existing. His evilis systemic: it’s the very (genetic) code of the gaming session that all themain characters of the story occupy, and all of its other instances as well.

Further, there’s a level of ambivalentcruelty mixed with enjoyment that we get in Caliborn’s character that’s hard tosee matched in any other literary figure that comes to my mind. Yes, much ofhis dialogue is full of jokes and statements that make him seem very, verystupid, arrogant, etc. But there are a few scenes where we get a sense that heis a kind of primordial, absolute evil, who sees the very purpose of hisexistence as that of wrecking pain and terror across many instances ofuniverses. Two such scenes suffice here. (Potential spoilers follow in the restof this section.) The first is from when Caliborn enters his own session:consumed with hatred for the only other living being he’s known (albeitdirectly), he kills off a part of himself and awakens with joy. He thenproceeds to remove his own leg forcefully (that kind of dedication through painis frightening), and initiate the game. While everything is being sucked into ablack hole behind him, while the whole of his world and life are beingdestroyed around him, he is seen smiling serenely with his eyes closed. He cansmile, because he knows that this is the beginning of his dominance overeverything: this destruction is a prelude to him carrying out his will todestroy everything forever and in all ways. It is, quite simply, chilling.

The second scene happens in a shortconversation with Jake. This comment comes across almost as a joke, but itreally highlights the depth of evil he occupies. In talking about what it meansto be a ‘Lord’ in terms of his class, and how he came to recognize hispotential within this class, he says that “NOW I KNOW. THAT WHAT ITTAKES FOR ME TO LEARN AND GROW STRONGER./IS EXCRUCIATING EFFORT./SO I HAVE ACHOICE. WHICH IS TO EITHER BE WEAK./WHEN WEAKNESS IS COMPLETELYUNACCEPTABLE./OR TO SUFFER. FOREVER. UNTIL NO ONE ELSE EXISTS.” (5671). Despitethe presentation (Caliborn’s manner of speaking often undercuts the severity ofwhat he’s saying, but it’s important for a reader to keep this in mind), thisidea that Caliborn is willing to endure infinite suffering and pain to ensurethat his will is carried out—a will that desire the utter elimination of allthings throughout all of existence—is honestly terrifying. He is a characterwhose evil isn’t marked by any singular action (again, as Dave mentioned), butby a relentless drive. To be a bit obtuse here, Caliborn is basically theLacanian ‘lamella,’ especially in the sense that the lamella “doesn’t exist,but persists.” Caliborn suffers beyond life and death, as a half-dead creature(I mean, to really put the point explicitly here, the lamella is a half-dead,abject excess of life, and Caliborn is a skull monster who through the sheerforce of will ensures the necessity of his continued existence): he is evilincarnate, and I’ve never seen such a radical evil presented in a better waythan through HS. This is honestly one of the biggest literary achievements ofHS, and that’s why I’m dwelling on it at length. But let’s continue

Coherence.This may seem like an odd category, since I believe that many see HS asexcessively chaotic and unstructured. I thoroughly disagree and thinking thatthe overwhelming coherence of this nearly decade-long story is part of whatmakes it so good. This is apparent in the many jokes and themes that arecarried through the comic, even at a distance of thousands of panels (twoimmediate examples jump out at me: the joke about how Sassacre’s text could‘kill a cat’ that’s realized after about 4500 pages, or the ‘bleating like agoat for ironic purposes’ gag that’s realized in about the same span). Further,this coherence is built into the overall structure of the comic: the fact thatthe first half of the comic takes place within about a day’s time whereas thelatter half takes place over 3 years (punctuated at the end by a lot of actionat the end) shows that the general structure of the comic follows the patternof pacing mentioned above. There is a lot more I could point to that would showjust how wonderfully coherent the whole HS story is, but I’m not sure if that’sa useful exercise upfront. It’d be more useful to talk about coherence inresponse to a dispute over whether some aspect of HS was coherent or not—absentthat, there doesn’t seem to be much of a point in detailing such here, otherthan to note that I do believe that the comic is generally very well puttogether (with the ending being a big bit of punctuation on this point).

Characterization.Andrew Hussie did two primary things with characterization that I appreciateand find worthwhile in the comic. The first thing he did was give a lot ofspace for characterization. We end up knowing a ton of information about thecharacters in the comic and a good 90% of it is relevant in some way to theplot (some of it is just interesting details, which is more or less fine whenyou have a character driven story where the characters are likable). Thesecharacters are dynamic and fully fleshed out in almost all cases (Nepeta is probablythe one major exception to this, though she even got a bit more development inthe end that pulled her away from just being a lolcat meme). Sure, any goodstory should have characterization like this, but I think the length ofhomestuck allows it to happen in really supple and subtle ways: the majority ofcharacters in the story are multi-faceted characters who develop in believableways over time that come into conflicts that sometimes just aren’t resolved.There’s also the willingness to have characters that are just irredeemablyhorrible people, without trying to shoehorn some kind of redemption arc in(Eridan is a nice example of this: he’s a thoroughly detestable and horribleperson, and there is no possible way to see him in a good light in a fairreading of the text [the HS fandom, which is not on trial here and should beexcluded from most all of these statements, has tried to make him into asympathetic character time and time again, and this is only possible becausethey’re reading the comic badly]). Further, and lastly on this point, due tothe depth of characterization, there’s also a lot of great between-characterinteractions in the comic: not great because they’re funny or witty orwhatever, but because they show the depth of character and work and a mutualrecognition of that depth between characters. The speech that Dirk gives aboutRoxy before their session’s versions of Derse and Prospit were destroyed is agreat example of this (and one of the greatest tragedies of the comic, from areader standpoint, is that Dirk never gets to tell Roxy any of that directly,at least not in any manner that we see).

Secondly, and this is heavily relatedto the first point, the depth of characterization that Hussie gives to theplayers in HS allows him to start with kind of obvious and one-dimensionalstereotypes of characters and morph them into something fully fleshed. And hedoes this not by simply inverting the roles of those stereotypes of something(which is common in a lot of ‘ironic’ pieces of media that try and overturn themajor tropes working within a given genre) but by fully fleshing outcharacters. I think this may be most apparent in someone like Dave. He beganthe comic by being a stereotype of some kind of hipster-bro, and almost all ofhis jokes, interactions, and conversations revolved around this stereotype. Itwas even folded into his personal mythology: because he’s the coolest, the mostcapable, etc., he’s the one that’s ‘meant to’ take down LE when all is said anddone. Slowly though, through confronting the stupidity that his mythologyforces him into (like having welsh swords as key items, for some reason) andalso confronting the death of his ‘bro’ and the feelings that stirred in him,he comes much more of a fully fleshed character. And by the end of the entirecomic, as he’s confronting issues of cross-cultural exchange, his ownrelationship to his abusive upbringing, his conflicted feelings about how tosituate his sexuality, etc., Dave has easily become one of the most thoroughlyrealized characters in the entirety of HS. That’s a hard thing to do when you’restarting with stereotypes of characters (which, it should be added, wasnecessary given the types of stories and games that Hussie was trying to riffoff of in developing HS) and end up with something thoroughly real, and HSshould be commended for being able to do such on many different fronts.

[I was going to add another piece aboutthe nice temporal dynamics of the comic, taking place originally over a day andthen over the course of three years, but this is already long enough and I’vementioned this part of HS a bit above, so I’ll let it be.]

TheEnding. I had a literature professor onceremark that the most conservative part of novels is the ending, because itforecloses on all of the openness and contingency at work during the otherparts of the novel. This is true for most pieces of media, and is why theendings of most things are bad (I’m replaying Mass Effect right now and it’sreminded me of two of my least favorite endings in media ever: that game, andBattlestar Galactica). I think HS, in many ways, gets around this problem.

To celebrate the ending of HS iscontentious, I know. It was mostly hated among the fandom. But I really thinkthat the ending is one of the most flawlessly executed pieces of the wholecomic. Many people were mad at the ending because it ‘left so many questions’open—but this is precisely why it’s good. It allows us to see that thecharacters continue to exist in some form or another, that their relationshipsdevelop, but it doesn’t answer every question that the comic poses, nor does iteven attempt to give us a rubric for evaluating those questions in anydefinitive way. Further, the ending is *genuinely surprising.* In a comic that’srevolved around a plot point of a ‘final boss’ that must be faced andvanquished, the comic surprisingly ends without this boss being defeated in anysimple manner. Instead, the main characters simply escape the confines of the ‘game’that they’ve been playing: a game that has brought them isolation, tragedy, andendless fear. The major resolution of the story comes through the charactersjust being allowed to live for a while, to enjoy their lives. That’s why theending text for the story isn’t “and they lived happily ever after” (or somesimilar cliché), but “Thanks for playing”—a sign that the worst is in the pastand that the lives of these characters is now truly beginning in a way that’s totallyup to them. That’s why, in the afterward,we get a snapchat story that shows various pieces of the lives of these characters,up through John’s 21st birthday. It was the best solution to such acomplex, diverse, and nearly decade-spanning comic: to allow the characters tohave some space to actually live on.

It was also the single best way ofdealing with this ‘final boss’—Lord English. In his form as Caliborn, as quotedabove, he’s a character that’s willing to suffer forever if it means that hehas complete control over the existence of the whole of reality. The best wayto ‘destroy’ such a character isn’t to have them killed (that would simply markan endpoint to their terror, but LE wouldn’t experience it as anything bad, torturous,etc.), but to have them trapped within a dimension all to themselves. By theend of the comic, LE is trapped in the game, with no means of escape, and isbound to the rules and logic of such a game. Sure, he’s omnipotent within thatsphere of influence, but all the characters have moved on to something else.This assigns him to a fate worse than death: to suffer forever without, throughthat suffering, attaining control and power over others. In this sense, I feelthat the ending that Hussie designed for HS is the only reasonable ending: andpulling off such a wonderful ending to such a long and complex comic is quitean achievement—especially since, as I’ve mentioned, this ending didn’t simply ‘tieloose ends’ or anything. It resolved the central tension of the story while(intentionally) leaving other tensions and questions unresolved and unanswered.It was—and this is rare for most any piece of media—a fully realized,thoughtful, and incredible ending to a story that I find to be one of the bestI have read in very many, many years.

And so that’s it. I was going toinclude another section about how HS is at least not-bad where I list common reasons that the comic is seen as badand show that they miss the mark, but this is long enough as is (9 pages inword). So I’ll leave this here. This isn’t a total justification of why I likehomestuck or why I think it’s worth paying attention to, I haven’t addressedmany of the major points, but I think I’ve made the case, at least partially,for why I think the comic might be worth taking a look into. Beyond that, I don’treally know what I can do, given that I’m only working with the message placed inmy inbox. But considering that most don’t care….that’s probably more thanenough, lmao.

#I got kind of tired near the end #hence why the responses start going less in depth (whoops)#homestuck #mine #Anonymous

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hexdream18243 · 7 years

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Fanfiction: Kisses and commode

Again, here is a small thing. Piece of work, you can name it fanfiction, because it is fanfiction. It has two parts but I don’t actually know when I’ll able to share with you a second chapter, because… translating.

I’m really grateful to @beholdagay for correcting it. Thank you very much, you’re awesome and I love you for that!

Paring: logicality

Word count: 2060

Summary: Boring afternoon in commons of mindscape. Logan is reading, Roman is narrating, Virgil is listening to music… Until it stops being so boring.

Part two.

AO3 link

Part one - logicality

Logan sat on the couch in the living room peacefully reading, Virgil sat on the commode next to closet and listened to music through his headphones, while Roman stood in the middle of the living room, narrating something in an elevated tone. He totally ignored that his listeners were not interested in his story, he was too focused on narrating.

After all, Logic was able to tell what Prince was saying but he preferred to concentrate on something else. Especially since he never knew whether the regal persona was saying something literally or whether he was only using fancy rhetoric figures. Logan began to assume in advance that everything Prince was saying was one big metaphor. In this way, he didn’t feel the need to wonder if, for example, the sentence: “She ripped his heart from his chest, trampled it and left him there with the deepest wound, to endless suffering” is either a picturesque description of rejection or the mentioned woman was strong and cruel enough to literally wrest the man’s heart from his chest. Sometimes it’s better to not know.

“Princey, stop it. Nobody listens to you” growled Anxiety.

“Ha! You paid attention to me, so it means that even with your headphones on, you can hear me. You’re listening to me.”

“Because I don’t have a choice! You’re talking loud enough to drown out the music in the headphones. Stop!”

“ Oh my dark vigilant shadow, it’s…”

At that moment, Logan stopped listening. Earlier he tried to practice divisibility of attention, but now he decided that he prefers not to listen to the next quarrel between Roman and Virgil. Each of them sounded similar, so he hadn’t had any reason to collect useless information about insults and teasing. But one statement caught his attention back.

“Go to the devil, Roman.”

“Virgil, that is technically impossible” - he interrupted, surprised by such an illogical statement. - “Even if we skip the issue of the dubious existence of the devil himself, he, according to all beliefs and legends, is living in hell. If you want to go to hell, you have to die, but you also have to be a bad person enough to be sentenced to eternal damnation. Roman would have to be dead and have more bad deeds than good deeds. Assuming that Roman managed to die to complete this request, even if I can completely agree with the fact that he is sometimes a very irritating and difficult person” - Prince snorted. - “He is undoubtedly not evil. There’s a reason we all call him ‘Prince’.”

“I don’t know if I should thank you or feel offended” Roman said.

Virgil just threw a resigned look at Logan and murmured something which sounded suspiciously like: “Why is it always me? Take Prince seriously for once.” Logic ignored him and went back to his book. He heard Prince breathing in and starting another sentence, probably to continue the argument but he had stopped in the middle of the word. Logan looked up from his novel.

He saw Patton standing next to Prince, grinning brightly. Roman’s expression was of complete surprise as he held his cheek.

“W-Why?” he asked.

“Oh, Roman! You seemed to be upset. And I’m always in a better mood when someone kisses or hugs me. You’re not?”

“Oh.”

Patton immediately started to worry.

“You’re not, oh my, I didn’t think that you’d mind, I thought…”

“No, no!” - Roman denied quickly. - “ I don’t mind! Of course not. Actually physical manifestations of attention is a daily routine for me and your actions were great, now I’m in a perfect mood!”

Roman smiled widely. Patton smiled back and turned to Anxiety who was sitting on the commode. Logic put down the book and watched.

“Virgil! Can I kiss you too, kiddo?” Morality asked.

Anxiety frowned, jumped from the commode, clearly uncomfortable and sighed when he encountered Patton’s hopeful look.

“Fine” he muttered finally.

Delighted Morality ran to him and pecked him on the cheek. Anxiety winced but when Patton turned his back to him, he smirked.

This time Morality turned to Logan. Logan knew, that since Patton kissed the remaining two, he probably also will be kissed. Logic just didn’t know if he is more happy or if he is more surprised by his own happiness. As he suspected, Morality came to him.

“Logan! Can you come with me for a moment?” he asked.

“Of course y-” Logic stopped. He didn’t expect that question. Fortunately, he reconsidered his answer quickly and continued in another way. “y… I can”.

He stood up and followed Patton, ignoring the other two, who exchanged glances. He tried to focus on ignoring the sudden disappointment he felt when he had heard Morality’s question.

They were in the hall, quite far from the closed door of the living room. So there were nothing more than an empty hall and a red carpet. Around the next corner were doors to their rooms. To enter the kitchen you have to go through the living room. Morality stopped next to the bend, he took a deep breath and turned to Logan.

“Logan, I have a question.”

“I understand. To whom is it directed? Do you need my advice?” Logic immediately rejected himself as a potential recipient. He didn’t understand why Patton would lead him out of the living room just to ask a question. He came to the conclusion that Morality needs help, because a question is imperfect and it needs to be improved in private.

“To you, silly! I don’t need advice, I just… “ Morality budged and shifted back and forth hesitantly. Logan waited patiently until Patton managed to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t the best idea, because Morality instead of continuing his sentence, stared at the carpet. Logan sighed. That drew Patton’s attention.

“Well maybe you would like some advice? Before you ask about anything, you should know, that asking questions is based on making a sentence characterising what you expect answered from someone. Unless you’re asking a rhetorical question, but I don’t think that’s the case this time. Anyway, the question form depends on what you ask and what kind of answers you expect. The questions that require a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer are different from these which give you more information. There exists a basic difference between “Did you have dinner?” and “What did you have for a dinner?”. How ,as you can notice…”

“Logan!” Patton interrupted him. “As much as I love listening to y… that, at this moment I don’t need information about it.”

“I understand. So what is going on?”

Patton breathed deeply.

“The thing is that… I… I want to ask you a question.”

“Yes, indeed, I’m aware of that, you made this statement earlier.”

“Exactly. And this question… I wanted to ask you something in connection with this question!” - Logan realized that Patton circulates around the subject, making the conversation longer. But he was curious anyway.

“About what?”

“Can you…” Patton made some decision and he stopped avoiding Logan’s gaze. “Ok. I just wanted to ask you to answer me honestly.”

“Patton, naturally, I see no problem in that. I don’t understand why I would answer you insincerely or ,what’s worse, wrong.

Morality again took a deep breath and smiled.

“If you say so. So… Can I kiss you?”

It confused Logan. He didn’t expect this question. Just a moment ago Patton asked Virgil about it. Why this discreteness? So he said the first thing that came to his mind, without thinking.

“It’s obvious that you can. Why not?”

“Really?” Patton almost jumped in place.

Logan didn’t quite understand why he was surprised. Shouldn’t Morality be more surprised by Anxiety’s agreement?

Yes” he couldn’t say anything else, because Patton immediately kissed him on the lips.

Logan froze, startled. He didn’t expect it. This behavior was completely inconsistent with Patton's earlier actions. Even if he could and he should suspect something like this from Morality, he still wasn’t prepared for such a drastic change of the operation. First of all, he was surprised at the location of the kiss, but not only. Beyond the location, the kiss was definitely longer and characterized by hesitancy which the short kiss on the cheek didn’t have. Although Logan didn’t like the unexpected and often inexplicably twists, which have no representation in reality, he had to admit that Morality’s move explained his hesitation and nervousness at least. Logan felt relief. He thought for a moment Morality’s strange behavior could have a serious, potentially dangerous source.

Patton finally moved away and looked at Logic’s surprised face with worry.

“Logan? Are you okay?”

“Y-yes” - Logan cleared his throat. - “I just didn’t expect that.”

“O-oh...” Patton averted his eyes with the face of a beaten puppy. That obliged Logan to continue his speech.

“But it still doesn’t change my answer. You know, kisses are very beneficial for the body. At first, this activity uses energy, so it is a potential exercise even though you do not need a lot of energy. As well, heart rate is increased from 80 to 120 heart beats per minute so blood flows faster in the veins, you’re breathing more deeply, so your brain is better oxygenated and this raises the level of happiness hormones. And also serotonin, adrenaline, oxytocin, dopamine…”

“ So kissing is healthy!” Patton interrupted Logan before he got completely into the lecture and he grabbed his hand on the occasion. Logic stopped talking, he smiled at Morality and nodded.

“Yes, I think you can say that.”

Suddenly they heard a loud crash from the living room. Logan and Patton looked at each other and ran there. They burst into the room. On the floor laid the commode on which Virgil previously sat. Virgil leaned against the wall pinned by Roman who was aiming at his chest with a katana. Behind Roman was hiding… a second Virgil? He was glaring at his doppelganger with hateful eyes.

“What is happening here?” Logan asked.

“You don’t want to know” answered the Anxiety standing next to the wall, looking quickly at him. He straight away looked back at the two in front of him. “You won this time Princey. But watch your words, guys. Otherwise I’ll be back soon.” He threatened and evaporated like smoke.

Everyone sighed with relief. Prince lowered his sword and relaxed tensed body. The remaining Anxiety turned to the arrivals and smirked.

“I knew it!” he cried, pointing at their still intertwined hands.

“Okay, you’re right, kiddo!” Patton said. “But who was that?”

“I refuse to answer that question.” Anxiety sank down, possibly to hide in his room. Roman was looking at him with small smile. Suddenly he opened his eyes wide as if someone had kicked him.

“Wait. What about… Virgil!” he cried. He wanted to pass Logan and Patton and run out of the living room, but Logic stood in his way.

“Roman, what did it want? Why did it threat you?”

Prince huffed impatiently.

“Listen, you two. It’s really nothing, but I have to talk to Virgil. We’ll explain everything later, I promise. So excuse me for now, but I have to catch him!” Roman said and ran out of the room. They were left alone with the overturned commode.

Patton looked at the door, at the commode, at Logan and again at the commode but this time he was smiling to himself. Logan was looking at the commode with a frown trying to understand the previous situation. It didn’t do him very well. There was an awkward silence until Morality broke it.

“So… Can I call you my boyfriend now?” he asked happily. Logan threw him a surprised look. Then he realized the other sides weren’t here so it’s best to set the doppelganger situation aside for later.

“Only if I can do it as well” he answered.

“Call yourself my boyfriend? Of course!”

“No, I mean-”

“I know Logan.” Morality chuckled. “I was kidding. You’re my good boy.”

“… I’m not a dog, Patton.”

This provoked another giggle from Morality. They lifted the commode together and gathered the papers from the floor. Eventually, later, when everything calms down, they’ll get what exactly had happened out of Roman and Anxiety. But for now they could wait and sit down in the living room, cuddling on the couch.

#Sanders Sides #fanfiction #my fanfiction #Logan Sanders #Logic Sanders #virgil sanders #Anxiety Sanders #Roman Sanders #Prince Sanders #Patton Sanders #Morality Sanders #logicality #kisses and commode #part one

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kkatot · 5 years

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What should ‘cultural data analytics’ be?

This is a talk I recently had to give on datafication of culture (or actually on what cultural data analytics a’la Tallinn University could be like). Some of my colleagues thought they would like their students to read this, so posting the text here. Here is the video, and below is the transcript.

https://vimeo.com/bfmuniversity/review/367698058/d509cf6412

I propose discussing cultural data analytics via two broad questions, both of which I have filled with provocations that I hope will allow us to discuss - the implications and the politics of how we define concepts, - the power of those definitions shape the disciplinary and methodological space we operate in - and how that in turn suggests a positive and inclusive vision of cultural data analytics. I have my own answers to these provocations, but I am hoping that you will have yours, and that the CUDAN team, when assembled, will agree on the shared ones.

The two broad questions are seemingly simple:

How do we define cultural data analytics, given the extensive debates that have surrounded all of the words in this formulation? and

What is it that we want cultural data analytics to be do?

What is culture?

Ok, let’s start from the first big question, what do we mean when we say cultural data analytics. And to be systematic, we need to start with what do we mean, when we say culture.

Culture is according to Raymond Williams “one of the two or three most complicated words in the English language” (Williams 1983, 87). Other scholars are of much the same mind. Some even argue that the term is ‘so overused, that it is better to break it down into its component parts and speak of beliefs, ideas, artifacts, languages, symbols, art, or traditions.

In The Long Revolution, Raymond Williams offered three ways of defining culture: 1 the “ideal” definition, referring to the systems of valuation by means of which groups establish hierarchies, and subsequently judge the worth, of people, places, objects, institutions, and ideas; 2 the “documentary” definition, referring to the whole range of artifacts, both material and immaterial, produced by a group of people; 3 the “social” definition, referring to “a particular” or “whole way of life” i.e., the patterns of thought, conduct, and expression, prevalent among members of a collective.

Relying on the last one, which Williams appropriated from anthropology, John Fiske has argued that for cultural studies culture ‘is neither aesthetic nor humanist in emphasis, but political’. Politics in this case is the practice of living together, and we must be better at it, because, at the risk of sounding melodramatic - the alternative to living together is dying separately.

Methodological implications of how we define culture

Marek Tamm (2016) has suggested in his introduction to the book “How to study culture” that culture is not something that is passively available for researchers to come study it, rather it is constructed in the process of defining and making sense of it. Culture is thus created as an object of study and our definition depends on the disciplinary background of the researcher studying it.

A distinction that has had a strong impact on the study of culture is between culture as practice versus culture as a system of symbols and meanings. The first approach focuses on the processes of meaning making, and perhaps coincides with the definition of culture or cultures as particular ways of life. The second focuses on the more or less stabile forms and codes within the body of what can broadly be called “cultural texts”. Of course, ideally, we want to study culture as both – texts and practices. However, I think keeping this distinction in mind has analytical merit for the discussion at hand, because it highlights not only the methodological, but also the critical or the politico-economic implications that accompany both definitions. Let’s look at these

Critical implications of how we define culture

Culture as a way of life or as a set of everything created by everyone happens - to a disturbing extent - on corporately owned platforms, which are - post what we in my field call the API-apocalypse - closed rather than open for researchers, and make unreliable, difficult partners. They are also, as Jose van Dijck and Tarleton Gillespie (also this) have been saying for about a decade, not neutral intermediaries, but performative and constitutive infrastructures. Social media platforms, but also appstores shape the performance of social acts instead of merely facilitating them. This means that relying on data created and classified by these corporate platforms for making research inferences is quite problematic. Richard Rogers has called this an issue of vanity metrics. The data that corporations create reflects their needs and their version of a way of life, a culture, sociality. Their version is made of likes, follows etc, because those help measure impact and worth within the attention economy that social media has become. It is a partial rendering serving capitalist needs, wherein everyone is a laborer, a consumer or a commodity, often all three at once.

The version of culture as an assemblage of cultural texts, could be seen more as an issue of digitalizing heritage. This brings it its own can of worms, because it basically means participating in the datafication and metadatafication of culture, which as we’ll talk about shortly, is not necessarily a uniformly positive goal. Datafication, is usually conceptualized as the transformation of social action and many other previously unquantifiable aspects of the world into quantified data, which allows real-time tracking and predictive analysis (Mayer- Schoenberger & Cukier, 2013). Datafication, as we’ll shortly discuss in more detail, has a politics.

Basically, how we define culture implicates whether we want to use existing data or create data, which invites a rather different set of methods, and has a rather different set of risks, implications and ethics.

What is data?

Ok, this brings us to our second word in search of a definition. What is data?

Data is a concept that is most tightly linked to empiricism and positivism. We answer empirical questions by obtaining direct, observable information from the world. That direct observable information, often conceptualized as discrete units of information, is what is called data. Once we verify data, we get, from the positivist perspective - facts.

However, this only seems straightforward. Just like the definition of culture emerges out of and depends on the process of defining it, so is data made and not found. As Geoffry Bowker has famously said: “Raw data is both an oxymoron and a bad idea; to the contrary, data should be cooked with care (2005, p. 183-184). Lisa Gitelman and Virginia Jackson (2013) propose that the seductive power of the term raw data lies in it echoing a presumption that data come before fact, which suggests that data are the starting point for what we know, and that hence data must be transparent or objective.

Data as a thing, data as ideology

My friend and mentor prof. Annette Markham has argued (2016) that in academic discourse data operates on at least two levels – as a thing and as an ideology, both of which obscure the fact that data is not where meaning resides.

She argues that speaking of data as a thing is an ideological stance, which leads us to focus our attention on the wrong part of the process, we focus on what remains after we tidy, clean, condense and simplify and invites us to focus on pieces of text, or outcomes of interaction, distracting us from the point that this is not where meaning resides. Meaning, arguably, resides in the interaction not the outcome of the interaction, it resides in the making and consuming of the text, not in the text itself.

This doesn’t mean that data is useless, or we should not try to make data, it rather means that just as we need to be clear on what culture means for CUDAN, we need to be clear on how we cook data in this project. What tools do we make or use, and how do these tools function as frames or filters. Because tools carry the epistemic traditions they derive from (cf. this by Eef Masson, 2017) and most, if not all of the analytics tools used to study culture today were built by empiricists and positivists. To make this point clearer, I invite us to think about data through metaphors

Data metaphors

You have probably all seen and heard a version of “data is the new …”

Cornelius Puschmann and Jean Burgess suggest that there are metaphors of data as a natural force to be controlled (so here there are a lot of oil and water metaphors) and metaphors of data as a resource to be consumed (where they place food and fuel metaphors).

Metaphor scholars (Lakoff and Johnson 1980) have been saying for decades that metaphors function conceptually to not only reflect but to construct our experience of reality. If we say “data is the new oil” the comparison of terms builds or promotes a particular meaning. The term being defined (data) is connected to the supposedly more known term (oil). So if we think of petroleum oil then we think of it having to be drilled, which is dangerous to do, we think that world economies depend on it, that finding it unexpectedly will make you very rich, that you can make anything from it. If the comparison sticks, and everyone starts calling data the new oil, as they kind of have, it will work under the surface not only to reflect, but to influence how we think about data.

As Luke Stark and Anna Lauren Hoffman recently argued, the data metaphors, in particular the oil metaphor, invites specific data practices and specific approaches to data ethics. Liquid metaphors of data lakes, data oceans, data floods and data tsunamis tend to “forestall ethical or regulatory interventions by positioning data as uncontrollable” (Lupton 2013). But Stark and Hoffman also propose that we can look to common data metaphors to solve some of the regulatory and ethical problems we’re having with internet intermediaries abusing our data. If data is a natural resource, then perhaps we need to borrow from the ethical codes of forestry and think of data stewardship. If we think of personal data as of personal digital remains, maybe we need to borrow from morticians or doctors, and think of data care or data fiduciaries - fiduciary duty is the legal obligation of one party to act in the best interest of another.

Again, for the talk at hand, I want to ask – what kind of a data metaphor do we at Tallinn University want to operate with? Should we be satisfied with pre-existing metaphors, and live with what they illuminate and obscure about the world?

Methodological implications of how we define data

Something we hear repeated so often, is that the volume, velocity and variability of ‘big’ data has transformed how social research is conducted. More interestingly, it impacts what we think we are doing when we conduct said research. This, I think is the biggest methodological implication of how we define data. Do we think we’re cooking it? And what do we think it means if we’re cooking it? Some of my colleagues have noted a dangerous erosion of the role and meaning of interpretation in “data-driven” research (Markham 2016). If we agree that there is an erosion, and if we agree that reducing phenomena to data involves classification, which in turn obscures ambiguity and contradiction (Gitleman and Jackson, 2013), and if we think ambiguity and contradiction are important when speaking of and for cultures, then we need to think of how to bring them back. One option is to try to imagine an interpretivist data analytics.

Interpretivism rejects the view that meaning resides within the world independently of how people and groups interpret it. Typically, interpretivists advocate for context, which often means asking people things. This might not always be possible or wise with the types of projects we are imagining for CUDAN. However, the idea of context sensitivity or thick descriptions has been utilized in the more recent discussions on whether we can and should thicken our data.

Latzko-Tith, Bonneau and Millette (2017) say that thickening data means supplementing data with richly textured information, in other words, adding layers to them. Thick data is coated with several layers of rich metadata and paradata, so it is like an onion. Instead of points, thick data are whole little structured worlds. But we can think of thickening data also in terms of being more creative with what counts as data or what kinds of data we have, want, what we discard when we clean it, do we clean all of it, etc. My own experience working with data scraped from the Instagram API and Twitter API have highlighted this on a very personal level. Thickening or layering 90 000 image posts or 25 000 tweets with anything other than the metadata that the platform provides may seem impossible. But computational tools can also show you that the 90 000 images are from 180 accounts, or that in the 25 000 tweets include only 520 heterogenous ones that have been retweeted even once, which makes space for layering based on the computational power of the human brain. Basically, the argument is that layering embodies what interpretivism has learned from hermeneutics, the circular way of working a chunk of data and its context.

The critical (political-economic) implications of how we define data

Now, depending on how CUDAN decides to define data and go about cooking it will situate it at more or less problematic end of the spectrum of what can be called the political-economy of datafication. One of the best questions I heard two weeks ago at the AoIR conference in a methods session, was: “What evil things could be done with these new insights you have generated?” So, I think it is important that we too contemplate what evil things can be done with CUDAN, and what version of the datafication of culture and life we want to contribute to.

Many professionals and scholars see datafication as a revolutionary research opportunity to investigate human conduct. But, datafication is also heavily critiqued. A very poignant recent critique comes from Jathan Sadowski (2019), who recently published an elegant analysis of data as capital (as opposed to data as a commodity, which other work has done).

Sadowski argues that like social and cultural capital, data capital is convertible, in certain conditions, to economic capital. It adds new sources of value and new tools for accumulation. It also currently guarantees that those who already have a lot of this capital, like GAFA (Google, Apple, Facebook, Amazon) or BAT (Baidu, Alibaba, Tencent), will accumulate more, and those who don’t have it, are unlikely to amass any significant amounts of it.

Looking at data as capital allows him to notice that the data imperative, or the drive to accumulate all and any data from all sources, by all means possible, now propels how business is done and how governance is enacted. This means a total datafication of everything, by subjecting previously non-commodified and non-monetized parts of life to the logic of datafication and colonizing new spheres of life or new places in the world, so they can become sites of data extraction. So decisions like buying a company or launching a service are increasingly made for data potential, not because of revenue. Google gives primary school studenst free laptops or invests in healthcare or hosts all of Tallinn University’s emails and documents not because it cares, but because it is already or will very soon profit from all of that data. Extraction of data – and Sadowski is specific about calling it extraction and not collection or even mining, because calling it extraction highlights the exploitative nature of dataveillance, where data is taken without meaningful consent or fair compensation - is a core component of political economy in the 21st century.

What is cultural data?

Ok so this brings us to the end of the prompts and provocations around definitions, and implores us to ask what we mean when we say ‘cultural data’ and through addressing the methodological implications of defining cultural data – what we mean by cultural data analytics

That the computational processes of sorting and classifying people, places, objects and ideas have profoundly altered the way ‘culture’, as a category of experience, is practiced, experienced and understood, is something that many authors have addressed (Striphas 2015, Andrejevic, Hearn and Kennedy 2015). So, the question is - is there any other way to define cultural data than as the process and outcomes of the datafication of culture. And if there is none, then the question becomes, is there a way to shape how datafication of culture happens or to imagine alternative ways of datafying culture, because what we have now, is consolidation of the work of culture into the hands of a few powerful corporations, which, if we believe Ted Striphas, will lead to “the gradual abandonment of culture’s publicness”

Methodological and critical implications of how we define cultural data

If cultural data is the process and the outcomes of the datafication of culture, which is currently to a large extent governed by corporations for corporate interests, then this invites another question for CUDAN -

Do we need to come up with so called alt metrics for understanding culture? And what would those be?

I mentioned Richard Rogers (2018) work in the beginning of this talk. He proposes metrics that do not build on social media as a vanity space, but as one for social issue work. He calls them critical analytics. We can basically treat the past 15 years of social media as a case study for why we can’t rely on the metadata and the datafication models that corporations have created for their own needs, because analyzing those creates a particularly tilted view of the studied phenomena and makes CUDAN contribute to instead of subvert what is arguably currently wrong with the datafication of culture.

Epistemology of cultural data analytics

This definition work quite neatly introduces a bigger issue, which is what kinds of ontological, epistemological and axiological premises do we want cultural data analytics to have? We’ve talked earlier about bringing a certain interpretivist sensibility to data analytics, at least to our methods of cooking data, but I’m not sure we necessarily want to situate CUDAN fully in interpretivism. We also don’t want to situate it in what Christian Fuchs (2017) calls digital positivism, which he says does not connect “statistical and computational research results to a broader analysis of human meanings, interpretations, experiences, attitudes, moral values, ethical dilemmas, uses, contradictions and macro-sociological implications. And which he says means that it is just what Paul Lazarsfeld called administrative research predominantly concerned with how to make technologies and administration more efficient and effective.”

Instead, I would suggest, and Fuchs suggests, and frankly most authors who have studied social media for many years are suggesting a critical theoretical alternative. What does that mean?

What is it that we want to accomplish?

Ok this finally brings us to the second big question, which is, what do we want cultural data analytics to do? If we want to build critical cultural data analytics, then whatever else we want it to do, we will want it to challenge dominant assumptions and, ideally, change the world towards a better place. No pressure, right?

Looking across various academic, corporate and strategy documents big data analytics and cultural data is imagined to promise the following:

data analytics in general seems to promise to:

help us gain unprecedented insight into stuff –like public opinion, behavior patterns and relationships.

build a more ‘productive and intuitive’ user/consumer experience.

overall, there are a lot of vague but optimistic promises that we can do research that doesn’t exist yet, ask questions that do not exist yet, open up new avenues for inquiry

Within the realm of cultural analytics and digital humanities more broadly, the promises seem to be that we can:

digitally preserve and share cultural heritage. Which:

allows new discoveries that will transform our understanding of our cultures, identities, heritage and history.

make sure these cultures do not disappear;

make sure the heritage industry is relevant in the digital age

allow cultural differences and commonalities to be explored.

shed light on human history and the relationships between cultural and geographic areas.

Help us understand the dissemination of ideas and cultural phenomena and,

in relevant cases (such as in art fairs, universal exhibitions, or Olympic games), improve the management of current events.

introduce data-driven decision-making in the cultural sector (how to do this without adding to the accumulation of privilege and disadvantages, inequality, discrimination etc

provide arguments for the provision and allocation of public funding and measurement of its impact

Frankly, most of these do not sound like critical ambition. Some of these sound outright administrative, many descriptive, some interpretative.

So, again, the question for CUDAN is – which goals do we want to set for our version of cultural data analytics.

Do we want to say that cultural data analytics will help us understand culture better? Does that mean that we think that the ways in which we understand it now are not good enough? And I am looking at Marek Tamm who has recently edited a whole volume on this. So, you know, provocatively I ask, what’s wrong with those ways of understanding culture? Did you know that training creating just one AI model for natural-language processing can emit as much as 600,000 pounds of carbon dioxide? (Strubell, Ganesh and McCallum 2019 via this). That’s about the same amount produced by 125 roundtrip flights between New York and Beijing. How can we make sure that cultural data analytics is better enough than the more eco-friendly alternatives to be worth it?

Do we want to say that cultural data analytics will be more efficient in understanding culture? That it will create more actionable insights both for researchers and for policy makers? That it will release us from the chains of stepping on the same rake and making the same mistakes?

That, in and of itself, is a great goal. Sheila Jasanoff has suggested that actionable data can problematize the taken-for-granted order of society by pointing to questions or imbalances that can be corrected or rectified, or simply better understood, through systematic compilations of occurrences, frequencies, distributions, or correlations. She speaks specifically of the power of the compilations of climate data, but surely this could be a great asset in the cultural sector as well.

Then again, here too, we can ask what that costs. Another example - AMS, Austria’s employment agency, is about to roll out a sorting algorithm built to increase efficiency. They ran statistical regressions to find out which factors were best at predicting an individual’s chances of finding a job. So they can stop giving support to those who are less likely to find a job. Like women and disabled people. The algorithm increases efficiency and offers highly actionable insights, as it ensures that the agency does not waste resources on giving support to people who will not, in the end, benefit from it. How can we make sure we don’t build this type of efficiency?

What should cultural data analytics be?

Ok so, lets reiterate. I presume that everyone’s answer to what cultural data analytics should be is different, and that is the point of asking these questions and raising these provocations, but let me clarify my take on it and offer some quick examples.

1. I think that while in abstract it makes sense to think of culture as both a practice and a set of texts, it is always also political in emphasis. I also think CUDAN would possibly benefit from a narrower definition of culture, or at least assigning different narrower definitions of culture to specific subprojects. What I’m trying to say is that it is not enough, and perhaps it is even a bad idea to try to combine what is usually called social analytics, i.e. analytics of the trace data cooked on and by GAFA (Google, Amazon, Facbook, Apple) or BAT (Baidu, Alibaba, Tencent) platforms and what is usually called digital humanities, i.e. analytics of digitalized cultural heritage data, and call it cultural data analytics. I don’t think that this is the innovation we’re looking for. My work in social media allows me to see the problematic aspects making inferences of platform data, but it also makes me weary at the ambition to turn cultural heritage data into platform ready data. I think combining these two will keep us stuck in the social media logic that has or will soon colonize all our data, so true innovation lies in coming up with alternatives. This is, of course, easier said than done. If we do want to engage with the “existing” data people generate on the platforms, then I do think that instead of using their data as evidence of practices or ways of life, we should critically analyze infrastructures.

Let me offer an example - Nic Carah and Dan Angus (2018) at University of Queensland are, working on a project that they call “critical simulations”. They engineer and scrutinize how Instagram’s algorithms process, classify and make judgements about cultural life. So they are trying to build the infrastructure to critically analyze it.

2. I think CUDAN needs to be adamant that it is cooking data, and careful in who elses cooking it consumes, as well as who it cooks for, and whom it cooks for for free (and this invites an open data discussion, which I didn’t have tome to go into, but we can in the Q & A). This means that we should set aside resources towards critical tinkering with existing tools, invention of new ones, a reimagination of metrics.

Let me offer another example. Trevor Paglen and Kate Crawford recently organized an artistic intervention called ImageNetRoulette (look here). Image Net is a huge database of photographs that is broadly used to train AI systems in how to recognize, categorize and classify. It is one of the more widely used training sets for machine reading. Among the 14 million images ImageNet was trained on, there were images of people that were sorted manually by humans like Amazon Turkers. They categorized what they saw based on their own biases, and their biases ended up in the algorithm. So while it is easy to imagine a cultural data analytics project that just uses an existing tool to generate some sort of a semi metaphorical rendering of what people represent on social media, ImageNetRoulette was conceived to expose the biases and politics behind the datasets and thus the AI that classifies humans. The project was hugely popular and made its point elegantly. People were labeled in racist, sexist, misogynist and otherwise judgmental terms. And it has already had an impact, the researchers behind ImageNet promised to delete more than half of the 1.2 million “people” images from the dataset.

3. I think CUDAN needs to be ambitious, but profoundly critical in setting goals, to avoid digital positivism, administrative research at the service of efficiency, as well as artsy vanity projects with limited social impact. I think it needs to commit to impact and data justice.

Pitting research questions or interests against each other is problematic, and I am not trying to suggest that everyone needs to study populism, climate change or alternatives to the particular version of capitalism we have, but maybe we should. At least in some way. Is there way to make a project about Estonian heritage cultures to be about the current debates surrounding Estonian forests. Is there a way to simulate and critique and then productively build alternatives to existing infratructures or data logics? In social media research datafication, appification and platformization have become almost curse words, yet in what I have read about the digitalization of cultural heritage, we seem to be hardly able to wait before everything is an app.

I feel like CUDAN has a decision to make. What kind of a project does it want to be. Critical? Descriptive? Computational? Administrative? I don’t think it can be all in equal measures. But I am very excited about the idea of a truly critical, contextual and ethical version of data analytics.

Does it exist? No. Can it be built? I believe so. Maybe this will be CUDANs gift to the world.

#data #datafication #cultural data #cultural data analytics #datafication of culture #talk

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di-sss-learning-engineering · 4 years

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How to Improve Memory for Studying in 27 Ways Sometimes it feels impossible to remember everything thrown at you during college. Between the major battles of the Crimean War, partial derivatives, and the life cycle of the western gymnosperm, how do you keep it all in your head? But it turns out that with the right tools, you can drastically improve your ability to learn and retain the mountains of information necessary to succeed both in college and beyond. So read on and I’ll teach you 27 awesome memory hacks that will help you achieve this! 1. Your Brain 101 The human brain is an efficient organ, and sometimes we don’t keep information that we later wish we had. Our minds are full of memories and information accumulated over a lifetime, and we have basically two types of memory to help organize all this stuff: a) Short-term memory = things we’re doing right now; very sharp! b) Long-term memory = things we’ve done in the past; much duller. The goal here is to better encode information into your long-term memory so that it’ll be available later for, say, a pop quiz or test. I’ll talk about specific techniques to help you do this coming up. 2. Set the Scene Start off with choosing a study spot where your focus can rest fully on the task at hand to help with the encoding of memory. Even if you think you’re a multi-tasking ninja, your conscious mind can only focus on one thing at a time. So eliminate any distractions. A quiet room with good lighting is best for reading. In a classroom, the ideal scenario is taking notes with pen and paper. Or if you’re a laptop note taker, at least shut off any notifications from popping up to remind you that you’ve gone fifteen minutes without checking Facebook! Look: Failing to prepare yourself to learn will render most of the following tricks and tips useless. We know life isn’t perfect, and you can’t always have the ideal setting available for studying. But with a little advance planning, it’s absolutely doable. 3. Be Present If you can restate what you’ve heard in a lecture in your own words, your chances of remembering later are much higher than if you listen passively. This is called “attending,” and there are many ways to do it: writing notes during a lecture instead of just listening, or in a one-on-one session with your prof saying “This is what I think you said…” and then putting it in your own words. Just be sure that your laptop and other distractions are put away to enable you to focus solely on the task at hand. 4. Keep Calm and Study On Stress decreases your ability to encode and retrieve memories. My guess is that if you’re reading this article, then that’s the last thing you want to do! This stress impact can be reduced with meditation, focused breathing, or even yoga. Anything you do to relax and reduce stress can and likely will help your memory. 5. Go to Bed Yes, your mom was right. Those all-nighters are doing you more harm than good. While you may think the extra hours of studying will get you the grade you want, studies have proven that sleep is vital for memory. One such study completed by Rasch and Born demonstrated the importance of REM sleep—the deepest stage in the sleep cycle—in stabilizing memories. Getting enough sleep every night and maintaining as regular a sleep and wake time as possible will go miles toward a better memory. 6. Exercise A good workout won’t just help your memory, but it may reduce stress and help you sleep. Triple whammy! This doesn’t mean you need to spend an hour on the treadmill every day. Simply electing to take the stairs instead of the elevator or walking the three blocks to your favorite coffee shop instead of taking the bus can make a difference. 7. Outsource Your Brain Know a great way to help your memory? Stop relying on your brain to remember every little detail. In the age of calendar apps, let your phone remember that dentist appointment. You focus on the power rule for your calculus exam. 8. Focus on the Learning Process Let’s face it: Nothing can replace the time you put in effectively studying and learning new material. Studying early and often will always beat last-minute cramming. But inevitably with all the things competing for your time in college, you’ll find yourself the night before a test wondering how you’re ever going to get all that information in your head. That’s why I’m going to focus the rest of the tips on some specific techniques that can be real life savers for speeding up the memorization process. 9. Acronyms You’ve likely heard of PEMDAS, the acronym that helped us all to memorize the order of operations in elementary school. By remembering this made-up word, you can recall the sequence of words that align with each letter: Parentheses, Exponents, Multiplication, Division, Addition, and Subtraction. Try making up your own acronyms as easy shortcuts to memorizing everything from historical events to chemical processes. 10. Acrostics Similarly, acrostics are words comprised of the first letters of other words. But typically you use them to join longer phrases or concepts. For a simple example, if you’re studying the Gettysburg Address, you might make an acrostic that looks like this: Abraham Lincoln delivered it on November 19, 1863 Because he wanted to honor Union soldiers who had fallen at the Battle of Gettsyburg Equality, freedom, and democracy were its main themes 11. Create Connections and Associations Connecting something you know to a new concept you’re trying to learn can help fix that new concept in your memory. For example, knowing that gravity causes things to move faster and faster toward the Earth when dropped, you may associate acceleration with gravity. Acceleration is like gravity but can be in any direction. 12. Repetition (Listening) We all memorize through repetition when we listen to our favorite song a hundred times and suddenly realize we know every word. In the same way, when you listen to a definition you’re trying to memorize as either you or a friend repeat it over and over, then you’ll remember it more quickly. 13. Repetition (Doing) This method is common with musicians and athletes. Perhaps a violinist can’t seem to memorize a few measures of music; she might repeat the same notes until her fingers seem to play the notes on their own. 14. Repetition (Reading) If you want to remember the order of a story for a presentation, it may help to read its summary several times. When you reach the point of knowing what’s about to happen before you read it, then you know you’ve memorized the order of events. 15. 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Smell the smoke of a fire. Engage as many of your senses as you can. When you recall that first event, go through the same process until you’ve memorized it. 18. Story Lines Engage the narrative part of your brain. Create a story or dramatize one you already know. Maybe you need to remember a chemical reaction. Give the carbon and hydrogen a story! For example, tell the story of their breakup and new relationships. By making these mundane things into characters, you give yourself new things to remember about them—and maybe have a little fun doing it too. This method has saved students when they had to remember dozens of physics formulas! 19. Chunking Our working, or short-term, memories can only retain five to nine pieces of information at a time. To make the best use of this memory limitation, we can remember the same number of chunks of information instead. For example, as opposed to thinking of each digit of a phone number individually, we tend to think of them in groups. This turns a 10-digit number into three chunks, helping us to memorize it. This idea would help us remember eight numbers by thinking of them as two years. For example, 18421963 becomes 1842 and 1963 as opposed to 1-8-4-2-1-9-6-3. See how that works? Chunking is effective for short-term memorization. 20. Scent Yes, you read that right. Studies such as one conducted by Anne-Lise Saive, Jean-Pierre Royet, and Jane Plailly have shown that smells can evoke memories. These memories are typically more likely to be sensations or situations rather than specific facts (episodic memory). So, if you were to always chew mint gum in your biology class, while it may not help you directly to remember the chemical formula for glucose, it will evoke the memory of being in that classroom, which may in turn help you recall that formula. 21. Method of Loci This method is also known as the “mind palace.” Imagine you’re walking through your very own castle. You greet George Washington as you step into the foyer, and you greet Barack Obama as you step out of the back door after meeting each of the presidents in various locations in between. You remember the order of the rooms you walked through, and by mentally placing the presidents in those rooms by chronological order, you’ll visualize your way into an A on that presidential history quiz. 22. Image-Name Associations That girl who lives down the hall—maybe it’s Bess? You know you won’t remember her name alone, but you notice she has hair so long you wonder how she buttons her jeans. You now think of her as “Bess whose hair’s a mess,” and now you’ve associated a defining feature with her name, which will help you remember it. This could work in other situations as well, say, for a historical figure or world leaders on a political science test. 23. Chaining When you have a series or “chain” of things to memorize, you can utilize your visual memory despite having verbal ideas to remember. To do this, you can make up a story as silly or as realistic as you want to chain the unrelated ideas together. For example, three monkeys made a point of going in one roller coaster cart for four different rides. One of these rides was so busy they had five monkeys in one cart. This silly story helps you remember that the first several digits of pi are 3.1415 by chaining the numbers together. 24. Time It Right If you study before bed, your brain is better able to process that complicated information during sleep. Just know that this relies on you actually getting enough sleep to allow your brain to do its work. 25. Attach Emotion We often remember embarrassing or negative emotions more so than positive ones. So we remember those things we first got wrong in a study group more than the things we could teach others. If you make a mistake in a math technique, the frustration may cause you to remember that you must make the other choice next time. This won’t work for things like city names, but it will work if you know it’s an A or B situation. 26. Organize If you organize a list of names you must remember in alphabetical order, you’ll more easily notice that you skipped a name if you’ve jumped from A names to C names without the name starting with B you wrote the night before. 27. Get Moving Walking or other gentle exercise allows us to occupy the part of our brain that is idle during resting study. Because we can walk without conscious thought, we let our conscious mind focus more fully on the issue at hand. At the end of the day, no memorization technique can replace strong study habits. However, if you need a memory boost before that final exam or peer review, these tools should do the trick! Sources/For More Information: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHPJp_wK67g http://health.howstuffworks.com/human-body/systems/nervous-system/how-to-improve-your-memory10.htm https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/brain-babble/201501/smells-ring-bells-how-smell-triggers-memories-and-emotions http://crnlgerland.univ-lyon1.fr/spip.php?article105&lang=fr http://health.howstuffworks.com/human-body/systems/nervous-system/how-to-improve-your-memory7.htm https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23589831

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ledlightbulbs34-blog · 4 years

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Masturbate and Feel Good

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sasha grey pocket pussy "Masturbation... is just not approved of the particular Lord not this chapel, regardless of what could be said by those whoever 'norms' are lower", Director Kimball of the Cathedral involving Jesus Christ associated with Latter-Day Heureux (1981) "Every sperm will be sacred. Just about every sperm is extremely good. If a new sperm is squandered, The almighty gets quite irate. " Monty Python's This is connected with Life. A price frequently used by various places of worship in an effort in order to contain illicit operates amongst its people. Each and every perorata on masturbation would likely quotation it, at least each of the sermons I have listened to. Beneath circumstances, is it difficult to envision masturbation as one of often the biggest taboos in all of our society? Even today? Methodical education has done any little to switch it. Can that mean women and men don't masturbate? 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Nothing a lot more that I can add genuinely... this is really the particular quintessential insecurity amongst folks regarding self pleasure. 7. Masturbation is for homosexuals. Wow. Exactly where did which one originate! Someone must make a etymology of those myths, would make regarding an useful read! Merely as untrue while all of these myths, masturbation along with homosexuality have nothing in keeping. Some people masturbate to their fantasies of reverse sex, other individuals to their own fantasies of very same intercourse. That's it. in search of. Masturbation will make you sightless! Others claim that masturbation is usually bad for your own personal eyesight. Nevertheless , their says are unsupported by specifics and healthcare advice. My spouse and i suggest you talk to help your general physician in addition to he will make clear you what a load associated with bull this is. 10. Fleshlight changes the condition of your shaft Effectively, it does make it steel solid. But believe myself, after you orgasm, the solidity is finished! So no. Fleshlight offers absolutely no result on how the penis appearance.

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steelframers · 4 years

Text

Masturbate and Feel Good

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best masturbator "Masturbation... is not approved of the Lord none this chapel, regardless of what might be said by those as their 'norms' are lower", Leader Kimball of the Ceremony associated with Jesus Christ associated with Latter-Day Heureux (1981) "Every sperm is sacred. Each and every sperm is great. If a sperm is lost, God gets quite irate. very well Monty Python's The real meaning connected with Life. A offer frequently used by various places of worship in an effort in order to contain illicit operates within its people. Just about every rollo on masturbation might estimate it, at least the many sermons I have noticed. Beneath circumstances, is that difficult to visualize masturbation as one of the particular biggest taboos in the society? Even today? Technological education has done any little to alter it. Will that mean men and women no longer masturbate? Certainly not. 99% of men and 70 percent of girls masturbate according for you to various studies. 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Absolutely no wonder you need an audience. But what for those who have the friend like me. An associate who is crazy sufficient individuals you did you actually wank off yesterday nighttime? Has been it good? What will you do then? Would likely you inform your friend concerning the hot web-site as well as your experience? Would you just say, "Yeah! The idea was wonderful! What in relation to you? " As well as will you pretend nothing experienced happened and lie... something like you were somewhere else yesterday nighttime, or might be lead your buddy for you to believe you got fortuitous using someone? I feel guessing you will do often the latter. Most certainly you simply won't acknowledge the act connected with masturbation. Rather you would likely elude the question as well as change the topic. And if your friend tells anyone about a hot cure the same night, an individual would want a bowl of water when you might drown. Shame and also guiltiness would come over a person and you would transform the subject in double quick moment. Are you actually crazy? Noway! That you are just one of the majority. And a good majority from that! Way more the greater part that what George Bush had in the last elections! The key reason why -social fitness! You are the same as the son who ran out from the theatre hall that was verification an adult film (mind a person, he had zero business of being there with the first place! But the many cinemas care with regards to is the selling involving their tickets! ) Later on in the day, the buddy who had been recently at the movies together with him, caught up using him and asked, "Why from the hell's name do you actually run out? micron The young man answered, "My mom declared if I watched a woman obtaining naked I would convert to natural stone. And darn you Harry, a element of me was currently evolving into stone! " Unfortunately, typically the social conditioning is inappropriate. It is as wrong as being the social condition in 18-19th millennium Indian, where widows had been forced to burn well together with their husbands. As inappropriate as the church has been in losing Galileo with regard to implying the entire world was definitely not the centre from the market. Lily Tomlin input it ideal, "We have good feel that man first walked upright to free his or her hands for masturbation! micron If god didn't desire us to masturbate, probably we would still become walking similar to dogs as well as horses! The actual social health and fitness is a result associated with numerous myths, lies as well as ripoffs perpetrated by quite a few individuals to get personal advantage. Unfortunately, this conditioning is usually like a hard fanatic, very tough to crack. However, with effort along with chanelising your energies, you are able to break it. Remember, typically the nuts that crack the toughest, are often the types that taste the most beneficial! You must be wondering, how the hell does it make a difference if you think guilty about fleshlight. Thinking about spend time breaking this cased characters? Certain when compared with believe that guilt informed, whether sexual shame as well as in any other web form, is the most harmful element for your mental health. Others believe it is one associated with the most destructive. But the greatest effect associated with guilt conscious in my experience provides been a lack regarding confidence in self. Currently you are an clever reader. I don't require to clarify you the importance of self self-assurance. Whether it be your career, associations or any various other element of life, lack connected with self-confidence can bring your own downfall. I am not implying that will you begin to feel more secure concerning masturbation, you might succeed in most elements of life. But the idea will be nice step to take. A great useless shame that should, and can be eliminated from your mind. Recall, an ocean is built of modest droplets involving water. Do away with a decline at a time since due time, the water would be empty! Of course it would take a number of millennia! Luckily, you may have an ocean rich in guily! Just some naggings here and there! The first step towards eradication in this guiltiness is knowledge. There are actually tons of myths around fleshlight. Most of them perpetrated by religion, unfortunately. Yet some perpetrated by scam runners. Lets check out the particular most important ones. one particular. Fleshlight is against the will regarding god. Hoke. At 1 point typically the church viewed as anyone who also was overtly passionate to be able to his wife a good adultrater. Follow that coaching and also your wife would possibly be committing adultery! Several clergymen have become on record in order to say which not just the church's coaching with regards to sexuality were not related in order to the scriptures, but that they can caused more harm in comparison with good amongst people. Apart from, nowhere in the religious coaching of any main foi is masturbation regarded inappropriate. 2. Masturbation will certainly cause erectile dysfunction. Most males and even many ladies seem to think thus. Wrong again. Lets take on the males first. It can be understandable that seeing all their sperm flow out involving their body, they think this may end at some time. Very well, it will end 1 day... maybe when you usually are 100 years old. Although until then don't be anxious. Your sperm bank is rather unlike Standard Chartered. You may have unlimited credit here! Sperm is a completely environmentally friendly resource, renewable on an hourly time frame! For women of all ages, well, there is no time frame in the principle. Probably perpetrated by old ladies who else never experienced an orgasm in their very own entire life! a few. Fleshlight causes acne, thinning hair, skin diseases. This one is actually my favorite. Mainly since it is among the much better scams of all instances! Your social conditioning would certainly have you think that that masturbation is not particularly healthy. But bad how? Nobody would present you a satisfying response! Now some scam designers saw this as a very good opportunity to market their products including locks growth lotions, etc. Since most people start masturbating throughout their teens, (the periods of zits and some other skin problems), they'd have got you believe that this kind of is brought on by masturbation! Unfortunately for them, this really is while untrue as the sun rising from the gulf! Fleshlight has no physical side effects! several. Masturbating will make you slender and skinny! Then there would be no need for diet pills and exercise routines my friend! And almost all certainly 70% of STATES more than likely be overweight! a few. Merely Kids masturbate! Exactly why can you say that? I wonder! Well quite not true, most people masturbate... yup even after marital life! six. Masturbation is for guys. And it is for 70% with the women way too. That's right, 2/3 involving all females masturbate! seven. Only losers masturbate! One more of my favorites. Simply goes to show simply how much of an taboo is masturbation! Primary, 00% of males and seventy percent of females possess masturbated at least once with their lives. Now that is a hell of an lot of losers avoid you assume! Nothing more that I can add genuinely... this is really the actual quintessential insecurity amongst men and women regarding self pleasure. main. Masturbation is for homosexuals. Wow. Everywhere did in which one originate! An individual must make a etymology of such myths, would make with regard to an fascinating read! Just as untrue as almost all these myths, masturbation along with homosexuality have nothing in accordance. Some people masturbate to help their dreams of other sex, some others to their own fantasies of exact same love-making. That's it. in search of. Fleshlight will make you shutter! Others claim that fleshlight is bad for your current eyesight. However , their states are unsupported by facts and healthcare advice. My partner and i suggest you talk for you to your common physician and also he will clarify you actually what a load of bull this is. 12. Masturbation changes the form of your shaft Properly, it does make the item rock hard. But believe myself, after you orgasm, the firmness is gone! So no. Fleshlight possesses absolutely no influence on how your penis appears.

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