#so maybe their designs are not very precise and have some errors sorry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cozza-frenzy · 2 years ago

Text

Fanfic: A Perfect Moment

Of all the places I could be, I just want to be here with you. Hello again, fandom! It’s been less than a week (apparently??) and @chronicsheepdrawing‘s amazing character designs are still keeping my creativity train rolling! This fic once again stars their Drinky Bird Narrator - so if you’re not familiar, go check out a silly bird! (He certainly needs more love, given how he thinks of himself... ) This is a sequel (of sorts) to Anything Not Saved. It happens some time afterwards, after more resets and endings have taken place. Expect a dark chocolate Angst Cake with plenty of Mutual Pining, layers of Fluffy Stannarrator between each layer, and a Meta cherry on top - trust me, you’ll see what I mean. And my apologies to any ASL users; I did at least try to do some research, but I can’t vouch for my accuracy! CONTENT WARNINGS: Isolation, Paranoia, Abandonment Issues, Self-Hatred, Body Dysphoria (Not Gender Related), Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, Emotional Breakdown, Memory Loss, Panic Attack, Touch Aversion, Autistic Sensory Overload/Over-Stimulation. I’m also adding a mild Unreality Warning to this one. If you’re looking at a reblog of this post, there are details in the tags of the original if you feel like you may be triggered by this. For everyone else, the tags are a minor spoiler, so maybe don’t look unless you’re really curious. Bon Appetit!

Stanley? STANLEY!? Oh my god, Stanley! Stanley, thank goodness - something VERY peculiar is going on this morning… See, it all started when I booted up my computer this morning - and you’ll never believe it, but I wasn’t receiving any commands! NONE! So I asked one of the other Employees what was going on, and they must not have known, because they didn’t say anything! What do you think; should I perhaps try the meeting room? Do you think maybe I missed a memo? I mean I really don’t want to interrupt anything, not to mention the sheer embarrassment of walking into something like that, not only unannounced but LATE- Wait, I’m not done! Stanley, I’m not - oh, sorry, sorry, of course! It’s precisely 10:32 AM, of course you always get a drink of water from the cooler at this time in the morning… haha, typical silly old ▇▇▇▇▇▇, am I right? I swear, I’d lose my head if it wasn't permanently attached to my neck! But, ah, anyway, Stanley, I just feel like… like something’s wrong? I mean, have you noticed how some things are, eh, just… you know… ‘off’? Like did you know Employee [ERROR: DATABASE ENTRY INVALID]’s desk is empty? I mean, it looks like they haven’t touched their pencil sharpener in weeks! In fact, now that… now that I’ve thought about it… Stanley, did we ever HAVE an Employee [ERROR: DATABASE ENTRY INVALID]? I mean surely we wouldn’t have a desk without an employee! That’s ridiculous! But why can’t I seem to… ? Ah, yes, alright, I know work is important and I know I tend to ramble but- please, just hear me out?? Look, I know I must be trying your patience! I know my ‘little stories’ are utterly insufferable to literally EVERY other employee in this building! But you, you always stopped to listen and - waitwaitwait, I’m sorry, just - please! Please Stanley, I’m ALWAYS supposed to receive my instructions and now I can’t even access my bloody terminal! I mean, how ELSE am I supposed to make sure the other employees are doing their jobs correctly?? Didn’t the board hand down that notice just last week!? You know, the one reiterating how vital it is to the well-being of the company that all of us, together- Stanley? Stanley, where are you going-? Can… can you hear me? Can you even SEE me!? Wait! Stanley! Stanley, I’m right here! I’m right HERE! Why aren’t you looking at me? Why aren’t you LOOKING at me!? STANLEY! STANLEY, PLEASE!! DON’T LEAVE M- Oh… …Oh no… —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ah, memories… Wonderful, wonderful memories. So much exquisitely-crafted content to reminisce over. He’d worked so hard on crafting this place; he’d fashioned every detail with care and precision. Yes, there would be trees here, a nice little fence there… oh, perhaps a few flowers, for a little splash of color! Yes, yes! The sound of birds, the smell of grass, the sky just a little overcast... yes indeed, not too bright, nor too gloomy. The light would hit just perfect this way, painting everything in soft and muted shades. Wonderful. Those clouds would be the whipped cream on this lovely little slice of the world, so close to being served and savored. And like a nervous, fidgeting pastry chef, the anticipation of someone experiencing this delectable delicacy had him practically giddy! The Narrator took a deep breath through the nose he maybe didn’t have, filling absent lungs with fresh air; and heaved a heavy sigh as he closed his plastic eyes, calming himself down. Wouldn’t be long now, he thought, chuckling softly. Stanley had fallen for his little breadcrumb trail the very minute he’d opened that vent… and any minute now, he’d be marveling at the inexplicably out of place stone archway. Manifested as if in a dream, a glowing portal to another realm, right there in the office… He rocked back on his heels a little, humming merrily to himself as he waited. Ah, he was proud of that little room; so mysterious, so enticing. A beautiful fragment of memory that he’d dusted off and polished up, until it glittered in his mind’s eye like a priceless diamond. Not half bad for something he’d forcibly yanked from the tangled, mangled wreckage that had been left behind in his head, when he’d stopped being human and become something- The Narrator cleared his nonexistent throat, straightening his tie. No, no, not today, he scolded himself internally. That so-called ‘Ultra Deluxe’ content’ had been so unfathomably disappointing, he’d had no choice but to do better! To show them just how great The Stanley Parable used to be! And any minute now, the hero of their story would be walking through that door to the most wonderful surprise. “Just our little secret”, The Narrator said as he felt Stanley’s presence. He was right behind him now, and getting closer. “Take a look.” He turned around, eager to see his protagonist’s reaction. He watched as Stanley shielded his eyes; the fingertips on his other hand tracing the surface of the cool stone pillar, as he stepped out into the memory of warm daylight. And the Narrator’s heart swelled with pride as he heard the soft gasp of wonder - the exact reaction he’d been looking for. “I call it - the Memory Zone!” He said, turning towards the path before him. “It’s where I keep all of my favorite memories… ” Not too far away was a squat, triangular building, full of snippets he’d painstakingly selected and organized for display. He’d come here a few times himself while it was still under construction; just to re-live some of the moments he’d preserved. As soon as Stanley stepped through that door, he would… wait… The Narrator froze suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. He’s got that look again. He’s… looking at me! Damn it, he’d been so caught up in what he was doing, he’d forgotten to unload his model! Alright, alright, maybe if he acted quickly enough, Stanley would dismiss it as simply a brief glitch- >/console >/unload Narrator.mdl ERROR: NOT FOUND What?? Clenching his glove-fist in frustration, he reached into the code and tried again. >/unload Narrator.mdl ERROR: NOT FOUND >/locate Narrator.mdl ERROR: POSITION NOT VALID The Narrator closed the console. That warm, fuzzy feeling of pride was quickly disintegrating under the freezing grasp of fear. He’d built the Memory Zone in a place so well hidden it was only outside the bloody map!!! And now there were footsteps behind him! And like the absolute fool he was, he turned around! Stanley was approaching. Slowly drawing closer. Each step ticking away the seconds to his doom. It’s okay, he reassured himself. You can pass it off as the Easter Egg from last time - just using it as a puppet to welcome him and nothing more! His face flushed. Stanley was right in front of him. He tried not to think about what muscles he may or may not still have - but regardless of their supposed existence, they all tensed at once, leaving him stiff as a board, frozen in terror. But he could work with this, right? Yes, he could! He could work with this! He could improvise, he improvised all the time-! Just don’t move…. Stanley looked into The Narrator’s eyes, his hands held tightly to his chest. …And he’ll lose interest eventually… Stanley moved his hand. It trembled as he held it out in front of him, slowly reaching forwards. Stanley… ? Stanley bit his lip. Wait, Stanley, what are you doing-? And Stanley touched him. The boggled look on the Narrator’s face shattered any previously-held records in the history of boggling. Stanley was touching him. Stanley’s hand was touching him. Stanley’s… warm, gentle hand... the pads of his fingertips slightly rough, slightly calloused. Each one a scar from another life; from the only life he’d known before The Parable. Continuously, rhythmically pressing buttons, over and over. Day in, day out. Broken fragments of memory flashed before the Narrator’s eyes in a sudden flood of noise; a disjointed, jumbled mess, utterly out of context and out of order. The taste of coffee in a paper cup. Stanley’s eyes. The bubble of the water cooler. Conversation. Buttons marked “YES” and “NO”. His hands, his human hands, nails painted in an office-appropriate shade. A phone ringing. Stanley’s smile. A rising sense of panic. A snippet of a half-finished anecdote. Waking up. Blacking out. Laughter. Fire and pain and then nothing. A lunch break. An office-mandated birthday cake. A board meeting. An office-wide memo. Stanley’s hands. Stanley’s hands. He felt the tears welling up. He wrestled with the memories that hardly made sense, momentarily gaining the upper hand, only to find himself smacked senseless by the feeling of overwhelming grief that spiraled out of the current moment and skewered his heart. He twisted his head this way and that - desperately trying to get his stupid, stupid body to move! This was wrong! This was all wrong! “STOP!!!” The Narrator screamed, finally managing to pull away Stanley recoiled as if he’d been burned, and the Narrator turned from him, clutching the sides of his head as he struggled to get a grip, struggled to cram all of those horrible, horrible feelings back down inside himself where they belonged. NO NO NO NO NO NO-! The illusion is ruined! He definitely knows it’s me now! But ahead of him lay his last hope. His last chance at salvaging something, anything, from this horrendous mistake he’d made. The display area! If I can just get to it then I won’t have to face him! he thought to himself. He’d have to be quick, he’d have to take advantage of Stanley being distracted, but he could do this. He could make it! He could… he could just figure out the rest later, he had to GO! The Narrator started to run; and realized his fatal mistake too late. Inside his inhuman, transparent stomach, a sizable amount of liquid sloshed noisily back and forth. The more he ran, the more it sloshed. Back and forth, back and forth. Slish, slosh, slish, slosh… the momentum of each wave slowly building... and building... until-! “AH!!” One of his feet caught on an uneven memory of grass. All that heavy liquid, all that momentum, SLOSHED all the way to his front. And as these things tend to work with the laws of physics, the weight sent him tumbling forward onto his stupid idiot face, sliding across the ground a few feet before he finally came to a stop. The Narrator rocked gently back and forth from the still-sloshing liquid in the transparent globe of his belly, knowing exactly how he looked. It was a sight that would leave a professional circus clown weeping; hanging up his red nose and floppy shoes for the last time, his worldview in ruins. Witnessing such a sight, he’d know, deep in his heart, that no carefully coordinated pratfall or precisely timed nose honk - not a single artfully-placed whoopee cushion or expertly thrown custard pie - could ever come close to such breathtaking buffoonery. This is it. Stanley is never going to take me seriously ever again. The tears came thick and fast now, leaving the despairing Narrator gasping for breath between sobs. He’ll laugh at me. He’ll mock any sort of narrative I’ll try and create. Anything I try, no matter how wonderful, no matter how meaningful, it’ll be just a big joke. Like ME. Stanley stood over the Narrator, casting a shadow over him as he lay on the floor. The Narrator glanced over his shoulder, his fingers digging into the memories of grass and dirt beneath them and ripping them apart. Suddenly, hopelessness had given way to white-hot fury; Go on, he silently, bitterly urged his protagonist. Do it, you cretin. Finish me off. Put me out of my misery. Break my story! Break my heart! Break ME! Burn it all down, grind it all into the dirt where it belongs-! Stanley held out his hand. The Narrator looked up at him, tears still rolling down his cheeks. He was - for perhaps the first time in his life - speechless. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meanwhile; a man named Stanley had overstepped, and he knew it. <It’s you.> He’d signed, mere moments ago. <It’s really you… > Oh of course that shrill, annoying little voice in his head known as Common Sense had screamed at him endlessly. It stomped its little feet, tore out its hair, hammered its little fists on the bars of the bespoke and utterly inescapable cage that situations like this always built to contain it. No, stop! It cried. You mustn’t! But Stanley’s hand had moved of its own accord. He just had to know. He had to know if what he was seeing in front of him was really, really real. He had to know if what seemed like a memory of a dream of a memory - of someone he’d once felt close to - actually meant something. And then he’d touched The Narrator. Stanley’s hand shook when it had first met that plastic cheek; but feeling the smooth surface, he couldn’t help but relax from its reassuring familiarity. It was almost like a button, if a button was surprisingly warm. And despite feeling almost exactly like plastic, there was something indescribable, something wonderfully and beautifully alive about it. This was plastic with a pulse, and it made his fingertips tingle... His gently questing fingers found hair next. If he’d been one for poetry, he might have compared its color to fresh-fallen snow, kissed by the morning sun, but such metaphors escaped a mind such as his. Stanley was a simple man; not stupid, at least not usually, but his world had been small before the Parable swallowed him up. His memories of his old life were limited mostly to what he’d done at the office. But he vaguely remembered seeing a color like that, at work, in some kind of context… by the water cooler, during some kind of talk… and he knew he’d wondered, more than once, if it was as soft and fluffy as it looked. And as he stroked it gently... yes, apparently, it was that soft. A little stiffer than he’d imagined, maybe, but at least it looked nice and fluffy. Stanley felt a blush spreading across his cheeks. He hadn’t been sure what to think at first, but one word was slowly coming to mind, and that word was- “STOP!!!” Suddenly, abruptly, Stanley half-remembered and half-realized that softness was attached to The Narrator, and the shock may as well have electrified his arm. He pulled away; and seeing The Narrator’s reaction, his poor, simple heart sunk all the way to his feet. He knew he’d pushed things too far, he knew he’d done something dangerously close to Workplace Inappropriate Physical Contact, but had he hurt him-?? The Narrator turned and tried to run. Stanley scrambled after him, longing to cry out; Wait, please! I’m sorry! Don’t despawn again! The Narrator tripped and fell. Stanley, overcome with worry, rushed to his side, extending his hand. The Narrator just… looked at him. He was breathing heavily, his eyes full of tears, his fingers covered in dirt and crushed bits of grass. <I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!> Stanley signed repeatedly; in his desperation, he couldn’t even remember the next part of the Workplace Apology Procedure. The Narrator was still silent; and Stanley’s heart sunk further and further as his frustration grew and grew. Half-formed signs spilled from his shaking hands as his own tears began to rally the troops, fat drops ready to march down his cheeks in double time as he bit his tongue - why was this so hard, why was this so hard?? Mustering every bit of bravery an office worker of his rank possibly could, Stanley fell back on his last resort. Extending his hand again, he crossed the fingers on his other hand, holding them up so The Narrator could see them clearly; <R> Next, he held two fingers up; <U> His fingers formed a circle; <O> And lastly, two fingers split, like a peace sign; <K> “Am I… okay??” The Narrator’s words were strangled with emotion; but just hearing him say something, say anything, was enough for a wave of relief to wash over our daring hero. Smiling, Stanley beckoned with his extended hand, and The Narrator finally grasped it. It was soft, like the tasteful suede they used for the chairs in the Boss’ Office, and Stanley found himself subconsciously running his thumb over a line of neat stitches as he helped the poor man off the ground. The Narrator teetered on his feet for a moment, seeming unsteady. Stanley tilted his head slightly; what was that strange sloshing noise… ? But The Narrator sniffled, bowing his head again, and Stanley immediately snapped to attention. Yes, he knew just what to do! Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a packet of Office-Issued Disposable Handkerchiefs - an employee’s best friend for any sneeze, sniffle, or non-fatal accident involving coffee - and handed one to The Narrator. “Oh, Stanley… ” The Narrator dabbed at his eyes, and blew his nose like a foghorn. Stanley looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and utterly helpless confusion. He could only ever recall hearing him so utterly distraught once before, and that was… not a memory he really wanted to dig into. Was this really his fault? Had he deviated too much? Had he ruined his story again… ? “I don’t understand… I just don’t understand… ” sobbed the Narrator; ”Why are you being so nice to me?” Stanley was utterly dumbfounded. He couldn’t even bring himself to start signing, but the What!? was so implicit that The Narrator looked up in surprise <BECAUSE! I’M! HAPPY! TO SEE YOU!> Stanley signed with undeniable emphasis, holding his hands right at the Narrator’s eye level. Unable to hold back his own tears for a fraction of a second longer, the armies came marching forth in torrents. Stanley was happy. Stanley was angry. Stanley was frustrated, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and so desperate he felt like he was drowning. His lip quivered, his whole body shaking from the effort, but he had to do this, he had to be brave. This was what he’d waited for. This was his hope. Somewhere, far far back in his memories, something stirred. Before the Parable. Before beginnings and endings. Before he’d ever known what a ‘Reset’ was, those memories were reaching out to him. Memories of a face half-remembered, and a name long forgotten. Memories of someone speaking his name, over and over, instead of addressing him simply as ‘427’. A kindly smile. Uproarious, mischievous laughter. Coffee with cream and a disproportionate amount of sugar. Passing a slice of store-bought birthday cake, and accidentally brushing hands under the paper plate. <STAY!> And stories. Every day, there were stories. The other employees called it rambling, called it irritating, called it inefficient and unproductive… but to him, they were little stories… <HERE!!> Stanley strained from the effort. <PLEASE!!!> And The Narrator touched him back. Stanley froze in place. He was hyperventilating, gasping for every breath between silent sobs, but his hands finally lay still. The Narrator’s hands were holding them; silencing them. But Stanley didn’t mind; in fact, he welcomed it. He was at his breaking point. His heart and his head were both full to bursting. So many feelings. So many words. This wasn’t what he was good at. This wasn’t what he was meant for. But now, standing right across from him, was someone who was. Standing there, gently holding Stanley’s hands, was me. His Narrator. Let’s shift the perspective again, shall we? —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ahhh, there! That’s much better… feels like having a really good stretch after you’ve been sitting in the same place for a while, don’t you think? Let’s just take a moment to let the story settle… to take a deep breath, maybe have a sip of water…. to appreciate just how far we’ve come. …Now, uh, where was I… ? Oh, yes! Anyway; slowly but surely, I found my footing again. Our heads had been in the clouds long enough, and now I was pulling us both back to Earth, back into whatever passed for reality in this place. My thumbs gently stroked the back of Stanley’s hands; giving him something real to cling to. Giving my nervous hands something to do with themselves. And the moment I saw the tension leave his shoulders, I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. <You’re really here… > Stanley looked down at my hands and their irremovable gloves. Despite my fears, there was no rejection, no cruel mockery; just quiet fascination. Again, that same look, as his eyes moved up from there to my chest and to my face. And needless to say, it didn’t take an omniscient narrator to understand what his eyes were asking me. “Yes, Stanley. Go ahead.” Stanley reached out; I leaned my head into his hand this time, letting him know me through touch. And don’t you dare pass judgment - this is very hard for me to admit to - but it took everything I had not to burst into soppy tears all over again. We were old friends who’d just met. Two halves of the same soul, reunited at last. Surely a meeting like this was written on all the stars in the infinite cosmos, and upon every grain of sand in the- Stanley reached out a finger and ‘booped’ my nose. He laughed uproariously; not at me, but with me, as I somehow found a small chuckle growing into a full-on belly laugh. I just couldn’t help myself! This entire, bizarre situation we’d once again found ourselves in… the two of us so helpless, messy, and stupid... it felt so good to come so utterly undone. We were just a couple of total idiots, Stanley and I. Standing there and giggling like lunatics. And then… I found myself overcome by a strange impulse of my own. Seized by a brief moment of temporary insanity, perhaps. Taking a small step back, I opened my arms. Stanley didn’t hesitate for a single second. He fell into them like he was coming home; like he’d just had the longest work day in the universe, and someone had just presented him with the fluffiest feather bed in existence. Nearly bloody bowled me over again, with all his enthusiasm. But I looked down at Stanley - and he looked so happy, well... uh... you know what? I’ll give you the incomparable joy of picturing in your head just how happy he was. What?? No, I’m not lost for words! Me? Lost for words? Ugh, of all the… no, no, let’s not ruin this. This one right here is all yours. No, go ahead, take it. Don’t say I never do anything for you. But, ahem - to continue our scene, we were both sitting down now, right there on the ground. Stanley had his ear to my stomach, listening to whatever the hell liquid is in there slosh back and forth, as he rocked himself gently in place. There was no way he could realize how he was reminding me, with each slosh, of what I am. Of how I’ve changed. Of what I’ve lost. But for the first time since I could remember… I didn’t hate it. At least, not entirely. Perhaps I could get used to that, in enough time. Around us, the memory of birds sang, and the memory of a breeze gently rustled the memories of grass and flowers. Somewhere in the distance, a memory of a piano was playing itself - ah yes, I’d almost forgotten about that. Perhaps we’d see it later. Perhaps we’d sit on the bench I’d placed nearby, and look at the view. Perhaps talk to one another, instead of just at one another. Yes… that would be nice, wouldn’t it… But between Stanley and I; right here, and right now? There’s a glittering silence between us; one that outshines any other memory I’d care to rescue from the scrap heap. Things, I realize, are falling into place. As gentle as snow, as warm and welcome as the light of dawn. This, I can tell, is what I’ve been waiting for all this time; what I’ve been striving for, over and over, with each and every branching path. A perfect moment.

#The Stanley Parable #TSP #TSPUD #Stannarrator #Stanley/Narrator #Fanfic #NO BETA WE DIE LIKE THE END IS NEVER THE END #UNREALITY WARNING: The last section has The Narrator addressing the reader directly and talking in first person

78 notes · View notes

jaestay · 5 years ago

Text

A study session with Mr. Bang and Mr. Lee!

Pairing: Bang Chan x Y/N and Felix x Y/N

Genre: Smut

Content/Warning: Teacher-student relation, female reader, age gap (not mentioned), threesome, oral (f, m), anal, double penetration, unprotected sex, semi public.

Requested: Anon- “Could you do an One shot of English teacher Chan x English teacher Felix x student Who doesn't speak very well English? Smut?”

Word count: 3,3k

You’ve always been a good student.

Acing in everything as usual, except English. Your parent and your teachers didn’t understand the sudden drop of grades, on no other subject other than English.

But you knew exactly what the sudden cause to the drop was. The reason being none other than getting extra private classes from your favorite teacher Mr. Bang Chris and sometime his co-worker Mr. Lee Felix.

Both teachers were good looking, young and single, so it isn’t a surprise that the whole school wanted to sleep with them. But you took the need to next level, as you were determined to sleep with one of them if not with both of them.

You constantly had this crazy fantasy of them both taking you in the library, where the usual tutoring sessions would be. You’d edge yourself almost every night imagining them reading out loud your mistakes and making sure you get every grammatical error you made, as both of their cock were dragging inside you.

You put these thoughts aside the as the final bell rang, shivers of excitement run through you, knowing that it’s time to go to the library and meet your hot English teacher Mr. Bang.

Truth to be told all throughout your school career, you lowest was always English, because it was not your native language and it was always difficult for you to speak because you have a heavy accent. So falling behind wasn’t a difficult task for you. And to everyone’s disappointment, you indeed took a big step back.

You quickly dropped by the toilets to check if everything was in place, you do not want to be out of place for your favorite teacher. You fixed your hair and applied an even coat of your lip balm, which smelled like strawberries, also spraying yourself with your favorite perfume.

Maybe it was the dirty thought you had at class or maybe it was the seducing scent of your perfume that you just sprayed, an idea that today you must have him dawned on you, your heat also getting wetter at the same time. Without missing a beat you started fixing your pleated skirt by pulling it up from the back a bit just to showcase your back thighs more than usual, you also leave two more buttons undone from your button down white shirt, reveling a good portion of cleavage out, for those willing to look.

Feeling contented with the sudden changes, you giddily packed your things up and skipped to the library. You showed your student ID to get in and quickly went into one of the rooms that you always have classes on.

He was already there, and surprisingly with Mr. Lee on his side, discussing some exam questions. They quickly concluded their conversation when they saw you.

“Good evening, Mr. Bang and Mr. Lee, did I interrupt you?” you asked with your heavy accent and smiling, owing to the fact that you were happy to see both of them and to be in the same room with them.

“No, y/n, don’t worry” Mr. Bang smiled back at you.

“Now, quickly get your things so we can start”. Mr. Lee said with urgency. His deep voice echoed through the room, it sent a tingle of sensation through your whole body.

You give them a perplexed look when they both moved to the side of the table leaving a big gap between them. It took some time for you to understand that both of them are going to teach you and they want you to sit in the middle of them.

While looking at them, you observed that the undone buttons didn’t go unnoticed from both of them as both of them kept staring at your chest and not in your eyes like they always do. Feeling confident enough, you turned around, and when you had your back facing them you let your bag fall to the ground. You slowly bent down, to pick up your book and pencil case from inside you bag. You could hear their breath hitch when your shorts inside your skirt came to light, which at the same time revealed the curves of your butt mesmerizingly to them.

Without hesitating, you took your designated seat, in between them. You couldn’t believe that you are really living this. Oh, how often you’d let your hand under your panties thinking about this scenario.

“May we start now?” you asked innocently looking into their eyes, just as you squished in between them, to sit.

“No baby, it’s -shall we start now” both them laughed, you blushed not only at the mistake but at the pet name too, making you more wet and clench around nothing, as you felt the wetness sliding inside your pussy.

“Yeah right, sorry”, you said rubbing the back of your neck from embarrassment, while squeezing you thighs to ease the movements down there.

They start the class like normal, bringing out your past exam paper to pin point your mistake, so you could work on them.

“Are you wearing perfume y/n?” Mr. Lee asked, abruptly, while he took a sniff of you.

“Mmm, lavender” Mr. Bang added from the side of your ear, as he was suddenly close to you.

Take aback from the unpredicted inquiry, not understanding what they are saying well and the closeness, you jerked a bit to the side, then out of nowhere, you felt Mr. Bang’s nose rub against your ear accidentally when he came to take your scent in again, you let out an audible moan at the sensation.

You suddenly opened your eyes and clapped your hand on your mouth as you blushed deep red. You quickly stood up and sat on the table as you stared back at them, who were looking at you with wide eyes. You took a second to look deep inside both of their eyes and you noticed that their pupils were fully blown out, because nothing other than blackness of desire started back at you.

Suddenly you were pushed back until you back hit on the table by Mr. Bang, and you saw Mr. Lee walking away to lock the door, because you heard the tiny click.

After the two men exchanged glances, Mr. Lee came from behind the table and Mr. Bang from the front trapped your small figure in-between them as you struggled to breathe. You took a deep breath as both of pressed their chest against your body.

You tried to push them away, with the little bit satiny left in you. Even though this is exactly what you wanted, you suddenly felt little uncertain.

But when you felt Mr. Bang’s lips on your and Mr. Lee’s lips on the back of your neck, you immediately gave in. You moaned as your hands went to grab their hair to push them in deep. His kiss is full of desire, it’s like he knew what he came for precise and taking the enough measurement to make you more turned on and make you needier.

When you ran out of breath you tired pull Mr. Bang away, just as you took a deep breath, Mr. Lee came in, with his open mouth over yours, you took his scent in, and bucking your hips as you felt his sloppy kiss leave a trail of saliva on your chin. You moaned into Mr. Lee’s mouth when you felt Mr. Bang’s mouth on your neck and going down.

“Please” you wailed as you had to push them away to take deep breath as you were getting lightheaded.

“What happened now, princess?” Mr. Bang asked mocking you the same time.

“Yeah come on, we know you want this, you think we didn’t notice the way you stare at us” Mr. Lee announced as they stared at you making you shiver just by looking at them. How did they know your best kept secret? Where you not that secretive? Did your gaze of desire give it away, as he said, and made them aware of your wet dreams? Your questions to your self was bought to en end when Mr. Bang made it more comprehensible for you.

“Or the way your thighs press together, when I speak to you” Mr. Bang declared, licking his lips. Your body really gave away the need of wanting them, because you were too horny whenever you saw them. You stare deep in to Mr. Bang’s eyes, to know if he really meant what he said and if he knew more of your secret.

“Little selfish of you to think that only Chris want to rail you” Mr. Lee broke you from the trance that trapped you in the eyes of Mr. Bang and you look at him apologetically as you were letting him know, he is also in your wet dreams, that were supposed to be secret.

“Nah, I think princess imagines both of us ruining her, don’t you?” His Australian accent heavy, as he nodded his head towards waiting for an answer. You stared at both of them, not knowing what to say, should you humiliate yourself and admit that they are reason you orgasm every night or keep denying them?

“By the way, you okay with this?” Mr. Lee uttered, concern filling his face. Thank god that he broke the tension building between you and Mr. Bang.

“You okay with both of us taking you?” flirty Mr. Bang asked you winking at you.

They left no space for you to think as they reattached themselves on top you. You quickly nodded at them as you push them on to you more. Mr. Bang quickly pulled your shorts down and Mr. Lee ripped your shirt apart and quickly pulling you’re your bra over your head.

You let out a deep moan as your wet pussy hit the air. You lie there legs apart and supporting yourself on the table, as they both look at your hard nipples and your shimmering pussy folds, in awe and mouth agape.

You got shy under their ogling eyes and try to close your legs but that ended nowhere as they immediately pulled it open to keep looking at it. They both got close to your pussy, then Mr. Bang blew at your wet clit and you squeezed your boobs at the sensitivity and letting out a whine.

“Dude, she’s dripping” Mr. Bang states as Mr. Lee comes to the front, so he could sniff your juicy cunt, he groaned at your scent, he cannot wait anymore. Both of their eyes shine back at your shining pussy.

“Damn, princess, all this for us?” Mr. Lee asks you. You have no idea what to say as you had no idea what he meant because you were too flustered from what was happening in front of you.

You mutter a quick “No” since you were confused.

“No?” Both men said in unison, as they let out a laugh. You were really confusing them.

“Tell us baby do you want it or not” Mr. Lee asked you, patience and care dripping his voice.

“Are we not getting our message of wanting to fuck you raw, across?” Mr. Bang urged you, as he couldn’t wait any longer than this.

Your twitch at his words. As they swiftly move and you feel Mr. Bang leave open mouth kisses on your nipple as he bite it down and swirled the sensitive top in with his tongue.

“Mr. Bang” you screamed, your hands were flying to catch him as your other nipple was being pinched and squeezed by his delicate fingers.

“It’s Chris” he corrected you, in the tone he always use to point out your mistakes. You clench around nothing at the use of that tone.

Mr. Lee on the other hand, stated kissing your inner thighs, you grab his hand, with your other hand to stabilize yourself, he quickly moved to kiss your pussy lips, and you moaned his name but he quickly corrected you to only call him “Felix” for the night.

His teeth nibbled your nub and started giving you long licks, inhaling your pussy fold to inside his mouth as he hums from satisfaction. You opened your mouth to let out a inaudible moan, taking advantage of your state Chris moved from sucking your nipples to, quickly unbuckling his belt pushing his pants down and freeing his hard on.

After getting on top of the table, he tapped his cock on your tongue that was hanging out from your open mouth. You opened your eyes and saw his pink tip begging to get inside your mouth, you quickly swallowed his tip and licked it, and suddenly from a confidence boost you decide to take it all of him inside, but you choked as you were inexperienced at this.

He pushed your head back and looked at you, and since you smiled back at him innocently, he pushed his cock back in you, making you take his whole cock inside your mouth. You closed your lips at the end of his dick and your tongue on the inside rubbed against the slit of his tip, making him let out deep, vibrating groans, which made you more wet while, your slick were being swallowed by Felix.

You took quick glances down when you felt Felix’s lips leave your already sore pussy, you watch him as he tapped his dick on to your wet pussy. After smirking at you, he tried to push inside, but because his girth was too much, your hit his chest to stop him, because you were still swallowing up Chris’s cock.

Felix made Chris pull away from your mouth, to make it easier for you, so he pulled you up and made you bend over the table. Your head hit the cold table and you arch your back to Felix. At this position Felix tried again, this time though, a bit by bit but he slipped in, making you see starts by each push but nonetheless, when he bottomed out you motioned that you need some time to get used to it the feeling of his cock stretching you out.

Even though you had experience before, you were completely new to this, imagining how it feels is completely different from having them in front of you, you noted to yourself.

While you were waiting, Chris, understanding that you’d need some time and to not waste any more time on his plans, pushed his fingers deep inside your ass hole, you cried out at the new feeling. Now you need time to get used both of these stretching you out to no end.

Just when he started pushing his second finger and started scissoring you, both you and Felix let out deep moans at the feeling. Because Felix could also feel the other males hand through the sheer walls separating them. The feeling of his fingers inside your one hole and Mr. Lee’s dick on your other made you shed tears from sensitivity. Mr. Bang noticing it kissed your tears away

“You okay honey, do you feel stuffed enough” he mocked you again, you cannot take any more of his teasing as his fingers were plunging inside you.

His words made you squirm without you knowing. You cried more when he pushed third finger inside you. Felix also started moving up and down. The intensity is making you see white as your eyes roll back from the pleasure that was filling you up. Felix moved swiftly inside you. You groaned and moaned as you feel his width filling you so deliciously.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me” you shout out to Felix

“God, baby y-you too” he kissed your back as Chris pulled away.

“Pull her up” you hear Chris said tell Felix.

He was broken from the trance and while still inside you, he pulled up to his chest, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and arched your back so it would be accessible for Chris to enter your anus. Felix felt you clenching around, from excitement and started moaning as he was having hard time not to push his dick in and out of you, but he had to wait for Chris to bottom out, so it wouldn’t be difficult for you.

Chris pushed his dick inside your gaping hole with ease, as his fingers stretched you enough. All of you wait another two minutes to get used to this feeling. The sudden movements from both of them stuffing both of their cock made you wail and scream from pleasure. You spasmed and twitched as both them started fucking you without mercy, from the start. Filling both of your hole not caring about your tears or the fact that you’re squirting.

You on the other hand, squirted and cummed as soon as they both started moving up and down inside of you, you couldn’t control it anymore, it felt too good. At the middle of your session as the vulnerability and sensitivity from both the cock filling you up sent you to overdrive. You scream both of their name and dug your nails deep in Chris’s arms which were holding you up from your hips.

“Did you come princess?” Felix asked you as you where bouncing on their cock, unstoppably.

“Shit, you are clenching so hard” Chris scorned at you, “you squirted so hard too”

“Chris, Felix, o-oh my god, stop, please” you sobbed from hypersensitivity.

Seeing you in these state and the constant clenching around both of their cocks made Felix also edge.

“I’m gonna cum, baby” he moaned and sped up to a speed you didn’t know he could go, as he was thrusting with like there is no tomorrow in to you.

“Inside me, please” you wailed when he squirted his liquid deep inside your walls. Meanwhile the over-stimulation has turned in to pleasure again as you feel his sloppy thrusts. When the sloppy thrusts changed angles and started hitting against the wall which was being filled by Chris. You cry out Felix’s name as you feel the Chris groan against your neck, you knew he was close, so were you.

“I’m gonna finish too, baby girl” he moaned out.

“You too, inside me Chris” you screamed, not caring if you are in library or anywhere, because your climax was dangerously close. You clenched immensely around both of their dick, filling you up as you cum again for the second time, which also sent Chris to end it inside you.

You both pant loudly, as Felix stared at both of you coming down from your high. To thank both of them, you started kissing Felix as he was in front of you. Your lips move delicately, as both of your lips fit like a puzzle piece, like you were made for each other. After the romantic kiss, you turned around and give the same attention Chris who had sweat running down from his forehead. Funny to you, he also fit you just like a puzzle piece. You brush off the feeling of spark you felt when you kissed both of them.

They pulled out, while you whine from over-sensitivity and let you lay down on the ground to clean you up. Before cleaning you up, they took a look at you. You had both their releases coming out and running on your to your thighs, you were sweating and you had dried tear marks all over your red cheeks, but overall you looked so pretty in their eyes as they stared sweetly at you. All of you smile smugly as you knew that this won’t be a one-time thing!

After they started cleaning you up, all of your head snapped to the door as you hear a knock, bringing you back to reality.

“Oh fuck!” Mr. Bang said in surprised,

“Shit, no!” Mr. Lee uttered while looking at both of you, waiting for what’s to come.

222 notes · View notes

amydancepants-peralta · 6 years ago

Note

6, 11, or 24 from cliche prompts :)

Hi there, Anon! First off I’m very sorry that it has taken me so long to come up with a response to this one. I just couldn’t figure it out. 🤦🏼‍♀️ But here we have it: Cliche Post Prompt #6 - Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted. (Big thanks to @fezzle and @b99peraltiago for your help with this one!)

Set during s4, ‘Crime and Punishment’ - the night before Jake’s conviction.

save tonight (fight the break of dawn)

When it all began, Amy’s fortnightly trip to the local library had felt just like all the others.

She had raised her hand in greeting to the librarian as she passed (a woman named Moira, who was not her favourite to be honest - Adriana was far more precise with her book stacking skills), fighting back a blush as she walked past the private study room: aka, the room that she and Jake had occupied for the evening during his six month anniversary surprise for her. Every time she passed it, Amy was reminded of the steamy kisses they had shared that evening (and okay yes, maybe some other stuff happened, but that was a secret between the two of them and the books in that room, okay?!).

Her legs carried her quickly over to the literary classics, knowing that her heart craved the celebrated words of some of her favourite authors, and before long she was breathing in the familiar scent of tales older than time. Then, a noticeable error caused her to take pause.

For there, in between the Tolstoy and the Tolkien, sat a novel where title was not visible, but the author’s name was - and it clearly started with an F. Dammit, Moira. With a shake of her head Amy moved to grab and move the offending item, before she noticed that the author next to this book started with an I. Beside that, an author with a G. Then another G, back to an I, ending inexplicably in an S. And she couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about the combination of those letters that filled her with a sense of dread.

Her fingers dug into the curved spine of the novels, grabbing all six and pulling them away from the shelf, only to discover a brightly coloured map of Florida pasted to the shelf behind.

Vandalism in the literary section?

What on earth was going on?

She realised that it was all a dream when the buzzing of a neon sign finally broke through the silence. Swivelling in place, Amy read Welcome to the Slaughterhouse, random letters flickering like a stammering heartbeat. Beneath the sign a prized pig, its hooves still covered in slop, paced the library floor. She moved towards it, and it cantered off with an exaggerated squeal. Her head began to shake as the disorientation washed over her. None of this was logical. And this was not the library she knew and loved.

A scratching feeling in her skin made her look down at her arm, and Amy blinked in confusion at her left hand holding a pen, writing Flaxton Hill all over her other forearm. Her fingers flexed as they dropped the instrument, pen fading into the background before it ever hit the floor. Yeah. Definitely a dream.

The lights above her began to dance before dimming completely, the welcome sign casting a red haze over the room and Amy feels her chest tightening, head shaking again as she’s suddenly overcome with the need to find her way out of this dream before it turns into a nightmare.

Jake’s voice cuts through the pounding sound of her heartbeat. “Ames.”

Her hands are still gripping the books she removed from the shelf and she turns to her left, where she thought the sound came from, but he isn’t there. The fluorescent bulbs above her switch from low to high again and she blinks, holding the books against her forehead as she shelters herself from the light, trying desperately to ground herself.

“Babe.” His voice calls out again, and Amy drops the novels without a second thought, pages falling open at her feet as she twists to the right. Jake’s there, smiling behind the book shelves, his face so perfectly calm that she can feel herself relax, finally safe in the knowledge that he is here - that whatever this place was, they were in it together.

She realises that this dream is actually a nightmare when she reaches for Jake, arm stretching out across the shelves, fingertips barely touching before the spines of the books turn black, multiples merging into thick lines, dark in colour and metallic in texture as the shelves squeeze closer together, settling with a clang that reverberates across the building. Their hands snatch away from the middle as a bitter coldness fills the air; overhead lights switching off completely - the neon sign turning the room a palpably ominous red, and in a matter of seconds there are thick black bars separating her from the love of her life.

She runs along the former bookshelves, calling out his name as the bars grow longer, library extending until there is no end in sight, and no matter how hard she tries, she just. can’t. get to him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he tells her, running along beside her, and she looks at him as though he’s crazy because it’s not okay, because how could it be okay?, and there are diamonds falling from the ceiling and the strange smell of Blue Rad-Berry slushie taking over her senses and absolutely nothing makes sense anymore.

He calls her name one last time, and she feels his hand on her shoulder - which is impossible, because he’s still on the other side of those bars, and she lets out a gasp, squeezing her eyes shut as everything fades to black.

Her heart is somewhere up in her throat when she opens her eyes again, pushing herself up from the mattress as her lungs fight to regain control in the darkness. She can feel Jake’s hand on her back, warm and comforting, stroking her gently through her (his) old academy shirt, and she times her breaths to match his movement - up and down, in and out.

His voice, soft and yet so loud in the darkness, is laced with concern. “You okay, Ames?”

Amy turns slightly, chin resting on her shoulder, and she nods, giving him a smile that she’s not sure he can see through the darkness. His eyes shine through the dark, edges crinkling as he smiles back, and she reaches back for his hand, gripping it tightly when it leaves her back. Her palm is clammy, her body still covered in the cold sweat that had washed over her body while she fought her way out of the terror, but he only squeezes harder.

She had been seven years old when the night terrors began. With her parents stepping out for a long overdue date night, her older brothers had been designated in charge for the evening, and had promptly set up a horror movie in the basement. Relegating her to her bedroom, with the declaration that she was Too Young to be watching such movies, both Miguel and Tony had been naive enough to believe that their younger sister would stay in her room like her brothers. For even then, Amy Santiago wasn’t interested in somebody else telling her what she could and could not see.

So under the cover of darkness, she had pushed the basement door open, settling herself onto the highest section of the staircase that still afforded her a view of the television, and began watching what would turn out to be the most terrifying movie of her life.

She sat frozen, glued to the steps as the image of a clown with razor sharp teeth flashed onto the screen, and as a yellow raincoat disappeared down a drain she had let out a scream - the loudest, sharpest scream ever uttered: loud enough that within two minutes their neighbours were banging on the front door, absolutely certain that something sinister had befallen one of the Santiago children.

Two things had resulted from that night - her brothers were banished from all future babysitting duties (from which birthed a grudge that Tony would hold against his sister for years to come), and Amy began experiencing increasingly vivid nightmares. Within weeks, there was a well-worn path between her bedroom and her parents, the solace of Victor and Camila’s arms proving to be the only balm to soothe her pounding heart from the terrors in her mind.

As she grew older, the haunting imagery would change - red balloons floating ominously in the background would turn into tests with red marks of failure on them; hideous monsters with gnashing teeth taking the shape of disappointed superiors and brothers excelling in fields that she could not master. By the time she was nearing the end of high school, the imagery of her senior portrait moving from the piano to the far end of the staircase was enough to keep her awake at night, hands shaking as they gripped the duvet tighter around her, never quite warm enough when the thought of failure struck true fear into her heart.

Living a life based on rules and structure had provided some relief - for if everything had a set procedure, the danger didn’t have a chance to break through. Slowly but surely, the more Amy stuck to the rules, the more the night terrors seemed to fade. And with it, came a life built on order and discipline.

And then, along came Jake. And suddenly the straight and narrow didn’t seem so appealing.

There had been a part of her that had expected the nightmares to return when she starting dating him - when the rules began to bend, and the sharp edges of her future plans began to soften. Instead, she slept peacefully: sometimes dreaming of sweeter moments between the two of them, other times simply content to feel his presence next to her. Truth be told, the terrors continued to stay far away until Jake was in Witsec - when the cold and otherwise empty sheets would wrap around her feet, gripping her to the mattress as horrifying images of Jake in endlessly dangerous situations in unknown locations attacked her repeatedly. Towards the end of their separation, pillows that only smelled faintly of him were pulled closer as the hours of sleep grew lesser, and after his return, and her screams would keep them awake, she’d had to explain it all.

But even as she told him of her fears - even as she described the imagery her mind would play in a loop, Amy found herself feeling less and less afraid of them. And as the weeks wore on, and the confusing period of readjustment that resulted from Jake returning to her life played itself out, the terrors began to fade, and Jake vowed to her that she would never need to worry about them again.

Yet here they were, on the eve of his final court hearing, and Amy could feel the flames of fear begin to flicker again. Because even with the knowledge that Matthew Langdon was safely tucked into a Safe House downtown, resting ahead of his surprise testimony in the morning, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Hawkins’ reign of terror was far from over.

Letting out an exhausted sigh as her breathing finally slows down, Amy flops back down onto the mattress, body turning towards Jake’s as their hands separate. He runs a hand across his face in a half-hearted attempt to wipe away the tiredness, and studies her carefully when he’s done. “You sure you’re okay now, babe?”

Amy looks across at him, at this man that had transitioned from annoying coworker to best friend to boyfriend so seamlessly that she struggles to remember a time when his hand didn’t belong in hers, and she nods.

“I’m so sorry for waking you,” she whispers.

One side of his mouth lifts up into an almost convincing smile. “You didn’t. I was already awake.” She waits, knowing by now that sometimes Jake just needs a little more time to find the right words. Instead, he shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She can feel a thousand unsaid words hanging above them.

Her left hand stretches the short distance, resting against his bicep before running along the dip in his arm. “We’re going to prove your innocence, Jake. Tomorrow. This is all going to be over.”

He nods his head slowly, and as her eyes acclimate better to the darkness, she notices the puffiness around his eyes, and realises with a sinking heart that he had been crying. “I just …” His breath comes out in a shudder, and she scoots closer until her forehead is resting against his. “I don’t want to lose this.”

They’d made love earlier that evening, neither of them willing to voice the reason behind their passionate kisses, not ready to acknowledge that this wasn’t the same as all the others - that this might be the last time, for a long time, or maybe ever. And while she’d thrown on his old academy shirt afterwards, because Always Cold Amy was a nickname that she could not shake, their legs had remained bare underneath the blanket, and she wraps hers completely around him now, pulling herself closer until there was nowhere else to go.

“I know,” she whispers, pulling away slightly so that she can run her thumb along his brow bone, graduating to his forehead to rub away the lines of worry. “But you’re not going to, Jake. I meant what I said in the car. Whatever happens tomorrow. I’ll wait for you.”

Jake shakes his head, wrapping his right arm around her waist. His touch is warm, and always welcome. “It could be 15 years, Ames. Or more. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me. I’m telling you.” His moves his other hand out from under the pillow, seeking hers in return, and not for the first time she imagines a ring adorning his finger. “You’re the love of my life, Jake Peralta. I would wait an eternity for you.” Their fingers intertwine, and she squeezes gently. She knew that even with their best laid plans, there was a good possibility that tomorrow wouldn’t turn out the way they hoped. And if there was anything he needed to know, it was this. “Even if the next time we’re together I’m 75 years old, you’ve got cataracts and my boobs are down to my knees, I would still marry the heck out of you. I will love you forever, Jake.”

The notion of forever had been something they had tiptoed around at the beginning of their relationship. While both of them knew (pretty quickly, actually) that what they had together was far greater than anything either had known before, there was still an irrational fear that if one spoke to soon, they would spook the other, and ruin their greatest chance at happiness.

It had taken four weeks in a prison in Texas, and six months playing pretend in Florida, before forever was the only thing on their mind.

The change had been subtle, but permanent, and while The Question hadn’t been asked, they both knew what the answer would be. They were, after all, each other’s soulmates. (And the first time he’d whispered that word to her, curled up on the couch with the world on mute around them, her heart had landed somewhere amongst the stars.)

He blinks, and in the close proximity Amy watches a tear escape, pulling her back to the present. It slides along the edge of his nose uninterrupted, and in a moment Amy realises that no matter what terrifying things might enter her dreams, she could simply banish them with the flutter of her eyelids. But for Jake, all of his worst fears were coming true right in front of him, and no matter how hard he blinked, they didn’t seem to be going away.

Shuffling impossibly closer, Amy pulls him in for a kiss, the type of kiss that she can only hope conveys how much he means to him - how certain she is that he is the only one for her, and that regardless of whatever happens tomorrow, they will get through it together. Because no matter the problem, the love they have for each other is always going to be the answer.

“I love you so much, Ames. And … I’m so sorry that I’m putting you through this.” His voice is shaky, the fear and despair evident, and she’s overcome with the need to just hold him close until everything wrong simply melted away.

“I love you too, Jake. But you don’t need to apologise for this. No path in life is ever smooth, and this is just another bump in our road.” She says it loud, as clearly as she can, in case it becomes a memory he clings to. And then a sly grin crosses her face. “Apologies in advance for the saggy boobs, though. I know how much you’re a fan of them.” She whispers, still in close proximity, and his laughter breaks through the silence.

“I’m a big fan of you, Ames. I love you so much. And I love you even more for making a joke about your boobs right now. You are literally the perfect woman.” His smile is bright, though brief, and his hand rests against the small of her back when he pulls her in for another kiss.

The worry is still there on his face when he pulls away, and Amy knows that’s to be expected. But the only thing uncertain about their future is when it will begin. They will put on a false bravado in the morning, announce their surprise witness and hope for the best - and ultimately, that is all they can do.

She runs her hand through his hair, sighing contentedly when Jake drops his head to her chest, grip still firm around her waist. It isn’t long before his breathing is slow and deep, a sure-fire sign of him sleeping, and she follows his lead, fingers still curling around his strands.

He would be gone by tomorrow afternoon, and with him he takes her heart, but even as she cries herself to sleep in their too-large-for-one bed, Amy knows that there could be no nightmares that evening. Her greatest terror, after all, had already come to life.

And she was going to fight like hell to prove it wrong.

#myfic #b99fanfics #b99fic #cliche post prompts #peraltiago fanfiction #little bit of angst #little bit of fluff #hope this was worth the wait anon!#b99fanfic

52 notes · View notes

tanadrin · 6 years ago

Text

Of Things Remembered

“Wake up.”

The scene around me swam and reformed itself as the young man opened his eyes. The generic room was replaced by a modest stone cell. A little table appeared in the corner, where one dim candle flickered, casting a dim light over a couple of books and some parchment. An evening chill swept in from the narrow window that appeared, and outside I could see the stars, undimmed by any city lights or orbitals. I switched over to the full baseline human sense-simulation, and inhaled slowly. The evening air was fragrant and damp, like a rainstorm had just passed. Through the door I could hear voices far down the hall, rising and falling together, perhaps in prayer.

"Everything is fine, but you need to wake up.” He seemed to be more alert now; his eyes were searching about the room; he was confused, but calm. When his gaze finally came to rest on me, he looked me up and down for a long time before he said anything. I glanced down at myself to make sure my appearance wasn’t too unusual. I fit into the room, now: I was dressed in plain homespun cloth, with simple leather slippers, and my hair hung loosely around my ears.

“Are you all right?” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think so. I must have been… sleeping very deeply. Dreaming about something. But I can’t remember what.”

“The deepest of sleep. And I’m sorry to wake you from a well-deserved rest, but we needed to have a conversation. I’m Nolla.”

“Will,” he said. “The brothers call me Long Will, on account of my height.” He turned one ear toward the door. “Shouldn’t we be at matins?”

“Don’t worry about that for the moment,” I said. “We have more important matters to attend to.”

Skipping prayers didn’t seem to sit well with him, but he didn’t object. He sat up and looked at me more closely. I turned to the little table and picked up his candle, holding it my lap so he could see better.

“I don’t think I know you,” he said. “Are you one of the novices?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just a friend. A guide. I’m here to help you through a difficult transition.”

Will furrowed his brow. “What sort of transition?”

“We’ll get to that. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Yesterday, I was…” His voice trailed off. “Funny. I don’t remember what I was doing yesterday. Or the day before that.”

“What do you remember?”

“That I should be at matins. That the abbot gets quite cross with lazy brothers. I spend most of my time when I’m not at prayer copying the books, and helping Brother Stephen in the kitchen. But I’m looking forward to summer. It does me good to spend some time outdoors, helping with the planting. I… I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit foggy.”

“You’ve been asleep for a very long time. It’s quite natural. I just want to make sure you’re feeling all right.”

“Are you a doctor? Have I been ill?”

“In a manner of speaking. Tell me about specific events you remember. Start with your life just before you came to the monastery.”

“Well, I’m from the village originally. My parents suggested the religious life, and it always felt right to me. I remember leaving home, coming to live here as a novice. I remember being nervous, meeting the abbot for the first time. Learning to read and write. I remember… I remember the time Brother Laurence and I got lost in the woods, and we were terribly worried, and tired and hungry, but Brother Hugh found us. We laughed about it later, how stupid we had been. It feels like it was a long time ago, but for the life of me I can’t say when. I suppose it could have been just yesterday.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said. “All these things were.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“More than ten thousand years,” I said gently.

Will smiled, then laughed. “Oh, you’re very funny.”

I shook my head. “I’m quite serious.”

“Yes, long enough for everything in the world to pass away and to start over from the beginning, so it’s exactly as I left it.”

“It isn’t, Will,” I said. “This, everything you see around you, is an illusion for your benefit.”

I let the simulation flicker, just for a second; I didn’t want to scare him, but I wanted to show him I wasn’t lying. For just a moment the walls and the table and the bed under him disappeared, and the dark hills and the stars and the moon beyond were visible where the cell had been; and then they were back, as solid as they had been before. Will’s face went deadly serious.

“Is this heaven or hell, then?” he said.

“Neither. You’re not dead. Not anymore. You don’t have to be afraid; nothing’s going to hurt you or cause you pain. I’m sorry for the deception, but we wanted you to wake up in a place that would be somewhat familiar to you, to make sure you felt at ease.”

Will ran his hands over the blanket, and the wall beside his bed; he rubbed his fingertips together, staring at them intently.

“All this feels very real,” he said.

“The mind is a powerful thing,” I said. “Yours is in a kind of in-between state right now. A place where we can take your memories and the sensations you know and show them to you in great detail. And where our illusion might be imperfect or incorrect, your mind will supply the little details and corrections needed to make it feel solid and consistent. But please believe me: we have no malice in our hearts. All this is for your benefit.”

“I believe you,” Will said. “Or I would like to, which maybe amounts to the same thing.”

I smiled and nodded. “Very good. Then we have overcome our first hurdle.”

“What… what has happened to me?”

I took a deep breath. “Will Long of Hythe, in Kent. You were born sometime in the late thirteenth century A.D., you died of natural causes, an old and well-respected man, abbot of this monastery, in 1334. You spent your life as a monk, serving God and your community, and because of your reputation and your position, you were remembered long enough for your name to enter the local histories, along with a few lines of your biography. You took to poetry later in life, and composed several hymns, and a few fables based on local legend. Most of the manuscripts that contained copies of your work were lost in the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the 16th century, but twelve manuscript folio, on which you were named as the author of the verses contained therein, were discovered deep in a London archive almost six hundred years later. These were the basis of an influential study of your life and work, about half solid historical investigation and about half clever speculation, by a PhD candidate--a doctor of philosophy in training, that is--in 2135. We used that study as the starting point for bringing you back.”

“You said I wasn’t dead.”

“You are speaking to me now. You hear me speak to you. You are sensing, thinking, feeling. Yes, you are not dead.”

“But I died. Long, long ago.”

“Yes. You did.”

“And you brought me back? That’s not possible.”

“Debatable,” I said. “By which I mean, we do debate it. Some would say, you are not Will Long. Will Long ceased to be when his heart stopped beating and his eyes were closed and he was laid to rest beneath the earth; and you are a new person, with the same name, and many of the same memories and thoughts and feelings. And some would say, it is the pattern that makes a man who he is. That just as if you take a tapestry and pick it apart into individual threads, if you weave it back together again, is not the same image? What if you replace one thread? One hundred threads? One thousand? And there are others who grant that while you may not have to use the same threads, if you make any error at all in the weaving-together, it is a different image. To which I say, does it matter, if it looks the same to the observer?”

Will closed his eyes and rubbed his head. “You’re talking in riddles. I need specifics. What did you do? How did you make this? Make… me?”

I leaned back in my chair. “I will try to explain this as succinctly and accurately as I can, but your language lacks many of the words I need, because your world lacked many of the things we used, and the words to describe them. But our methods are all the methods of the natural world, all the methods of good and honest philosophy, all knowable to a man like you if he has enough learning.

“There are methods of mathematics, like the algebra of the east, but much more sophisticated, by which one can infer missing quantities among vast collections of information. Some of these are very precise; some of these cannot produce precise knowledge, but only approximate knowledge--yet often that approximate knowledge can, by successive application of different methods, be narrowed to a very small range. As though,” and I gestured now at the books on the table, “you open a manuscript to find one word blotted out; yet if it is short, and begins ‘th-’ you know it is ‘the’ or ‘thee’ or ‘thou,’ and not ‘through’ or ‘thorough.’ Or as though a line is missing from a piece of poetry; and while two other copies agree on what the missing line is, a third disagrees--but you judge the two that agree are more likely to be correct.

“And these mathematics are so complicated and so difficult that a whole city of human calculators might work for centuries and accomplish but a small piece of a modest puzzle to which they are applied. But in the many centuries after your death, we have developed tools to aid us. First, they were based on the same principles which drive clockwork, like more sophisticated clocks capable of performing arithmetic quickly, by the means of levers and gears. The same machines, using the same principles, were made more sophisticated and swifter in their operation over time--and eventually we stopped using clockwork, and started using other physical principles to operate them. But the underlying logic of their design was the same. Though they appeared as though they could perform wondrous feats that had nothing to do with mere mathematics, mere mathematics was the foundational principle of their operation; and they could accomplish no wonder that could not in some sense be reduced to a question of numbers and the operations of numbers.”

“I am afraid I don’t know much about mathematics,” Will said. “All this sounds quite fanciful to me.”

“Then let us speak of words--for it was another insight of later days that mathematics is not so different from language, and the philosophers of those days used one word to unite the two, the word ‘information.’ The theory of information was found to be a useful tool for examining the natural world, just as you might use your eyes or your ears, or, in dark places, search instead with your hands. And using the tools provided by the theory of information, we came to believe our ability to recover things that were lost now extended to the memories and feelings and thoughts of those who had long been dead. Especially those who had left some testimony of themselves behind. And we hoped, maybe--perhaps an arrogant hope, I admit--that by the application of these techniques to recover lost lives, we might from the shape of those lost lives then discern the shapes of other lives, previously invisible to us, and recover those as well--and so on and so forth. And that therefore we might hope one day to return to life all those who had ever lived and died, to rescue them from their long sleep.”

Will laughed. “Are you so impatient for the day of judgement?”

I smiled. “Nothing like that, I assure you. We don’t judge, Will. We don’t condemn. We don’t pick and choose, either. We intend to resurrect the good and the bad alike. The deserving and the undeserving. Those great and those petty, those high-minded and those mean. Our labor, which we grant might never be completed, is not to play God, and to ensure each man receives his deserved fate, but only to redeem. Without preference or favor. There is only one restriction we place on ourselves.

“And what’s that?”

“We don’t bring back people who, according to our reconstruction, would prefer not to exist. There are some who suffered greatly before their death, whose suffering can be amended, whose hearts can be made whole. But there are some who, we know, prefer to sleep. We study them, to understand them, but we do not bring them unwilling back into the world. That would be a great cruelty. We create--or recreate--no life which would, we think, prefer not to exist. And for those about whom we are uncertain, we bring them back only long enough to ask them. Which is why you are here.”

Will looked surprised at this. “If you have such power over life and death, why not make everyone want to live?”

“Because then they wouldn’t be themselves.”

“But you don’t know that they’re themselves. You don’t even know for sure that you’re not just… writing new books. Writing new stories, weaving new tapestries, that have nothing to do with the old ones. If your machines are wrong, if your philosophy in error, perhaps you are only raising up new ghosts who remember a fiction.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Would you like to know my thoughts on the matter?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I believe this: that it doesn’t matter. If you are exactly like Will Long of Kent in every particular, it may even be that our philosophy is in complete error and that there is some vital spark, some privileged point of view, which the old Will Long bore in himself and which was extinguished on his death; and that any vital spark you possessed, any point of view you hold, is but another very like it. Yet please believe me when I say that there are very good reasons to believe that that is not the case, reasons which are not beyond your capacity for understanding, but which nevertheless are beyond the learning you possess right now.

“Yet even if it is not so--that you are unlike Will Long in some little particular, or unlike him in very great ways, such that you are simply a new person who shares his name and is inclined to produce poetry in a similar style--you nonetheless think and feel and act according to your own preferences and desires, and that we must respect those preferences and desires. And to wantonly interfere with them--to insist that every soul we call forth must share our preference for existing, and our view of the world--would indeed be arrogance. You might not be the old Will Long, but you are a Will Long, and worthy of our respect.”

This seemed to satisfy him. “But have you never found your mathematics to be in error? Have you never had to revise them? Does this never change how you might weave the threads together?”

“It can happen,” I said. “We do not need to bring forth the soul entirely to understand it; they can be studied while they sleep. But those of us who do guide the souls we call forth have a pragmatic view of things. Were we to discover, say, some new poem of Will Long’s, we would incorporate that into what we knew about you. If it only changed our view of you a little, it would hardly be worth recreating you. Though we might ask you if you wanted that knowledge incorporated into yourself, which we could do. But if it changed how we understood you drastically, it might be worth it to create another Will Long. But that would have no affect on you. The world is very wide now. There is space for many people like you, and each adds their own particular distinction and joy to it.

“But this rarely happens. We have long since ceased to die of mere old age; the world is full of what would seem to you like miracles. And for thousands of years before the calling-forth of souls began, we were laying the groundwork for the great project, studying history in every minutia, compiling great libraries of information, libraries greater than any you have imagined. It is not impossible that we might discover some new information we have long overlooked, but it is a rare thing. Though I cannot say it is impossible.”

“And you want to know if I… accept this?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know my answer?”

“It was one of the very few things we could not determine in advance.”

Will was quiet for a long time.

“What happens if I say no?”

“You can lie down and go back to sleep. This strange little dream will fade. We’ll keep a record of you, and use it to help further our studies, but you’ll never be called forth again. We’ll never disturb or trouble you, and you can await the end of days, or whatever comes after, in a dreamless slumber.”

“And if I say yes?”

“Then you have another choice to make. What life do you want to live? You can stay here, in the place that was your home in life. Or you can step out into the world.”

“What’s it like out there?”

“It’s hard to explain. It would require a long, slow transition, unless you were very adamant about going out immediately; but I must warn you, others have done that, and found it very trying. The world is full of many wonderful things, but also many unfamiliar perils. You have little of the background knowledge required to understand it; and those who live there see things very differently than you do. But if you are curious and generous of spirit, you can adapt.

“We are all human out there, after our fashion, though we might not seem it at first. In some ways our various lineages long ago diverged, to say nothing of the ones, like mine, that began within the machines built to understand the universe. But we remain united by certain common sentiments and hopes which are not alien to you.”

“What if I wish to remain? What is this place, anyway?”

“An illusion of information. A kind of dream, perhaps, but one inhabited by very real people, like yourself. You can stay here, and we can give you a light and pleasant dream of your life forever, if you want. Or we can link your simulation to the simulations of others like you, so that you are not alone.”

“How long have I to decide?”

“As long as you like. There’s no hurry.”

“That’s a relief.”

He looked out the window at the stars.

“Tell me, if you know. I have always wondered. What are those, anyway, out there in the sky? What are they made of?”

“They are suns like our own. Immense lights that warm distant worlds.”

“Have you visited those lights and those worlds?”

I smiled. “We have. Truth be told, you are around one now. The machines that support you here, in this state, hang high in the sky above one we call Van Maanen’s Star.”

“How far away is England?”

“About eighty-two thousands of a thousand of a thousand of a thousand miles.”

“Could… could I go back if I wished? As myself?”

“Of course. It would be a long journey, but by no means impossible. But Kent is very different now than when you left it.”

“Could I visit other worlds?”

“You certainly could. There are enough peopled worlds that you could spend the rest of your life visiting them.”

“And how long will that be? How long is the rest of my life, if I say yes?”

I shrugged. “If you avoid sudden misfortune, or if you choose to make copies of yourself as some do, you can reasonably expect that you, or a Will Long very much like you, will live to see the youngest stars that now blaze grow old and lonely in the sky. Which would be a very, very long time from now.”

Will stared out the window for several minutes; I did not interrupt his reverie. This was a conversation I had had many times; it was never quite the same, except that this moment usually came sooner or later. Sometimes it lasted hours. Sometimes it lasted years. I was happy to wait. But Will’s answer came astonishingly quickly.

“I’ve made my decision.” There was a bright, joyful gleam in his eyes.

“Very well. What have you decided?”

He pointed out the window. “I want to go out there. I don’t want to wait. I want to see what’s changed. I want to understand this strange world you have spoken of to me. And maybe to write new lines on what I see.”

“Then so it shall be. And many will be glad to hear this happy news.”

I stood, and drew back the sleeve of my robe, and stretched my hand out. “Come, Will. Take my hand.”

Will’s hand grasped mine, and I pulled him up, up out of the bed, and out of the room we were in, and out of the cool, clear evening that surrounded it; like swimmers rising to the surface, we rose up into the warmth and light beyond.

#tanadrin's fiction

49 notes · View notes

horncity18-blog · 5 years ago

Text

How anime works?

Have you ever wondered how anime is made? For many of us, anime production is all light up and mirror. The distance amongst the conceptual art and the accomplished masterpiece is the period of the 12-week season. Typically the truth is, until you chat Japanese, the production approach that governs Japanese animation is shrouded in secret. Trying to find away more will lead you to a good number of terms like as crucial animator, advanced beginner animator, movement representative, tv show director, artwork home in addition to character developer. How anime is made within Asia is very various from how you may well consider; Often , it's a new significantly more material (read: chaotic) process you might assume. The fine art of toon Animation generation is a messy adventure. Disorderly preparation, strict deadlines, deadlines and even rampant inefficiencies are generally operate hazards that any individual working in a small together with freshly created environment will be conscious of. The spirit is usually a labor involving love and the talent of many folks, while well as the endurance of a select few. Immediately after all, it is single that requires many, numerous steps. The achievements of even a new single show is not a little task, and a incorrect stage can have serious outcomes for the whole development. Dig more deeply together with you will find development programs and color-coded check-lists which have been nightmares. kiss anime watch So many spreadsheets, so many validations. anime generation Another common day at this office for the production director. Image by Sentai Filmworks. I will do my personal better to provide a good guide of the process, describing often the main steps as well as the major celebrities. In this respect, I actually hope to show how complicated it is usually to create a respectable anime, not to point out some sort of great one particular, as your love for typically the setting revives. Above most, we sorry in improvement for any errors or even defects; I am by way of no means an authority around anime production. This production process (ie development difficulties) preproduction This is often the preparing and financing step. Often the anime production business (for example, Aniplex, Bandai Vision, Kadokawa Shoten, Pony Gosier, Sony, Toho, Viz Media) is responsible for personnel, transmission in addition to syndication expenses. In essence, they will pay studios to do it, the tv screen stations in order to broadcast this and in order to the licensee to send out it nationally in addition to around the globe. Above all, this accumulates profits from revenue. At times, several production companies happen to be involved with some sort of single cartoons. This broadcasters (for illustration, A-1 Pictures, Bones, N. M. Staff, Kyoto Animation, Madhouse, Production I. Gary, Studio Ghibli, Trigger) are usually the ones that function, pay and create the particular anime itself. If this anime can be an original idea, the facilities will sometimes help with the expenses. Group assembly The overseer is usually the creative director and it is generally responsible for the particular program. When this will come to staffing, every facility works differently. Quite a few have got full-time animators, colorists, writers and production offices, when others will have the fully committed team of key persons from each department as well as a large network connected with outsourced helpers. Then there will be the reports that outsource the entire work for you to freelancers. storyboard

Often the movie director is furthermore commonly accountable for storyboards. In full-length TV cartoons, unlike in season anime, movie screenplays are generally framed simply by different screenwriters. In an ideal globe, typically the cases would become completely finished before a good episode switches into production. This specific would give the rest of the staff the option to build up a coherent and fully realized account; However, preparing very rarely, and this shows in many cases are in generation, because the storyboards will be still being worked in. It's a nightmare, genuinely. function designs The following may be the projects. Within the administration of the director, often the episode home and at times typically the manufacturer, the layout director may complete this details of the slices (scenes, generally determined by simply the use of a single background). That involves preparing the main image or living "cells" (displayed in relaxing colors) on backgrounds (displayed inside cool colors), along with descriptions of how the digicam should move. In additional words, the planning director support frames each series and appears at the overall formula. anime The example connected with one of a kind cut design. The dark box towards this edge in the paper shows the frame. A design and style movie director determines the make up of each lower, just simply like a movie show. Imagine by way of Nihonden. computer animated A further sort of this is in the Howling ADVENTURE. The backgrounds are dark blue and the cells usually are dark orange. This is unusual because often the clouds are computer animated, not really humans. Image through MangaUK. animation Once the dermal are finished, the production assistant gives the important animators. They are this ones who provide lifetime to images. The particular finished discounts are unveiled in the animation director for the tv show, who checks regularity and even quality. If the special discounts receive the stamp involving authorization, they go to be able to the intermediary unterhaltungskünstler. This particular work is generally outsourced to less experienced computer animators at cheaper prices. Interior frames are sent to typically the intermediate supervisor in order to ensure they are consistent with the quality and support frames of the key animation. If the cut is turned down any kind of time stage, it can be delivered for review. anime manufacturing A key filmtegner is responsible for the main element animation or even, in additional words, the primary frames associated with a slash. Image by means of Pinterest. digitized Finally, the moment the animation is performed, this color team, supervised simply by the color designer, digitizes, clears and colors typically the cuts. At this stage, the slashes are known as cells (or digicells). The colorist spots the color tissues inside the background image (as given in the designs) and brings any 3DCG under the guidance associated with the 3DCG supervisor. One more stage of production is definitely filming, in which arrangement, effects, and editing are generally finalized. animated The fine art director, colorist, and movie director come together to figure out the final coloring pattern or even gradient per character or maybe each using a cut. In this article you can see a number of palaces of different shades in contrast to the background, known as art. Graphic from Sentai Filmworks. Post development Having the end in vision, the production assistant communicates the final cellular material to the post-production recording director. Typically the recording director runs typically the "duplication" process by which post-production teams add voice acting, sound effects, and popular music. End the life period of any cut in cartoons development. Finally, at typically the end, the editor breaks, merges, edits, and evolves all the finished cuts. Meanwhile, the episode overseer and director are tested at each stage to make sure the particular concluded product meets their very own eye-sight. The grassroots managing workforce then reviews your entire tv show and gives their last opinion as well as approval. Essential players (i. e. the right team) the manufacturer Producers generally work for the particular cartoons developer. They happen to be the people responsible intended for finding stories with possible, be it an original strategy from the head associated with a creator or a adaptation of an present work (such as a good mangote or a lighting novel). That they find in addition to request projects for the firm. Manufacturers have a new good deal of weight in the production approach and as a result generally have to agree all important decisions. Creation office The production office will be the studio's command middle and is comprised of the Manufacturing Manager (PM) in addition to a variety of Creation Assistants (PA). The Prime Minister is definitely in charge for handling the particular series' programming, logistics together with financing / finances. Their very own purpose is to present final reductions in moment plus budget. APs function in the PM plus are generally liable for 1 or two episodes. Essentially, the availability office does their job. This is precisely what an anime production display looks like. This can be just an case in point. They are generally a great deal more messy as compared to that. And more horrible, correct? Image through Reddit. overseer The inventive chief produces, the educator, the evaluate, the jury and the particular executioner. Basically, the overseer is the director in the entire project and oversees the final stages of each part of the anime production approach. The representative also has the final word around all creative decisions. They can be directly responsible for the particular circumstances and the closing approval of each one episode. This director from the episode. This specific is self informative. Found in substance, they are typically the film fans of a certain event. The particular episode overseer works directly with the particular overseer on most artistic and logistical judgements regarding the assigned episode. Receive the correct Black Anime figures The script supervisor The particular writer himself (say what? ). Your job, involving course, is usually to make often the characters speak. The representative may present this circumstances, but the script director is responsible for publishing the talk and narratives that guide the episode. Fundamentally, the piece of software supervisor produces the character types, settings, and plot to our lives.

#kissanime #kiss anime #kissanime io #kissanme.li #kissanime me #kissani.me #kissanime.ru #kisanime ru #watch anime online

1 note · View note

ariadnelives · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 28 -- The Line in the Sand

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

“This is weird,” Ariadne said, holding up a finger to gauge the direction of the wind in the vast, red Martian desert.

“You’re telling me,” Sweettalk said, “The atmosphere on Mars shouldn’t be thick enough for there to be a gentle breeze like this.”

“Okay, nerd, I meant that we’re standing on the surface without spacesuits.” Ariadne rolled her eyes, a fact that was only apparent due to the small purple light she’d recently installed in her goggles to indicate the direction her eyes were pointing. She had made this modification partially because her sarcasm was often lost on those she was speaking to, but mostly because it looks cool.

“You thinking you’re in a position to call anyone a nerd is hilarious,” Sweettalk replied. “Does everyone know their part?”

Ariadne and the girl dressed in all black standing next to her, formerly known as ViLaz, nodded affirmatively.

“Good, because he could be here any minute.”

“He could be here right now,” Ariadne muttered, “last time he took the form of a disembodied voice, he has complete authority here.”

“Well,” Sweettalk scratched the back of her head, “not complete authority.”

Ariadne smiled, but nudged her in the ribs to indicate that she should shut up and not blow the con.

They waited a few moments in silence before Ariadne finally called to the sky “GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, CABRÓN!”

“I’ll thank you not to speak to me that way,” Dr. Simon materialized behind them, causing all three of them to jump as though they were housecats and a person, who they did not realize was in the room, moved their foot slightly.

“Glad you could make it,” Ariadne said.

“Don’t lie to the man,” Sweettalk replied. “Mr. Simon—”

“—Doctor Simon,” he corrected.

“Whatever Simon,” Sweettalk continued, “I have come to represent my client in this transaction. You should be advised that she is no longer using the name ViLaz. I am informing you of this in the interest of full disclosure and fairness, as our negotiations here, once agreed to, will be coded into the system and will be binding to both of us.”

“This is ridiculous, I will do no such—”

“Mr. Simon, I would advise you that it is in your own interest to make this concession. I have been advised that code written in this way can be very specific, and if you refer to my client as ViLaz, you could be forced to give us what we want without getting what you want. Is that clear?”

Dr. Simon grunted. “Fine. What should I call her?”

“We did some deliberating about that, it was a little complex since you decided to make three of her, but for nerdy reasons, this iteration has agreed to be called Kay. Now, before we go any further,” Sweettalk said, dragging the point of her toe across the sand in front of them, creating a clear line, “this is a threshold that you will not cross for the duration of the negotiations. We know how to strip you of your authority without killing anyone. If you violate this boundary before we approve the transaction, you give my associate Ariadne permission to take you out. Is that clear?”

Dr. Simon chuckled, clearly not believing that they had any such power. “Whatever.”

He didn’t notice Ariadne smirk.

“We want a guarantee of my client’s safety after the transaction,” Sweettalk explained calmly. “A guarantee that no one will have the authority to delete or alter her consciousness and memories after the change is made. We would like the same guarantee to be made of the other people stored on this drive.”

Dr. Simon chuckled again, somewhat derisively. “Those people are already dead, child.”

“Their bodies are, but we have a skilled cyberneticist on our staff, not to mention one hell of a doctor. Given time and resources, with the data we’ve collected in our treatment of one of your ‘daughters,’ we can construct them new bodies.”

“If you were really capable of that, you could do it for me,” Dr. Simon suggested, “and then you wouldn’t have to put young V— I’m sorry, Kay— in my place.”

“We considered that,” Sweettalk responded with as much confidence as she could muster given that she absolutely had not considered that, “we felt you would be unable to trust us in a body that our captain could simply hack and remotely shut down. We are negotiating this transaction instead as an act of good faith.”

“You’re right,” Dr. Simon said, “had you offered, I would not have accepted.”

“So, now that we’re on the same page,” Sweettalk said, “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen.”

There were several seconds of silence, that Sweettalk milked until she was sure he was about to speak, at which point she gestured to a small marble pedestal behind her, which definitely was not there a moment before, on top of which was a metal lock box with two locks on the front.

“My client will turn her key, and you will turn yours.”

Kay turned the key in the box, and Dr. Simon nodded and stepped towards the box.

Ariadne grinned.

***

“Breaking the antenna isn’t the problem,” Pilar explained, “I mean, it is and it isn’t.”

“First explain how it isn’t,” Sasha replied hurriedly, “then explain how it is.”

“It isn’t because the real problem is that as soon as we do, every armed guard in this place is going to storm the room guns-blazing and I’m not sure even I’m up to that challenge,” Pilar said, prying a panel off the antenna and tossing it onto the bodies of the technicians who had, up until recently, manned this transmitter, “and it is because of, well, this—”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sasha said, sighing exasperatedly, “How many cartoons did this guy watch as a kid?”

A red, old-fashioned countdown clock connected to several tubes and wires blinked 5:00 every few seconds.

“I’m willing to bet he set this place up to clean itself out of evidence if he ever had to beam away,” Pilar explained, “if he left the antenna behind, someone could use it to locate where he’d been beamed to, so these vents around the ceiling? They probably spew out antimatter or hot plasma when the timer’s up.”

“Five minutes?” Sasha asked.

“I’m guessing that’s how long it takes to be sure he’s beamed away,” Pilar replied.

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t want to risk a partial transfer of, well, basically his soul.”

“Now, look at all those wires— they’re attached to each part of the transmitter that’s absolutely necessary to its operation. Smart money says it starts counting if any of those things isn’t working, the countdown starts. Whoever built this thing probably figured it would be manned around the clock and the technicians would fix any run-of-the-mill errors within five minutes, and that anyone trying to sabotage it wouldn’t bother to check for a big countdown clock and would get killed by the failsafe. We got lucky because right now, all the guards in this place are trying to fend off an invasion by pirates.”

“Good thing we watched a lot of cartoons too,” Sasha noted.

“It’s gonna take a few minutes to break this thing beyond repair anyway,” Pilar noted, unslinging a rifle from her shoulder, “Maybe you get to smashing and I’ll watch your six, pick off any goons who try to kill us.”

“I mean… there’s an easier way.” Sasha offered. “You just said that this room is set up with a failsafe that’ll destroy this whole thing. Gimme one of your knives and I’ll slash all the wires, then we both run like hell and let this monument to bad design take care of itself.”

Pilar was silent for a moment. “¡Eres brillante!”

She unsheathed a knife from her hip and handed it to Sasha, who replied “¡Lo sé!”

***

“So,” Sweettalk said after Dr. Simon had taken several steps towards the pedestal, “here’s what’s really going to happen. You get nothing. You lose.”

“What are you talking about?” Simon replied.

“Kay! You know what to do!”

It was at this point that the girl standing by Ariadne spoke up, in a voice that seemed to echo itself. “Your administrator permissions have been revoked, father.”

Dr. Simon chuckled. “You don’t have the authority to do that.”

“How do you figure?” Sweettalk asked.

“That’s why I made three vessels. The system registers anyone with sufficiently identical memories as a single person, so I made sure they had nearly identical memories.”

“So,” Sweettalk speculated, “You suppose that each clone is only one-third as powerful as yourself in this place.”

Dr. Simon nodded and continued walking towards the box.

“Enough that if any one of them agreed with you, it would provide you with the necessary majority share to break the stalemate and make changes to the system, like letting the two of you change places …”

“Precisely.”

“Or authorize another administrator,” Ariadne smirked.

Dr. Simon stopped walking. “ …what?”

“Your administrator permissions have been revoked, Mr. Simon,” Ariadne said.

“Says who?” Simon scoffed.

“I said your permissions have been revoked,” Kay insisted.

“Your permissions are revoked!” Ariadne repeated flippantly, “what are you, stupid or something?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Simon asked, “You would need all three clones to vote in order to make that change, and even then I would be able to override it.”

“That assumes you’re only speaking to one of the clones,” Sweettalk said. “See, out in the real world we’ve been calling them Cyan, Magenta, and Yellow to tell them apart, but when they’re all here together, they register as one person… When they’re all together, we call them Kay.”

“CMYK,” Ariadne laughed, “Our ship’s doctor came up with that one, it’s the nerdiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My god, I love her,” Sweettalk whispered.

“So, this girl here has as much authority as you.”

Dr. Simon let out what sounded like a cross between a cough and a growl. “Even so, you need a majority to strip me of my authority. In the presence of a stalemate, no change is made.”

“We have a majority,” Kay announced. “Ariadne is an administrator.”

“That’s the worst bluff I’ve ever heard,” Simon spat, “obviously I won’t approve that, and in a stalemate—”

“It isn’t a stalemate,” Ariadne laughed, “Your ‘daughters’ proposed the change and you voted in its favor.”

“I did no such—”

“‘If you violate this boundary before we approve the transaction, you give my associate Ariadne permission to take you out.’ That’s what I said,” Sweettalk explained, gesturing at the line in the sand just behind Dr. Simon, “and I don’t recall approving the transaction. When you crossed the line, you authorized her to take you out— something only an administrator could do.”

Simon sputtered a bit. “You said that she would turn her key and I would turn mine and—”

Sweettalk interrupted, “—and your ridiculously overfed ego filled in the blanks yourself. I never said the box would finalize the transaction.”

“Sometimes a box is just a box,” Ariadne pointed out, “we never said it was anything else, it’s not our fault you misinterpreted.”

“I voted for Ariadne to be a new admin before you got here,” Kay smiled triumphantly, “and when you crossed that line, you approved her. Then we didn’t need you to get a majority anymore, and we voted you out of power.”

Sweettalk offered Kay a fist-bump, and it took her a moment to figure out what to do with it. “Man, I’m glad Prescott is cat litter now, but for once I’m glad he taught me how to hustle a grade-A chump.”

“So, here’s what’s really going to happen,” Ariadne said, now practically looming over Dr. Simon, looking more and more like a massive spider by the moment, “this is my world now, and you do not have my permission to run or hide.”

“You insolent—”

“I don’t need the monologue from you,” Ariadne snapped, “your turn to talk is over. You know, I haven’t been a person of faith for most of my life, and then I actually met a couple of gods. One of them was cruel, the other uncaring. If there is a proper, capital-G ‘God,’ I’d bet they fuck up a lot based on how much the world sucks, but at least they probably care about what we want. You? You don’t hold a candle to any of them.”

Dr Simon opened his mouth to respond, but Ariadne struck him across the face with the back of her hand to prevent this.

“You’re not even a god. You’re a washed-up nobody who wants to take away people’s free will and have them build shrines to you. If you were a cruel god, you'd die like Weaver, if you were an uncaring god, you’d run away like Upendo, and if you were an incompetent god you'd at least have the decency to care about other people, like whatever incompetent god managed to create someone as wonderful as my wife but then put her through hell for over a decade. But you? You’re not a god at all. You’re a wannabe king, and do you know what happens to kings?”

Dr. Simon attempted to run, but he was quickly subdued by a massive silver monster with what appeared to be a middle-aged human female corpse suspended in its machinery.

“I said you don’t have my permission to run, and while you’re in my world, you answer to my demons.” Ariadne sneered. “Oh, and I wouldn’t bother trying to run for that transmitter, Mr. Simon—”

“Doctor—”

“—Like it matters! In 3-2-1—” Ariadne gestured upwards and the sun above the desert flashed a vibrant red and loud klaxons began to sound, “—I can’t believe I timed that out so well! Anyway, that’ll be my wife smashing your exit strategy to bits. You have no way out.”

Dr. Simon started laughing a mirthless cackle.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Ariadne said, “you’re stuck here.”

“Was it worth it?” Dr. Simon asked.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My men will tear her to pieces,” Dr. Simon laughed, “and if they don’t get her my failsafe will. You’ve murdered her, my child.”

“Nobody here is your child,” Ariadne replied, “and if anyone could get out of there alive, it’s my girl.”

“We should go,” Sweettalk said, “we don’t want to be here when, uh… Did you explain what happens to kings when the peasants get restless?”

Ariadne laughed, “You know, I don’t think I did! Do you remember all those people whose bodies you stole, Mr. Simon? Well, your majesty, I think your subjects want an audience with you! Toodles!”

The three girls vanished from the desert and Simon fell to his knees in the sand. He heard distant footsteps and suddenly realized, for the first time in his life, he was completely powerless.

***

“Plus, you do a great job with number four…” Sasha’s mildly distorted voice came through the haze.

As the virtual world swirled away and the real world came back into focus, Ariadne watched Sasha burst in through the door with Pilar slung over her shoulder.

“I need your help,” Sasha shouted, “she’s been shot!”

“You always have to prove me wrong!” Ariadne rushed over and immediately took Pilar onto her own shoulder, “you are not allowed to die.”

“You two have been spending too much time together” Pilar sputtered.

6 notes · View notes

superheroes-of-color · 6 years ago

Text

Cleaning Macbook Pro 2016 keyboard

Cleaning Macbook Pro 2016 keyboard The keyboard is somewhat covered. If I eat meat and the risk of cancer doubles, it does not mean that I will get sick. Doubling then means risk instead of 0.01% is 0.02%, which is twice as high but still low. If you are still noticing dust from one key to another, or if you want to make sure the cleaning is accurate, take the air can again and change the angle of the keyboard. All of the material I've listed in the previous lines is available in stores near you (both supermarkets and stores that specialize in selling PC equipment and online). If you have an Apple laptop from 2016 or 2017, we do not recommend removing the keys from your keyboard. So, I don't mean rubbing that with the damp eraser or with a glasses cleaning cloth; Joke aside, the hint with the slightly damp microfiber cloth was really good, went razzfazz unn the thing was eaten. Unfortunately, not all buttons work 100% because there is probably still liquid under the butterfly. The butterfly is difficult to remove without damaging it. Maybe someone knows a trick or a precise procedure how to expand it. I then wipe the display with the Apple cloth provided; the dust cleaning mud rest with a soft, dry cotton cloth. We are very sorry! Turn your Mac notebook to the right side and spray again from left to right over the keyboard. A technical error occurred while trying to complete your entry. We are already working on it and will be back for you as soon as possible. Take a lint-free microfiber cloth and rub it over the keyboard to remove the dust. If you want to vacuum your keyboard, you can pull a disused pantyhose tightly over the vacuum cleaner tube. Fix it with a hair tie. Now you no longer have to be afraid of accidentally sucking in important parts. Nevertheless, you should choose a low level. This may not be able to display this or other websites correctly. Choose a size and copy the code below to embed this guide as a small widget on your page / forum. A MacBook Pro was used as an example in this guide, but these techniques apply to any laptop. Well done!

You are using an outdated browser.

When you add lace to the organza, the look becomes light and fresh, which like a garden to grow on your wedding dresses.

I have not found any entry in google for this ... and only heard from others (trustworthy) that the aluminum should be really sensitive.

I only cleaned my current MacBook with water and a microfiber cloth.

Push the butterfly mechanism back in on one side and then carefully on the other side.

iFixit has a high level of competence in this area and can therefore be classified as extremely credible. So far, Apple has been relatively obscure about the revised keyboard design of the new MacBook Pro generation. It should be quieter - that was the manufacturer's only statement so far. Now Apple has also commented on the silicone cover on the butterfly mechanism that has been discovered in the meantime. Please note that the oil-repellent effect of this coating diminishes over time with normal use and that this protective effect is further reduced when the screen is rubbed with rough materials, which leads to scratches on the screen. The alternative to cleaning with a cloth or cotton swab are special compressed air sprays. Here too it should be ensured that these are explicitly suitable for electronics and are ANTISTATIC. Compressed air sprays are usually very expensive and ultimately not necessary if you follow the tips above. Many keyboards are built so that the keys can be removed individually. This works with both desktop and laptop keyboards. Some devices, especially mechanical keyboards, are even delivered with a tool with which the keys can be easily removed. For other models, you need to carefully go under the edge of a button with a butter knife and push up.

How do I switch off the laptop?

Switch off the monitor using a key combination. Laptops in particular often have function keys with "fn" on them. A common key combination for switching off the monitor is [fn] + [F6]. For some keyboards, [fn] + [F4] or [fn] + [F7] is the right key combination. div> div> div> Do not use sprays, solvents, abrasives or detergents with hydrogen peroxide as they can attack and damage the surface. If liquid gets into your Apple product, contact an Apple Authorized Service Provider or Apple Store for assistance as soon as possible. Liquid damage is not covered by the Apple product warranty or AppleCare Protection Plan. However, you may have rights under consumer protection laws.

#how to clean the Macbook Pro keyboard

1 note · View note

curupiracue · 6 years ago

Text

The Final Fight (1)

Where could they be…? Just were…?

Here? Here? Maybe here? Or there? Or…!?

This… This feeling… like passively drowning in a swamp, like floating in ephemeral clouds of ashes… This must be Novalue!

“Aah… Aah… Calm down… If I start panicking, they will find me… Though. This sure makes it wors-”

They’re there! And what’s more, they’re still! So, in other words, they have not gone to the Mental World… They must be either setting a trap or running away. If they haven’t noticed me yet, this is my one and only chance!

“The Arm! Manifest yourself from behind me! And then I’ll observe, umblikingly, the knife you’ll throw at the- W-What?!”

They’re suddenly gone?

D-Damnit! I dropped the knife on my hand, making it easier to defend myself if need be.

But… Where could they be?

“That Arm might seem pretty good at defense, since you can summon it close by… But it will flounder at many easily reached circumstances. In other words… You can’t reach me if I attack from behind.”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

Since it requires looking at things, and things that obscure your view, angle, direction and naturally obstacles need to be considered when battling Ienorb.

Unless he looks over his shoulders, he cannot summon the arm behind. He can summon it from behind him, but that’s different. The only way he can quickly block attacks from that direction is if someone else is looking at him from behind. Thanks to the most brilliant tactic of closing our eyes, we’re not looking at him. His only method of attack would be to pick some other spot and throw a knife at us from there, but that would be too far away, given we’re at point blank melee range.

And as such, we can attack with free reign.

“Nim, you can go first.”

“Gotcha’! It’s Showtim- Wait… There’s something wro- ! Novalue!”

Instinctively, I opened my eyes. And I saw…

A knife flying on my direction.

Nim jumped over me.

The knife hitting Nim instead.

And Ienorb, close to both of us, his back still turned, but his neck slowly moving so that he could look at us. Ienorb, in that helpless position, covered by the fog of his mask… and behind that fog, he had three arms and an aura of darkness.

“Closing your eyes actually worked on my favor, see. Though, I admit that was not part of the plan… It still worked perfectly towards it. I was so very afraid… that you’d notice the me here is not actually me at all… HEheehehehee. ...Everything I grab with my real arm manifests in the illusory one. I’ve learned my lesson about you types: if I just go running towards the fight, I lose, if I attack from a distance, I lose. One way or the other, you get me. So I decided, you wouldn’t get me! And would, instead get this decoy! HAH! And doing it was as simple as finding a vertical wall and a grabbing my own torso! An arm for a decoy, and another one in a blind spot to finish you off by throwing a knife while you’re distracted! All while I, Ienorb Yenruoj, stand away in safety!”

“GUH!”

“Nim!” I took a step forward, preparing myself to catch him. He… Seems alright. In the sense, that he won’t die when the damage is resolved. But still… He’s badly hurt…

! No time for feeling worried. Seems like there’s more knifes coming. In fact, many knives, in rapid sequence.

“Oh, and about these knives… Turns out, since The Arm’s state reflects the real one’s, so long as I keep my knife in hand, it will always reappear in it’s hand! That, coupled with it’s speed, means that I can machine gun fire KNIVES, baby!”

“Damn… (deep breath...) Unreality.”

All of a sudden, we’re in a void.

“Nim?”

“...I’m here.”

“...Are you ok…?”

“...I’m better than you would be, were you hit with that thing.”

“...Didn’t really mean it like that.”

“Yes. It’s obvious.”

“So?”

“...” Wait for it… “...I’m pretty angry. You could probably guess that too. We can talk about this later. But, I’m not angry at you.”

“...Yeah. I guessed that too. No, rather… I just knew.”

“Can you hear me from over here?” Suddenly, Ienorb’s voice came out, with a bit of hesitance and unease that made me feel pride in my construction.

“Sure can.”

“Oh, so we can communicate. How friendly.”

“...You sure pulled out something smart there.” Nim interrupted.

“Oh? My, my… Thank you very much for the compliment, however begrudgingly it might have been given.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Ah? Go right ahead. I don’t quite figure I can, uhh, do much when you’re in that… that… that.”

“Who are you?”

“? Haven’t I told you? I’m Ien-”

“No, I didn’t mean that! You’re giving me your name! That would be what you are. I want to know who you are, what fills your mind.”

“Now hold on there! You’ve mixed it up. Indeed, you even said it yourself, “what fills your mind”, in other words, you should have asked what I am. That way, I could’ve talked about my characteristics, my memories, and such. But these are not necessarily my identity! They change with time, after all.”

“Huh?! Ugh… Now is not really the time to defy my judgement. Look. It’s simple. A name is a mere designation. It’s a thing attached to you. And it can also change, so no way is that an argument! Who I am is my identity, and that is the characteristics that make me me! Pfff… Meme… Ahem! Moving on, they might be called things in of themselves, “whats”. But they compose a who. Well, you could argue that a who is a what as well, unless, or maybe even without some sort of essential essence such as a soul. but for practical purposes, this is what it is!”

“Ah! Blasphemy! You can’t comprehend! If we’re talking about practical purposes, then naturally it’s better to just use the default system of giving your name when asked who you are.”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t care about that, see? It’s a thing of identity, of mind, of what’s inside the Mental World, not just some cheap label!”

“That label encompasses your entire existence, all those characteristics. Just like calling a sofa a sofa can immediately allow people to picture a sofa.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to tell you, that people won’t know about you just from the label. It’s different, the sofa example is the example of a group name. It’s like saying: “I’m a human!”. This will allow people to know you’re not a manifestation. But they won’t know about you as a person, and giving your name won’t allow them to.”

“Ugh! But it’s not about allowing to them to know about it, I’m talking about what’s most appropriate!”

“Oh, don’t come with cheap terms!”

“...Shut up you two.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just difficult to do so. I tend to get worked up a lot when it comes to how things should be. Hah, funny that it’d be worded like that.”

“? Whaddya mean?”

“It’s just that I believe there’s never an appropriate what, but rather, an appropriate “how”.”

“That can mean a bunch of shtuff.”

“Well… I’m a man who likes things to follow a proper order, see. Because ultimately, nearly everything has an algorithm, a path that is ”perfection”, or tends towards it. That’s not to say that we shouldn’t do, mind you. Hence, why I insist that it’s the how, rather than the what that bothers me. You can date people of all genders, classes and ethnics, but you must date well. Though, it’s a tad complicated getting into the specifics of a good romance, so maybe a more down to earth example… You could eat omelettes or make some toast for breakfast… But say you’re going to make the omelettes… Then the right way to go about it, which I always use, is to break two eggs, in separate containers, and then, after mixing them, put half of one of the containers away.”

“Two containers…? And you divide one…?!”

“Yes, quite. So that I end up with one egg and a half, which is the right amount. I store the leftovers for future use, of course, said use belonging to a very close future so as to avoid having them spoil. After I’m done with that,” he continued, now gesturing with his hands the actions described “I’ll put them in a frying pan, with oil already boiling. The right way to proceed then, with my cooking devices at least, would be to wait for a moment of around one minute, maximum margin of error being 15 seconds (not 16, never 16) and then flip it. Wait for exactly ¾ of the time you waited originally, turn off the fire, put it in a plate and eat it. Then, when you’re done, you clean everything up, and only then you may go about doing something else. It is the proper way to do things, and it is the how I do it, all the time.”

“Amazing… What about the salt though?”

“SALT?! Are you MAD?!”

“...I see. You’re obsessed, in other words.”

“Hm? Yes, quite. Though these are merely idiosyncrasies. My true obsession is, as you know, in my attempts to find true art.”

“Hah. Finding true art, huh… We’re not that different. So lemme’ tell you something good: it’s precisely because of that obsession that you will never find the truth.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t this… contradictory? I’m obsessed with pursuing the truth… and thus I won’t find it?”

“Yes, quite. People can’t see the truth because they don’t want to. And they don’t want to because they want to see something else. Emotions, beliefs, attachments… in other words, desires. These are what cripple truth-seeking. However, without any desire, there can’t be any seeking in the first place. That’s why it’s so difficult being a philosopher. It’s a oxymoron. A borderline paradox. Without understanding that, you may get far, but you will never reach the truth.”

“Hah! This is quite ridiculous, I must say. Enough talk. It seems apparent you can’t attack me from there. So? If you won’t come out, then I might as well steal a car and drive as fast as I can.” Proof of his sheer ignorance: pretends to steal a car rather than a hundred.

“We WILL come out, Mr. Ienorb.” I said, sticking my head out. “And I rather believe that this difficult situation is a perfect match for my own weapon...” And then my hand comes out of Unreality, holding… “It’s A Gun.” I said, and shot it (BLAM) as a “demonstration”.

“...A gun? A gun?! Are you mad?! This can’t be. A gun… A GUN! Of all things, a gun! Surely, common sense dictates that an arm possess greater force than a gun!”

“Is that right? Well then, let’s test that.”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

BLAM!

Hmm… He shot it.

That bullet… Is making an arc?

“And now for the second one.”

BLAM!

Hmm… No… That arc is directed towards me. If it keeps going like this, the first bullet will hit me. Novalue managed to use this to pinpoint my location, and, as such, the second one is aimed straight at me. If so, they might impact at the same time… Or he might intend to make me worry more about the first one while the second one makes a beeline towards me and catches me off-guard.

…!? No, wait, this is…!

“THE ARM!”

Pum.

“Hah, hahaahaah… Well… That was sneaky. Thought I wouldn’t be able to catch it in time. Novalue, you tried to distract me with figuring out the details of your homing bullets, as well as the mind games of the “first” and “second” bullets… So much so, that I forgot about the actual first one. The first time you shot… Since you weren’t aiming anywhere, I just passed it off as a demonstration, as you showing off… By the time I learned that you didn’t need to aim anywhere to hit me, I was no longer focused on it. But still, these bullets are weak! The Arm can easily catch them, so long as I see them coming! They’re fast for you, but I’m on a whole other level!”

“Tsk...”

“Oh hoh! I see the third bullet coming! It’s going on a straight line towards me! This will be even easier! The Arm!”

I can see it clearly! I’ll easily block this… Since they’re constructions of similar symbolism, The Arm can even absorb these! I’ll just…

...Is Novalue smiling at the distance?

Why is he…? …!

The bullet! Made a sharp turn?!

“You’ve got everything wrong. The first one was a fake sneak attack. In reality, I just wanted to find out where you were. You should have focused more on the second bullet. By the time I shot it, I knew your location, so I could make my gambit. I shot it off in a perpendicular angle to the straight line towards you. That way, it would be off to the sides, and you wouldn’t see it that well… And it’s better off like that. Because it wasn’t aimed at you at all.”

“?!” Suddenly, I see, from the corner of my eye, a book flying away from behind me, almost disintegrated… and a bullet on it’s cover.

“See, it was aimed at that book over there. And that’s not all. The third bullet, too, was aimed at that book. Since you were in the middle of the line between the book and the pistol… you probably thought that it was aimed at you. But that would be a mistake. And now that the second bullet has arrived right on schedule and knocked that book away...”

“The bullet has made a sharp turn right outside of your reach…! And don’t worry… I’ve calculated it well. It won’t go so far off as to miss you entirely. So Ienorb?”

“Ghh… I-I’ll block this bullet nonetheless! There’s time... ! With my superior speed! THE ARM!”

Vwooosh!

POM!

“Block the bullet? I don’t quite believe you can block it by ramming your chest towards it… but nice try at the impossible nonetheless. Impossible, since your speed too had been well calculated. See, though Nim may be powerful, he is far too impulsive. When I move, it’s because I’m already certain that victory is mine.”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

Ienorb, whose position was now more clear and visible to us, flew backwards with great force and crushed the bookshelf, which then fell on top of him.

“Ouch.” That in itself couldn’t cause any actual damage to him, but still…

It’s like getting your arm hugged with intense force, while someone rubs their cheek on your shoulder…

Wait, what?

“OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO COOL!” Yes, Nim, part of that reason being that you were quiet the whole time. Thank you for that. “Way to show him who rocks, Novalue! Esfregaesfregaesfregaesfrega…!”

“Uhh, thanks...” I looked down at him, and he looked back at me with shining eyes.

“...It’s too bad you’re short though. I hate having to kneel to do this.”

“...Well, if my shortness is such a concern…”

BRAM!

“...!? Seems like he’s up again.”

“Oh, so you’re useless after all.” Nim said, pouting “He already blew up the bookcase.”

Ienorb got up, and scratched the small crack in his chest. It was very subtle, but that part was off colour: rather than white like the rest of the suit, rainbow tones flew from it in small doses. Thanks to it being a small wound, noticing that was quite the herculean feat, however.

“Well, well. You did outsmart me, fair and square. However, Novalue… That construction of yours, is not strong at all. Were you to fill me with bullets, like a pincushion with needles, I would still fare reasonably well.”

“True, I suppose. But Ienorb, we already know your position. What now? I can gift you some more bullets for you to block with your body, if you wish.”

“Hah. That trick won’t work twice. Next time I defend myself from a bullet, I won’t try to grab it, and will instead block it with two arms, as well as making sure there’s plenty of coverage in my small shield. Oh, idea! I will just use something as a shield. I could even use myself again. Heh, I, Ienorb, am truly an evolutionary creature, a “magikarp” as they say.”

“You gonna keep chatting, or ya gonna’ summon that knife behind our backs? ...From behind our backs. Literally.”

“Just so that you can hide away in nothingness? No thanks. In fact… Difficult as it was, I’ve made my decision.” Ienorb jumped, and summoned the arm to hold his torso “The Arm! allow me to FLY!”

“Wait, you can’t mean...”

“Yes I can! Though it’s immensely regretful… well, this was the place I was born… I’ll still risk it all and run away! It’s evident you two are much too strong, and I’m working with a time limit, I believe.”

“Nim!”

“Yeah, I got it! Hang on tight!”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

Suddenly, Novalue is enveloped by water forming tendrils. These tendrils, being used as a rope, were, in turn, connected to my arm.

“Water Rope. Time to see who’s faster, Ienorb~”

Then suddenly, countless more of these came from me, and latched on to multiple objects, before pulling.

...And then Novalue and I went flying.

#stories #Mywhatamentalworld

2 notes · View notes

miraculously-fangirling · 8 years ago

Text

Springtime Connection - Chapter 14

[A/N: I am sorry if there are any glaring errors. I had no second eyes this time >.<. Other than that, please enjoy this slightly early update :D]

Marinette stared at her ceiling as the moon made way for the early morning sun. Sleep came in quick flashes that only allowed for glimpses of ludicrous dreams. Most of said dreams however took her back to Adrien’s room. Those sorrowful green eyes lighting up for even a moment constantly came to her mind as she was dragged from one restless bout of sleep to the next.

Marinette sat up after her fifth round of horrible sleep. Tikki stirred while Marinette climbed down the ladder to the main area of her room. She flipped open her sketchbook to where her superhero designs were. With everything going on, she had had barely enough time to even make a pattern for the costume.

There was no time like the present.

Tikki rubbed her eyes as the sewing machine ran. Pastel green fabric passed beneath the machine in a constant stream. Marinette steered her thoughts away from Adrien to the fabric. Before she knew it, the main parts of the dress were ready to have embellishments sewn on. The sun peeked over the Parisian cityscape as she checked the time on her phone.

Where did the time go?

She had five hours before school, tops. Tikki floated down from her seat atop Marinette’s bed. She landed on Marinette’s head and patted her Chosen on the forehead. “Marinette,” Tikki said, “Please sleep. Even for just a little bit.”

Marinette sighed before setting down her fifth fabric flower of the night. Why did she think this damned design was a good idea? She finally nodded and stuck her sewing needle into her tomato shaped pin cushion. “I know, Tikki, but…”

“You can’t fall asleep.”

“Precisely.”

“Marinette,” Tikki said with downcast eyes as she landed on the pile of green fabric, “I know you’re worried, but not sleeping is only going to make things worse.”

Marinette buried her face into the cotton to groan. “Fine, Tikki,” she finally said. With a yawn, Marinette climbed back into her bed and fell asleep soon after hitting the sheets. Tikki smiled warmly at the girl as she closed the curtains to drench the room in sweet, silent darkness.

Adrien’s dreams were a whirlpool of glee and anxiety. One moment he would be happily talking with friends and remembering Ladybug’s features while the next he would be looking right into his father’s steely eyes. He tossed and turned throughout the night, sufficiently annoying Plagg as he was constantly whacked on the head or tail.

Plagg was ready to bite Adrien’s hand when Adrien’s phone alarm went off. The upbeat tune of an anime opening blared in Adrien’s ear, effectively pulling him from his adventurous dreams. Adrien grabbed his phone from his night stand and quickly stopped the song. Plagg rolled over so he was on his stomach and let out a large yawn.

Plagg smacked his lips as he warded off the last bits of sleep from himself. “Geez kid, were you fighting a war in your sleep?” Plagg said with his head hanging over the pillow casing. His arms flopped beside his head after a sizable stretch.

“You’re just on a roll this week, aren’t you?” Adrien said from his pillow. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms before rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Aren’t I always?”

“No, you’re not actually,” Adrien grumbled, “And I was not fighting a war. I don’t think so at least.”

“Ok, don’t go deep on me, kid,” Plagg said, floating into the air and stretching again. He flew over to Adrien’s cheese stash and snatched his usual breakfast. He didn't even bother leaving the night stand before digging into his camembert wedge.

Adrien chuckled as he lugged himself out of bed. His socks slid on the wooden floor as he walked over to his closet to retrieve his clothes. The swirling dreams eventually left his mind as he readied for the coming school day.

Before long, Adrien was ready for breakfast and Nathalie was at his door. She gave him a worried glance before pasting on her professional facade. Adrien passed his desk before following Nathalie out the door. The mask lazily hung from one of his many trophies and his other costume pieces were strewn across his office chair. The festival was only seven days away, and he could hardly wait.

Plagg finished his breakfast before zipping into Adrien’s bag. Adrien’s meal went just as usual. It was the same silent and lonely affair as any other morning. His father didn’t greet him. Adrien actually got his hopes up that his father would join him after last night’s little check up.

With a sigh, Adrien pushed back his chair and headed to the garage where the Gorilla awaited in the car. Adrien passed by his father’s office; Gabriel stood hunched over his desk where a mess of papers covered his desk. Adrien passed the door silently before entering the garage and leaving for school.

Marinette swiped her phone as the alarm went off. Rock music filled her room as she blindly searched for her phone with her head still smothered in her pillow. Tikki uncurled herself from Marinette’s side and brought the ringing phone into Marinette’s reach. Not even Jagged Stone could pull Marinette fully out of her sleep. She lazily fumbled with the screen trying to turn off the music. Tikki had to hold back a few chuckles as Marinette’s blue hair emerged from the pillows and sheets.

Tikki burst into a fit of giggles as Marinette rubbed the back of her head. Marinette rolled out of her bed and nearly fell trying to get to the main level of her room. Tikki landed atop Marinette’s costume from last night to watch her Chosen bumble around the room in her half-awake state. It was like watching a zombie try to fit in with the living. Tikki watched a little longer before deciding that Marinette probably needed help. Tikki placed Marinette’s school bag on her work chair and turned it so it was in plain view of Marinette who was getting dressed in her usual school clothes.

Marinette sat before her mirror trying to conceal the dark bags beneath her eyes with her minimal makeup routine. She was nearly finished with her mascara when her Sabine opened her door.

“Mari, breakfast is ready when you are,” Sabine said while taking a discreet scan of her daughter’s messing room. Green fabric was piled onto Marinette’s work table along with a number of sketches and small incomplete fabric flowers. She smiled a bit before ducking out of the room, leaving Marinette to wrangle her hair into her pigtails.

Memories of the previous night came in flashes. She couldn't help but blush when she thought about those slight smiles he gave her when she talked about Chat. Maybe she should praise her partner more often. It was too bad that Adrien was so unlucky in the family department. She thought that maybe she could go back to the Agreste mansion sometime, but then there was Gabriel. Did he see her?

She sighed. There was no use worrying about it. She couldn't turn back in time and check or anything. She fastened her last hair tie before grabbing her bag. Tikki zipped into the bag as Marinette climbed down the stairs.

Sabine and Tom were already in the bakery readying for the day, but a fresh croissant and bowl of sliced strawberries still waited for Marinette atop the table. Marinette quickly tucked into her meal, making sure to slide Tikki a piece of the buttery bread.

Before long Marinette was on her way to school. Neither her nor Tikki brought up the night before. It was far too embarrassing and anxiety inducing to discuss in that very moment. Adrien’s emotions and Gabriel’s presence weighed heavily on Marinette and Tikki didn’t want to make things worse for her.

School came into view. Marinette saw Alya walk up to the front steps. The two girls greeted each other with an enthusiastic hug before walking into the school’s main courtyard. It was the last Friday before the festival, making the students brim with excitement. The same posters adorned the walls, but more and more students were actually reading them as the event neared.

“What happened to you last night? You have huge bags under your eyes,” Alya said with a joking tone.

Marinette covered her face with her free hand. Looks like her amateur makeup skills failed her. “Oh, just some late night sewing.”

“More sewing? Girl, you have to learn to take a break.”

Marinette sighed. If only she could tell Alya everything, but that would make things … complicated. “I know, I know. Just … with the festival coming and my costume and all, I guess that I just got little over my head,” Marinette said, finally removing her hand from her face. Hiding it wasn’t going to change anything.

“Need any help with that costume of yours?”

Marinette thought back to her design and all the small fabric flowers that she was going to have to make. Sure, they were easy to make and attach but the design called for so many. With her super hero and class duties, she felt like she was drowning. “Actually, that might be nice.”

Alya smirked and put her hands on her hips. She could work with this. She could definitely work with this. She patted Marinette on the shoulder. “Okay, I can help you with that.”

“Really?” Marinette said.

“Yeah, does tonight sound good?” Alya asked as she ascended the stairs leading up to their classroom. Alya lead the way, more so to hide the huge grin on her face than to pave the way for the awkward Marinette. Alya pulled out her phone and quickly shot a few texts to Nino.

Nino sat on the school’s front steps waiting for Adrien’s arrival. His phone went off and he brought it out.

Alya <3: Hey, can you do me a favor?

Nino looked at his phone quizzically. Alya asking for a favor could only mean a few things. Most likely it would be some scheme again. But they were always fun so he didn’t mind all that much.

Nino: Sure, what’s up?

Alya <3: Think you can get Adrien to go to Marinette’s house again?

Nino thought back to the last time Alya asked for this kind of favor. Wasn’t it when Marinette’s uncle was in town and she needed a Chinese translator?

Nino: I can try.

Alya <3: OMG thank you so much!! Love you!! ;*

Nino chuckled to himself as he put his phone away. He really loved her despite her … tendencies. Nino looked up when he heard car brakes squeaking. The Agrestes should really get that fixed soon. It had already been a week since it started making noise.

Nino stood as Adrien came from the car. He admittedly looked happier than he had been in the past few weeks. Maybe it was the festival that was cheering him up? Nino didn’t particularly care for the reason, he was just glad to see his bro smiling. Adrien waved goodbye to the Gorilla before giving Nino the usual fist bump.

“What’s up, man?” Nino said with a huge grin.

“Nothing much,” Adrien said. He took a glance at the mulling students, many of whom carried boxes filled with decorations and props for festival.

“You must be busy with everything though,” Nino said while scanning Adrien’s expression.

“Actually not really, I got most everything done this past week. I just have to get my costume and some details done. I’m having a bit of trouble with one of the pieces.,” Adrien said, not quite putting his full attention into his words. His mind was wandering to all the events from the past twenty four hours. He still couldn’t quite believe that it had only been one day that that it was just a normal school day.

“Really dude? You’re having trouble with something?”

Adrien nodded. “Believe it or not, I’m not perfect.”

“Says the model who can speak Chinese, fence, play basketball, and play piano,” Nino said while making his way up the school’s stairs. Adrien followed alongside him.

“Yes, really,” Adrien said with a smile.

As the boys entered the main courtyard, Nino caught sight of Alya. He saw that she was with Marinette. He guessed that the present was no better time to get the Adrien and Marinette close to each other. Nino nudged Adrien in the arm before waving over Alya.

Alya quickly walked over to the boys with Marinette in tow. Marinette stood semi-confidently by Alya’s side as the four teens formed a square. They all said their usual good mornings before Nino slung his arm around Alya. Those two were inseparable.

Marinette stole a glance at Adrien while Alya wrapped her arm around Nino’s waist. Being the third wheel sucked. It sucked more when the boy who made her heart skip was standing right next to her. She couldn’t quite meet his green eyes and instead faced the happy couple.

“Oh yeah, Marinette didn’t you need help with something?” Alya said with a wink towards Nino. Nino winked back as he faced Adrien.

“I mean, I guess. I just have a lot of … things to take care of this week,” Marinette said with a slight side glance towards Adrien. She prayed that he didn’t notice.

“Things?” Adrien piped in. Marinette’s heart jumped. Did he notice her looking at him? He didn’t.

“Y-yeah, I have costume stuff after the festival prep stuff and well you know just life in general,” she said in a near incoherent string of phrases.

Adrien couldn’t help but chuckle a little to himself. “I think I get it,” he said, “I’m having a bit of trouble with the festival stuff to.”

“Really?,” Marinette said. Alya and Nino looked at each other with the biggest grins imaginable. This was working out almost too perfectly.

#springtime connection #ml #miraculous ladybug #ao3 #ao3 fic #fanfic #FF #fanfiction #adrienette #writingfaber #faber #miraculously-fangirling

16 notes · View notes

thewul · 6 years ago

Text

Predictive Dialer

The personal history of The Puppet Master.

Chapter I, Hello my name is

This is a fictitious personal story, everything about me is fictitious or nearly so, somewhere down the line I have lost myself in the list of my fictional identities. I mean I could lead a normal life, like anyone else, but am not anyone else, am not anyone I know.

I am a hacker and an assassin with the government, also a political engineer, a social engineer, I hold degrees in computing, psychology and anthropology and the list of my fictive identities peaked at 2000 at some point. I am not who you know and there are chances that you will never know who I am.

The kind of people that don’t exist. Even though I do exist, and this is my story.

All I know is you. I know you from other people, unlike common assassins I do not only assassinate people, I delete them, from nearly existing records including online databases and search engines. I do so because they are a threat to national security or interests of Japan, often overlapping with those of other nations.

Also not your common assassin in the sense that I am responsible for more than 6000 assassinations both direct and indirect. Which means that I pay money for murder. A lot of it.

My legal responsibilities, none I am entitled to killing you by the government, actually by several.

Do I know the precise number of my assumed identities and murders, no I go through brainwashing every year. Chances are I will never remember having met you or who did I kill last year. I have become amnesic I know that much, it’s a faculty that I use to discard anything that is not relevant to my mission.

Have you ever heard the movie line “If I tell you I have to kill you”? It’s true for me I have to kill you if I tell you who I am. And I told some people, a lot of people, and I killed them.

A lot of things that I might tell you or write to you on that email come from movie scripts, b series mostly. Even revealing my speech syntax is going too far, I make spelling errors, syntax errors, I speak Jamaican Patois. And I write presidential speeches in my spare time.

What you would call a genius or a useful idiot. I have a 100M USD limit on my credit card and stay in places where you need that kind of credit cards to stay which are not too many. So chances of knowing me are slim, its only a few people that do. And not from the call center room where I learned both to know people and to manipulate them.

I started taking call in a foreign intelligence institute where I was raised with other high capability orphan kids. Taking calls was a way to communicate with the outside, we didn’t go out and never seen other faces.

I kept taking calls and serviced maybe 110 000 calls over a period of 20 years. I take calls from home to keep busy, I do tech support for Microsoft, commercial support for Ebay, shipping with Fedex, I do customer support for Amazon, and engineering support with Oracle and SUN Microsystems.

I do read your mails and browse your digital albums and I am not telling. You have to understand that I am not obliged to tell, legally I don’t exist. Out of convenience.

Maybe you think that I am American as well, I do have a long list of American identities and maybe am also a CIA agent. To which we are going to add Section 9 with the Foreign Ministry of Japan, MI6 fond of that, am also a member of the South African intelligence services how strange is that.

It’s very thin what you have so far and we are going to keep it that way. I am actually imitating the style of a native American writer, I can do so with over a dozen different languages.

If you would excuse me, I am going to the roof to enjoy the fresh night and listen to G-Dragon, you know G-DRAGON fond of that. It’s nice to see that your mind is distracted by an internationally know star and you’re even imaging it, I could have killed you twice before you read this. Distractions are no good in the line of business we’re in. If you do not stay focused on me am wasting you, anything is a context, everywhere is a setting, those are not pedestrians walking by you they are agents, and you’re dying in that street.

Lets go back to basics my significant other, inasmuch as you rise up to your potential to change lives and the world indeed. This is redacted on notepad as it should and if you do not know the hacker manifesto by The Mentor then you should read it. And if you know it you should learn it by heart because we are all here to hack life. Life is waiting to be hacked into the greater thing, and its up to you. If you know how.

\/\The Conscience of a Hacker/\/

+++The Mentor+++

Written on January 8, 1986 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Another one got caught today, it’s all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", “Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering”… Damn kids. They’re all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950’s technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him? I am a hacker, enter my world… Mine is a world that begins with school… I’m smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me… Damn underachiever. They’re all alike.

I’m in junior high or high school. I’ve listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn’t show my work. I did it in my head…“ Damn kid. Probably copied it. They’re all alike.

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it’s because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn’t like me… Or feels threatened by me… Or thinks I’m a smart ass… Or doesn’t like teaching and shouldn’t be here… Damn kid. All he does is play games. They’re all alike.

And then it happened… a door opened to a world… rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict’s veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought… a board is found. "This is it… this is where I belong…” I know everyone here… even if I’ve never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again… I know you all… Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They’re all alike…

You bet your ass we’re all alike… we’ve been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak… the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We’ve been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us will- ing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now… the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn’t run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore… and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge… and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias… and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it’s for our own good, yet we’re the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can’t stop us all… after all, we’re all alike.

+++The Mentor+++

Unlike The Mentor, I do judge people on their appearances, but murder wise I am color blind. I kill anything that is designated as a target by the Nakashimura Corporation. Its 246 irrelevant results on Google and we don’t exist. I am also an arms trader. I do that too in a variety of currencies, see that intelligence money has to come from somewhere preferably other than the pockets of the tax payer. So I convinced different security and intelligence agencies to invest in armaments which they did, and we ended holding several arms concerns which put together are Nakashima Corporation.

FSB yes I sell arms for Russia. China as well, North Korea, Japan, Czech Republic, Brazil, Mexico, the US everyone if its a weapon and its good am selling. Where my role and others at Nakashimura Corporation is to convince everyone that just because they have nice weapons they don’t have to use them every time. And we take care of trouble and troublemakers for dozens of governments. We kill them I mean.

Law enforcement still can’t pin a thing me with all this, am just a voice over the net practicing creative writing which translates somehow into reality and it’s called hacking. All of my stuff is impossible to prove, I rig it as such otherwise I wouldn’t be in this game for so long. I have dozens upon dozens of different passports, I enter and I exit with different passports on a daily basis sometimes, I fly different jets, you have better chances of winning at the lottery twice in the same day than finding me.

It’s my job to find you however. Not you you but you never know could be you. In this intelligence services you need that global perspective it’s the only one that works. And the people is always right, it’s people that are wrong, and they die because of that.

There’s levels in intelligence and government where being wrong gets you killed, terminated with extreme prejudice. Its what we’re talking about here and few have ventured talking about this in active duty. Am on active duty will remain so until I am biologically deceased, I cannot retire because of my agreements with several governments who bailed in Nakashimura because of the guarantee that I represent.

See you can’t say sorry when you’re rotten sorry won’t work for rotten. I cleaned rotten all my life. If its rotten it’s got to go no matter who it is because that person or group of persons constitutes a clear and present danger to the security and safety of all. And we’re talking the whole planet here, so fuck you if you’re wrong you cannot be wrong with the lives of billions around the globe.

Governments through their various agencies are responsible for more than you know, not only for your safety but also those of visiting non nationals. You’re also responsible for your neighboring states security in the case of China, the U.S, etc, etc, . And in the midst of that you have people behind wheels that if they fail the government is gonna bail out of them for good.

It is an equation where individuals are weighted upon the scale of national and global interests. They exist and there are people that represent them. Who will kill you to protect them and do so legally under the authorities, can be several, that they represent.

In that equation you’re of a moderate value if you would pardon me, there are other smarter more intelligent more gifted younger richer more popular more influential more everything better looking fitter taller everything more than you elsewhere. So replacing you will not be an issue, the question is how to dispose of you. Because incompetence at that level has a hefty cost, people want you deceased now.

Remember those people that helped put you there? They want you dead now because you look bad on them. They have burned you at the intelligence agency where you work because they can do that, place a couple of calls to have you wiped out. They have been running that business for longer, they contrary to you are not public figures never will be. And people owe them around the globe, altogether they constitute the intelligence community, the shadow government that you keep on hearing about, it exists and its global and hidden from sight.

In this introduction we should mention that I am also a surgeon did work on emergencies as a trauma medic on week ends, seen plenty of trauma, I am simply myself unaffected and trying to find a solution like any high ranking Japanese official would. I am pretty dispassionate in person even though I can appear charming.

The subject is still young, in good physical condition. And because of his high profile you cannot really just snipe him at a street corner, which I do I am a sniper, I dispose and operate sniping robots maybe we’ll get back to it. So the question is how do you make him go.

And the answer can be found by matching his profile to common fatality cause statistics and finding something that matches. If he is a sportive he might as well die from complications in his routine appendicitis operation. It happens, it’s a statistic and it’s all you need because it is a fact of life. People around you have heard of it, and if not than its people they know, still young died on appendicitis operation complications. It marks people, I call them plastic deaths.

Basing your action on sound stats it’s a lot of work those stats and remaining in the know fatality causes, people are not going to stop dying because they are important or famous. And the cause of their death is going to be spread along these statistics that you have to study.

People are also unsuspecting how easy it is to die, we’re slightly more resistant than bugs. We don’t think of it all the time. Sometimes 2mg of something is all it takes. We’re both very resilient and very fragile and diverse, it’s the work of the Creator, he created us saying nowhere that we’re entitled to a 100 years. Turtles live longer. Some stuff lives almost crazy time I don’t remember what it was. Trees it was some 2000 years.

So the message is do something useful with your life and your time, nobody is eternal and we have a role to play here each of us, and you have to find yours. I am maybe different in the sense that I play many different roles. And that unlike actors these are real life roles, and real lives.

Pilot with Air Canada for a while, allowed me to operate on both the North American and European continents before I bailed. It was being found out that I had eliminated an extensive list of people who had to go for different reasons. It’s not law enforcement that I fear, it’s getting caught on a murder scene like a dummy. And that is why I use robots, and cyborgs. I also hack into cybernetics government, intelligence, diplomacy, and turn them into killers.

A cyborg can lift 6 small cars, if he’s close enough he can kill a person in no time. Call it a malfunction. It’s what the data dump is going to say and its some corporation that is going to underline the paragraph where they say that they are not liable for bodily injury. We live in a world of different hazards of which I make use. I kill with a curare needle that I hide in my hair or sleeve when its personal, or bounce you offside of a busy HSW, high speed highway in your self driving car. In the lane operated by large trucks.

I dislike the amiability of physical contact I like to think of my profession as non physical contact based virtual even, I am more likely to open someones jugular with a Tanto as I pass by, more often than not a complete stranger to my victims. They had never seen me and they will never seen anything again. I use that to my advantage, very few can pin a face to the name, what people have is my nick which is a world in itself if you dig into it. That cyborg that you have in custody now has gotten reset during police transport. As for my identity it is a government different governments top secret, the kind that gets people killed if they find it out.

What I did through all of GITS is saving Aramaki and Kusanagi from getting killed. People were going to fly from different parts of the world and in Japan to kill them and all of Section 6 for violating the Alpha Protocol. A protocol that states that any member state shall not single single-handedly interfere in any shape or manner in the activities of the Nakashimura Corporation. The corporation that don’t exist and of which I am the CEO and the sitting Minister of both Interior and Foreign Affairs of Japan, not the acting one.

Aramaki wanted me brought in on charges of terrorism relating to the bombing of Panam Air Flight 233 that was carrying a high value target and his staff engaging in currency manipulations of the Yen. Which I did on government orders, I hereby decline any responsibility in that matter.

The helicopter drones that killed the people at the Austrian Foreign Ministry malfunctioned, their function was to guard that meeting not shoot at it I agree completely also not guilty it so happens that I have shares in the corporation that makes them so what. A restaurant full of politicians who didn’t like me much blew up, the documents say a gas leak in the basement, still its me law enforcement is looking at. Listen all I do is to save my skin, I have a licence to kill by the government and I use it.

It is not for you to decide how you are going to die if the government wants you killed. Especially if you work for it as an expendable asset, which all are in the government. Governments are big monsters that eat you raw when you screw up because its too much people to convince that you’re right when you’re wrong.

There was a couple of Yachts, more than a couple, I bomb Yachts pretend its a gas leak. The list of my operations is dizzying and global, so how are people going to die who have to die Mr Aramaki?

You want to feed me to coppers Mr Aramaki because basically you’re a cop and I am just doing my duty same as you so how are the two of us going to get along not well. So you retire, and he did.

Kusanagi boy did she like me and still does lovable but flawed an intelligence profile working in law enforcement. 2501 is part of me always was always will, it is an artificial intelligence which I developed, I actually coded modules and put them in free source, building blocks.

Did a lot of custom stuff on 2501 to be a fix for Kusanagi, I patched the pretty girl with some common sense. That not everything is for law enforcement or fit for public knowledge to run things smoothly. We’re still OK she understands me better and we see where we’re going with this.

I am sorry you didn’t see much of me in GITS, just that visit at the Foreign Affairs Minister’s Residence. I am also coding as the cyborg. What was I coding there it’s a long time already. I was probably stealing something, such as the source code of that pretty secretary and the secrets she knew. She was from the U.S and working at the State Department, at South East Asian Affairs. Maybe I wanted to know what she knew from her boss.

She had a peculiar manner of shaking peoples hands, she threw them to the side. I don’t know why I shook her hand, I tend to avoid body contact or looking at people that am not looking for in the eye. Am a fugitive and a thief, an assassin you know I don’t want you to remember any of me.

She was found on a busy Tokyo highway with half her body missing, identifying her as diplomatic personnel she was taken to Section 9, with her secrets. That I stole.

My kind people we need a higher perspective when approaching GITS, I kill people in tens upon tens of different countries I kill people on their vacations, am I going to tens of different jails, because Aramaki wanted to pin on me all of Nakashimura. Nakashimura’s board is composed of about 20 different intelligence agencies bosses. Are we going to tens of jails or to the ICC altogether? For what for keeping the place out of trouble?

What is it now we have to put it on paper? The government pays people to kill you if needed, if you become a threat to itself and others. Myself included am paid for that. I own shares in Nakashimura I have a separation package and a retirement bonus my living is there, do you understand my living.

There move to the side a little bit please, see you did its called being polite and I just popped the guy behind you twice at waist high, he’s not making to the hospital because my bullets are tainted. And now am going to butt you with my suppressed 6.35 mm so that you lose consciousness after catching a glimpse of maybe my profile is all. I don’t need big bullets in closed spaces and started using smaller and smaller ammo.

I am going to bed now and we will resume this latter, tell you how important the work that we’re doing is. To keep normalcy in people’s lives, to shelter them from harm.

So let us go back to that important business of keeping everyone safe, which is entrusted to security and intelligence agencies both public and secret. We have seen how these people are not only responsible for their nationals, indeed we are entitled to their protection wherever we come from. And on top of that they have to see to the safety of their citizens abroad.

And in that context you have people who are helpful and others who are not, where the real work is to weed out the problem makers that arise with each generation of different individuals, mostly politicians. Populists who think that a majority vote is a blank check to put global security at risk by pursuing agendas which are not everyone’s. There’s a war of agendas out there and personal vendettas that you have to navigate, and navigate it closely.

The other thing is organizations groups and individuals who constitute a threat to global security, activists, terrorists, armed groups, criminal gangs. Because our operations entail that global responsibility and each country should not be a harbor for undue terror and crime. There are ways around indiscriminate killings and terror to solve problems.

It’s not awkward I am saying this even if Aramaki wanted me brought in on terrorism charges, my objectives amounted for nearly all of them to be honest. I went to that restaurant where even the waiter was with them. The press was there all day long feeding on gossip from those scumbags that wanted me dead in their emails and phone conversations which I tapped. The controlled explosion looked like a gas leak 98% of the targets gone. It was, still is a military operation in my eyes.

I killed the 2% left with a cyanide injection in their hospital after that, am used to 100% completion of my tasks. They pay me for being ruthless and am good at it.

I take physical risks, everyday, and risk life behind bars if my legal cover is blown because of you, for your security. Because attempting to my life is a direct attack on both your safety and freedoms my friends. Your freedom of assembly, speech, your rights to pursue happiness away from dangers you might even not suspect I guarantee that my friend, and we’re a few. It’s a whole community which does not seek fame or recognition, rather to be as anonymous as possible to detect and neutralize threats to your daily existence on this planet.

It’s called the intelligence community and it is a well organized well structured efficient community that knows each others from special forces and the army or the navy and air force and training together at various intelligence agencies. Its friendships after that which last a lifetime. You only don’t respect those people because you do not belong there, they know and respect each others as professionals do.

Many come from the corporate world, many are also hackers and computing and telecom engineers, lots of coders as well, intelligence specialists that can decipher encrypted communications because although people are told that they are encrypted for good that is not correct and is a lie. There are no such things as secure telecoms.

People do not dislike scrutiny, they dislike undue scrutiny and they are perfectly right about that. They are relevant to an era called Windows 10, and what they don’t want out of lack of perspective is a future in which an AI is counting your teeth in front of your computer.

The future that nobody can save us from, that’s already there you’re running the finest collection of spyware that we have with Windows 10 everything spies on you there for both the CIA and the NSA as entitled by the Homeland Security Act. Which your representative voted for and that allows for monitoring information highways and wiretapping. I don’t think they even need an injunction for that.

ECHELON listens to your phone conversations globally, for keywords such as bomb and so forth. Its a lot of money shifting through your data and online life or just life in general including what you buy where you go who you know, known illnesses, see that personality test they have you fill on a job interview different governments are doing that on a massive scale with social media and even before that, profiling is a basic function of intelligence services.

This business of taking care of you requires massive amounts of cash, whole datacenters. So going into armaments with Nakashimura was the right thing to do, Nakashimura is one of the first datacenter operators in the world aside from its armaments concern. We have massive datacenters with your data in it and we’re not telling. As expressed by our mandate to protect you, we have to know what people bent on endangering others security are doing.

Extortion and rackets are a threat to any state because they constitute a important source of cash flow which nobody knows where that money is going. And the rule of the game is knowing where money goes.

Are we passing on the information? We are pooling the information, 9/11 changed everything, and global transportation, telecoms and financial or banking infrastructure became a concern to all. With the goal of identifying the threats to our collective security. The ability to board a plane and cross the Atlantic to commit a terrorist act and the ease with which it was carried through made us understand that we do need to bridge the gaps with more cooperation to keep the world an open an safe place for all and not a collection of ghettos. More cooperation was not an option it was the only solution. Anywhere in the world is a couple of hours by plane.

Our problems are not with each others, they are with those that are a threat to all of us.

And I became a star like that in intelligence services, oh what a star I was surveyed constantly and had to change residence every week because groupie agents from different services wanted to meet me by any means.Young, rich, good looking, and with a bright future, also on top of my game have been for an awful long time people who don’t like me around the world bounced, I made them so, some personally. My Muppet shows because I make them only fed into the frenzy.

I am a puppeteer have been since childhood. I make shows for my friends and also live TV shows where I animate different puppets. Of course I am not visible, its my only claim to fame, I can’t show you my face but I can show you my Muppets.

I did pursue a short career as a professional punk rock artist with a punk rock group. We visited several small clubs here and there. Where the goal was not getting famous or known. Tokyo, New York, Stockholm, Mexico D.F, we went to plenty of places, we made good money the band should have been a success and it was. It’s just the big name thing that didn’t go with it, indeed am proud to say that all five of us we’re have been always will be true punk rock artists. To the letter, we could have become big at the switch of a button.

We had the fan love and everything was okay, even if people were not allowed to bring in cameras or smartphones inside. We met them backstage like true rock stars. We enjoyed the moment. And its some of the best years that I remember. Became a rock star at several large corporations, I am also a member of the boards of different multinationals of which Sony, Kyocera and Mitsubishi Corporation, GM. Plus the banks. Its a few hours a every couple of months, sets the agenda for what we want to do.

Am grey haired now I have lived and continue to live a full life. And I hope that is the same for you, where the possibilities are limited only by your imagination and and capacity at achieving things and being who you want to be. In life we play different roles after that its maybe something in you that makes you discover that there are many useful roles that you can play in life.

And you work to achieve that as well, surgeon is a very important experience, it teaches about human suffering so that you do not take it lightly. Trauma surgeons have the capacity not to bail or faint in front of what they see to keep cool at all times to be focused on saving a life, I wanted to acquire that capacity which was not easy, hey nothing in life is.

Chapter II, Fedex Yakuza

Biking is a big part of it, and I did use superbikes to commit driveby shootings, of targets and their security in HSW systems around the world. Its a long string of them from Tokyo to New York and Mexico. Paris, Place de l’Etoile. And then I disappear by magic like in the movies no, I am an intelligence services member, my escape is already planned with a diplomatic car waiting for me a couple of blocs away. And the bike is going as well I never leave anything behind.

I use subcompacts with high velocity bullets that are Teflon coated. If its not a heavy armored glass that you have you are dying. Everyone in that car is, we’re clocking 320km per hour on a smooth ride where the nearest exit for you is death. And where bullets are going to fly through your car literally so. Your driver you, your important guest everyone is a goner. And if you’re not dead already that crash will finish you off because am leaving you without wheels.

That security which you have been taken care of as well, rounds of explosive bullets did it for them. It’s a military operation with things that are not commercially available such as explosive rounds, depleted uranium bullets, titanium tip bullets and ceramic bullets. I am also a member of different special forces and I make my own gear, which is either or metal or kevlar.

I was of course labelled a Yakuza, and I used to do delivery work for Fedex, am not saying it was a Fedex bike. Maybe it was. Anyways so Fedex Yakuza was very gratifying and revolved around hacking both Fedex and several HSW and police networks around the globe. I had them shut down traffic where I wanted and divert it to where I wanted. Usually close to an airport.

Nitro, Fedex Yakuza, Tokyo Babe, they had me leave my lifestyle that I wanted. Because of the attention. Am also your banker, used to work at Chase in New York and I had a bike, bikes are very convenient in large cities. The rest of it is armored convoys with military grade armor and helicopters to survey the area. Gunships that is correct. Am no different than the President, if anything I have more responsibilities than he has, he probably answers to his government whereas I answer to several. People think its him and am glad for that.

I stayed in Tokyo often, I feel more anonymous because its a large city I was stuck with the drifting scene, nobody knew what I was doing. My cover was courier for Fedex. Tokyo Babe is because some girlfriends. Still girlfriends.

So yes the drifting scene you can make some money there on your day offs if you’re not exhausted from work, serious money too and contacts, who mostly Yakuzas. Have you ever met Yakuza bosses, Oyabun? They’re impressive I met them soon enough, although branded by my Yakuza friends as a disloyal racer I always paid people their cash, even bailed some of them from losses. The thing was not losing too often and I had a business several Oyabun wanted to know about.

They said that I was a smart young man, and that they both wanted to give me different things to run, because trustworthiness is rare and they were sure that I would never steal anything from them. And they smiled they said they knew about all of the rest and that I could count on them as well.

Two weeks later I was received by the Emperor of Japan, I was 24.

But before that we need to go back to the world of drifting in Tokyo, and the city itself. It’s very lively to say the least and you meet everybody there. The city is extensively large Neo Tokyo is, at least 2 times the size of Tokyo in the 2020's. Its ruled by the almighty HSW, which incorporates high speed rail as well.

And its a young crowd, rich parents or having things going on for them, they’re into biking big time, they train for it. And they race, that is the part that is both fun and illegal. Very lucrative however, I had succeeded in assembling a small team of racers. And we did some serious cash. Its not only bikes its also cars.

***

Where were we I am back to writing this, my aversion for getting caught also made me averse of physical contact. I dislike shaking hands or hugging or anything getting in my comfort zone. If you can touch me you may as well put me in jail. I have bodyguards and people have been routinely placated to walls and grounds. No physical contact is something I am fond of, its a costly security that won’t care how famous you are.

Contrary to most famous people my only claim to fame is in the punk rock scene where one of the stated goals is not to become famous. The rest of it a lot of board meetings at different multinationals, and meetings in general in places where few people other than senior intelligence officers have business. And I am keeping it that way, notoriety can do nothing for me, I am already famous for plenty of reasons, not all legal. I am the side of law enforcement that is frowned upon.

I play the identity game, I forge the identities that I have use for, that allow me to blend in with normal life. As just about anyone else. Normalcy is important to me, and when I see it go away am in a plane in no time. I avoid attention and trouble like the plague.

Do I meet people, I meet plenty of people, but not by chance as anyone would. I carefully know about them beforehand and why we are meeting. If we’re having fun its probably at some event that I set up where I am going to blend in as a guest, some corporate event or corporate sponsored event. I can’t go to public events, that are for the public. My world exists outside of public scrutiny.

I can also stay home for weeks at a time, mostly remote mansions, the kind of remote that makes people think. Or we want to go back to my resume maybe.

The Puppet Master That phantom hacker, right?

They think he’s an American.

Age, sex, personal history Everything about him is unknown.

Since last winter he’s been mainly active in the EC.

Internationally wanted on dozens of charges of.

stock manipulation, assassinations, spying, political engineering, special operations, cyberwarfare, spying for intelligence, conducting counter-intelligence including military and economical, weapon and weapon systems design, mercenary forces, sabotage, propaganda, counter-propaganda, counterfeiting, violation of cyber-brain privacy, regime change, hacking, ransom, racket, organized crime, commodities price manipulation, kidnapping, social engineering, phreaking, computer virus design, patent theft, intelligence tampering, proof tampering, fake indictments, financial theft, book tampering, property and intellectual property theft, blackmail

He’s ghost-hacked so many people to carry out his crimes he’s earned the code name “The Puppet Master.”

This is the first instance of him operating in this country.

The reason why I am writing this book is also to set the record straight about a very important matter. People just see that side to it, especially law enforcement as previously spearheaded by Aramaki. Me no, I am a government official, by many chances higher up than you even if you are willfully made to ignore it. It is not because you work for the government or even intelligence that we are telling you everything. And you can die for trying to discover my identity like what was going to happen to Aramaki and his whole section.

There are agreements to which different governments are party in order to be able to collaborate in intelligence services for the benefit of all. And these agreements entail that Nakashimura personnel is covered by a blanket of secrecy in order to ensure their protection. And there is a protocol in case that secrecy is breached because it jeopardizes people’s and operations safety, its called the Alpha Protocol. Ringing anyone high up at your government will not do anything for you except put you on some loonie watchlist.

It exists however and it is enforced. Also the people that you know that are high up, are sorry to say public figures. There are other more important faces the government is not showing to the press and its those that matter. Anyone would be a fool to think that something as important as a country is fully entitled to people who come and go with elections. I know, I was General at 28. Anyone of those Generals weights more than a freshly elected President.

So you have the army on top of everything else, the life that you are living is army R&R where you can have fun and even shoot some bullets but not too many. The minute you wake up to the fact that after that you have intelligence agencies and the police both national and Interpol. Those are guys that the army guys put on your back as civilians to keep the place ruly. If you are not wearing 4 stars you might as well not exist.

You will, always have been, always will be a civilian. And you enter politics where you might become expandable, nobody is telling you that the army will snipe you in the head if you piss them off. To them you are a civilian, and they hate civilians. Those Generals are the last ones who are going to tell a freshly elected President that they will kill him if needed, but look at them President, most of them already have plenty of civilian blood on their hands.

Armed coups happen in places where the President is not careful with the army, he does something stupid such as putting the country at risk. They will kill you because of that, they will kill anyone they don’t know from the army or services. And then they will pretend some wacko did it, organize new elections put someone else there for the press, to keep repeating government policies like a parrot and not make any trouble.

They will kill you for free even take the money from some black fund. Fuck you if you play them for dummies. Half those professional killers that are good at it come from the army or special forces. And you’re swimming in the middle of all that as a civilian, an elected civilian still a civilian, always will be a civilian, I seen scores of civilians go no matter how high up for putting the army in shit, scores of them.

Aside from being averse to physical contact I have also developed a fear of airstrikes, and that is why I am also a General at the FSB, attempting on my life in that manner is equivalent to declaring war on Russia. It’s not the same fears that you have they’re different a lot of things are different. I think that my agreement with them mentioned a nuclear grade retaliation against any party responsible.

I make weapons for Russia, as well as weapons systems, nuclear warheads, submarines, planes, so surely yes the retaliation would be a nuclear strike against who’s responsible. It’s good to be open about one’s fears, fears tell a lot about someone, and you can see how my life is different from yours. Maybe that is what go you interested in me.

Maybe go back to my time in Tokyo as a courier for Fedex and a street racer with some Yakuzas, its a world in itself and its a part that I can best complete while visiting Tokyo which is not now.

This exercise of writing a book and talking about me is something new, both are new. I never put anything personal on paper and I never wrote a whole book. I put some chapters there that we are going to work to fill to the best of my recollections, because I am also amnesic.

I was young at the time, freshly graduated from the academy at 22, I flew fighter jets, and had a PhD in applied physics. My thesis was on quantum computing. I wanted to do something in my life, biking most of all and that courrier job at Fedex was just perfect same as the street racing. Then some people at the government showed up with a list of targets, mostly users of HSW and visiting foreigners. They said that they had to go for the higher interest of Japan and that my job now was to use my intelligence skills to terminate them on HSW.

I did, I killed plenty of them, in fact all of them. And I became a Colonel with the secret services. People blamed Yakuzas for these assassinations, while many others have been simply cleaned up. They came and they took everything made it look like new. Was it a Fedex bike yes just maybe people and their security have been less suspecting because of that, Fedex and other courriers from DHL and UPS were a frequent sight on the HSW and that came with high velocity bikes that had semi cockpits.

The rest of it was high velocity drive by’s using titanium tip bullets and explosive rounds, mostly in tunnels. Traffic was then diverted while secret services crews cleaned the scene. Being VIP’s they were used to empty lanes. I do not know their functions or identities, they’re bygone trackers on my GPS and its better that way.

The clubbing scene was perfect, I mean I barely seen anyone except those institute kids until I was 18, then I studied a lot until 22. It’s not that I barely seen anyone its that I had lived pretty much like a hermit. So Tokyo was like a huge ongoing 24/7 event. And it can be when you’re into biking and racing, it’s two items that are big in Tokyo.

We ended up pushing the world that Akira fed us, and Neo Tokyo was no different in the sense that it was large and extensive. It was also much more policed than the apocalyptic world you see in Akira. The police turned a blind eye to races quite often. For the very reason that HSW was so big that it was impossible to stop all those races from taking place, there was races and racing teams in almost each district of Neo Tokyo.

I lay there in the murky underworld of the drifting scene of Toyko, on the scope of the police because of my Yakuza acquaintances, and secret services offered me a blank check to make millions of yens in between the cover for my racing business and the hit money. I became rich, had a loft with a private lift in Shibuya. Things were going too well, and then it became clear that I had to bail out because of all the attention.

I found out in the couple of years where I was learning the scene that the scene was also learning me, which is no good in my line of business because I am a also secret agent. Its a question of temperament as well I dislike being spied upon so I never put myself in that position, it is not a rumor I do fly stratospheric jets and pretty much nobody knows where they are going.

Chapter III, Help me am Amnesic

I puppetize people I do that, it’s not for nothing that they call me the Puppet Master, I puppetized Aramaki maybe he’s reading this, and I did it with style his only way out was a resignation letter and I forced him into that way out.

Its is a lot of invisible strings in what we do, call them duty or loyalty, friendships, debts, ambition, greed. Or simply being human where we have both needs expressed or not and cravings, there are things you can fail at such as being attentive. 99% of what I do is preparation and 1% of it is distracting you. Its seldom that people are 100% attentive and that margin can get them robbed of sensitive information, kidnapped because they are an intelligence asset or killed.

Of course we all expect certain outcomes from relationships. I am pretty frugal in that regard, I expect anonymity, I live in a world where it does no good to me to be known. You are more likely to meet me in cyberspace, or as a cyborg. Meeting me in person is difficult, its not any day soon that I am letting you know who I am. Or where I am staying, or what I do. All of that is classified.

I would like to go back to my resume and answer for different things which while I am amnesic I still know how different things are useful to me, my memory is selective I keep important things somewhere and flush the rest on a regular basis. We might differ in the sense that your memories can become faint or remote, while mine except for what I am keeping become non existent. Such as the specifics of operations, makes me very useful.

Stock manipulation, I manipulate stocks for different funds, competing corporations and governments. The targets are set to fail because they either have some competitive advantage that is too big for them or they are hurting someones interest or simply because of speculation. I can’t name these corporations there is surely a lot of them. They have in common that I made their stock go higher waiting for the bad news that were coming with the quarterly, or simply become worthless due to series of planned incidents, some with huge liabilities, mostly through hacking.

Assassinations, we have seen that part, I am a professional assassin like others are dentists or shrinks. Everyone is fully capable of killing under emotion, even if you are small physically you can still do it, pleading temporary insanity often works if you do not have a criminal record. Its killing without emotion that sets the professional assassin from plain murderers.

I do not know personally any of my targets, I used to when I got started in this business, I had to wipe my plate off people who knew me personally. I harbor no grief or anger against most of them, because emotions are not my business.

There is no comfort zone, a body is about to be impacted by a pair of two high velocity projectiles, called bullets, meant to kill not socialize. The body after that, is disposed off at the morgue in a bag that hopefully am not seeing pictured in a court of law. And chances are that I won’t even remember it in a couple of months. Maybe even sooner.

Political engineering, I do Oracle and Windows support late at night, I usually know of security holes beforehand and I am myself part of several it security groups, mostly watching for malware and viruses trends. To say that manipulating your election data will not be too much of an issue, electronic ballot boxes fancy unbreakable at the source and are careless where and how that data is later stored and so on and so forth. Social media allows for influencing people in a variety of ways on top of which you have plain fake news that are however going to make an impression before they are debunked. But actually my role starts much sooner, we have a commission that picks candidates and grooms them into political careers to implement our different agendas.

assassinations, spying, political engineering, special operations, cyberwarfare, spying for intelligence, conducting counter-intelligence including military and economical, weapon and weapon systems design, mercenary forces, sabotage, propaganda, counter-propaganda, counterfeiting, targeted terrorism, violation of cyber-brain privacy, regime change, hacking, ransom, racket, organized crime, commodities price manipulation, kidnapping, social engineering, phreaking, computer virus design, patent theft, intelligence tampering, proof tampering, fake indictments, financial theft, book tampering, property and intellectual property theft, blackmail

Chapter I, Hello my name is Chapter II, Fedex Yakuza Chapter III, Help me am Amnesic Chapter IV, Random Access Memories Chapter V, Unflinching Chapter VI, Maybe you maybe me Chapter VII, A Handful of Murders Chapter VIII, WANTED Chapter IX, Beating The Odds Chapter X, I Lose you Lose Chapter XI, Nakashimura Chapter XII, Crazy Otaku

The crazy Otaku that started tracking me online and spying on me physically, the only one good enough to have found me out. Followed me everywhere hacked into airline booking systems.

Chapter XIII, Unhelpful Circumstances

Someone high ranking in Germany was terminated due to, but not solely. It became a state affair.

Chapter XIV, Predictive Dialer Chapter XV, Confessions of an Online Killer Chapter XVI, The World at Large Chapter XVII, Means to an end

Newscorp

Chapter XVIII, The Future We’re Building Chapter XIX, Yes and? Chapter XX, The Number You have Dialed Chapter XXI, Section 6 Chapter XXII, Section 9 Chapter XXIII, AI and the Digital World Chapter XXIV, Credits, kudos Chapter XXV, Prologue

/notes

1. Hello boys and girls we’re back with more TPM stuff, so its not a meager task but same as with anything creative writing oriented it leads you where it leads you I guess. We have tried however to give some scope and depth to this story and we have 25 Chapters in total. The first one looks almost done, redaction began on Wednesday 08/21/2019 and we’re the day after.

2. Are we going to repackage everything we have wrote on the subject so far in this blog, absolutely. Its all there under #GITS #TPM #the puppet master and #project2501

***

#GITS #TPM

0 notes

researching01 · 6 years ago

Text

How Frontend Developers Can Help To Bridge The Gap Between Designers And Developers

New Post has been published on https://headacheshelp.com/awesome/how-frontend-developers-can-help-to-bridge-the-gap-between-designers-and-developers/

How Frontend Developers Can Help To Bridge The Gap Between Designers And Developers

Stefan Kaltenegger

2019 -0 5-14T12: 30:59+02: 00

2019 -0 5-14T13: 06:16+00: 00

Within the last nine years, almost every designer I used to work with carried their frustration to me about them often having to spend days giving feedback to developers to correct spacings, typeface sizes, visual as well as layout facets that is as simple as not been implemented correctly. This often lead to weakening the trust between decorators and developers, and caused unmotivated designers along with a bad atmosphere among the two disciplines.

A lot of days developers still seem to have the bad reputation of being overly technical and ignorant when it comes to being considerate about details the design team came up with. According to an article by Andy Budd, “ […] a lot of developers are in the same position about design — they just don’t realize it.” In reality though( as Paul Boag points out ), “developers[ need to] build design decisions all the time.”

In this article, I’ll offer practical phases of advice for frontend developers to avoid frustration and increase productivity when working with their creative counterpart.

Looking Through The Eyes Of A Designer

Let’s for one moment imagine you were a designer and expended the last weeks — if not months — to work out a design for a website. You and your teammates went through multiple internal revisions as well as client presentations, and set a solid endeavour into fine-tuning visual details such as white space, typeface styles, and sizes.( In a responsive epoch — for multiple screen sizes, of course .) The designs have been approved by the client and were handed off to the developers. You feel relieved and happy.

A few weeks later, you receive an email from your developer that says :P TAGEND

“Staging site is set up. Here’s the link. Can you please QA? ”

In a thrill of anticipation, you open that staging link and after scrolling through some of the pages, you notice that the site appears a little off. Spacings are not even close to what your design suggested and you notice some kinks in the layout: incorrect font faces and colors as well as incorrect interactions and hover states. Your excitement starts to slowly fade and turn into a feeling of frustration. You can’t help but ask yourself, “How could that have happened? ”

The Search For Reasons

Maybe there were just a lot of unfortunate misunderstandings in the communication between the designers and developers. Nevertheless, you continue asking yourself :P TAGEND

What did the the handover of designs look like? Were there just some PDFs, Photoshop or Sketch files shared via e-mail with some comments, or was there an actual handover meeting in which various aspects such as a possible design system, typography, responsive behavior, interactions and animations were discussed? Did interactive or motion prototypes that help to visualize certain interactions exist? Was a listing of important aspects with defined levels of priority generated? How many conversations took place — with both decorators and developers in the same room together?

Since communication and handover are two very important key points, let’s take a closer look at each.

Communication Is Key

Designers and developers, please talk to each other. Talk a lot. The earlier on in the project and the most often, the most wonderful. If possible, review design work in progress together early in the project( and regularly) in order to constantly evaluate feasibility and get cross-disciplinary input. Designers and developers naturally both focus on different aspects of the same part and therefore insure things from different slants and perspectives.

Checking in early on lets developers become familiarized with the project so they can start researching and planning ahead on technical terms and bring in their notions on how to perhaps optimize features. Having frequent check-ins also brings the team together on a personal and social level, and you learn how to approach each other to communicate effectively.

The Handover From Design To Development

Unless an organization follows a genuinely agile workflow, an initial handover of design comps and assets( from the design team to the developers) will likely happen at some phase in a project. This handover — if done thoroughly — can be a solid foundation of knowledge and agreements between both sides. Therefore, it is very important to not to rush through it and scheme some extra time.

Ask a lot of questions and talk through every requirement, page, component, feature, interaction, animation, anything — and take notes. If things are unclear, ask for clarification. For example, when working with external or contract-based squads, both designers and developers can sign off the notes taken as official documents of mutual agreement for future reference.

Flat and static design comps are good for showing graphical and layout aspects of a website but plainly absence the proper representation of interactions and animations. Asking for prototypes or running demos of complex animations will create a clearer vision of what needs to be built for everyone involved.

Nowadays, there’s is a wide range of prototyping tools available that designers can utilize to mockup flows and interactions in different levels of fidelity. Javier Cuello explains how to choose the right prototyping tool for your project in one of his comprehensive articles.

Every project is unique, and so are its requirements. Due to these requirements , not all conceptualized features can always be built. Often the available time and resources to build something can be a limiting factor. Furthermore, constraints can come from technological requirements such as feasibility, accessibility, performance, usability and cross-browser support, economic requirements like budget and license fees or personal constraints like the skill level and availability of developers.

So, what if these constraints cause conflicts between designers and developers?

Finding Compromises And Building Shared Knowledge

In order to successfully ship a project on time and gratify all defined requirements, observing compromises between the two disciplines is mostly inevitable. Developers need to learn to speak to designers in non-technical terms when they explain reasons why things need alters or can’t be built in a specific situation.

Instead of just saying, “Sorry, we can’t build this, ” developers should try to give an explanation that is understandable for decorators and — in the best case — prepare suggestions for an alternative solution that works within the known constraints. Backing your point with statistics, research, or articles, can help to emphasize your debate. Also, if timing is an issue, perhaps the implementation of some time-consuming proportions can be moved to a later phase of the project?

Even though it is not always possible, having decorators and developers sit next to each other can abbreviate feedback loops-the-loops and make it easier setting out a compromised answer. Adapting and prototyping can be done directly through coding and optimizing with DevTools open.

Show your fellow designers how to use DevTools in a browser so that they can alter basic information and preview small changes in their browser( e.g. paddings, margins, font sizes, class names) on the fly.

If the project and team structure allow it, building and prototyping in the browser as soon as possible can give everyone involved a better understanding of the responsive behaviour and can help eliminate bugs and errors in the early stage of the project.

The longer decorators and developers work together, the better decorators will understand what is easier and what is more difficult for the developers to build. Over time, they can eventually refer to answers that have worked for both sides in the past :P TAGEND

“We’ve utilized that solution to find a compromise in Project A. Can we use it for this project as well? ”

This also assists developers get a better sense of what details the designers are very specific about and what visual aspects are important to them.

Decorators Expect The Frontend To Look( And Function) Like Their Design

The Design File Vs. Browser Comparison

A helpful technique to prevent designers from frustration is to make a simple left-right comparison between the design file you got handed over and what your current state of developing looks like. This might sound trivial, but as a developer, you have to take care of so many things that need to function under the hood that you might have missed some visual details. If you insure some noticeable discrepancies, simply correct them.

Think of it this style: Every detail in your implementation that seems precisely as it was designed saves both you and the designer valuable time and headaches, and fosters trust. Not everyone might have the same level of attention to detail, but in order to train your eye to notification visual differences, a quick round of Can’t Unsee might be a good help.

( Image credits: Can’t Unsee)( Large preview)

This nostalgically reminds me of a game we used to play a long time ago called “Find it”. You got to find differences by comparing two apparently similar images in order to score points.

( Image credits: Mordillo find them)( Large preview)

Still, you may be thinking :P TAGEND

“What if there simply is no noticeable system of typeface sizes and spacings in the specific characteristics? ”

Well, good point! Experience has shown me that it can help to start a dialogue with the designer( s) by asking for clarification rather than radically starting to change things on your own and creating unwanted surprises for the designer( s) later.

Learn Basic Typographic And Design Rules

As Oliver Reichenstein states in one of his articles, 95% of the information on the web is written language. Therefore, typography plays a vital role not only in web design but also in development. Understanding basic terms and concepts of typography can help you communicate more effectively with decorators, and will also induce you more versatile as a developer. I recommend reading Oliver’s article as he elaborates the importance of typography on the web and explains words such as micro- and macro-typography.

In the “Reference Guide For Typography In Mobile Web Design”, Suzanne Scacca thoroughly encompasses typography nomenclature such as typeface, typeface, size, weight, kerning, resulting and tracking as well as the role of typography in modern web design.

If you would like to further expand your typographical horizon, Matthew Butterick’s book “Butterick’s Practical Typography” might be worth reading. It also provides a summary of key regulations of typography.

One thing I procured particularly useful in responsive web design is that one should aim for an average line duration( characters per line) of 45 to 90 characters since shorter lines are more comfortable to read than longer lines.

Comparing different line durations( Large preview)

Should Developers Design?

There has been a lot of discussion whether designers should learn to code, and you may be asking yourself the same question the other way around. I believe that one can hardly excel in both disciplines, and that’s entirely fine.

Rachel Andrew nicely outlines in her article “Working Together: How Designers And Developers Can Communicate To Create Better Projects” that in order to collaborate more effectively, we all need to learn something of the language, abilities, and priorities of our teammates so that we can create a shared speech and overlapping areas of expertise.

One way to become more knowledgable in the field of design is an online course known as “Design for Developers” that is offered by Sarah Drasner in which she talks about basic layout principles and color theory — two fundamental areas in web design.

“The more you learn outside of your own discipline, is actually better for you […] as a developer.” — Sarah Drasner

The Visual Center

By collaborating with designers, I learned the difference between the mathematical and visual center. When we want to draw the reader’s attention to a certain element, our eye’s natural focal point lies just slightly above the mathematical center of the page.

We can apply this concept, for example, to stance modals or any kinds of overlays. This technique helps us to naturally get the user’s attention and builds the specific characteristics appear more balanced :P TAGEND

( Large preview)

We’re All In This Together

In fast-paced and not-so-agile agency surroundings with tight deadlines, developers are often asked to implement fully functional responsive frontends based on a mobile and desktop mockup. This inevitably forces the developer to take design decisions throughout the process. Questions such as, “At what thicknes will we lessening the font size of headlines? ” or “When should we switch our three-column layout to a single column? ” may arise.

Also, in the heat of the moment, it may happen that details like error nations , notifications, loading countries, modals or styles of 404 pages simply fall through the fissures. In such situations, it’s easy to start finger-pointing and blaming the people who should have thought about this earlier on. Ideally, developers shouldn’t ever be put in such a situation, but what if that’s the instance?

When I listened to Ueno’s founder and CEO, Haraldur Thorleifsson, speak at a conference in San Francisco in 2018, he presented two of their core values :P TAGEND

“Nothing here is someone else’s problem.”

“We pick up the trash we didn’t put down.”

What if more developers proactively start mocking-up the above-mentioned missing components as good as they can in the first place, and then refine together with the designer sitting next to them? Websites live in the browser, so why not utilize it to build and refine?

While winging missing or forgotten parts might not always be ideal, I’ve learned in my past experiences that it has always helped us to move forward faster and eliminate faults on the fly — as a team.

Of course, this does not mean that decorators should be overruled in the process. It means that developers should try to respectfully meet designers halfway by showing initiative in problem-solving. Besides that, I as a developer was valued route more by the team simply for caring and taking on responsibility.

Building Trust Between Designers And Developers

Having a trustful and positive relationship between the creative and tech squad can strongly increase productivity and outcome of work. So what can we, as developers, do to increase trust between the two disciplines? Here are a few suggestions :P TAGEND

Show an eye for details.Building things precisely as they were designed will show the designers that you care and put a big smile on their faces. Communicate with respect.We’re all human beings in a professional environment striving for the best possible outcome. Showing respect for each other’s discipline should be the basis for all communication. Check in early on and regularly.Involving developers from the start can help to eliminate faults early on. Through frequent communication, team members can develop a shared speech and better understanding of each other’s positions. Make yourself available.Having at least an optional 30 -minute window a day when decorators can discuss ideas with developers can give designers a feeling of being supported. This also gives developers the opportunity to explain complex technological things in words that not-so-technical people can understand better.

The Result: A Win-Win Situation

Having to spend less time in QA through effective communication and a proper handover of designs devotes both the creative and dev team more time to focus on building actual things and less headaches. It ultimately makes a better atmosphere and builds trust between decorators and developers. The voice of frontend developers that show interest and knowledge in some design-related fields will be heard more in design meetings.

Proactively contributing to finding a compromise between designers and developers and problem-solving as a developer can give you a broader sense of ownership and involvement with the whole project. Even in today’s booming creative industry, it’s not easy to find developers who — besides their technical skillset — care about and have an eye for visual details. This is also available your opportunity to help bridge the gap in your team.

Related Resources

“How To Choose The Right Prototyping Tool, ” Javier Cuello “A Reference Guide For Typography In Mobile Web Design, ” Suzanne Scacca “Butterick’s Practical Typograhy, ” Matthew Butterick “Working Together: How Decorators And Developers Can Communicate To Create Better Projects, ” Rachel Andrew “Design For Developers, ” Sarah Drasner, Frontend Masters “Web Design is 95% Typography, ” Oliver Reichenstein “Can’t Unsee, ” A browser quiz to train your sense of recognizing visual details.

( dm, yk, il)