#and with the amount of collateral damage they left behind
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Star bois got into a bit of a pickle 🫣
Skskskdk thinking Blue went and got Razz to help bail the boiyos out later XD
#utmv#undertale au#undertale multiverse#undertale#dream sans#ink sans#swap sans#dreamtale#underswap#swapfell#barbie#barbie movie#barbie meme#mmmm as for how they even got arrested and not just…teleport away?#may Ink and Dream got hit by something from the BSP that renders them temporarily magicless#and with the amount of collateral damage they left behind#whoops!#inky art
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“True Friends” - Understanding Mr. Treize and the Contradictions of OZ
“Treize himself has a tremendous disdain for any tactic that allows for excess casualties. Ignoble behavior on the battlefield sullies any victory, and civilian death makes a mockery of what a True Soldier fights and dies for. For Treize, there is nothing more hateful than removing the human component from battle, or the cowardly avoidance of responsibility for human death.”
Gosh! What a great quote! I wonder who said that? Oh right, that was me! I did. I wrote that in the entry about “True Soldiers: Aesthetics, Honor, and Chivalry”.
Let’s examine that a little more, shall we?
“His Excellency doesn’t want battles that involve civilians.”
Everyone who knows Treize best, his “True Friends”, who grew up with him, who were trained by him, who understand him, all seem to agree: His Excellency wouldn’t stand for needless casualties. OZ may be ruthlessly pragmatic and underhanded, but that couldn’t be Treize’s fault– no, it’s always Lady Une! It’s his fanatically devoted colonel who always chooses the path of greatest violence, heedless of any collateral damage– she’s the one to blame! Treize would never give an order that risked civilian lives.
…Right?
…Right?
Surely he would stop her, admonish her, make her face serious consequences for the atrocities she was willing to commit. He’d leave no room for doubt that she had failed him and disappointed him.
...Right?
Yeah, that’s right, a firm slap on the wrist oughta do it. Tell her to try a little harder next time to understand the value of human life. Just do better! It’s alright to use mobile suits to attack a school, but we’re going to put a stop to it because I’ve changed my mind about killing a teenage girl, as a personal favor to a friend.
–Friends of His Excellency would certainly like to believe that he would never knowingly sacrifice civilians, but he sure doesn’t seem to mind benefiting from someone else doing it for him.
How well do Treize’s friends really understand him, when they seem unaware of how wide a margin of error he finds acceptable in pursuing his ideals?
Well, ideals are fine and all, but war is war, and some amount of pragmatism is necessary to stay on top. Treize isn’t the one calling all the shots (yet), and the organization he reports to expects results. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, right? That’s why it pays to have a Chief Omelet Maker working for you, so she can break all the eggs, and murder school children, and threaten nuclear assault, and you can come away still smelling like roses.
…But what sort of effect does that have on her?
It’s better for a ruler to be feared than loved; being hated is the perfect motivation to stay strong; fighting will never disappear from the world, so the strong should rule it for the sake of damage control; God was too lenient when he gave mankind the free will to rebel; people find comfort in being controlled by the powerful.
--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.
So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals unflinchingly, no matter how much blood ends up on her hands. Better her hands than His. OZ has to be the strongest. OZ has to win. OZ must be victorious at any cost. Damn the Colonies, damn the politician’s daughter who made herself a liability, damn the wounded soldiers left behind at New Edwards Base– she’s going to make OZ so absolutely unfuckwithable that their enemies shit themselves at the mention of its name, and she’ll do it herself if no one else will. Because THAT is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.
...So why does he keep telling her– ever so gently, ever so gracefully, that she’s wrong? If making sure the strongest rule and the weak obey isn’t what pleases him, then what will?
Killing is simple– anyone is capable of killing anyone, so you mustn't abuse that capability. The Earth is fragile and infinitely beautiful. Human life is fragile and infinitely beautiful. One must always take responsibility for the fates of those who fight for you, and honor the sacrifice of those who die. Tragedy in war is inevitable.
--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.
So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals with grace and empathy, to bring an end to needless bloodshed. The world needs a strong, compassionate leader, who is capable of loving humanity and guiding them to a peaceful future, where loss and war are tragedies of the past. Order and peace can be maintained without sacrifice, by using technical advancements to replace soldiers on the battlefield and keep them out of harm’s way. That is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.
...So why does he tell her– so sadly, plaintively, that she is wrong? That he is not who she thinks he is, that the future she has so carefully laid out for him is a fantasy of her own making? Why does he plead with her to come back to him, as the person he once knew so fondly?
Civility and honorable conduct on the battlefield is worth more than victory. To fight for something one believes in with perfect clarity is the purest endeavor of mankind. The tragedy of loss is what gives a battle meaning. Honoring the sacrifice of those who have died for your cause means being willing to die for it yourself. To fight, to lose, to die for a noble cause is to move the hearts of all humanity, to touch immortality.
--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.
And so she does– she sacrifices herself to save the Gundam pilots and turn the tides in outer space, rejecting Romefeller, rejecting the Mobile Dolls. At last, she understands him.
…But didn’t she always?
Except perhaps in the case of using Mobile Dolls to replace soldiers (an idea that was easily manipulated by its inventors to fit into her worldview at the time), her understanding of Treize’s ideals wasn’t ever wrong, just fragmented. She focused on a single facet at a time, each time excluding the contradictions of the other sides– light bouncing off a solid plane without revealing the rest of the prism’s convoluted geometry.
She isn’t mistakenly interpreting him– HE is a mess, and she is representing him accurately, one dimension at a time.
What is more significant is that he finally understands this about her.
Treize is mortified to realize what sort of effect he has been having on someone he cares about, during a period where he is questioning the validity of his own beliefs and significance. He may mistakenly believe that he is responsible for having fragmented Lady Une’s personality– which is not how the condition she has operates– but he is not mistaken in taking responsibility for her distress, and the danger he has put her in.
Losing her, or believing that he has lost her, is devastating. Rather than moving him to action, it moves him to inaction; aware that he has come to represent ideals that are too easily manipulated by people who he fundamentally disagrees with, that the idea of him is too powerful to be used responsibly by the current rulers, he withdraws.
Treize cannot switch off the magnetic field of his charisma or its continuous pull on the soldiers who take inspiration from him, but he refuses to willingly lend himself to a cause that he finds irresponsible. In fact, he refuses to join any cause until one presents itself that he can have complete faith in– and complete control over.
The people whom Treize considers his True Friends are the ones who “understand” him– this includes his enemies, the ones who oppose him but nevertheless espouse values that he can respect. In fact, ANY strongly held ideal, even ones in opposition to him, and ANY display of courage, is more admirable in Treize’s estimation than lip service to his own ideals or those of his organization. The “fighting spirit” that is of paramount value in his worldview is not limited to combatants– he expresses immense respect for Relena Peacecraft, more so even than his respect for the Gundam pilots, who he comes to idolize. What matters is the strength of conviction. What matters is courage.
He respects and admires Lady Une, even when her errors in judgment have megaton consequences, because she is so singularly and ferociously dedicated to her goals. He tolerates the violence and inhumane actions of the Specials and OZ soldiers because they are fanatically ambitious and ready to die for their ideals. As long as the ultraviolence isn’t cowardly or self-serving, then Treize can and will overlook the body count– noble sacrifices, all. He’ll memorize their names later on today.
Treize’s ideals are flawed and contradictory. There is a tipping point in the series where he gains enough self-awareness to recognize this fact. This does not stop him from believing in his ideals– he can’t simply turn away completely from what he values and loves about humanity and its “fighting spirit”– but it does allow him to appreciate those who see his hypocrisy for what it is, and who despise him for it.
“You’re only capable of looking down on others; you’re only fighting to satisfy your ego. How many people have died because of you?”
The fact that Treize has memorized the names of all 99 thousand people who have died for him does not do anything to improve Wufei’s opinion. For Treize, that number is a sacred personal burden; to Wufei, it is evidence of offensive, monstrous egotism.
Wufei, of all the Gundam pilots, is best acquainted with how wide the margin of error is in Treize’s ideal of chivalry. Nataku herself, the namesake for Wufei’s gundam, fell neatly into that margin and died in it. Long before they met and dueled, Wufei knew of Treize as the OZ official jointly responsible for an attack on his Colony. While General Septem of the Alliance (then in control) would have murdered everyone on the Colony indiscriminately with biological weapons, Treize’s solution was more sporting: OZ sent in Mobile Suit troops to directly eliminate the rebel element, who were armed with nothing but a single decrepit prototype Leo and an unfinished Gundam with no ammo-- a much more chivalrous way of sterilizing a Colony, allowing the largely unarmed group of dissidents to die fighting rather than be killed with the push of a button.
Would the deaths of the Long Clan have been meaningful sacrifices in Treize’s eyes? Was exterminating civilians for the sake of convenience a noble cause to fight for?
One could argue that the existence of the then-in-development Gundam was enough of a threat to justify an attack, but at the time the idea of gundanium mobile suits was no more than a rumor. Could Treize, back on Earth, have reasonably predicted its invention?
Not if we are to believe his own words, which clearly indicate that the Gundam’s existence was unknown to him until reported after the attack.
For those who fall outside of his cult of personality it is easier to see past the charisma to the reality: no matter what his soldiers think of him, Treize is not a god. He is only a man, and no one person has the right to decree some deaths necessary to the future.
–And Treize, for his part, would agree. He is a single individual, whose ideals people put too much faith in without fully realizing the essence of what they mean. But the belief people place in him gives Treize a level of power that must be acknowledged and used responsibly, and to the best of his ability, he tries to use it for the good of Earth and humankind.
As a symbol, he is far more influential than he could ever be as a man, and his awareness of that fact leads him to choose the path of martyrdom, knowing that his very existence is a threat to peace. The only way he can neutralize his own power as a military icon is to join the sacrifices to the cause. And what more iconic way to do that than with a duel?
Treize may have resigned himself to being an anachronism and a dreamer, but if he is going to die for the sake of the future, he will at least go out according to his ideals: gracefully, nobly, at the hands of an enemy he respects.
For personal and aesthetic reasons, Milliardo is Treize’s hopeful first choice as a dueling partner, but Milliardo had his own role to play in their final performance, which prevented him from participating in a duel for their mutual actualization. So Wufei is the right choice; Wufei both understands him and has a justified reason to want him dead. Besides, it’s an elegant, symmetrical solution– the continuation of a duel that he predicted they would be destined to finish in mobile suits.
--And what effect does that have on Wufei? Perhaps expectedly, a fracturing one.
It shouldn’t be surprising that Treize’s ideals resonate so powerfully with someone who was raised in a warrior culture, especially someone who only knows how to express his beliefs and sense his self worth through combat.
Wufei, too, lives with contradictions that he cannot fully unify.
Treize Khushrenada cannot live in the world he wishes to see realized.
If he were to win the war against White Fang, the cycle of oppression and resentment would continue. Even if he were to immediately relinquish his power to Relena and demilitarize the Earth Sphere, the end result would lead to more conflict; his refusal to take control of the Colonies would be seen as capitulation, and a betrayal of those who fought for him against the threat of annihilation from space. Even the considerable power of his charisma would evaporate overnight if he were to appear to be turning his back on the soldiers whose fanatic loyalty had allowed the unified mobilization of Earth’s military forces under his banner. But, as a general leading from the front lines in a noble defense of Earth, dying gloriously in battle for the sake of peace lends all that charisma to the future he fought for.
--The message left to the surviving soldiers is not: “His Excellency led us into battle and then abandoned us when he won”, but instead: “this is the peace His Excellency died protecting.”
Indeed, after his death, Treize’s name IS used in an attempt to lend legitimacy to the argument that soldiers have been devalued in a time of peace, and that continuous war to determine the strongest victor to lead humanity is his true legacy. But it doesn’t stick– the would-be dictator who tries to use Treize’s name in service of his military takeover is killed by a nameless soldier, whose change of heart is motivated by the memory of what Treize actually died for.
--It is not a victor who moved the hearts of the people, but a glorious loser.
#Gundam Wing#Treize Khushrenada#Lady Une#Chang Wufei#Endless Waltz#gundam wingtionary#wing watcher's toolkit#tinyozlion pgw#parsing post
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Okay so you know the drill,, there's a gala! Wow Bruce Wayne is so dreamy 😍 he's a whore 🥵 he's a dad 🥰 he's a- oh shit he's a hostage 😳
Everyone looks around frantic and scared but also... not really... cause ya know... this happens like every Wayne gala? Like they had to sign a slip saying that Wayne Inc isn't liable for any injuries during a possible takeover cause the Board was tired of people sneaking in just to sue after being shot by Ozzie's umbrella gun (it was just a graze 🙄) (Bruce pays for them all anyway)
But! This time Damian was in his arms when he was taken hostage! Extra collateral! How tragic! He's just a poor boy ;(
The corners have shadows of course and next thing you know- through a series of odd instances that are totally irrelevant to the story (oh his other children must be so scared! Must have hid under the tables since no one saw them,, how terribly sad) -a few of Gotham's vigilantes show up to save the day! (Is it 9 already?)
Alas! a goon (he's new, he's blue, he'll shoot himself in the shoe 🎶) gets startled and almost shoots poor defenseless Damian Wayne and oh Bruce becomes a real papa bear and slams his fist into the goons face-
"No." He practically growls- which uh Brucie can growl? A spattering of confusion goes around the room before a laughing Red Hood can be heard after checking on the goon-
"Damn! Good job papi!"
Everyone in the room pauses.
Did the Red Hood... just call Brucie Wayne Papi? The Red Hood, the anti-hero of unknown age who just recently obtained the praise of the city for taking down the recent baddie with the Gotham sirens when all the other bats seemed to be out of town?
A million ideas pass through the thoughts of the elite in attendance.
A million thoughts pass through Jason who just realized what he said after seeing that Goon Lagoon lost his front teeth.
He looks to Nightwing and in state of panic they speak to each other in a way that only panicking siblings who can't speak can share-
'You done fucked up,' Dick seems to say with a twitch of his eyebrow.
'Obviously, you stupid idiot, but how do I fix it,' Jason responds practically psychically with a tilt of his head.
Dick just looks at him in pity, and with a shake of his head, he stares into his little brother's soul with the plan
-of course nobody else hears this conversation,, everyone in the room just watches the two vigilantes stare at each other weirdly for a few seconds (theyre on complete opposite sides of the room? There is not a single shred of subtle about them having a mental conversation even if nobody knows what it's about) before a look a pure absolute disgust reveals itself across Red Hood's masked face (he threw his helmet for fun earlier in the battle not important) before settling into a neutral stiffness.
Solemnly devastated, like he's about to go off to war and his Beau will be left behind to be cared for by his evil brother who will no doubt try to take advantage of his estate,,
or like a teenager being told by an acquaintance that they found their old elementary school YouTube account with videos of them role-playing with their Littlest Pet Shop animals,,
or like when a mother writes a 12k story for her fandom during her toddlers nap time only for the child not only to wake up before expected but also somehow spill applejuice all over her laptop (the one she's had since she was a teen) shorting it and deleting the story because she didn't press save on top of being morbidly tired from lack of sleep-
He looks up and says with clarity in his voice even if it's also filled with the verbal equivalent of eating 4 lemons raw and slow- peel and all,
"That's what I call him in bed."
Everyone in The Know takes psychic damage.
The elite in the crowd do little more than nod before moving on.
Bruce just smiles big and fake and pretends like he doesn't want to die.
Red Hood looks at his gun with wistfullness, while Nightwing does an unnecessary amount of acrobatics along the chandeliers above them just to land next to him and pat him on the shoulder.
Later, an anonymous commenter spoke about hearing Damian Wayne whisper to himself, "I hate this fucking family," as Timothy Drake-Wayne (who appeared miraculously safe and sound) gave him a nod of agreement.
#brucie wayne#jason todd#red hood#dick grayson#nightwing#batfam#desperate times call for desperate measures#cass couldnt stop laughing#shes been on the chandalier for two hours#steph cried that she missed it#the boys mourn#all those batman and robin jokes for this?#bruce and jason look at each other for one (1) moment before ignoring each other for 3 weeks#after they pretend it never happened to the point that tim and damian discuss magical influence#babs knows for a fact they spoke with zatanna#zatanna said no tho#entity writes dc#entity writes
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Some dos and (mostly) don'ts for the upcoming Comic Con, Boston Dumb Fuck.
So I don't know if your handlers have had a chance to program you for the event yet or if they are waiting for a software update, but here are some tips for your trip to Seattle.
When you smile, try to have it reach a little up your face. You could scare the children with your hollow, soulless eyes. You may have become an automaton, but these people paid good money so try to look and act like a human male. And stay off the weed- makes any chance of a sparkle disappear.
When speaking, try to avoid the "ok" sign, or even the Italian thing you do sometimes with the fingers together (🤌)*. It's too close to the sign the smug wifey likes to flash with her close Nazi buddies. You are already tied to her and carry around a certain amount of shame for that, don't need to make it worse by appearing like you are a true believer now.
Don't mention your inconsequential political site. These folks just want a picture with the dude who once played Captain America. They don't care about you and your vain extra curriculars.
At the same time, don't play too much into the Captain America role. You signed on for this fake marriage with the antisemetic, racist wifey to reset your image (I guess?) and you cannot claim any similarity or want for similarity or admiration for the character, when you embody everything he would be ashamed of.
Don't try to get your feminist street cred back by wishing people a good Women's History Month. That ship has sailed for you.
As much as I hate seeing that liars ring, keep your left hand out of your pocket. You look like you are diddling yourself and people don't need more reasons to try to label you as a p**vert. We all know you are an "alone guy" and maybe that is what you do back at the hotel, although with its dubious metal composition, I don't recommend getting that piece of jewelry too close to your junk. It could cause sterility...On second thought, whack away, rub, rub, rub with good old lefty. Do society a favor. You are enough of a child for you to raise.
Of course you could forgo the ring altogether (in unison "You could forgo the ring". Sorry, I had to do that. My dad trained me too well watching "Airplane"). Have the OFFICIAL break up announcement come out before the con. Garner some sympathy. Begin to remove all reference of her. But don't forget that this does little to clear your karmic debt or repair the pathetic shreds of your life. You have a long road to travel, if you chose to do better. Leaving this debacle is only the first step. No matter the narrative being told, the only thing for certain is that you are a major liar who has selfishly hid behind his privlege to get what he wants, no matter the collateral damage.
If you are in real trouble and are in need of serious help, send us the message by wearing your California cap and we'll come running. Maybe. You've been a real shit and may not derserve it. We'll have to assemble a coterie of mods to discuss your fate, like in a Wes Anderson movie. Any mods interested?
If, on the other hand, you are ok but would like to acknowledge you have been a manipulative, selfish sack of White Privleged shit who needs to actively work to become a trustworthy, authentic person and make amends, wear the NASA cap.
Well, that's all I can think of for now. Enjoy the coffee up there in the Emerald City, if you are into coffee that week, you Mercurial mother fucker! 👋
*PS- I would like to clarify that I am in no way equating one gesture with another. My intent was that, in this case, there is a likely possibility the Italian gesture could be taken out of context and skewed to look like the beginning of a WP sign because of BDF's association with the little Nazi twit. Photshop has been used before, why would it not be used for this nefarious purpose? Even these simple and inert gestures can become weapons in the wrong hands.
But I should have been more careful and I sincerely apologize to anyone I offended. I tell BDF to do better, but unlike him, I am not a hypocrite so I will follow my own advice. Thank you to those who politely called me out and I hope this helps.
#brian wilson vibes#ai in human form#you are the company you keep#i hate manipulation#i don't like hypocrites#do better#liars suck!
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Ok what would you do with “Walking a tightrope” as the title? I love this phrase.
Walking a Tightrope - Nico Rosberg/Lewis Hamilton
Nico wasn’t expecting the interview to be such a disaster. From an outsider’s point of view, they were civil, contained and calm but Nico couldn’t help but be enraged. After everything, all those years of shared misery, glory and disappointment, Nico made the mistake of thinking Lewis might have grown up a little, just enough to be normal and politely apologetic instead of a cowardly cynicism.
After all, Nico knew Lewis was walking a tightrope and showing remorse would hugely hurt his defamation campaign on Nico. Obsessed, angry, clingy. Nico was adult enough to understand but he wasn’t a saint.
In a world where the public image was everything, there were a thousand ways to make their relic of a relationship work without mockery. This “I feel bad for you.” “I don’t think about you at all.” act got old in 2018. It was frustrating that Nico let himself be hopeful enough to believe that they could be civil. Not the polite civility in the public eye sense, but civility of recognising. Recognising the amount of hurt you caused and being mature enough to own your actions. Instead, Lewis decided to keep up the act of Nico being obsessed with him and him just tolerating it. It was cheap, easy and didn’t leave too much room for Lewis to think of his hypocrisy. He wanted to shake the blame for what they had become off and reduce their relationship to a one-sided obsession campaign.
Nico thought he could live with it. He could live with it. For the past decade, he did just fine not needing Lewis’ recognition but it didn’t mean he didn’t crave it still. He knew Lewis did too, from short stolen glances, viewing of his stories from his dog’s account, as if it would incriminate him less.
Nico genuinely believed that not acknowledging what went on was a sign of weakness. Denial was easy but there was the love that Nico didn’t know what to do with. When the object of your love got estranged from you, what would you do? Channelling it into other endeavours was the best choice but it didn’t take Nico long to recognise that that love wasn’t something you can reshape in the way you want. That love filled a specific hole in his soul and was fed with specific gestures that he had no longer access to. Nico couldn’t help but wonder whether the air of supposed arrogance made the gaping hole in Lewis’ soul any smaller.
Being the bigger person was overrated. If you attempted to be the bigger person before maturing enough to absorb the collateral emotional damage, it just made you the smaller, more vulnerable person deep inside. Nico wondered whether Lewis had to lie to himself to achieve this indifference. As a thought experiment, it was impossible for a person to lie to themselves, practically. However, generic media training came with a cruel habit of double speech, to believe in things about yourself that contradicted and Nico knew that that was what Lewis was hiding behind. Yes, Nico beat me. Yes, he is the loser because he is obsessed with me. Yes, he meant everything to me. No, I don’t miss him at all.
This made Nico feel stronger because as least he had the courage to see the truth. It might be related to having less to lose, but it didn’t matter. Nico was better than Lewis because he didn’t have to lie to himself to keep going. It didn’t matter if he was alone in this. Nico was the bane of Lewis’ existence. The feeling he had for Nico was too explosive to not muffle under the guise of competition. His insistence on keeping a facade exploded all over them, causing irreparable damage. Years of licking their wounds in their respective corners didn’t change the fact that they left pieces of themselves in each other. Nico nurtured that part, not in the hopes of taking his back from Lewis one day but out of respect for himself who felt all those devastating emotions.
That was it! Nico was angry due to the lack of respect Lewis had shown to them, and shown to his own feelings. How could Nico respect someone who suppressed his feelings to appear unaffected just for cosmetic reasons? The spiral of being mad at Lewis, because he took the opportunity of respecting him from Nico, was overcrowding.
It might have been a tightrope for Lewis, it was okay. He could wobble on the pretences of nonchalance as long as he wanted to. For Nico, thanks to his acceptance and respect for his own grief, it was a highway instead of a rope. If Lewis refused to grieve, Nico could grieve for them both.
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Ignorance Is Bliss
“This office was assigned to me, Granger—”
“You’re wrong! It was clearly assigned to me—”
“Tell her Potter—”
“Tell him Harry—”
This was said in unison with such force that Harry’s spectacles moved down his nose.
Harry sighed. Trust him to have to deal with these two. He just wanted some lunch. He wondered if there would be any of those sweet buns left in the canteen. Maybe if he left now, he could make it…
“Harry!”
“Potter!”
Harry started into motion, scowling at them. Tipping his glasses back up his nose and massaging the bridge between his brows, he considered the best possible solution that would cause the least amount of collateral damage.
“You’re going to have to share, I’m afraid, until Matilda down the hall retires next month.”
“A month?” Hermione rounded on him, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him. Harry backed away, knowing her ire all too well.
“Potter, if you think I’m going to share my office with the biggest swot this side of—”
“Your office?” Hermione scoffed, turning her wrath on Malfoy and pressing a finger to his chest. “Funny you should say that, considering it’s mine.”
Harry was already backing away, hoping they would at least silence the door before they destroyed the room. He never understood their squabbles, even more so how they seemed to forget anyone else was in the room once one of their familiar rows had started.
He was surprised to find the room more-or-less fully intact the next day when he went to visit them—though not so surprised to find himself party to a screaming match as soon as he opened the door.
“I told you not to put your files there. It makes a mess of everything,” Hermione shouted, glaring daggers at her office-mate.
“Considering how many plants you’ve already put everywhere, I think I’m entitled to one bloody space to put my notes,” Draco barked in return, his normally neatly coiffed hair hanging loose, probably from how vexed he currently looked.
“Actually, you don’t, because this is supposed to be my office.”
They noticed Harry at the same time.
“Harry tell him!”
“Potter tell her!”
It went on much the same over the course of the month. At first, their fights were about petty things: how many books were allowed to take up the shelves (Hermione insisted she should be allowed more space, and what right really did Malfoy have to read as much as she did), or who had the comfiest chair (Hermione insisted Malfoy had been charming it to raise itself incrementally throughout the day, but no matter how many time she cast finite incantatem, she wasn’t able to reverse it).
Then came fights about things Harry had no clue about.
“If you add lacewing fly to the brew, then it will reverse the effects of the potion,” Hermione said as she braced her hands over Malfoy’s desk, glaring at him with such fire Harry idly wondered how Malfoy wasn't already burnt to a crisp.
Malfoy had his hands behind his head, his expression full of something Harry had no idea how to decipher.
“You’re wrong, Granger. That’s only if you use a full lace-wing fly. If we thin the wing, however, and /then/ dice it, it will have the reverse effect.”
If Harry had been paying more attention, he would have noticed his best friend’s curious gaze towards Malfoy.
If Harry had been paying more attention, he would’ve noticed the hesitant smile Malfoy sent Hermione’s way when he thought she wasn’t looking.
If Harry had been paying more attention, he would have been less surprised at what came next.
It was the most recent visit to their shared office that had permanently traumatised him for life (apologies, Riddle). He entered their office with his usual tired sigh, hoping today’s battle was short enough that he could make it home in time for dinner for once.
He stopped short at the sight before him, choking on air as he took in Hermione and Malfoy laying across Hermione’s desk, their mouths and bodies... engaged in a way that should have been outright illegal.
“Oh my god, Harry GET OUT!”
“Potter, I swear—”
Harry had slapped a hand over his eyes, running away from the horror scene with an agility he hadn’t known since he was a teenager.
“Ginny, wait till you hear what I’ve just seen,” Harry said as he exited the Floo to Grimmauld place.
“Was it Hermione and the ferret snogging?”
Harry stopped short. “You already knew?”
“Oh, husband,” Ginny said, reaching up and tapping his cheek affectionately. “You always notice things after everyone else does.”
“I resent that,” he said, reaching over and tucking a stray red hair behind his wife's ear.
“Would you resent it if we had sex right now?” she said with a cheeky grin aimed his way, already reaching for the buttons of his work robes. She was still dressed in her Harpy’s uniform.
And just like that, the attention of the boy who lived was diverted once more.
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225화
낮의 도시 (1)
City of Day (1)
In the center of a wide clearing, a dark-haired young man lay sleeping. A mana-draining array(1), set up with the young man as the focal point, continually siphoned his mana.
The people standing outside of the effective range of the array regarded the young man with concerned expressions.
“Solemnis’s Sigma has rejected our request for assistance.”
“Lanchaea’s Lambda has at least agreed to provide aid if an SS-rank monster should happen to appear. Though, in the case of a simultaneous manifestation, Lanchaea City would come first, I’d imagine.”
SS-rank monsters tended to show up at a rate of at least once or twice a month. While they weren’t infrequent occurrences, as the window of appearance wasn’t something that was set, even with assurances of support in place, you couldn’t let your guard down.
Additionally, to reduce the amount of collateral damage caused by monsters S-rank and below, a city-affiliated SS-rank Guard was an absolute necessity.
“Waking Alpha without reasonable cause would be dangerous after all, at any rate. Since this place is close in proximity to the mana hole.”
Even for SS-rank Awakened with strong abilities, a complete depletion of mana would still trigger loss of consciousness. The rampaging Alpha had been subdued by sealing off his mana regeneration paths, then waiting for his mana reserves to be depleted via Skill use, and then applying several additional Skills and Items capable of draining the opponent’s mana.
It was a tactic that had been made possible because even SS-rank Guards were only allotted the bare minimum amount of mana potions, and because the natural mana recovery rate of an Awakened was immensely low.
“As it was reported that there seemed to be signs of instability in his mental condition, until we can procure the assistance of another SS-rank Guard, it will likely be advisable to wait. For the time being, let us re-submit an application for aid to Solemnis City.”
“Be careful not to let word of Alpha’s condition slip outside of here, as well.”
A low, collective sigh came out of the mouths of those who were gathered there. At the very least, the last SS-rank monster sighting had occurred less than a week ago, which was a relief for the current period. Since things should be safe for at least another week, they would need to figure out a way to stabilize Alpha before then.
* * *
위이이이이잉– 위이이잉–
At the noisy blaring of the siren, my eyes snapped open. What was it, had a Dungeon burst nearb… Wait, where was this place?!
‘...ah, right.’
After startling at the building facade that obstructed my sight, I finally recalled what had transpired the night before. This was the inside of a Dungeon.
To be precise, I was in a world that had already collapsed. A false world, with only traces of information left behind. I’d been dropped in here, and had met with someone who seemed to resemble Sung Hyunjae… Thinking about it was starting to piss me off again.
For now, I got up from my spot. I could still hear the sound of the siren. It had apparently grown light out, as hazy sunlight was streaming in from between the buildings.
Should I go check what the ruckus was about, then. Activating the camouflaging Skill, I carefully slipped out from between the buildings.
드드드득.
A large contraption was moving around on top of the road. Every time the machine passed by, the crumbling, fractured sections of the street would re-emerge having been neatly repaired. Even then, it seemed like it would be all too easy for a monster to pop out and destroy it without pause, but when I looked around at my surroundings, unlike at night, everything was quiet.
‘When it’s making such a ruckus, why hasn’t anything appeared?’
While I was busy puzzling it over, the road-repairing machine had already made off into the distance. And then, a few moments later, as the siren noise stopped.
철컹, 철크덕.
The thick barriers that had been blocking off the entrances and windows of the buildings began to recede. In the convenience store across the street, lights flickered on, and the store owner came out to open the doors wide. Seeing them begin to tidy up the front of the store as though nothing had happened during the night was boggling.
And not just the store, but on the streets as well, people had started to appear one by one. On top of the road, personal vehicles, as well as what seemed to be a bus, had appeared too.
“They said that an SS-rank monster had appeared nearby, but this place looks to be just fine.”
“Apparently residential area 5-B sustained a fair bit of the damage.”
“But no one seems to have been hurt, at any rate. Ah, Pike-ssi. We need to wrap things up before the sun sets, so let’s go ahead and get a move on.”
Though talk about the monster had been mixed in, the people seemed to be calm. It was just another familiar sight on the road.
The majority of the populace seemed to be non-Awakened, though there were the occasional F~E-ranks mixed in. Those F/E-ranks all possessed minor reserves of mana. After staring blankly at the street for a moment, I ducked back into an alleyway before releasing the camouflaging Skill. Just in case, I got out some water and lightly scrubbed at my face before re-emerging outside.
Though a few people looked over in my direction, they only spared me a glance before moving on. Simply sweeping past a fellow passerby, an ordinary, unassuming gaze.
‘...do monsters not come out during the daytime?’
It was the only conclusion the atmosphere could lead me to believe. Being careful not to gawk too much, I slowly progressed onwards. A bus was stopped at the bus terminal, and people were crowding on and off. Vendors were putting out signboards and setting up their stalls. A line of office workers were streaming into a large building. Beside the building, a drink store that offered takeout had workers busily taking orders. I thought it might be coffee, but the liquid contained in the clear cups were red or green in color. Instead of a coffee scent, a sweet and refreshing smell wafted over.
It really was ordinary, and peaceful besides.
‘With this kind of atmosphere, it should be easy to gather some intel.’
But first, I should buy something to eat. I was hungry. Though I didn’t have any money.
The amount of currency I currently had on hand was 1,000L. Since a few more subquests had appeared, in order to check if a venue for funding had appeared somewhere, I ducked back into an alleyway. It was really turning into a pain to deal with. But, since I’d be thought of as a deranged person if anyone saw me staring into and swiping at thin air.
[ Sub Quest
First Purchase From Store
First Step As A Guard
First Purchase From Store 2
First Outing
Today’s Part-Time Work ]
Another ‘First Purchase From Store’ had appeared. The first purchase-based quest was related to the Point Shop, and the second one corresponded with a regular store purchase. They each had rewards of 1,000P and 500L, and 500P and 1,000L, respectively.
Well, should I start by buying something from the Point Store first, then. Opening up the Point Store window, I examined the lower-priced Items.
‘A stun grenade for 350P. Maybe I should buy this one. And there’s a wire too, it’d be nice to have one as backup, but it’s expensive…….’
It’d probably be best to save up my points as much as possible, so that I’d be able to purchase the Items I needed on a case-by-case basis. But I was lacking in equipment, even now. Because of that knockoff Sung Hyunjae, I’d ended up losing a dagger, too. The cheapest dagger was priced at 1,000P. And since my poison resistance was S-rank, a poison-type Item would probably be immensely useful, too. But the high-grade poison items for exchange were single use, and disgustingly pricy at that.
There were explosives, too. I wanted to buy them. Fuck, a sniper rifle. A trap set! Ah, this ghillie suit was one that had a stackable camouflaging Skill too, wasn’t it. And bedding, I wanted a sleeping bag too. Even if it didn’t amount to a tent, I at least needed a sleeping bag. Having been forced to sleep on cold and hard surfaces with nothing cushioning my body meant that my back was aching.
‘These should all be Items that can go into an inventory, and there’s a whole range of things, too.’
Ah, there were so many things that I really wanted to buy, but my funds, my points, were nonexistent. Though I had a lot of money outside of the Dungeon. Couldn’t I use real money to buy points. Let me whale with real money, please. If this was a game, shouldn’t predatory microtransactions be a basic feature. I’ll offer up wallet-kun, please take my money. I had the money, so why couldn’t I spend it.
Regret washing over my heart, I purchased a stun grenade for the time being. From observation, it appeared that the monsters here tended to emerge primarily at night, so there seemed to be a high likelihood that they would be weak to bright lights. Using the stun grenade first and then segueing into using my camouflage Skill seemed like a good option, too.
After completing the ‘First Purchase from Store’ quest, I looked over the other quests as well. Setting aside the ‘First Step As A Guard’ for later.
[ First Outing
Let’s head outside of the city! As it is dangerous outside of the protective barrier, please make sure to prepare thoroughly. A pass is a must. By following along the road, arrive at a different city.
Reward: 10,000P, 80,000L, map ]
Just looking at the rewards, it really did seem to be a dangerous undertaking. Was it teeming with monsters? Though I should be able to avoid up to S-rank, by using the camouflaging Skill.
‘Since, listening to those people from earlier, it seems like monsters that go up to SS-rank appear around here.’
Seeing as how the counterfeit Sung Hyunjae’s rank had been SS-rank too, it appeared to be the case that the general ranks averaged a bit higher than our world’s. One of them really had to be in this city. It seemed likely that everyone would have gone up to SS-rank here, so all I needed to do was join up and… Sung Hyunjae, you shitty bastard.
[ Today’s Part-Time Work
Let’s look for a day job! There are a variety of part-time job offerings posted within the city. Experience the joys of hard labor!
Reward: 500P, job openings pamphlet ]
…really, what did you want from me. I did need the money, but did I look like a serviceman who would be able to leisurely work an hourly job. But the job openings pamphlet niggled at me. Because it was listed as a reward Item, it made me feel like I had to clear the quest. It wouldn’t happen to be just an ordinary job openings pamphlet, right.
At any rate, since it wasn’t a quest that I could do just yet, in order to tackle ‘StorePurchase2’ and fill my belly at the same time, I headed back onto the streets. The total amount of currency I had at present was 1,500L. Since I didn’t have a baseline for how much that might be worth, for now, I ducked into a shop that looked to be a convenience store.
“Welcome!”
The 30s-ish woman sitting at the counter greeted me with a bright voice. Did they sell something like cup ramen here, too. There was a table and chair, and even a TV placed on one side. Good. I might be able to pick up some intel while simultaneously appeasing my stomach.
A drama was showing on the TV.
[ Escape from the city, but how? ]
[ I spent my entire fortune to obtain an S-rank card. A tactical truck with a camouflaging Skill has been prepared as well. ]
The outside of the city seemed to be dangerous, after all. If it was a truck with a camouflaging Skill, it should be expensive. Would I manage to swing an escape somehow.
There was an assortment of foods available at the convenience store. Only, there was nothing that seemed to resemble cup ramen, and the machine(2) placed off to the side was unfamiliar to me as well. It looked like it might function as a microwave, but I couldn’t tell where you’d even open it from.
For lack of an alternative, I was forced to pick up a sandwich, which wouldn’t need reheating. Grilled Phowa sandwich, 250L. If you took that to mean that it was around 3,000 won, then 1,000L should be around 12,000 won or so. So once I bought this and received the reward, then I should have around 27,000 won.
At this rate, I’d be shelterless tonight as well. Damn.
“Hello.”
Holding the sandwich, I went up to the counter and put on my most amicable smile. I’m definitely not a suspicious person, and just wanted to ask you about a few things.
“Yes, how d’you do.”
The shop owner answered with an amiable smile as well. It was an expression that held more goodwill than I had expected.
“Last night was quite a ruckus, I heard.”
“That’s right. Particularly since the SS-rank monster this time hadn’t appeared for about a month, by this reckoning. It’d been peaceful for quite a while. But it’s a relief that it was handled quickly. Last time, because the damage had extended down to the below-ground shelters, it ended up as quite the situation.”
Below-ground shelters. It seemed that the ordinary citizens fled underground during the night. Since the monsters only appeared at night, the Guards would exterminate monsters during that time, and once it was day, they would re-emerge and resume daily life–so it was that kind of pattern.
When I handed both the sandwich and my card over, the payment was handily taken care of. Your transaction came out to 250L. The register whirred.
“Would you happen to know if there’s anyone who uses flame-related Skills, among the high-rank Guards?”
There was a chance that his Skills might have changed upon entering this world, but the basic attributes should’ve still remained the same. Since, barring myself, they were said to have taken on the appearance of someone in this world, I thought that the possibility of a Guard higher than S-rank, who also had flame-related Skills, being Yoohyunie should be fairly high.
“If it’s a Guard with flame-related Skills, then it has to be Achates City’s Alpha.”
“‘Alpha’?”
“You don’t know him?”
The shop owner returned, bemused. Was it akin to hearing someone say that they didn’t know Yoohyunie or Sung Hyunjae while being a resident of Korea, or something. Smiling as naturally as I could, I opened my mouth.
“I’d like to say that’s the case, for now. Could you explain in greater detail?”
I do already know, but I want to hear your take on it, having to use that kind of inflection made me die of embarrassment on the inside. But the shopkeeper seemed to accept it easily enough. Mirroring my smile, she led into an explanation.
“Alpha is Achates City’s SS-rank Guard. Like our Solemnis City’s Sigma-nim, you see. He’s a younger man of twenty-six, who Awakened four years ago, and fire-type Skills are his signature. He may be young, with a smaller window of experience, but I’ve heard that his capabilities are outstanding.”
It really seemed like it might be Yoohyunie. Wasn’t that a perfect avatar(1) for Yoohyunie. The only problem was.
‘To think, that he’s in a different city.’
Didn’t that mean that I ultimately did have to leave the city. On top of that, the way she explained it, it seemed that each city needed at least one designated SS-rank Guard. Would I have to go on a tour of the cities, in order to reunite my party. I had the sneaking suspicion that there would be a disk installation location in each city, too.
…Newcomer-ah! At least cough up a transportation option for this newbie. Peace-yah, where are you. I need you. It wouldn’t be that he’d happened to be mistaken as a monster and attacked, right. Though the kid was a monster, technically.
‘Solemnis City’s Sigma, probably indicates that knockoff Sung Hyunjae. It doesn’t seem to be his given name, so is it that each city’s SS-rank Guard gets a codename that corresponds with the city’s own name?’
The Medsang City that I’d come from was ‘M’... Hm, what could it be. I knew alpha, beta, delta, and theta. Was it ‘meta,’ maybe.
“Is there anything else you’re curious about?”
The shop owner asked, beaming. She was really hospitable, huh. Or, was it perhaps… That she felt favorably towards me? Now that I thought about it, I’d gone up to C-rank, stat-wise. Had my face received an upgrade too? It kind of felt like I might’ve gotten a bit taller too… Or, maybe not.
It worked out, in any case. I should use this opportunity to gain some in-depth intel.
“About the City Defense Outpost. Are ordinary citizens capable of visitation? Or, even something like a pamphlet on Guards and about the seals. Though, it probably wouldn’t be very entertaining.”
“Only the civilian service center is open during the day, but the park nearby is scenic for walking. Nor is it too far from here.”
If only the civilian service center was open, then the likelihood of a high-rank Guard being there should be low. It might be okay to go there during daytime, then.
[ In just a moment, an emergency broadcast from the City Defense Outpost will commence. ]
Just then, the drama that was playing on the TV was cut off from air, and a severe voice drifted out instead. When we turned our heads to look, the screen flickered away and a familiar face appeared.
“Hm? It’s Sigma-nim. I wonder what it might be.”
Now that I was seeing him under decent lighting, when compared to the Sung Hyunjae I knew, his hair color definitely seemed deeper. From inside the frame, he displayed a faint smile.
[ Citizens of Solemnis. ]
Hearing his voice, the irritation I’d felt shot up again. It was still possible that it was a different guy, but he still resembled him too much, after all.
‘Though, since the ‘Deadly Hatchling Class’s Teacher’ Skill can’t be used on a denizen of this world, I should be able to confirm it with that.’
It would be a relief if he turned out to be a different guy, since if it really was a Sung Hyunjae who had stupidly managed to lose his memories, it was no different from him going I’ll refuse, to start, so come and take me away by force. And an SS-rank’s refusal would basically be an express train to blackoutville.
As I’d thought, I’d have to do everything within my power to go to Achates City, and reunite with Yoohyunie first and foremost.
[ Last night, an unregistered Awakened who was due to come under my faction managed to escape. ]
…what? It couldn’t be, right? At the negative premonition, an icy chill settled in my chest.
[ A dark-haired, dark-eyed C-rank Awakened male, wearing red earrings. Average height, according to his rank, and pale skin, with early-twenties delicate features. For the protection of the city, we request that you submit a swift report should you happen to come across him. ]
…fuck, hold on. But soon, Sung Hyunjae disappeared from the frame, and like a definitive starting gun, subtitles that boasted ‘5,000,000L for leads, 100,000,000L for live capture’ scrolled across the screen.
Hey, you Sung Hyunjae ripoff bastard!!!
While swamped in panic, I looked at the counter. The shop owner and I locked eyes. She stared dazedly at me. Then, shortly, she picked up something that looked to be a phone.
I was screwed, really!
“Even if I were to say it’s not me, you wouldn’t believe me, I suppose?”
“Hello, City Defense Outpost?!”
Yeah, I’d thought as much. Quickly snatching up the sandwich lying on the counter, I briskly turned around. Activating the camouflaging Skill, I escaped out into the streets.
Knockoff Sung Hyunjae, this dog bastard!
-----
(1) 마나 흡수 각문 (刻文)
(2) convenience stores in kr are set up so that you can ‘cook’ the food that you purchased there, on the spot. to clarify what yoojin’s expectations are re: machines that are commonplace sights in convenience stores in korea, the things he’s thinking of would look something like this: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
(3) 아바타 → avatar; ‘avatar’ in colloquial kr is konglish (loanwords/’eng only understood in kr’), because rather than the standard eng definition, it refers more to the type of ‘avatar’ that exists in Avatar (2009) (film), aka as a ‘stand-in’ for x. in this case, context means that we could substitute ‘avatar’ with ‘playable character’ and stay in-line with the intended reading
i have negative energy, so that is about as good as footnotes are gonna get :’)
님들 풍요로운 한가위 보내시구여~
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❛ in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you. ❜
@sugurau / ANSWERED .
WOUNDS REMAIN FRESH , raw & stinging just as intensely as the day they came to be . five years ago he’d watched his best friend disappear into the swarm of the city bustle , absorbed the contempt in his gaze & weariness in his expression . every word he spoke was collateral damage , burning shrapnel tearing up his fragile heart . killing him would have had good reasons , but when satoru had looked , when he REALLY looked - all he could see was the light of the unwavering soul buried deep within the other . it hadn’t changed , nor been tainted by something dark or uncertain . suguru was suguru , down to the twisted core . whatever had pushed him off the hazardous edge & sent him spiraling hadn’t been about them . that was made perfectly clear when he’d left him behind .
CLEAR , crystal when his thumbs hovered unsurely across the call button to his contact on his phone - before he realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that he’d been blocked before he’d composed himself enough to dial the number . it hadn’t been about them . he’d grown up to learn loss , to accept even the harshest changes . no amount of preparations could have made him ready for it . the hurt was so visceral he’d begged shoko for days in his desperation for her to fix it , to plunge her hands into his chest & spread his ribcage , to soothe an agony he couldn’t run away from . lay his body down flat on the cold metal table in her morgue & cut away what rots him from the inside , shear the ugly blooms until what was left was untouched by cold reality .
SOME THINGS aren’t enough . not when he catches a sickly familiar scent - wavering cursed energy he’d recognize blind , that stir poison stems he'd thought he'd rid himself of . ❛ suguru . ❜ he calls , before he can think & so tentative , voice almost lost in the rustle of crisp leaves scattering across cracked pavement . when he was younger , the anticipation of any mission had him on edge , nerves frayed constantly & never ending tension on his shoulders . any special grade curse , anything they’d once handled side by side - strong enough to gather either of their attention . he’d wondered if he’d ever run into him on missions , hoped for it even . he’d missed him so terribly that it would have been as much of a blessing as it would have been a curse for their paths to collide together . his mind hasn’t changed even now - when he’d known something was off from the start .
the temple had remnants of cursed energy , whispers of something dark & awful . but nothing compared to if there had been something currently residing , lurking in the shadows . his best guess somewhere in the midst of his scattered thoughts are that suguru had gotten there before him . it would make sense , as his one & only had always been quick , smart & steps ahead . the higher ups pass down their mission information & satoru wouldn’t care to get ahead of himself unless it was deemed particularly interesting . so it’d been absorbed , likely moments before he’d gotten there & god knows how many times he’d been just a little too late when it came to suguru geto .
❛ you’re here still . ❜ he states a little dumbly , limbs locked frozen in place . refocused he can make out some motion within the trees , the sway of clothes & dark hair . suguru watches him just as wearily & satoru wants to ask why . like he’s eighteen again & his world is crumbling , his first love lost in the waves of the earth offering harsh reminders that satoru gojo isn’t the most important thing . he wants to ask why he’d left , where he’d been , why he hadn’t called back for him . the glow of his soul flickers & just as quickly the realization hits him that there isn’t any good answers .
suguru doesn’t look any happier than when he’d left . in another life ? it dumbfounds him temporarily . there are no words , nothing he can string together & spit back . instead he stares for a long while , refreshes his features to memory & offers a soft hum into the open air , lips tilted upwards into a hint of a smile. ❛ that sounds good . in another life then , okay ? but not too soon . ❜
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This post is a trigger warning
Sometimes, I think about killing myself.
I stole that line from a Daisy Ridley movie. It's called Sometimes I Think About Dying. The poster art looks grey, and very indie cinema, and I probably won't go to see it.
I don't actually think about dying much. But sometimes I think about killing myself.
Someone jumped off a balcony on the other side of the building last year. Their body was still on the lawn under an orange blanket when I got home that night. I think about climbing over my balcony and letting go, the sensation of falling, of feeling my body hit the parked cars below. Death has no dignity and that way of dying even less.
I tried to kill myself in 2008, in a Dublin hotel room, the same day I got my Master's Degree. I was drunk and I was angry. I had put all this work into this degree but I was still the same. I realized that no amount of achievement was ever going to make me different or make the pain go away. All my self-doubt and self-loathing was still there. I always imagined how it would feel if I could just cut away all the spoiled and rotten pieces of me. So I tried getting in through the wrist.
Pocket knives are blunter and skin tougher than I'd imagined. But not so tough, either. Sometimes I drive my life at the wall, pedal to the metal, just to see if I can brake in time. I stopped cutting in Dublin because I was afraid of how easy it would have been to keep going. Is that sanity or cowardice?
These things are hard to talk about because it hurts and frightens the people I care about. I don't want to make them collateral damage in my destruction. It's not about them anyway. But sometimes I am just so angry I don't know what else I can do with the feeling. Like if I pierced my skin, maybe the anger could escape. I try putting it on the page, on the screen, and it just. Won't. Go. Away. I fantasize about driving my fists into the wall so hard that I shatter all the bones. And then I'll kneel before a deity I don't know and offer them my mangled hands and the blood of my pulverized flesh will wash away all my sins.
Catholicism has a lot to answer for.
My father died last summer and this is my inheritance. He drank and he raged and he hit his wife and he terrorized me. The first time I thought about killing myself, I was 15. My parents split custody, 2 weeks on, two weeks off. I lasted until I was 16. I left my brothers behind and moved in full-time with my mom. My father never forgave me. I know that because he told me once. Because it wasn't enough to abuse me. The ordeal was never over until I forgave him his trespasses.
I think I hate him. Now that he's dead, maybe I am finally safe to hate him. Fucking asshole.
It would be nice if love were enough. It's not. We had one, last good conversation in the spring. I don't think he liked me very much at the end, and in hindsight, I don't know if I liked him at all. He made me feel like a failure at everything I ever tried to do to make him proud, and at some point, I think I stopped trying. I feel like I've spent my life torn between two poles, seeking his approval on one hand, and refusing to compromise to get it on the other. I feel like that has been a waste of time.
He told me once that he knew that if wrote about him, it wouldn't be complimentary. As I hemmed and hawed, his partner said something about accepting the gift that was given. It didn't feel like a gift, it felt like control.
I think about the painting of Noah and his sons on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and Ham', whose descendants Noah cursed because Ham witnessed his nakedness. I do not have children.
If I share this where you can read it, am I performative and vain? If I post it privately, am I hiding? One day I will tie this rage up in words so I can set it on a shelf and walk away.
#CW thoughts of self-harm#CW domestic abuse#CW my father was a giant fucking asshole#future poetry current pain
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overboard, overwater / 1309 words
Cub likes his reputation.
He's cool, and he knows it. Life slides off his back like water off feathers, unfazed by obstacles in equal measure. He stands on a plains biome, and he can already hear the crackling bubble of lava, the grit of red sand. The thousands upon thousands of raw iron blocks and dripstone to make his dream a reality. Cub stands at the beginning of a project and all he can see is the bright, beautiful line between his feet and the finish line, and everything along the way is inconsequential. Only a checkbox to fill. Only a task to be done.
But sometimes, even he has to admit he's gone overboard.
His shoes don't have sand in them anymore-- now instead the soles are cracking from how long he's been standing here. Another skeleton falls down from the water stream. The light is dim in his early-season farm, and dimmer still in the corners from the amount of chests shoved everywhere they'll fit. The rush of EXP orbs barely hits anymore. Cub fumbles for the latch of the chest next to him and shoves in another ten or twenty bows, eyes too tired to notice if any of them have enchantments. It doesn't matter. Only a few more. He yawns, rocks on his feet; the dog beside him whines.
How long has it been? …Days. Cub's internal clock is impeccable, even with no sunlight to pass the time. The skeletons fall. He swipes his sword across them almost lazily. The world continues on.
And at the end of the fifth, day, it's done. Cub sorts his shulkers of bows and bones and arrows with all the grace of a man dead on his feet, before another burst of microsleep has him finally, finally admitting defeat. No one'll touch this farm. He's got the time in his schedule now to crawl out through the chest-monster and clumsily light a rocket to make it to the surface. He lands belly-up on the banks of the Hermitissippi. The sun's long faded from the sky. The moon-- normal, normal now, he reassures himself, is starting to peak over the snowy mountains.
His eyes drift shut. Sand's pretty comfortable when you've been hunched over stone.
hsssssssss.
What?
BOOM.
Cub sits bolt upright, wet sand clinging to his jacket, just in time to see Scar take a creeper explosion right in front of him. The blast of heat and sulfur scorns his face and his arm comes up automatically to protect his eyes. When he peers over his own limb, a cratered hole has been torn into the bank. There's nothing left of Scar but a shower of items.
Cub hastily crawls towards his servermate's things, thunking down a spare chest from his inventory and blinking harshly to dispel his exhaustion. He ends up with his arms crossed on the smooth wooden top of the chest, head resting on his forearms. It's still pitch night, but he can't find it in him to care. He's... slept in weirder places...
"Whoa there! Cub!"
Cub groans, peering upwards towards the familiar voice. Scar lands heavily on the bank, his chair taking the brunt of the impact, and its elytra-wings furl themselves back into the spidery wooden legs. The elf picks his way forwards until he's hovering over Cub, and all six legs bend at the knee to crouch forwards, putting Scar more on Cub's level. "Why, hello there."
"Yeah, hey man." Cub mumbles, lifting his head with difficulty.
"Cub," Scar starts, and just by that bright tone Cub can tell he's about to launch into a monologue. "Cub, Cub, Cub. I was just on my way to talk to False at her beautiful base and what do I see? My roommate passed out on the river! This is not acceptable roommate behavior, Cub."
"You sort of blew up, man," Cub answers. The stars behind Scar's head are throwing off his focus, way too bright. His head hurts.
"Uh, I blew up in my daring rescue attempt to save you from the cold harsh wilderness!" Scar leans back and the front two legs of his chair rear up to gesture along with him. "You saw what just happened! Cub. It's collateral damage, really, and I woke up right there back in my bed at home, so I was close enough to swoop in and find you--"
"Mmm," Cub replies. Somehow his head is back on his arms. The darkness behind his eyelids and the darkness of the river don't look too dissimilar, from this angle, even as the currents swirl with all their constructed lights. Scar's words blend and dissolve into white noise, welcome after the endless clack of skeletons. A wooden pillow can be comfortable, Cub thinks. A chest can be comfortable indeed, and his thoughts spiral easily, into the night.
"Cub." Someone's shaking his shoulder. Scar's shaking his shoulder, and Cub shifts away, too tired to be annoyed. How long has it been? The stars haven't moved much. "Cub, you should get up." His friend sounds a lot more serious now.
"Yeah, I was just at my skeleton farm," Cub mumbles, tone as unbothered as ever. His sleep-brain drifts into explanation mode. "Sometimes you gotta get on the grind, man. Get a couple thousand bows for a couple thousand dispensers, you know how it is."
"A couple thousand-- what?" Scar replies, and then he shakes his head. "You, my friend, need a good sleep."
"Hey, I'm trying." Cub slumps forwards in an attempt to re-meet the chest, but a wooden chair leg props him up.
"Nuh-uh. None of that. Get here." Scar tucks his hair behind a pointed ear and leans forwards to grasp at Cub's upper arms. Cub goes without complaint, endlessly logical part of him knowing this is a good idea, and in his exhaustion, only happy to trust his friend. Conjured vines wrap around his chest, secure. He barely hears the insect-like hum of the elytra wings extending, barely feels the rush of warm air as they take off with a leap. Cubs cracks open his eyes with his last few seconds of consciousness. Laid out below him is the dark blue river of stars. Ren's steamship. Everything fluid and metal reflecting the infinite air he's carried through, clean in his lungs, freed from the confined dark of his own underground farm.
His mind slips off again. Everything's so free up here, and Cub craves freedom.
--
This time he doesn't snap into wakefulness. Instead he drifts out of sleep as easy as he drifted in. Underground again, but in the comforting openness of his basement-base. He's staring at the lime green glass and deepslate of his moss farm. Cub rolls over. Someone-- easy to imagine who-- has put him to rest in his bed of warped planks. Above him the normal motes of sporeblossom dust laze about the rooted ceiling. His internal clock is impeccable, and already his body is thanking him for a solid nine hours of sleep.
Cub rests his head back on the pillows.
He likes his reputation. He's cool, and he knows it. Cub prides himself on being able to survive anything, to take what life throws at him and catch it like a snowball, chill as anything. He lives exactly where he wants and does exactly what he wants. Spreading his schemes to the rest of the server is just an extension of that life plan.
But he's never alone. And by vex, does he love that too. There's no point in schemes without servermates. No point in his grand bases without making compasses for those who want a tour, no point in chaos games without willing players. So Cub's not ruffled. He went a little far, but he does that sometimes, and it's nothing to be worried about.
He's got friends all over.
#roo's writing#t#hermitcraft#hermitcraft s9#cubfan135#hermitcraft fic#no clue what to tag this with i have never done this before lol#goodtimeswithscar
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Spoilers for The Handmaid’s Tale season 5, also this is a novel, sorry my guys.
So The Handmaid’s Tale pulled me in again (dammit…) and I just have to say I am a sucker. Spoilers ahead.
There’s really not enough material for season 5, plot wise, I mean the first two episodes showed us that. But as someone who writes a stupid amount of character studies and introspective stuff, I love them. Give me all the character struggles.
I like that we’re finally seeing June grapple with the consequences of her actions (and in a meaningful way.) I appreciate that the more time she spends in civilized society, the harder it is for her /not/ to notice the ways Gilead has broken her.
She’s enraged, traumatized, lashing out at the wrong people, and still human. She feels herself losing grip on which version of June exists in the moment, which version has control, and who can share space in her head. Can she be a good, loving mother to Nicole, a battered woman trying to find closure in grisly revenge, and a champion for Hannah, who needs an entirely different sort of warrior in Gilead than Nicole does in Canada?
It’s hard to say.
She’s also navigating trying to be a friend in season 5 and more so than in her initial arrival to Canada, it says a lot. She’s screwing it up, but able to recognize that more than when she first got there. She knows she hurt Rita by forcing her to relive trauma at the Waterford’s, she understands that using people with shared experiences to vent her anger, instrument her revenge, pacify her feelings, has consequences. Emily is back in Gilead. A woman who helped her kill Fred had a psychotic break and shot live ammo into the air around a restaurant. People all around her are slipping. They can’t handle June’s wealth of Gilead fuckery, and neither can she.
“Rita, I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
June should be sorry. Good that she still remembers how to feel sorry. Good that, if she meant it, she is still experiencing empathy under all the grief, anger, and turmoil.
I find myself mentally giving Moira a lot of shit for how little slack she cuts June, but I have to step back and say, that’s what a friend does. Maybe not in the way Moira goes about it, but Moira is traumatized too. She can’t let June get away with abusing people because she’s been abused. The people in June’s life /have/ to encourage and prompt her not to live in the life she left behind. Not at the expense of everyone around her.
Luke showing her support for what she did to Fred and discouraging her from obsessing over Serena is believable. As crazy as it is to say, it’s constructive too. June can’t just shed her PTSD like a second skin but she channeled the rage into getting rid of Fred. Neutralizing a threat and finding a shred of closure in a horrific situation. She can’t now channel that trauma and invest energy into feeding her trauma by obsessing over Serena. It’ll break her. Looking at a woman who got pregnant after raping June for months and stealing her child, a woman who continues to use her child against her, and wondering what it all was for, would break anyone. That baby is a win for Serena, and June is going to lose her humanity if she keeps obsessing over that win.
If Serena hadn’t stepped back into the line of fire by televising that BS move with Hannah, things might’ve been more apt to settle. Now? It’s on. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t living for it, and also lying if I said I would’ve minded them skipping Hannah as collateral damage again. I see why they did it. They needed the emotional reaction to throw June back into full throttle cutthroat mode now that she has more clarity and was (kind of, trying) to do better. It’s also very much in Serena’s wheelhouse to lash out at June this way, using Hannah. It’s really the only power grab she has left, and Serena is nothing if not drunk on (even fabricated, fantasy) power.
I loved the scene where Serena was being moved and they disregarded all her condescending bullshit. “I’m sure we can have a rational discussion.” Says the woman who helped found a pseudo-religious cult that tortures all but the elite men. My favorite touch was the officer saying “move the prisoner.” Serena is still a prisoner, cushier cell, just like the handmaids at their postings, but still a prisoner.
“Are you going to protect me like this?“ she asks, looking around the room.
“It’s your only protection.” Janine says later.
All the parallels are stacking up and I adore them more than words can express. It’s brutal and makes even the audience slip and think “good, she deserves it.” But does she?
On a similar tangent, thank god for Tuello’s true feelings coming out, however briefly they could be allowed to. “May he rot in hell.” Exactly Mark, couldn’t have said it better. He has to keep playing both sides between Serena and June to get info and intel, but that was satisfying.
Anyway, as far as Serena being drunk on power… One of the things I personally love the most about season 5 is how little of it she has. It’s why “move the prisoner” was a favorite moment. It’s why “how did you convince them to say yes?” “By not being a woman.” Was also so important. It strips Serena of the power she relished and thrived on in Gilead. It reminds her that in Canada she is a widower, a war criminal, and a prisoner. In Gilead, she is a traitor’s wife and a woman, essentially worthless. Even after taking a beating and losing a finger there, how easy it is for Serena to forget she’s a second-class citizen. She has no power. No status. No pull.
Moira put it best in season 3. “Who /are/ you, really?”
This post is obscenely too long but just a few more things.
I watched this and shared feelings with a work acquaintance about it, and what she said about Esther struck me. “She’s deranged but deserved better. Poor Janine deserved better too.”
Because, yes, to both. But I think when people compare Esther to June, this is what they mean. Esther has always been Esther. She thought of poisoning her husband even before the handmaids made it to the farm. She was pushed to that by repeated torture. To poisoning Janine by a callback to that same torture being imminent. When they met Stephen and he wanted sex, that callback also broke June. If June hadn’t tied up a commander and had Esther salvage him (salvagings and their aftermath being one of the most common flashbacks Gilead survivors have, showing just how much it fucked them all up) would it have been different? I’m not sure. The night after the murder, Esther lays beside June in bed and tells her she loves her. Before then, she tells June she’s always wanted to help, to do something.
Esther is an embodiment of June’s actions hurting people, who’s to say what Esther would’ve been like otherwise. Probably still a little unhinged because it’s Gilead and who wouldn’t be in order to survive, but not to the point of killing so freely. But, she’s also the embodiment of what may have happened to June if she had been in Gilead 15-20 years younger, with no support system. Someone desperate for a way to fight, and for a way out.
Esther doesn’t understand that Janine has forced herself to compartmentalize the rape as a survival tactic. She doesn’t understand that taking men’s sexual abuse is Janine’s proven way of being able to fight, to do something, even if it’s just see her daughter, help new handmaids stay alive, and keep them mentally stable enough to do more if and when the opportunity presents itself.
Editing to add, I’ve seen people give Janine shit for wanting Esther to end up at the Putnams after what Warren did to her. To that I’ll say this, first of all Janine is human and a mother. Second of all, she is still strategic. Sometimes the evil you know is better than the evil you don’t. Janine knows how to help Esther survive Warren. She doesn’t know how to help her survive Calhoun, for example.
Esther feels she’s being used because June didn’t tell her to accept being a handmaid. June didn’t tell her that she had to wine and dine Fred at Jezebels to survive. June was bolder when Esther met her, and Esther fixated on the woman who killed commanders and got children out, not the one who pumped in a bedroom while her rapist held her baby and had to seduce a man who repulsed her to fight for her daughter.
Esther is a desperate kid looking for a hero and wants the one who wears the cape.
She deserves better.
Janine deserves better.
They deserve to get out.
And, to end on a lighter note, my god do I still adore Lawrence’s character. Trying to blackmail me? Get in line behind Lydia on your way to fuck off. Man knows those two aren’t going to touch him. Man knows Warren Putnam isn’t going to touch him. And I. Am. Living for it.
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Empty Names - 6 - Background Checks
Author's Note: And now for a brief rundown of the party's backstories, albeit filtered through the lens of Sullivan being a dismissive cynical jerk. The narration may be third-person, but unreliability due to the influence of the current PoV character is fun to play with.
Word Count: 3,024
Content Warnings: References to dead bodies, faking the death of a child, what may or may not have been a kidnapping, and supernatural factors causing transitioning to go angst-inducingly slow.
<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->
For all its gothic gloom during the night, Bridgewood Manor is surprisingly well-lit during the day. Mostly this is due to Carnette having installed large windows looking out onto alien landscapes in most of the rooms and halls not directly connected to the building’s outer shell as a flex on visitors, but - much like her - that is quite literally neither here nor there at the moment. No, Sullivan’s gaze is set on his laptop. The vista behind him is only worthy of his attention insofar as it’s creating an annoying glare on his screen, and even that he’s pointedly ignoring. To move from his overstuffed chair to a seat with less glare would be letting the window win, and he’s not about to concede to an inanimate object in a contest of wills.
And so Sullivan commences his last-minute review of files with the sun shining indirectly in his eyes. It’s been two weeks since he agreed to his friend’s latest ill-conceived venture, and every day of it’s been busy. Now his friend is out wrapping up details with a client for an initial test run job - he refuses to call it a quest - and wants to bring in the new team - definitely not an adventuring party - tomorrow. Of course, the new office space - no way in any hell is he calling it “the guildhall” - still isn’t ready yet so now he has to play host. After spending the past three days getting the full staff of cleaning and maintenance constructs up and running again to make the manor presentable once more he finally has a free moment to go back over the compiled dossiers of the newest round of poor saps to get pulled in by his friend’s wide-eyed idealism. It’s an exercise that’s one part risk management and one part intimidation tactic. Nothing like casually alluding to secrets to get fools in line.
The musclehead’s first on the list. Eris. First Backstage encounter at seventeen, dropped out of the local community college, got a job as a long-haul trucker - plenty of liminal spaces for spooks to slip through in that line of work - shortly thereafter, and has been making waves in the monster hunter community ever since. After two years of that she found Crossherd and for some reason got herself a day job with the city’s sanitation department. An odd choice to have a day job at all for a hunter, but then again Sullivan’s seen enough sewer monsters and bodies left in dumpsters to figure there’s probably more overlap between the two professions than anyone wants to admit.
Only limited contact with her family or anyone else on set, so cleanup should be easy if she bites the dust.
Sullivan starts flicking through an archive of gathered images. High school yearbook, crime scene footage, commercial driver’s license, group photos pulled from other hunters’ social media accounts, security camera stills, Dog Park volunteer outreach materials, medical records, discreet surveillance from paid informants. His friend wasn’t kidding about the autogenesis; that’s not a physique anyone’s pulling off without either magic or a damn-near lethal amount of drugs, and if the collateral damage to buildings and vehicles from some of these aftermath shots of hunts are anything to go by, she’s even stronger than she looks. Sullivan chuckles to himself. It looks like she’s living up to her moniker with the messes she leaves behind. On the other hand, he’s yet to be able to turn up anyone with a bad word to say about her, so hopefully his friend’s right in their own assessment of her.
Still though, he can’t help but wonder if that body is a manifestation of pride or self-loathing. The last thing they need is her getting pushed over the edge by something and going full monster. That almost never happens, but it’s always ugly when it does.
All in all, the kind of person Sullivan would expect to reply to his invitation for purchase requests with a gym’s worth of exercise equipment and a small armory’s worth of weapons. Oh, and what’s this? A follow-up email adding an armored van to the list. Why not? She did bring him that fascinating and delicious-looking specimen the other day.
Sullivan makes a note to call his car guy later, mentally files away Eris as “dumb, friendly, expendable wrecking ball and meat shield” and then switches over to the techie’s profile. Lacuna. He’d thought the name sounded familiar when his friend told him about Eris’s recommendation. As it turned out, she’d been one of the victims on the penultimate job the two of them had worked before their spat. He’d say “small world” but he’s always gone back and forth on the nature of coincidence.
But as for the file, it’s usually been his experience that the less his research turns up the more likely there’s a secret to be found, but in this case he’s starting to suspect this woman really is just that boring. Schooling with no records of extracurriculars from elementary through university. No social life to speak of. Half a dozen social media accounts with no posts. A few profiles on job hunt sites. Employment records with a software startup that was never more than moderately successful. And then a reset of the same boring stuff all over again after falling Backstage. A job at a similar company on Crossherd doing similar work but with paratech. A few purchases of books on witchcraft followed by attending a single seminar then never returning - the usual sign of a wannabe mage realizing they have no potential. Still no social life, save for the informants looking into Eris spotting the two of them together on a semi-regular basis.
Just two tidbits that stuck out to Sullivan in the end that he’d made a note of at the bottom of the profile a few days ago to follow up on later. The first was that the paratech company this Lacuna had been working for was bought out a month back and RevaTech, the new parent company, had scrubbed the public records of whatever their new acquisition had been working on. Suspicious on the surface but pretty standard fare for RevaTech, and they almost certainly would have slapped anyone that didn’t stay on with a geas-enforced NDA, so it wasn’t like she’d be able to say or do anything to make her old work relevant.
The second part was her family. Well, not the immediate family. Just a couple of normies for parents that, if phone records and airplane tickets were anything to go by, she still keeps in touch with. No sign of a Masquerade breach though. Good luck to her keeping that up. The extended family on the other hand, now that had a few names that were giving Sullivan a niggling feeling of recognition. Strange, but with everything else pointing toward Lacuna having no prior Backstage knowledge before a few years ago, he’d designated further research low priority.
As for her physical profile, a classic example of the other side of autogenesis. A scarecrow of sickly skin and bone hiding under baggy clothes. The exact kind of exaggeration you’d expect to manifest in a shut-in nerd with confidence issues. Definitely not someone they’d be getting any fieldwork out of. Looks like the autogenesis might even be holding back her transition. That does manage to get a rare twinge of sympathy from him. He’d not had that problem himself, but it’s not the first time he’s seen fear of change being impossible outweighing one’s identity. Might be worth keeping an eye on what happens if she ever gets over those doubts; could make for an interesting rebound effect.
That said, Sullivan’s just about to finish mentally filing it all away as “boring IT tech to shove paperwork off onto” and move onto the next profile when he notices she finally sent in her equipment request last night. About damn time. Looking at the list, he wonders aloud what his friend told her she’d be doing. Multiple high-end server racks. Drones. Projectors. 3D printers compatible with esoteric materials. Blast-proof safety glass. Laser cutters. And “one small potted tree; bonsai or similar”. Either she’s messing with him or those notes for followup need higher priority after all. Approved in full either way.
That leaves the wizard. Ashan Glassheart. Unlike the last two, there hadn’t been any public records apart from the obituary of a nine-year-old boy over a decade ago. Fortunately, Sullivan had been keeping tabs on this kid for years now. Anchor world born mages with offworld training are the kind of rarity worth keeping an eye on when they crop up, whether you’re looking to capitalize on them or stay out of their way. As much as it irks him to admit, there’s some truth to the oft-repeated story structure of “normal kid goes to a magical otherworld and becomes a big damn hero”. Sure, no one likes to talk about when it goes wrong, but on the times it goes right you can wind up with some truly bullshit feats of bending reality.
Like Carnette.
No, no one’s like Carnette.
Sullivan shakes his head, as if that actually does anything to clear the passing thought and turns his attention back to the file in front of him. Back to this Glassheart kid.
And he is a kid compared to everyone else that’s going to be on this team. Barely out of his teens, assuming an approximate temporal sync between worlds. Probably the most experienced of the three though, despite that. It hadn’t been easy connecting the off-world mage who picked up the mantle of wandering do-gooder that Sullivan’s friend left floating on the wind to a supposedly dead child, but once he came across a report of an individual matching Glassheart’s description setting up wards around the private residence of some normie family the pieces started to fall into place. After that it was just a matter of collecting old news reports from the area - mundane and Backstage - exhuming an empty grave in the dead of night, and calling in a favor with an offworld contact to put together a picture of who this kid was. Exhuming the grave was probably unnecessary in hindsight, but Sullivan had reached peak boredom at the time, and that was half the reason for investigating in the first place if he was being honest with himself.
The story, Sullivan imagines, goes something like this:
Once upon a time, in a sleepy little small down in the ass-end of nowhere lived a little boy. This little boy, ever since he could remember, had lived a magical childhood, with all manner of sprites and fairies and monsters roaming the woods outside his home. This is actually quite normal for small children in sleepy little towns in the ass-end of nowhere, although most dismiss it as playing pretend once they get older, except on nights when they are fantastically drunk and/or tripping balls. Or they get gobbled up. That’s been known to happen too.
What set this little boy apart was one day an honest to goodness wizard by the name of Aliana Glassgaze appeared before him and told him he had a magical destiny if only he would leave his family behind and come with her to another world called Orthon. The little boy, like any healthy young boy presented with the opportunity to go on a grand adventure and gain wizardly powers, accepted this offer. But he was a good boy who didn’t want his parents to worry themselves looking for him, so he did the reasonable thing and faked his death - a wonderfully thrilling experience, as Sullivan can attest from multiple occasions.
On Orthon, the little boy traveled all over with Glassgaze learning magic and going on all sorts of fun adventures. But probably not too fun because he mostly liked lame pacifist spells for making walls and bubbles and instead of cool spells like fireball and bone rearranger. Eventually the little boy became a moody teenager and then a definitely emotionally stable young adult, completed his training, took on the wizard name Ashan Glassheart - as is traditional on Orthon to show the bond between student and teacher - then at last parted ways with his mentor and came home over a decade later to play super hero with his new wizard powers. But because secret identities are lame and real heroes are living icons twenty-four seven with no personal life, he skipped the most fun part of faking your death and didn’t show up to surprise and distress all the people who attended his funeral.
Oh, and for some reason he runs around in cosplay despite claiming to have never heard of this season’s new hit shojo anime, Crystal Witch Arya, starring a near-identically dressed protagonist nor met the author behind the manga it’s based on. That’s one mystery Sullivan’s thrown into the “funny, but too stupid to bother solving” pile.
All in all - especially having seen the boy in action personally - Sullivan mentally files this one as “valuable asset, especially if his hero’s journey left him with emotional maturity instead of repressed trauma.” Not quite valuable enough though to grant his sole equipment request of access to the Bridgewood Manor Library. Well, maybe the lesser library. Under supervision.
Sullivan exits out of the files and closes the laptop. That’s enough looking at these clowns for today. Void knows he’s going to get more than his fill of them in person soon enough. Funny though that no one on this team uses the name they were born with.
He stands up, stretches, and walks off, leaving the laptop on the chair. It’s not like anyone else is here to get into it, and he can always send a cleaning golem to fetch it later if he doesn’t feel like coming back for it himself. Besides, his next spot of research to catch up on isn’t going to have a digital source.
Thankfully, his friend’s asked him to try picking up from where their leads on their “big quest” have hit a dead end, and that means he’ll be working that case solo while everyone else is doing team building exercises. Said dead end turned out to be fairly literal, with the base of operations for a multi-word smuggling ring cleaned out of all its goods and all its members slaughtered thoroughly enough that attempts to call up their ghosts or reanimate their bodies to ask what happened have failed. The hours not spent violating his soon-to-be-coworkers’ privacy or fixing up the parts of the manor he’d been letting slide lately he’s been making visits to old contacts - from Eyeball Jerry, the street food vendor with a side hustle as an info broker, to Edard Jariden, the Crossherd Commissioner of Public Safety whom he’d had a two month fling with back when the man was still an intern - and somehow none of them knew anything more than speculation. None of the local players - criminal or otherwise - were taking credit, the incident didn’t fit the MO of any of the handful of outside groups with a history of meddling in Crossherd’s affairs, and if there were any survivors or associates of the smugglers they’d all disappeared. Or been disappeared. If Sullivan hadn’t been so starved for a proper challenge lately, he might even call it frustrating.
But for the moment, he’s simply intrigued. No, not “simply” intrigued. Invested enough to go downstairs and unlock the manor’s greater library again. If he can’t find anything on the dead smugglers, perhaps he might be able to dig up something on what they were smuggling. His friend said that it was the theft of a device capable of binding and controlling lesser deiform entities that got them on this trail in the first place, and that is the sort of thing Carnette had an interest in. With any luck he might be able to find a match in the library and from there… well, that will depend on what he finds.
He stops in the middle of the hallway in front of a blank spot on the wall between a four-armed suit of armor and a marble statue of a long-bearded wizard. He reaches out and knocks a rhythm on the wall. Once upon a time the passcode would change twice a year, but the teasing inside joke Carnette left it on last still causes the wall to slide open. On the other side is a gilded spiral staircase descending down a long stone tube. A good meter of empty space separates the edge of the stairs from the outer wall. Room enough for the adventurous to slide the whole way down the banister or for the exceptionally durable to jump.
Sullivan puts a foot forward but hesitates on the threshold as memories rise unbidden. Carnette showing off the false windows to other worlds spaced along the shaft to give the impression of descending from the heavens to deep beneath the sea during his first visit. The ornate door at the bottom. Being pushed over the edge of the banister.
He forces the memories back down and takes another step only to be interrupted once again, this time by tugging at his pant leg. He looks down to see a fist-sized black orb suspended on eight spindly legs. Or rather, suspended on seven and getting his attention with the eighth. Seeing that it has its master’s attention, the maintenance golem begins making a series of chittering noises. Sullivan sighs and rolls his eyes in response.
“You know I can’t understand you,” he says, “so just get on with it.”
The golem squeaks and begins scurrying down the hallway. Sullivan closes the hidden door with another - less elaborate - knock and then follows after the tiny servitor. Either his friend is back or there’s something broken in an area that needs explicit permission from the master of the house to enter. Either way, it’s something best not kept waiting.
And it’s an excuse to keep putting off going back down there for at least a little while longer.
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#writing#original fiction#urban fantasy#Writeblr#WIP#Empty Names#serial fiction#writing practice#writers on tumblr#creative writing#literature#prose#writers#web novel#novel#fantasy#fiction#my writing#emptynameswriting
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Echoes
To war.
Upon returning to the bridge, Goodman is extremely pleased to hear that we’re joining the fight after all. After sending Datz back to check on Zatz, he assigns our first mission; investigating the Grapp Keep, a fortress to the north-east, believed to be connected with the toxic mist attack on East City four years ago.
By his command, we can now pass one of the gates and explore the other side of the ravine. Interestingly, this includes being able to circle round and approach the Swordbearers’ bridge fortifications from behind. Nothing comes of attempting to actually enter however. To the west, the ravine cuts off the area behind the other gate, which presumably will be explored later. That’s not a problem, as this side seems to have opened up most of the rest of the continent.
And here’s a small fort. Is this it? It is. All right. And here’s a ghost. All right. It appears to be the ghost of a Shieldbearer, and it’s trying to tell us something; it seems the Shieldbearers had been on the verge of a major victory here, only to find the tide turning when “a little round commander” (presumably Qada) unleashed the toxic mist, and, well, one can guess what happened next.
In addition to that ghost, the keep is full of undead enemies, mostly skeletons, with a few zombie Shieldbearers thrown in. Shouldn’t they be helping us? Possibly they don’t remember enough to know which side is which anymore. Here’s that ghost again. Seems like the mist was used indiscriminately, with any Swordbearers unlucky enough to be caught in its path left to die along with their enemies. Afterwards, Qada had the bodies brought to Grapp Keep, so he could conduct autopsies and gauge how effective the mist was (i.e. extremely). Then he had the place sealed up and the ghosts have been left behind to go insane.
It’s not a happy place, is what I’m getting at.
Further in, we're able to eavesdrop on Qada himself(!), talking to Kamiizumi(!!). It seems they’re following up on something alluded to in their previous conversation, namely the cleansing of East City. I had actually thought this was a reference to Qada’s mass slaughter here, but it turns out they were actually talking about cleaning up the chemical aftermath of said attack. Which Qada has now finished, having taken three years.
Given the amount of collateral damage involved, Kamiizumi seems unimpressed by the toxic mist’s actual utility, but Qada insists that he can further refine the cleansing process to make the weapon more practical. In the meantime, the toxin’s master sample, along with instructions for making it, have been safely sealed away here at the Grapp Keep. Qada confidently claims that no one, not even himself, would be able to take it from the keep, a challenge which the eavesdropping party are only too happy to accept.
Kamiizumi asks Qada if he actually understands exactly what it was he did four years ago. Qada understands that he achieved a brilliant victory. This is besides the point; as Kamiizumi sees it, he committed a massacre far beyond what was necessary, particularly since he didn’t bother to discriminate between Swordbearers and Shieldbearers.
Qada disagrees, arguing that the Swordbearers would have lost the war if he hadn’t done it, and that 1,000 Swordbearers killed versus 100,000 Shieldbearers was a price worth paying, and a far smaller one than they would have paid using conventional warfare. Kamiizumi does concede that he could not have achieved the same kind of results. According to Edea, this is the angriest she’s ever seen him. I’ll have to take her word on that.
Kamiizumi admonishes Qada for losing sight of their goal, which was spreading Anti-Crystalism, rather than slaughtering their enemies. It seems he specifically forbade Qada from using the mist, only to have his orders disobeyed. Qada, for his part, is unrepentant, reminding Kamiizumi that the Swordbearers were outnumbered ten-to-one and had no hope of winning otherwise. Kamiizumi says this was Qada’s fault for pressing ahead without due caution. What? What is he talking about? Weren’t the Swordbearers a small minority to begin with? How is that Qada’s fault?
Qada explains his disobedience as having seen a chance for victory and taken it, but suddenly sounds weirdly unsure of himself, like he doesn’t quite believe it. Why not? It already happened; they’re not arguing about hypotheticals here. Kamiizumi tells Qada that he has no no talent for generalship if he ever thought he stood a chance against those odds. What? He didn’t think he had a chance against those odds, that was the whole point of using the mist; it bypassed their numerical disadvantage. Are these two even having the same conversation?
Kamiizumi goes on, castigating Qada for slaughtering all those people and not respecting them as warriors. Because that’s the important thing here? He asks how mindless killing will bring people to embrace the ideals they uphold. I don’t know, man, how did killing all those guys in Datz’s squad bring them to embrace your ideals? Have any of their corpses become anti-crystalists? What is this Dick Cheney nonsense? “Oh, if we’d only killed them more honourably, we'd have been greeted as liberators!”
I mean, I can’t say he’s in the wrong here, because Qada is clearly a fucking monster, but Kamiizumi’s naïveté about all of this is very bizarre. Not only does he seem to be more bothered by the method Qada used to carry out his mass murder than the act itself, but he also has a very... optimistic view of how easy it is to convince someone to abandon their religion. That’s a pretty tough thing to accomplish under the best of circumstances, and far harder when you’re an invading force that’s waging a war against them.
I don’t know, I guess I just wasn’t expecting him to be this much of an idealist, especially after that last conversation with Edea, where he seemed kind of scornful of her for exactly the same reason. Then again, maybe that’s the point; there is a nice irony to him chastising her for her idealism when she probably got it from him in the first place.
In any event, whatever the merits of the mist attack, Kamiizumi warns Qada that he will not tolerate that kind of disobedience again, and leaves him to attend to the wounded. Qada acquiesces, but once Kamiizumi is out of hearing, starts ranting about the latter’s hypocrisy and plotting his revenge. Said revenge will hinge on his getting that toxic mist sample back, however, and it so happens that someone else has decided they want it as well.
With that in mind, we press on through the labyrinthine keep, until finally reaching an area with Save Point Guy and what looks like an important object waiting to be picked up a little further ahead. Assuming that that means there’s a boss fight coming, I doubled back to the inn at Hartschild to heal everyone.
I wouldn’t normally bother mentioning something like that, but doing so triggered a cutscene. It seems that Tiz has been having trouble sleeping, and Ringabel has noticed. When he asks if Tiz has any idea why that might be, Tiz says that he does... And then the scene just ends before he says what it is. OK then. Given that the event viewer has this listed under Sub-Scenarios, I’ll assume this is the beginning of a side-quest that can’t be progressed any further yet.
It may be connected with something I forgot to mention during my “Ringabel Cannot Possibly Be The Same Person As Alternis But Also I Think He Might Be” meltdown, which is that the woman Ringabel was ostensibly out pursuing was a slender woman who crawled on the ceiling and might have been an acrobat. I could be overthinking things, but that kind of sounds like it might be the ninja lady from the Black Blades. If so, it may be the case that one or more of the party are experiencing sinister visitations while they sleep, and that this will soon become a serious problem for me.
On another possibly-related note, going to Hartschild at night reveals a different group of people hanging around, including a lost child. I assume this is the kid that that one parent is out looking for during the day, but I’m not sure what to do with them.
Anyway, since none of that seems like it can be addressed right now, let’s get back to the keep.
Returning to the top floor, what we find is an empty room, with a shiny thing sitting in a bookcase. Is this it? Alarms are going off. Is that because it’s a trap, or because we’re trying to steal the OH FUCK IT’S ROBOCOP(S).
Qada has left behind a trio of automata to guard this place and we’ll have to beat them before we can make off with the sample. Fortunately, they’re weak to lightning. Unfortunately, my current party set-up has no lightning attacks. That seems like an oversight on my part. Oh well, guess I’ll just have to try and brute force it.
Luckily for me, brute force is the order of the day on the other side as well, there being little in the way of unusual strategies or gimmicks with these guys. And there goes the last of them. Right. It seems it is the real sample, so now we need to take it back to Goodman. That can wait until next time.
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Suits, Ties, and Thus Spy's (pt.1)
Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader
Summary: Task Force 141 gets temporarily recruited by MI6- the British Secret Intelligence Services for a mission since Laswell owed more than a few favours over the years from you and your team.
Warnings: 3385 words, light swearing and teasing, depictions of blood and possible violence
A/N: Inspired by Bullet Train (Film), James Bond, and the Kingsman series- this is based in fictional spy/intelligence not meant to be realistic in any way. Any ties to real people, times are places are purely coincidental.
Masterlist | Taglist | edited.
9:15 AM | Autumn | Taylor Tailors Headquarters
You had been pulled out of the field years ago- your talents better suited to the behind-the-curtain action. Analyzing countless amounts of data: endless security camera loops, memorizing alongside conversing with associates and their subsequent connections while keeping a mental database of dates, places, and times. With of course, etiquette and fashion at the pinnacle of your knowledge.
Over the years you had hand-picked your agents, a group of men and one female officer who could take anyone to the floor with a broken hand in under fifteen seconds (not speaking from experience of course...). You each trusted each other with your lives- you had to with a job like this, always in public spaces with collateral damage only the next step over. There was no room for fuck-ups or shoot-outs as the hundreds of books and films produced would say otherwise
It was always the last choice in any mission- you had seen the damage first hand when all the cards fell to amount to such actions. A set of loose lips on the tea was the first shake to displayed tower and as rumours spread and security got called. You were being pressed up against a table, its satin cloth being forced around your neck as you choked- thrashing around- trying to reach for your gun in your concealed jacket pocket.
You fluttered your eyes, the lack of oxygen making your world spin. You remember the feeling of blood dripping down your leg and their head falling on top of your stomach soon after. The shot echoed in your ears and created a stream of screams from party-goers in the neighbouring building. A siren blared in the background as your team fled- leaving you there as protocol would demand it.
Pushing their body off your own, you wobbled in your dress-shoes and re-buttoned your suit- taking a nearby serviette to wipe your face clear alongside your hands. You looked around hurriedly for a way to escape, the sounds of multiple boots marching their way upstairs matched the rapid beatings of your heart. Looking over to the left, you took a plant pot to shatter a window three stories high. Jumping onto the neighbouring buildings roof- you traversed into the setting sun that gleamed across the slippery roof tiles. They reflected happily in your face while your own held a grimace to the situation you found yourself in.
Turning around to look back at the scene created from a distance, your heart stops when you realize your bullet had continued through the target and was placed into a man's stomach who cried in agony against the floor. A civilian who entered the wrong venue room, they were dressed in a fine ensemble as church bells rang from across the street.
A small fuck, is whispered underneath your breath- trailing off with the wind that now whips past your ears as you tug your sleeves closer to your palms. You feel as a tear runs down your cheek before hands wrap around your shoulders- you thrash in their hold before you open your eyes once again.
You are back in your office as Whitby shakes you awake, their large browline glasses slipping down their nose as sweat begins to form at their forehead- baby-hairs of brown curls sticking to the moisture. You meet their wide and panicked green eyes with a small, tired smile before patting their left hand with your own.
"A-Are you alright?” The man asks while removing his hands from your shoulders, now partially sitting against your desk as you turn towards your monitor- your email already filled once more after half an hour with reports and various littered concerns.
"Just peachy Whitby- have anything to report in?” you comment back, reaching for your cup of tea before spitting it back inside- the liquid now icily cold from sitting in wait. Placing it back on the saucer, your hands find themselves clinking against the keyboard as you blow a hair out of your face.
Whitby shakes their head at you before reaching over- helping to comb your hair back into place as they hum in contemplation to your question. Their eyes show otherwise in the reflection of your screen as you turn your head slightly to watch as they reach over to an empty neighbouring desk. Dropping a wad of mandela folders with various coloured-sticky notes protruding out the edges.
“Just a few things to report in dearest-handler of mine,” he starts in a sickly sweet tone that has your shoulders moving up to meet your chin as you cringe. Their eyes crinkle at the sight before opening the topmost folder and shuffling through various pictures and receipts lined with extra notes and tidbits.
“And most prominently of these reports, our beloved friend- Mr. Ferris has been seen at an industrial cargo plant in the West-end of town. Very interesting for someone who works a white-collared office job on Linkedin-hm?”
You extend your hand, holding the image into the artificial light as you smile at the picture of a clueless man in front of you. “What a lonely find indeed- what led you to this discovery, agent?” you question out while dragging your thumb over some added notes- reading the possible people he was waiting to meet up with that never came that night.
“Right place- right time, dear. I was actually on another mission for Handler Jacobs but when the opportunity arises… you know I cannot help myself,” they say while leaning over your desk, a smirk now painting their features as you shove a palm towards their direction while making childish noises of disgust.
Whitby tilts his head back to chuckle before leveling his head to your eyes once more, a few strands of his curls now shaping his face as he pushes back his glasses, a professional tone coating his next sentence, “I sifted through more of the surveillance footage in the area from last week- he appears to be coming to the docks more often than not yet I can’t find any evidence to him shipping anything in or out just yet-”
A piano tune starts to play lightly, becoming more grand in sound as the moments tick-by. You watch as Whitby curses out underneath his breath, his eyes showing apology before turning back to his desk to take the call. Few words are passed that you can hear clearly before he presses the phone against his freshly ironed vest. A subtle blue and black striped patterned cloth the attire is made from as he turns to face you once more.
“I’m afraid my talents are needed elsewhere for the rest of this fine afternoon- I do apologise dear. Everything should be labelled accordingly- I had Samantha go over my notes once more before handing them over to you. If you have any questions- she’s your best bet till I’m back from this mission,” Whitby announces with a pout.
“Noted and noted. Do try and come back with no more holes than you started with- I do like that annoying one that makes all the noise I hear,” you tease out while setting the picture back within the folder and moving the stack aside to analyze later.
“Har, har- I really thought we had something special going…” the agent trails off- feigning sadness.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, trouble,” you say with a wink before turning back to your monitor. A muffled voice calls for Whitby's attention as he blows you a kiss goodbye before picking up his suit jacket resting against the back of his desk chair. Taking the briefcase from underneath the table, and pivoting out the room with a dancer-like elegance as he turns on the charm once more to the person on the other line.
Shaking your head to the sounds of endless pet names being called and lessening in sound as an elevator closes shut. Yet another ping has you sighing out loudly as you make your way through the digital mail and phone for a fresh tea to be set to your desk. It was going to be a long day like all the others… wait… you think to yourself. Sitting upright in a haste as you clap your hands together pleased that a long awaited series of favours was finally going to be paid.
–
11:00 AM | Autumn | Outside Taylor Tailors
When the boys stepped out of the SUV and into a posh-part of London to be met with hand-painted signage established in the 1800s- they were more than confused. Taylor Tailors, the sign read in sweeping gold letters each pressed with geometrical precision against the glass pane. The buildings were a series of just-slightly detached townhomes, four stories high, the lowest pressed in brilliant white stone and the following levels founded in freshly-grouted bricks.
Johnny stood the farthest away, nearing in the street as he took steps back to analyze the building, his eyebrows raised in suspicion all the way up to his mohawk. “You sure this is the right location, Captain?”
John hums in contemplation himself, digging into his jacket pocket to find the address and time Laswell had hurriedly scribbled onto the sheet of paper before hurriedly looking for the best clothes she owned. She gave him the orders to destroy it as soon as they arrived. Taking out his lighter he sets the paper aflame, watching as the words flicker into ash before stomping it into the pavement. “We are exactly where requested,” John states simply before making his way inside, holding the door open beside him for a second as a silent command for the others to follow suit.
The space is heated, a fireplace flickering at one side of the shop that would leave any owner with an anxious tip on their side with all the wood-panelled walls and various fabrics that flittered the back wall. Upon the counter rests an historical piece of a cash register and ornate bell. Picking up the stem, John rings it thrice as Laswell instructed with utmost seriousness.
Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all stand behind him, looking at one another in mixed confusion and anxious faces. Johnny starts to whistle out a tune while maneuvering around the storefront, eyeing up the various hand-tailored suits and accessories littered around. Simon returns near the door- waiting for a signal as Kyle wanders over to the watch-cabinet. Bending slightly over the glass as various times tick in his face.
A large gust of wind can hear the door and large bay window rattling from the pressure before the entrance is opened in haste. All the men stand to action- facing the door as a worried Laswell catches her breath. She is dressed in a freshly-pressed, navy suit as she fiddles with the neckline of her dress-shirt. Looking over all the task force outfits- she presses her lips together, “I told you all to get suited-up.”
“Yes. We did,” Simon states with an edge to his tone, wearing his tactical vest, helmet and matching black cargo pants. Johnny is in a compressing black t-shirt and jeans as Price and Kyle stand in their formal uniforms. Laswell shakes her head, dipping her chin as she does her best to not appear embarrassed- pink coating her cheeks to the sounds of wood creaking from the door just behind the counter.
John turns back towards the counter, tilting his head just over his shoulder to question the station chief. “Gonna tell us what we're doing here, Kate?” Yet before she can answer, the door twists open to reveal yourself trying to conceal a smile as you walk towards the till.
“Hello gentlemen and lady, may I welcome you to Taylor Tailors- is there anything I can assist you with today?” you comment out in a professional tone, your years of masquerading confidence falling easily upon your face without a twitch or loss of tone.
Laswell pushes forwards, leaning against the desk as she eyes you intently with an eyebrow raised- silently asking you when the facade was going to change. You tap your fingers against the wood surface in contemplation- you were having much fun watching the guys sweat behind her.
“I think one of these suits would cost my monthly pension plan,” the mohawked man comments as your lips curve up to a cat-like smile. You now lean over the countertop, your tailored suit flexing the muscles underneath as you watch the skull-masked man in the corner observe your actions as Laswell presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose- sighing out loudly.
“We always serve discounts to loyal customers- or close friends…” you trail off with a wink before hastily grabbing Kate’s hand in your own, flipping her palm to the wood as you eye-up her ring. “Scored yourself a nice one there- always been one for some tasteful engravings,” you comment, finger tracing over the designs in thought.
“Ever think of what yours may look like?” Laswell questions in a thoughtful tone, eyes glancing upwards to meet your own sprinkled with mischief.
“See I would but-” you start, dropping her hand and standing upright- fixing your suit from any further wrinkles. “-the children I manage would stir a downright hissy-fit knowing they do not hold my full attention,” you finish with, shaking your head imagining the reactions your agents would have.
John leans against the counter now, looking you square in the eyes, seemingly fed up with being left in the dark as Simon nears closer to the scene- backing away from the door to now supply support if need-be. “Say, you and Kate seem to be close- any reason for this little meet up we’re havin’ right now, or can we get back to work,” John grits out before casting a small (yet sarcastic) smile at the end.
You place a hand to your chest in mock hurt as Laswell shakes her head, “The work has just begun- is that not right Mrs. Station Chief?” you tease out before walking through the door once more hollering over your shoulder for the rest to follow. Kate presses herself through the crowd, motioning quickly after you as the task force follows like shadows, analyzing the new space from the doorframe.
You motion for the masked-man to close the door behind himself, he turns to face Laswell before she nods once firmly and he complies. Shaking your head at the events, you stand tall just as before- picking up your right hand and giving a golden ring on your finger a heavy twist that soon emerges a key.
Johnny and Kyle look at one another in shock, eyeing the contraption closely as you walk over to an exposed stone wall and press your hand against an ordinary stone. It glows brightly surrounding your hands outline before prompting you for the key as you comply like clockwork. A small confirmation tone is heard before the floor starts to fall from underneath you all. Standing still and leaning against the elevator wall you laugh out of your performance as the task force grip their surroundings in shock like Grandmothers clutching their precious pearls.
“Where the fuck are you taking us?” The Sottsman questions out, becoming increasingly annoyed by your smiles and possibly-flirty looks. You tap a finger to your chin, eyes casting upwards as the light flickers slightly the more you descende. Soon the elevator shaft comes to a halt as you press-by and step out into headquarters once more. Samantha sits at the desk, taking over Phils shift as you give her a wave and reintroduce Kate to her.
A few words exchanged and a green flag being waved, you enter security screening with ease before the team emerges at the otherside. The central courtyard greets you all, a marble fountain spurts at the centre as various a few leather couches and tables surround the space. Your dress-shoes click against the marble floors as you lead them towards a meeting room. Pressing your finger to the door, it beeps twice in recognition as you hold it open and let the crowd through.
Yet just as you are about to close the door, an assistant comes hurriedly across the hall- calling you while trying not to spill a tray set between their hands, “your set tea and brunch- Handler D,” they say with a proud smile.
“Thank you truly, I think I am going to need this,” you comment, turning your body slightly so they can see the men and Laswell waiting for you inside the room. The assistant coughs, trying to hide their laughter professionally before casting you a large smile and scurrying off again. Tray in hand you set it against the back console table and pour the group each a cup, “please, do take some of the delicacies- freshly made this morning and they are quite delightful,” you add to the room. No sounds of movement are made as you press a cup into each of their hands before leaning against the boardroom table at the front of the room.
“Welcome to the heart of Europe's top security and intelligence services, a special division MI6, we are the Tailors-” you start, watching as Kyle spits out his tea as confusion heavily coats his features. “The highest form of security clearance- any other pop culture craze or military wish-wash you may have heard otherwise,” you say while swiping your hands for dramatic fashion, “is untruthful- I assure you.”
You pick yourself from off the desk, now starting to pace around the table, observing as each face takes in the information you provide. “I am Handler D, as you may have heard and you will address me as such. Any outside ranks or titles are foregone while working under our agency-”
You watch as John begins to open his mouth in protest before Laswell shoots him a deathly glare from across the table, silencing the Captain from which you assume. “Moving forwards, there are many regulations and appearances needed to be kept before I allow you any further into the headquarters. Starting with etiquette and outfit at the pinnacle,” you state- watching as a few roll their eyes at your statement.
You scoff with your nose, tilting your head up that bit higher as you cannot wait to see their opinions flip in mere-moments. Picking up a hand-gun from underneath the table, Johnny jumps up- watching your every movement closely as Kyle begins to do the same. You press the barrel of the gun into your palm, extending it towards the Captain, “shoot me” is all you say as he looks up at you with a crazed-expression.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” he questions out yet taking the gun out of your reach, unloading it and setting it down against the table.
“Do it,” Laswell counters, a smile edging on her lips- she remembers the first time you showed her this “life-saving” party trick.
“Please,” is all you add before taking a step away, standing in front of the portrait of the organization's founders.
Reloading the gun, John stares at the weapon in his head before standing up and staring back up at you, “where would you-”
“Anywhere is fine besides the head of course- though wouldn’t be the first time,” you tease out, slightly bracing for impact as you hold your hands behind your back, eyes steady and unblinking.
Raising the weapon up between his hands and extending outwards from his chest, his finger dangles over the trigger, pausing for contemplation as his eyes ask your own for you to back out. You only continue to smile, giving a small nod before a bullet impacts flattens against your suit, falling flat against your leather shoes.
Walking forwards, you take the gun out of his hand with ease as he stands there in utmost shock. You motion for him to close his mouth, humming out an etiquette that goes unheard to everyone but Laswell who can only shake her head at you playfully.
“So!” you jump slightly, clasping your hands together, “fashion and etiquette, now?” a series of rampant yet silent nods are found around the room as your smile only brightens, “wonderful.” Is all you finish with before voicing in the team through your earrings.
↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies
#Poly!task force 141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#poly 141 x reader#141 x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#cod x reader#cod fandom#cod fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#call of duty fanfic#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#call of duty x reader#poly 141#tf 141#x reader#simp-ly-writes#simp-ly
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Machine learning engineer meta salary
In New York City, the average base salary is $162,591 and the average bonus is $36,944.
Additional Payments for Damages
$199,535
Compensation as a whole
The average salary is $155,000.
At least $105K
More: machine learning engineer meta salary
The most you can spend is $300,000.
Exactly how much does a New York City Machine Learning Engineer get paid? A Machine Learning Engineer in New York City can expect to make an annual salary of $162,591. In New York, a Machine Learning Engineer can expect to make an extra $36,944 per year on average. In New York, a Machine Learning Engineer can expect to make an annual salary of $199,535. Based on anonymous Machine Learning Engineer employee surveys conducted by Built In, Machine Learning Engineer wages in New York are calculated.
By the numbers, New York City.
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Engineer in Artificial Intelligence (AI)
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Handshake's $200 million Series F investment round is a huge accomplishment for the company. At Handshake, we don't think that getting a job should be based on who you know or what you've accomplished. It's all about what you're willing and able to do. This is about your future, not about what happened in the past. As a result of our Series F funding and a new value of $3.5B, we will be able to expand our goal to assist more individuals in starting, restarting, and relaunching their careers. The handshake is the best location to start a conversation.
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To us at ALT, the future is a place where everything may be invested in. Trading cards are being used as a proof of concept to build new financial products that conventional financial institutions do not support or recognize as collateral. Thinkers at the nexus of culture, community and capital have contributed more than $100 million to far. Stripe's founders and Alexis Ohanian's Seven Seven Six fund are among our investors.
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Streaming services like Disney Streaming have already benefited greatly from research in Computer Vision, Natural Language Processing, and Machine Learning. In order to make our systems completely aware of their physical and digital environments, Disney Streaming's researchers are redefining artificial intelligence and developing remarkable computer vision, natural language processing, and machine learning technologies.
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Handshake's $200 million Series F investment round is a huge accomplishment for the company. At Handshake, we don't think that getting a job should be based on who you know or what you've accomplished. It's all about what you're willing and able to do. This is about your future, not about what happened in the past. As a result of our Series F funding and a new value of $3.5B, we will be able to expand our goal to assist more individuals in starting, restarting, and relaunching their careers. The handshake is the best location to start a conversation.
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The Disney Streaming Machine Learning and Innovation team's recommendation and personalisation algorithms are developed and maintained by applied machine learning engineers and data scientists for Disney Streaming's streaming video applications, particularly Disney+ and Hulu. Engineers, product managers, and data scientists work together to use machine learning to fulfill product personalisation objectives that are aligned with the company's long-term strategy.
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Recommendation and personalisation algorithms for Disney Streaming's streaming video applications, including Disney+ and Hulu, are developed and maintained by Applied Machine Learning engineers and Data Scientists on the team. An integral part of this team is building and managing an engineering, product, data team that use machine learning techniques to accomplish strategic goals for the products.
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The Disney Streaming Machine Learning and Innovation team's recommendation and personalisation algorithms are developed and maintained by applied machine learning engineers and data scientists for Disney Streaming's streaming video applications, particularly Disney+ and Hulu. To accomplish strategic product personalisation objectives, they focus on utilizing machine learning approaches to propose new products, as well as exploring cutting-edge methodologies that may be used to recommendations.
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a snippet | games | hero x villain
The villain adjusted the ruby-red tie at the bottom of his throat as the car glided through city streets, the soft glow of the street lamps lighting up the interior for a split second before it was gone.
The car stopped and he tilted his head up, looking at the building he was about to enter. The converted palace served as a conference building—a rather desolate fall, he thought, as the car door shut softly behind him and it was silently driven away. The groomed gravel pathway crunched under well-polished, leather shoes, lit by low lanterns. He adjusted the silk gloves hiding the prominent, raised scars on his hand, tugging them further down his wrist, before presenting an invitation to a silent butler. The oiled, arched doors swung open, presenting before him a scene of alive-ness. The lights here were harsh on the eyes, reflected in thousands of pieces by diamonds around the throats of women with upswept hair and stern monocles. Sighing, he stepped further into the room, glad when it would be gone in an explosion of well-timed dynamite. A shame the palace had to be considered collateral damage, for this job in particular, but when such a perfect opportunity to disrupt society presented itself, was he really supposed to give it up?
He headed straight for the open bar, ordered a glass of red, and retreated to an empty table, watching every couple around the room stare at each other like they were all in the honeymoon phase. The men were all wearing approximately the same thing—dark three-piece suits—and while the women donned more colour, it was clear that there was a well-enforced black tie dress code: every dress swept the floor, almost every pair of hands was hidden by matching elbow-length gloves, and every throat bore some kind of jewellery. He spotted diamonds, pearls, emeralds—he promised himself he'd pilfer a fair amount before he left early.
The orchestra in the far corner were finished setting up and stared to play. Delighted, many young couples put their glasses down and took up each other's hands, and soon a great portion of the floor was taken up by the whirling of skirts and fast-moving leather shoes and laughter.
With a wince, he realized he was going to look like a sore thumb if he didn't get himself tangled up in the crowd of people. Approaching a young woman in a rose pastel dress, he bowed.
"Might I have the pleasure of this dance?"
With a shy giggle and flushed cheeks, she took his outstretched hand. She had excellent balance, he mused to himself, as he lifted her up and set her down again, and a bright smile.
Too bad she would be cut down in her prime.
The key change in the music indicated a change in partners, and he and his partner switched. He watched as she laughed, tilting her head back, as she found herself with a friend in a dress of midnight blue.
"Seems like our former dance partners know each other," mused the voice in front of him.
The villain glanced at the man in front of him. He'd barely been paying attention to himself, but now he observed: the gold tie that matched the hair, the dark eyes, the slightly amused smile, the high cheekbones.
"Indeed."
"Have we met before?" The villain responded with a cool expression of I've never seen you in my life.
"I don't believe so."
"That's funny, I thought I knew you." The man's voice was too light as the hand that clasped his moved purposefully over the worst of the scars. The villain bit back a hiss as the man took the opportunity to lean closer. "Villain."
The villain raised an eyebrow, but felt his pulse start to burn. The man had edged them closer to the outskirts of the dance floor and now hauled the villain off of it into a nearby hallway with a grip tighter than a pair of handcuffs. Shutting and latching the door behind them, the man spun the villain up against the wall, shoving his hands up against the wall so that they were useless, keeping him pinned between cool stone and his body with his own weight.
"I know you came here to upkeep whatever sham of a civilian identity you have. I know the butler would recognize you and tell me your name if I asked. I know that you are planning something tonight. So tell me—do you want to do this the hard way or the easy way?"
"Depends on who you are," the villain replied, buying time, watching the way the dark eyes skittered across his face.
There was a flash of white smile.
"Guess."
"The hero," the villain shrugged, forcing his heart back into his ribcage. It was the obvious choice.
"So smart. Should I give you a medal?" Came the teasing reply. The villain hissed as slender fingers ran down his neck. "Someone's flushed."
"A room full of people is not exactly cold."
"Where's all the people now, then, hmm?"
"Did you pull me out here to interrogate me? Or for something else?"
"Hard way, or easy way. I'm still waiting."
"I'm still waiting for you to tell me what each entails."
"The hard way can involve a fun time at headquarters. The easy way..." The hero exhaled. "The easy way can be right here, in this hallway. If you're very helpful I can reward you every time you give me a satisfactory answer." His thumb brushed across the corner of the villain's lip.
Well.
He'd take here over the headquarters any day. Not like their security system wasn't garbage and their facility easier to escape than a door locked from the inside, it was just far from his house and the paperwork was a hassle to go through. There would be other parties, other explosions.
Plus, this way, the castle would stay intact.
"What do you want to know?"
"What do you have planned?"
"There are packets of explosives hidden around this site."
"When are they going to go off?"
"Give me a good reason to answer you, and I might."
"Headquarters."
"I'm not sure you want to leave this hallway either," the villain answered with a smile. It was a bold move, but judging by the sharp breath, a good one. He may as well make the hero work for it.
A press of lips at his jaw. The villain grinned against it.
"Eleven thirty-six."
"How many?"
The villain fell silent with another grin.
Another. To the corner of his lips, this time.
"Twelve."
"Where?" This time, the question was punctuated by kiss to the neck.
"One and two are by the front entrance, on either side."
One hand from the firm grip on his wrists slid down, settling on his waist.
"Three, four, and five are at the front windows under the rosebushes."
Lips caressed the shell of his ear. Bonus points for the nibble at his earlobe. The villain decided to be generous.
"Six, seven, eight, nine, and ten are at the back of the building. One under every other light."
A second kiss to his neck. A little jolt sparked through him at someone else's touch on the pulse point.
"Eleven and twelve are at the top, by the vents."
"Wasn't so hard now, was it?" The hero drew back, just a little.
"You were the one playing my game, hero. I'm not quite sure what you're talking about."
"Debatable," the hero whispered as they pressed their lips to the villain's.
Even with one hand, the hero was very good at making sure the villain did not go anywhere. There was the press of hips against hips, the hero's other hand cupped the back of the villain's head and the villain refused to admit that the slight tug of his hair had him melting. Before, he might have been controlling the interaction, but now he was very, very not.
The hero drew back, eventually, mostly since the villain couldn't, and released him. The villain didn't do anything but rub feeling back into his wrists.
"I'm taking all your bombs out."
"You'd be a fool not to."
"I'll stop you the next time you even think about doing this," the hero murmured into the villain's ear.
"Maybe you should just let me," the villain whispered back. "We can play my game again. I think you liked it."
He threw the hero a wink that even in the dark corridor, he knew the hero caught, and left.
#hero x villain#villain#hero#ficlet#snippet#heroes and villains#writing#my writing#gay#they're very very gay#not a prompt#hope y'all enjoyed this one#sorry for the hiatus
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