#THE ITERATOR MADE PURPOSED ORGANISMS

[dawnleaf37]

purposed organism rain world YUMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

[vamp1rical]

Collector scug concept, with intern slugpup doodle I left in there :)

[tropicalcontinental]

[chessbird]

iteratorsona and his two eepers

[cordycepsbian]

sort of theory that each of the downpour slugcats is the last one reincarnated (stolen from youtube comments)

[hrishcha]

Made an iterator sona :) A quiet and anxious one, avoids group elder as she doesn't perform to her highest standards and doing so strains her systems badly — either an overlooked failure during creation or gained over time wear. Still possesses incredible computing and memory capacity, but won't outperform her neighbouring iterators despite being newer generation.

She's not fond of their purpose and doesn't do much steps towards achieving it; most likely believes that ancients' philosophy is not applicable to less intelligent creatures, although thinks that by the time iterators will be long gone and new possible civilization arises, those beings might also wish to ascend, but it must happen on their own terms. Instead of looking for the solution, prefers observing the nature through her overseers, but does not wish to have any creatures within her can and gets noticeably frustrated and nervous if anything finds its way inside. At some point became good friends with iterators far outside of her local group, but when the communication arrays deteriorated and went out of service, she lost contact with them. To this day occasionally runs simulations of their imaginative conversations to entertain herself. Loves her personal collection of pearls and secretly wishes to obtain more, but doesn't dare to reach out into outer world even with purposed organisms. Messing with her data pearls will severely anger and unsettle her. Do not touch the pearls

Her name shall be… Questions Silently? Not fully satisfied with it for now but maybe I'll come up with something better we'll see + some details :)

[kelnexia]

*Slams this onto the table*

Soft Bodied Iterator Propaganda! >:D

I think I might be one of the only artists in this fandom who draws iterators like this… Not sure why though – they look soft and organic like this in the game! I mean, yeah sure, they are robots – but not in a way most people would be familiar with… They’re purposed organisms, aka living machines made of conjoined metal and flesh. Striping them of their biological qualities, is striping them of one of their main defining features! Also, they look really cute this way! I want to hug them, I want to snuggle them, and I also kind of want to bite them… Sig especially.

(Please don’t leave any nsfw comments, this is just meant to be silly.)

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part six: in which you wrangle out information about the doctor's segments, discover a library and obtain the favour of its obscenely wealthy resident

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: is the burn even burning. slow burn, gn neutral reader who is occasionally referred to as 'miss', smart-ass reader with just a sprinkle of social anxiety and a healthy dose of skepticism

warnings: blood and organs. are we even surprised at this point

series masterlist

as always, let me know if you find any pronoun slips!! oh, and friendly reminder that reblogs help circulate my work much better than likes <3

word count: 4628 words

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“They are not clones,” he replied dismissively. “Have you nothing to say to explain yourself?”

“In that case, how precisely do you define them?” You prodded, all anxiety at your lateness forgotten in the face of this engrossing new mystery. “I’m assuming you created them. How, if not by cloning?”

The Doctor crossed his arms and stared you down. You gazed back up at him, resolute and unmoving in your curiosity. You looked different today, he noted; you apparently still hadn’t found your cloak judging from the fact you were wearing Childe’s, damn him,and the shadows under your eyes were more pronounced than usual. He frowned behind his mask. Had you not gotten enough sleep? Perhaps he shouldn’t have kept you in the lab so late; after all, sleep deprivation would make you more prone to committing foolish blunders in the vicinity of his precious experiments. He couldn’t have that.

“My segments are none of your concern,” he said with an air of finality.

“Doctor, as your apprentice, am I not entitled to having any questions outside my realm of expertise answered by you?”

Oh, you devious thing.

With a dismissive wave of his gloved hand, the Doctor swept past you towards the reflux apparatus he set up the night before.

“Provide an acceptable excuse for your tardiness, and perhaps then I’ll be more accommodating.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, unsurprised by his persistent give-and-take mentality, and made your way to your array of petri dishes. Under different conditions, the fungi growing within them developed a multitude of characteristics; under direct sunlight, tendrils of green plantlife snaked through the mycelium, when submerged in water the fungi formed tiny yet distinctive fins, and many other such phenomena.

“I had an encounter with Lady Eight and Lord Eleven after the lab session.”

“One that lasted well past midnight?” He asked, stealing glances at you as he set up the next step of his current experiment.

“Yes,” you confirmed with a disdainful roll of your eyes. “Hence my lack of punctuality. I had to entertain guests.”

Outrage flared in Dottore’s chest. How dare they intrude upon you at such an inopportune time? Of course, he conveniently dismissed the fact that he was the one who kept you so late in the first place; as far as he was concerned, he was entitled to your company. You were his apprentice, after all.

“Understandable enough,” he conceded.

You shot him a look. “Well? Your… segments? What are they, precisely?”

He muttered something unintelligible before responding.  “Iterations of myself at various ages.”

“I counted seven of them. Are there any more? What purpose does their existence serve? How did you create them?”

“You’re terribly inquisitive today, dear student,” he drawled, holding a test tube to the light and swirling the contents. You frowned. Did he intend to leave your questions unanswered? You really were awfully curious. “Count yourself lucky that I’m in fine spirits today.”

Visibly brightening, you rested your chin in your hands and your elbows on the workbench as you waited for him to go on. You never did seem to notice that he was always in a good mood whenever it came to you and your ceaseless inquiries.

“You counted correctly, there are indeed only seven of them,” he began, preparing a solution for the day’s work with the various test tubes in front of him. “I created them using techniques similar to those utilised in ancient ruin guards, but imbedded with my consciousness and the ideals I held at different phases of my life. This allows me to approach any problem from multiple perspectives, and prevents me from becoming restricted to familiar cognitive patterns.”

You hummed thoughtfully, brow furrowed as you mulled over his answer.

“But how did you ensure that the segment’s outlooks are exactly the same as the ones you used to have? Does your current personality not create some sort of bias and alter the way in which you view your… past self?”

The Doctor nodded his approval; you were asking the right questions.

“I am not heralded as a genius for nothing,” came his amused reply.

“That is a wholly unsatisfactory answer,” you grumbled, but let it slide. “Why haven’t I seen them before now?”

He elected to ignore that.

 

You managed to wriggle out of the Doctor’s snide remarks that you were getting lazy and make your way to the dining hall on time, for once. A restock was absolutely necessary; you’d run out of food in your dorm, and considering the sizeable journey you had to make to reach the dining hall it was a much easier endeavour to just hoard quick meals like an animal going into hibernation. Besides, you didn’t want to leave Arlie waiting, either. While you still didn’t know what kind of power she held, nor to what extent it would affect you, you were far from excited to have her demonstrate that power if you somehow managed to displease her. Even the Doctor, Childe and Signora appeared more manageable; at the very least, you knew exactly how they could make your life miserable if they wished, while Arlie was shrouded in mystery save for her dizzying, razor-sharp grace. Her special brand of courtesy felt like it would leave you scarred and bleeding out if you didn’t watch your step; a knife’s edge you had to dance around and an irresistible enigma for someone as relentlessly inquisitive as you.

After loading up a plate and sliding one of the chefs a tidy stack of mora to have packaged meals sent to your dorm, you slid into the seat across from Arlie at the table by the window you were somehow consistently lucky enough to snag (luck had nothing to do with it, really. She made damn sure no one else would sit there). Clearly she’d arrived some time ago, judging from the empty pot of coffee in front of her, and she offered you a nod of acknowledgment as you sat down. After your first meeting, she’d abandoned the purple robes that had were meant to serve the purpose of disguising her as an electro cicin mage, and now whenever you saw her she donned sleek, finely-tailored suits. You couldn’t say they didn’t look marvellous on her.

 

“I was expecting to see you at dinner, not this early.”

“The doctor was an in amicable mood,” you replied, buttering your roll and slathering on a layer of too-sweet jam. Mona had perfected both the art of astrology and jams; you missed her and the flawlessly balanced confections she’d make during the rare instances she had the mora to spare.

“Why are you staring at that bread roll as though it made you an orphan before your very eyes?” Arlie’s silky voice took on a bemused edge, snapping you out of your reverie. You were more than a little surprised by her question; you liked to think of yourself as somewhat difficult to read. Perhaps you were, but nothing escaped her searching gaze.

“I was just ruminating over my research.” It no longer unsettled you how smoothly the lie flowed from your tongue.

Annoyance spiked in her chest. Inconceivable, that you would entertain any thoughts that didn’t involve her. You smiled slightly. “And your ever-cryptic identity.”

She shook her head, laughing quietly. The previous frustration quickly dissipated. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”

“Tastefully curious,” you corrected with a laugh of your own.

“It’s hardly as if you’re the most comprehensible of people, either.”

You grinned. “I’m inclined to disagree, Arlie. Why, I’m an open book!”

“I’m having trouble translating your pages, then.”

“Linguistics isn’t your area of expertise, I take it?” You teased, lifting your fork to your lips. Casual conversation with Arlie felt less like balancing on a tightrope over a clearing swarming with tigers  and more like finding that one of the tigers was actually quite civil and pleasant company, if you overlooked the teeth and claws and minded your manners.

“I’ll gladly learn if it means understanding you better.” Her silver-tongued reply and suave smile had you blushing and taking a moment to collect yourself.

“And you have the unprecedented confidence to call me cheeky,” you quipped.

Savouring the lapse in your composure, she replied bracingly. “Being timid doesn’t get you anywhere. Listen. Request forms will be issued later today. Make sure to submit yours before midnight.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Ah, I see. To restock any necessities we might have exhausted, yes?”

“Precisely.”

Fantastic. You needed a new turtleneck sweater after the eventful dissection with the Doctor left if bloodstained beyond repair.

“I assume the Regrator is the one responsible for overseeing such matters?”

She frowned behind her mask. Just what did he have to do with anything? Why would you bring him into the conversation? Or anyone, for that matter? “Yes, that’s right.”

You shot her a puzzled glance at the sudden frigidity in her voice. Maybe she held a grudge against him, you reasoned; it was entirely possible that she was one of his higher-ranking subordinates. Or maybe she was a Harbinger who held contempt for one of her colleagues.

“The palace truly is a self-sustaining community,” you remarked. “Do soldiers and recruits ever leave for anything besides missions?”

“No. Snezhnaya is far from a forgiving place, and there’s safety to be had between these walls.”

So the Fatui were effectively isolated from the rest of Snezhnayan society, then. You vaguely remembered from an introductory politics lecture that such physical separation between civilians and the ruling body could easily cause unrest and eventually conflict, tearing the nation apart. Oh, well. Hopefully your diploma would be complete long before that happened.

 

With food in your stomach and the usual vague wonderings about Arlie in your head, you returned to the lab.

“Oh, good,” Dottore remarked without looking up from organ modification he was performing. He insisted that it was enhancement, optimisation, and you firmly maintained that it was nothing but needless meddling. “You’ve finally returned. Come here and help me locate the damned tricuspid valve.”

“Surely you’re not so old that your eyesight is failing, doctor?” You asked, removing your leather gloves in favour of the horrible yellow plasticky pair. With a contemplative hum, you leaned over the countertop to survey the bleeding heart (ha, ha) more closely. Remarkable, really, how precise the Doctor’s incisions were; even you had to swallow your pride and admit that he truly was the best of the best, the epitome of perfection so highly sought after by any academic. Noting the blood dripping onto the floor, you winced. Perfection tampered by a thorough indifference to anything that wasn’t his research would be a more accurate description. You batted away his hands and took the scalpel the two of you were always fighting over, making a clean cut through the right atrium and gently peeling away the torn muscle until you could see the flimsy tissue you were looking for.

“There’s your valve,” you said, handing him back the scalpel with no small measure of reluctance. The rules dictated that he’d get to use it for the rest of the day since he got it first, after all.

He ran his bloodied thumb along the edge of his mask before going back to poking delicately at the tissue. You grimaced, watching the white leather of his mask stain crimson where he touched it.

“Flawless,” he murmured.

“Yes, quite,” you agreed, surveying the heart over his shoulder. It had clearly been removed by someone exceptionally skilled, every slice through the tender flesh perfectly made.

Ironically, Dottore was referring to your work. And you, in general.

 

You left the lab tired but satisfied. The day’s experiment had involved lifting several heavy mechanical components; ruin guard’s remains, to be precise. To your eternal chagrin the Doctor hadn’t struggled in the slightest, although you knew for a fact his sleep schedule was deplorable and he so rarely ate anything at all; in fact, you’d made a habit of discreetly leaving plates of food around the lab for him. A dish of vegetable stir fry you’d made in a sleep-deprived haze when your stomach rumbled loud enough to wake you and most likely every one of the castle’s inhabitants, a bowl of fruit, an exquisite chocolate mousse Anya had whipped up for you, and other such snacks scattered throughout the lab far away from any dangerous chemicals. Not that you’d admit to bringing them for him, much like how he’d deny having eaten any. What a strange, prideful pair the two of you made.

Your (well. Childe’s) coat snagged on something as you walked back to the dorm, yanking you back and forcing an obscene curse from your mouth. You crouched to inspect the source, and to your surprise found it to be the edge of a door that was left cracked. It would’ve been invisible if it were closed, and hooking your fingers into the narrow gap and pulling yielded no results. The door didn’t budge. Intrigued, you knelt fully to inspect the wedge; upon running your fingers up and down the seam you discovered a series of tiny, circular indents in the wood.

“Eureka,” you whispered softly. A similar mechanism could be found in several other places in the palace after careful inspection, and to your amusement they all required the same pattern to unlock. Terrible security. You tapped the indents in the order you’d long since memorised, and allowed a tiny, smug smile to overtake your lips when the door swung dutifully open. You slipped inside. The sheer height of hundreds of rows of bookshelves made itself known, and you let out a tiny ‘oh’ of astonishment. A library. The most beautiful one you’d ever stepped foot in, at that; even the House of Daena with its towering arches and marble couldn’t compare to the soft, weathered charm of this place, all hand-woven rugs and big windows framed by velvet curtains, plush armchairs and an array of tasteful stationery littered across every surface, cream paper and deeply coloured quills and ebony ink. You stood frozen in the doorway, taking it all in. If only you’d discovered this place long ago. A quick inspection of the books on the shelves revealed a myriad of genres and topics, even a few analyses bound in leather of subjects you’d itched to study but couldn’t because they were forbidden by the Akademiya. You glanced furtively around. Silent as the grave. Before you could lose your nerve, you quickly began pulling tomes from the shelves and stowing them in your leather satchel; surely no one would complain if you borrowed a few until the next time you could visit this miraculous place. Looking back, you were appalled by your own bravado.

“Oh? And what have we here?”

You froze, a book on the intricacies of destroying Visions halfway in your satchel. Oh, curses.

“Nothing but a curious student, sir,” you replied as smoothly as you could, turning to face the owner of the voice: a well-groomed man dressed entirely in black, from his raven hair to the shimmering jewels studded on the high collar of his shirt. Nauseatingly wealthy, that much was obvious from the fineness of the fur he wore and what seemed to be a diamond ring on his finger. The part of your brain that wasn’t panicking at being caught wondered if he’d let you test whether it was real or not; a simple and visually pleasing procedure to determine the refractive index was all it would take.

The stranger picked at his gloves, watching you over the rim of a rather excellent pair of glasses (you could tell from the set of the lenses in the frames; seamless as the door you’d unlocked to get into the library.)

“Really, now? A thirst for knowledge is all that drove you here, then?”

You swallowed nervously. Just how would you get yourself out of this predicament?

“The door was ajar, and I couldn’t help but wonder what might be inside.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And how did you manage to open the door all the way?”

You bit back the smug smile that was threatening to appear. Best to downplay yourself so as not to seem too clever; a man this rich would obviously be powerful too, and nothing good could come of revealing your assets to him.

“I don’t know, sir,” you replied, injecting as much cluelessness into your voice as you could. “I just pulled it open. My apologies for intruding, it wasn’t my intention.”

“That would be believable if I were just a touch more foolish. Unfortunately for you, I’m not convinced by your innocent act.” He smiled. “At all.”

Rich and intelligent. What a bothersome combination.

“I suppose my only defence is that I was unaware this was a private library,” you conceded, re-shelving the tome. The wistful look in your eyes as you did so was quite amusing, he thought.

“And how do you plan on earning my forgiveness?”

“What are my options?” You countered without missing a beat.

Hm. Not bad, he thought approvingly.

“Why not introduce yourself? I’d quite like to know the name of the thief who knows how to break into a library I thought impenetrable.”

You cleared your throat, embarrassed, and fidgeted discreetly with your gloves.

“I wouldn’t call myself a thief, sir. I fully intended on returning these once I had read them,” you protested, then gave him your name. “I’m an apprentice of the Doctor’s.”

Subtle realisation dawned on the man’s face.

“Oh, I see. The infamous ‘Trixy,’ no?”

“That… is indeed the nickname Lord Eleven insists on calling me by.” You were going to kill him, you really were.

He smiled. “I thought Dottore was exaggerating when he referred to you as ‘overly cunning.’ It looks like I was wrong.”

You frowned slightly at the casual use of the Doctor’s name. Archons. Just my luck, being caught nicking books from a Harbinger’s library.

“I am the Regrator.” Reaching towards you, he took hold of your hand and kissed the back of it. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, sir- my lord,” you replied, flustered by his greeting and your mistake. “Truly an honour. Allow me to once again extend my apologies for imposing myself on your property.”

“Not to worry, one apology was quite enough,” he replied with another smile. How quickly he changed his tune; a moment ago you were quite worried he’d do much worse than throw you out, but now he was all class and geniality. These two-faced Harbingers really would be the death of you, forcing you to switch between subtle defensiveness and gracefully accepting compliments.

“I’ll see myself out,” you said, breaking the impending silence. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord.”

“No, no. Stay, I insist. In fact…” He took hold of your shoulders and steered you towards the fireplace, nudging you into a chair. “Why not take a seat? If my memory serves, today you’re to receive the requests forms, is that right?”

He grinned, satisfied, when you nodded in confirmation.

“Lovely. Tell me what it is you were going to have brought to the palace, and I’ll ensure its timely delivery.”

Your eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch.

“And what do you gain from providing me this assistance?”

“Your favour,” he replied promptly, so matter-of-fact that you thought you’d misheard. Well. If he was going to take the first shot and be such a flatterer, then you could certainly play along.

“Why, you’ve already gained it by extending your cordiality,” you said, lifting a gloved hand to your mouth to hide the grin threatening to overtake your features.

Regrator laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. The flickering glow of the fireplace threw the planes of his face into sharp relief, all razor-sharp angles that could cut through diamond. Unsettled, you took to pulling at the fingertips of your gloves for a moment’s respite from his eerie black gaze, glinting like the surface of a bottomless lake at night. Maybe, just maybe, masks were preferable.

“You’re something of a smooth talker,” he remarked. “Perhaps I’ve met my match.”

“I couldn’t hope to live up to your articulacy, my lord, though I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be so humble. I understand that you’re quite the genius in your own field, no?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Whatever gave you such an impression?”

“It’s not often Dottore goes larking about others’ intelligence,” he replied with equal amusement, watching the swirling clouds of snow outside the stained glass window. Now that caught you by surprise. Surely the Doctor, legend of the Akademiya and one of the arrogant men you ever had the displeasure of meeting, wouldn’t bestow you with such praise.

“I’m clever enough to get by,” you settled on saying, fingers itching to check your pocket watch. It had to be late, but the Regrator imposed a strange aura that compelled you to follow what little etiquette you knew of. The moment you realised this, however, you made a point of taking your watch out and checking the time. The only nonsensical rules you would allow to influence your behaviour were those that could eventually be explained; the laws of science.

“Terribly humble,” he murmured, repeating his previous statement with a touch more gratification.

“It never pays to be egotistical without good reason,” you concluded, making to get up. “It’s been a pleasure, my lord”-

“Sit, sit,” he said firmly, cutting you off. “You won’t have time to submit the request form now,” he pointed out. ‘You might as well stay and tell me what it is you need so I can take care of it.”

You cursed softly under your breath. He was right, unfortunately, and you really were in dire need of several necessities. Resignedly, you sat back down. The Regrator’s pleased twitch of his lips didn’t escape your notice; clearly he’d planned this out. Sneak.

“Much obliged,” you muttered, not without a healthy amount of resentment you didn’t bother hiding.

“But of course.”

He stared at you expectantly, that maddeningly unbothered half-smile never budging from his lips. You bit back a sigh. Best get this over with.

“Well, for starters, I need at least seventy grams each of qingxin, violetgrass, mourning flowers and lumidouce bells. Oh, and ten grams of sunsettia seeds. Other than that, one kilogram each of copper, crystal marrow and white iron, and as many chaos devices and spectral husks as you can afford.”

“That sounds similar to Dottore’s usual order, yes,” he mused. “But forgive me for asking… why the sunsettia seeds?”

“Sunsettia trees can be coaxed into growing under very harsh conditions, and I happen to quite like the fruit,” you answered with a shrug.

The half-smile widened just a touch.

“I see. Everything else on your list seems to pertain to laboratory work. Are you certain you won’t require any… more personal items?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Although, the doctor did say you would know why I didn’t receive the standard uniform for Fatui recruits,” you added as an afterthought. He blinked, as if caught by surprise.

“Why, it’s quite simple. You’re not considered a recruit at all.”

You stared unabashedly at him. “What?”

“It’s true,” he continued, toying with the fine silver chain of his glasses. “Your file simply has 'scholar' written as the rank.”

“How ambiguous,” you bit out, dragging a hand down your face. For all their bluster and pomp, you’d decided that the Fatui were a ragtag group of disorderly misfits with no sense of how to run such a large and influential organisation. ‘Rank: Scholar? Seriously? Keqing’s voice in your head pointedly asked if you thought you would me more up to the task of filing accurate records on thousands of people. You mentally grumbled.

“Quite fitting for a mysterious person like you.”

You lifted your head to shoot him an incredulous glance. “Yes, absolutely, my lord,” you muttered sarcastically under your breath. “My every action is so veiled in mystique, I can hardly see a metre in front of me from all the smoke and mirrors.”

The Regrator chuckled quietly.

“Clearly you understand that brevity is the soul of wit.”

“Just bursting with wisecracks, my lord,” you deadpanned. “It’s time I should be going.” Rising from your chair, you cast a longing glance across the library. “…Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask for permission to visit your library now and again?”

“Permission granted,” he conceded with a nod and twinkle in his fathomless eyes. “You’d be a welcome guest at any time.”

With a grateful ‘thank you’ and a brief smile, you hurried out of the secret door and back to your dorm.

As far as you were concerned, morning had yet to begin if it was almost noon. The sky was completely clouded over, not a glimpse of the tenuous blue visible through the layers upon layers of cottony white. In your professional opinion, if the sun wasn’t visible then the day hadn’t even started; hence why you were still in bed savouring your only day off of the week.

With a contented sigh, you pulled the blankets up to your chin and settled in a more comfortable positon, the battering of the wind against your window and the distant crowing of ravens forming a lulling symphony. Sleep was just around the corner.

A crash startled you out of your pleasant half-awake reverie, the suddenness of the movement quite effectively acquainting your skull with the wooden headboard. You muttered a string of curses, electing to ignore whoever had the unparalleled audacity to make such a noise and go back to sleep. The intruder wasn’t as agreeable about your plan, unfortunately.

“Rise and shine, Trixy!” An all too familiar voice rang out. You groaned and buried your head beneath the covers. Maybe it was a hallucination that would disappear if you ignored it. Hallucinations weren’t tangible, however, but Childe very much was, judging from how he shook your shoulder and prevented you from slipping back into your slumber. You made a half-hearted attempt to bat his hand away.

“Heavens’ sake, Childe,” you rasped, curling up tighter and willing him to go away. The use of his name rather than a snidely bit out title, or worse still, just his rank, gave him pause. You congratulated yourself on managing to shock him long enough to allow yourself to settle back into the mattress. Not even a moment later you felt a freezing pair of hands grab your ankles and pull.

“H-hey!” You kicked and thrashed, but Childe just laughed and tugged you out of bed. You could’ve sobbed. “What do you want?” You grumbled, crossing your arms.

“Awww, it’s almost as if you don’t want me here,” he said with a pout, watching you rub your eyes and push the hair out of your face. You were softer around the edges like this, he thought, hackles lowered slightly and the suspicion in your eyes worn away by sleep.

“You’re slow on the uptake, but know that I’m proud of you for finally coming to a correct conclusion,” you deadpanned. “Now tell me what’s so bloody important that you saw it fit to wake me.”

He grinned brightly. “It’s your day off, isn’t it? I wanted to take you to the city!”

You opened your mouth to snap out a scathing retort that would probably have him leaving the room in a huff, then closed it again. He looked so hopeful, all wide eyes wrinkling at the corners from the wideness of his boyish grin. You wanted to kick yourself for going so soft on him.

“Alright,” you conceded. “Let’s go to the city.”

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[recursivetransformarray]

still working out if/what I want to do with these guys and their lore is pretty vague, but playing around with designs is a lot of fun either way :) writing under cut

LRTS and SI are part of the same local group (and are a very blatant reference to another video game, although mostly in name only). LRTS is directly over top a fairly popular entrance to the Void Sea, so his city ended up with a lot of religious foot traffic, a fact he loves to boast; after all, he was able to serve his creators till the very end. He still dutifully carries out his work despite this, as some sort of payback, perhaps. By the time anyone thinks to contact SI after hearing the Ancients died out, she's completely unresponsive, likely having circumvented the self-destruction taboo and lobotomized herself long ago with the help of a legion of purposed organisms. Ascension was not the goal, rather the ability to simply not think, and she seems to have succeeded. Unfortunately, two of these organisms are still active and one, the Legionary, is very eager to erase as much life as it can now that its primary purpose has been fulfilled. It's really not that smart. The other organism, the Vigilante, was designed to herd others to specific weak points in SI's system, but is likely too weak to ward off the other lone survivor.

LRTS and SI hated each other, primarily due to a complete and utter clash of ideals, and he was happy to see her gone. however, with their cans being the closest in proximity to one another, it's likely the Legionary has gone to him next.

Legionary's based on Miros Birds and Centiwings with a slugcattish base, and Vigilante is primarily a red centipede with a vaguely bipedal stance, they're both partially repurposed Overseers as well. I swear they were both slugcats until I decided it'd be more fun to fuck with their designs a bit, lol

IS is primarily just me fucking with a design, so I haven't thought about much for her, but I like to think of her as an iterator made by another iterator, perhaps as a proof-of-concept for them being able to take over the world as the next species, but it proved too time-consuming and costly. her can is small, and situated near an ocean.

[bitsbug]

good evening rainworld community. look at my ocs NOW

YOU CAN ASK THEM QUESTIONS BTW. please do I’ve been marinating them for months. finely cured.

multiple paragraphs introducing each under the cut !

Curtains Drawn Over Bone - he/him

The first of my iterators, and frankly the most developed. Curtains is incredibly young for an iterator, made at the tail end of the last generation, and was subject to some.. negligent planning during his construction. He was placed in an area of dubious rain quality and worse ground stability; the conditions were considered acceptable back then, but millions of cycles later that's no longer the case.

 Despite this glaring issue, he's been handling it better than you'd expect. Having recognized the long-term affects of his placement early on, Curtains took an interest in maintenance and optimization in order to survive, completely disregarding the Great Problem. He's broken some taboos in the process, and surprisingly didn't contract rot while doing it. His efforts have paid off with a suite of purposed organisms and a significantly more advanced, upgraded facility.

 Some things would be impossible to address, though. Despite his best efforts, erosion and earthquakes now threaten to topple his can; something he's scrambling to fix.

 Curtains is generally regarded as a finicky, flighty person by his group. He's a recluse and a workaholic, driven by some desperate ferver to avoid the worst. When he does appear in chatrooms, he seems constantly wound up, often vanishing as quickly as he arrives. He was like this long before his current situation. But do not mistake his nervousness for ineptitude, because Curtains is very meticulous and dedicated in his endeavors, backed by his thorough understanding of iterator anatomy and a genuine passion for his work.

Twenty Taken in Vain - they/them

The only iterator in this damn group who isn't a social recluse. Built in the golden age of the Ancients, a time of prosperity and uneventfulness, TTiv found their place in the bustling global communities of their kin. They're of the belief that research is best done collaboratively, and constructed their workflow around this frame.

But, really, they never much cared for that work or their purpose. Devoting themself to tireless research for something likely impossible just wasn't a good use of time, nor did they find the process very interesting, so they sought to fulfill their life in less desolate ways. As much as a sentient, static building is able to, at least.

In particular, Twenty Taken in Vain pursues a variety of art forms! There's a critical lack of artwork made with iterators in mind (While interesting to discuss, most Ancient books can be read in less than a second for example), so they seek to fill that gap. Their main passion is literature, but they do dabble in many other subjects, such as digital painting, textile weaving, 'false memory' qualia fabrication, and DMing a tabletop roleplaying game for their local group.

Their social proclivities haven't served them well in recent years, because the global communications decay has left them more isolated than ever before. Losing contact with multiple close friends has drained them of motivation, and made them fearful of losing those they do have left. Imagine like, depression but on a supercomputer scale.

In personality, TTiv is as chatty as you'd expect of them, but without the energy associated with extroversion. Their charisma is carried in their nonchalance and humor, with an undertone of snarkiness - only occasionally with any bite to it. They're adaptable as well, without a fixation on one subject and a willingness to introspect. Since the comm failure, they've become a lot quieter and more irritable, stress they've barely kept under wraps.

Anxiety Practice - it/xe

Polite and inoffensive, AP is an easily overlooked iterator. It appears frequently in chatrooms, but always in the shadow of its kin, and rarely draws attention to itself. Despite this demeanor, xe certainly aren't shy or nervous - that's already taken by Curtains - xe just prefer xer distance and privacy.

 As it currently stands, Anxiety is the only member of its group actively working on the Great Problem. It prefers exploring more unorthodox theories for ascension, with a fixation on Karma flowers and their properties. As part of its experiments, its created a few.. curious organisms hybridized with the flower. It also collaborates closely with Distant Humming for information on the grander Cycle and general advice. Thus far, it's made a few fascinating discoveries, but predictibly no breakthroughs on the Triple Affirmative. Oh also, sometimes xe put karma-affecting drug cocktails into xer water intake. normal iterator behavior i promise.

 Even at xer most comfortable and nonchalant, AP keeps an aloof, almost stoic nature. Chronically icy cool, xe seem incapable of expressing anything besides calm indifference. This isn't true, of course, xer composure is just nothing to scoff at. It even uses its reputation for comedy at times, usually through deadpan delivery or 'breaking character'.

Distant Humming - she/Her

An anomaly in existence, the first iterator to almost reach ascension. Distant Humming became an echo by her own hand, using heavy adjustments to her retaining wall and filter pumps to essentially bathe her facility in void fluid, solving the issue of her kinds' distributed conscience by just addressing all of it. at once.

 Her subsequent failed ascension left her systems broken and mutated in impossible ways, but she functions nonetheless in her ethereal, undying state. The warping irreparably affected her memory and personality though; she considers herself a different person from the Humming before.

 Despite her uncanny nature and haunting appearance, Distant Humming is a surprisingly amiable person, if vague or foreboding at times. Her detached state of existence allows her the breathing room to appreciate the world for what it is, and insight into the Cycle that'd be impossible to gain from within it. She's happy to share her observations with anyone who'd listen.

 About once a year, Humming's karmic cycle aligns with that of her local group, affording her a limited time to speak with them. She appears totally non-existent outside this period.

THAT’S ALL BYEEE

[lucettapanchetta]

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

[ …so are we done with the plan now? ]

[ Yes, we are. There is no point in trying to solve something that we can't control. ]

[ I suppose you do have a point. I just wish I had the chance to speak with Five Pebbles one last time. ]

[ Also, I'd hate to go back to old questions, but what makes you so sure that the messenger died? ]

[ Well, I never intended for my messenger to fend off against large threats. Yes, I may have given them some increased adaptability, but that's about it in terms of intuitiveness. ]

[ ... ]

[ You know, I'm really starting to believe that they might still be alive. ]

[ That is, if you want my reasoning behind it. ]

[ Go ahead. ]

[Right. So, if you created a purposed organism capable of making the journey over to an iterator superstructure, wouldn't that disprove the notion it died?]

[ …not particularly. I made them to specifically to do that. ]

[ True, but anyways, the messenger also managed to get the failsafe pearl rewritten, so they must have met Moon. Keep in mind, her superstructure is extremely unsafe as of right now. ]

[ Right… ]

[ So, do you realize how much this messenger must've gone through to reach this point? ]

[ Quite a lot now that I think about it. ]

[ …and if that's the case, do you really think they would die that easily either? ]

[ Personally, I doubt it. They've likely spent countless cycles with the same level of grit needed to finish the job. I even bet they'll come back to you as soon as they're done. ]

[ When you put it like that, maybe you're right. But why are you being so optimistic all of a sudden? ]

[ Because it'll be all that I'll have left if things continue this way. If the one iterator I know, who usually makes light of everything, is hurting, I might as well compensate. Wouldn't you agree? ]

[ I suppose that's true, but if I wasn't experiencing the fear of uncertainty, I'd be doing a better job than you. ]

[ Can't help but throw punches, eh? ]

[ Oh, come on Seven Red Suns! It's in my nature. ]

[skybristle]

BENDING HORIZONS IS DONE!

my local group is done!!! short descriptions r below cut!!!! im so so excited guys omg. please ask abt them [also pls rb this took ages and im rlly proud of them!] toyhouse link here that also has full individual images!!! point out ur faves! im so excited to present them to you all [please like them please like them please l- /lh]

without further ado, here we go! in seniority [and image] order

Plunging Flows of Ash [PFA] - he/him [woman!!] He’s definitely winning his senior of the cycle award! He’s been pretty depressed and poorly functioning from the jump, but would often rely on his partner, Sparks, for help and support. When she’s in her darkest hour, and his privileges as senior are needed, he consistently fails to deliver despite her constant aid in return… and after the mass ascension, he just falls off the face of the earth, sleeping through his own depression even as his dysfunctional group desperately needs him. The catalyst for everything- as he fractured his group in two with his actions and fails to rise to their needs, and he has a chronic inability to accept his own wrongdoings and the fact things have changed. Associated Slugcat: The Colorburst Countless Swirling Sparks [CSS] - she/any Well known among iterators for her many, many methods of iteration and other inventions, Sparks was built with an unusually large [and haphazard] structure that she uses to its full advantage. Always with countless screens pulled up around her, always on some project, eating up her own escapism. She was failed by her creators long ago, but is so desperate to see her fellow iterators happy she keeps pushing on. In lieu of Ash, she has risen to a faux senior status - though lacking any powers to enforce her position. Only about half of the group [Ochre, Chimes, and Aurora] answer to her with any respect of authority- she has not been able to reach the others. Her resentment for her situation with her former lover is festering, and may explode violently once things go awry… Associated Slugcat: The Brainiac

Erupting Maw [EM] - she/her She’s fucking crazy!!! Worshiped as a god by her colony, she has not coped with their loss well. Originally seeking to replace the void left by their departure, she created purposed organisms to inhabit her city and later her can… but watching them rip eachother apart was simply so much more cathartic. She has full control! Her ego and disdain for other iterators as lowly in comparison only grows. Over the cycles, her can has become notorious for having some of the most deadly creatures. She’s an expert of bioengineering… but is the danger in seeking her aid worth it? Associated Slugcat: The Gladiator

Budding Ochre Opportunities [BOO] - she/flor Based on solarpunk aesthetics, flors city and can truly is a delight! With a colony full of roof gardens and brilliant colors, she herself has taken to turning her puppet chamber into a garden. Kind and compassionate, though cutting and assertive, she has made peace with her situation as an iterator and is just trying to live a good life. As flor adds to flors collection, she doesn’t consider any of it may posit a danger to her structure. But she would be at peace with that, too, if it were to occur. The only question is if those who care about her, such as her dearest Chimes, would be. Associated Slugcat: The Recon

Resonant Chimes [RC] - he/him He’s really just chilling, hanging out. No secret problems here, no deep-seated depression over the loss of his colony that he hangs onto, no karma flowers being poured into his puppet coolant just to feel something, none of that! Collecting music, friends with slugcats and scavs alike, having a good time. He’s surprisingly intelligent and has his morals more sorted than just about anyone here, but he’s held back by general apathy and his losses. Maybe, so many cycles detached from their creators, he won’t have to worry about losing anyone again. As long as he drinks the tea, he doesn’t have to think about it, and can pull himself closer to those below who left him. Associated Slugcat: The Gardener

Reaching for Caged Starlight [RCS] - she/it/ast Frustrated endlessly, as most iterators are, by being locked in a box, she’s determined to put an end to this. Not by ascension, though. She’s determined to free them from their cans- allow an escape from this maze. Ast wants to remove the puppet from the umbilical, in a manner where they don’t lose themself completely. Much easier said than done! Its undoing, however, is its cautious and methodical nature. She is too light on her feet to simply dare and cut the wire, let alone having the experience to snap the mechanical arm entrapping her. But, she has all the time in the world, and she will one day see the stars they made her mocking name after. They’ll all see. Ast will get there, by any cost necessary, even if her fellow iterators are disposable to this goal. Associated Slugcat: The Seamstress

A Glittering Aurora [AGA] - she/he Need some gossip? He’s your guy, all right! She burns her endless time away on global chats, basking in the amusement and the knowledge. A bit of a nuisance to her own local group, as she simply can not keep a secret, but… what happens when technology degrades, the message board is silent, he no longer can block out his circumstances,,, and the drama reaches a bit too close to home? Associated Slugcat: The Copycat Wandering Whispers [WW] - they/them A very quiet, lonely iterator, Whispers strays to themself. Only allowed to speak to their fellow iterators for shipments, or, occasionally, their senior for guidance, there were few connections for them besides to the one who vanished off the face of the earth. With their personality thoroughly destroyed by the iron fist of their colony, they simply… quietly observe. But they may hear something they’re not supposed to, and, desperate for a replacement for their mentor, lead themself astray. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and they will glimpse the void in the end and take the plunge. Associated Slugcat: The Mercy

[bracketsoffear]

Corruption: Bugsnax (Bugsnax) "The game starts with you finding out about the existence of Bugsnax: fascinating, mysterious and wonderful creatures of legend with big googly eyes that are shaped like food! They taste like the meals you imagine they do, but far better than it had ever been, satisfying you easily with a single one but still leaving you wanting more. As you progress, the inhabitants of the island where they're found ask you to find more and more of them to give them; they're enjoying them, and for each of them, these bugsnax signify something deeper than what it seems at first glance. It isn't just food: for some, they're like family; for others, they're mysterious creatures they grow obsessed to research about; and for others they're the sources of stability in their otherwise intensely unstable lives. One way or another, eating or just being near bugsnax can easily get a hold of you and make you completely dependent on them, making you believe they're the solution to all of your life's problems. The fact that by eating a single one it affects your body structure and turns your limbs one by one into food shaped skin also adds to the horrors that everyone seem to be too blind to, too focused on their own dependence as it builds and builds until, eventually, you're fully food shaped and then your body structure weakens, destroying you and turning you into another of the island's victims, and so become a meal of the meal you had been eating all along. At the end of the day, you find out what they really are: parasites, made in cute shapes with adorable or funny sounds for the sole purpose of convincing you to having them nearby, eat them, and so slowly build up to eating you from the inside out. You are what you eat, and all life is Bugsnax."

Spiral: The House on Ashtree Lane (House of Leaves) "The strange nature of the House on Ash Tree Lane was first recorded by acclaimed photojournalist Will Navidson when he moved in with his family. The film was subsequently criticized in a manuscript written by Zampanò, and upon his death the work was recovered, annotated, and organized by Johnny Truant. Possibly. No record of Navidson, the film he created, or many of the references utilized by Zampanò can be found, either because Zampanò made them up entirely or they were somehow erased.1 It is possible that this means that the house itself, whose notable properties include being 1/4" larger on the inside and an infinitely-expanding pitch-black system of corridors that drive explorers to madness, simply does not exist.2 Whether or not the house itself exists physically or merely as a memetic hazard spread through various iterations upon Navidson's original film, its effects seem to manifest as an anxiety pertaining to doors, hallways, and what lies beyond them, as well as a creature of uncertain nature5 that seemingly stalks those who annotate the account with their own thoughts and reactions.4

Possibly by a means similar to case #0120606, "Lost and Found".

Though by no means does simple nonexistence equate to harmlessness, as in case 376-U, "Upon the Stair".

It may be worth investigating the similarities between this Minotaur and the Distortion.

Whether or not readers who do not annotate the text suffer similar experiences is, naturally, unrecorded.

where the labyrinth spreads the Minotaur follows 3"

[cordycepsbian]

also uploading these separately so we can properly tag them

[elk-scribe]

you know what since I was talking about the rain world ending and i rambled a little about the karma system and how its all fake.

Big spoilers ahead and whatever I will be talking thoroughly abt the game lore (excluding downpour i don't consider it canon).

Karma in rain world isn't real and we've all been tricked to think it matters at all.

Here's a list of things we should consider regarding the information about karma.

We start on the lowest karma, and as slugcat rests it goes up until it caps at 5. Each of these karma levels represent the basic animal urges. Violence, lust, companionship, gluttony, survival.

The ancients are the ones that considered shedding the base natural urges of an animal necessary for ascension.

The ancients are also the ones that proposed the idea of ascension, and declared that the cycle of life, death, and rebirth is so awful that no creature would want to be a part of it.

(light blue pearl, outskirts)

Now, a lot of this game is about religion- and in the case of the ancients it touches upon the idea of the opressiveness of religion and exploitation therein. Anytime I think about how the ancients left behind the iterators to "solve the problem" for the rest of the creatures, it makes me think of how missionaries go to places to try and "save" the people there.

The ancients' religion is a manipulative cult. First, they convince (almost) all of their people that life is awful. Then, they continue with proposing the idea of solving that problem- no longer living. But there's a catch! You have to die correctly. You have to EARN this "blissful" release from the horrible fact of living. Either by rigorous torture (living off of tea and starving yourself) or by paying money.

(Bright red pearl, farm arrays)

Then, they make it a societal norm- an HONOUR to die in the way They Think Is Correct. But you HAVE to do everything they say to shed yourself of those nasty animal urges and be ready for ASCENSION. And they put a price on it.

But we have to remember, not only did they create a religion that convinced them all that living is horrible...

They destroyed the entire ecosystem that used to be there and replaced it with ruins or whatever managed to descend from purposed organisms.

The ancients were able to alter cells of creatures- the ability to do such a thing at all is described here.

(Gold pearl, Chimney Canopy)

So who is to say that they didn't alter the cells of their own people? That they didn't create all purposed organisms with that idea of karma inside of them? The gates respond to the slugcat, it reads something about its karma. Its a machine reading something within its genetic data. The guardians respond to creatures with karma- and in fact are hostile to anything NOT at karma 10.

But the guardians were made by the ancients to protect their temples. To prevent anyone "unworthy" from going down.

The iterators are forbidden from altering their own karma- how is that something you can do if its not an actual, physical trait somewhere within them? Somewhere within their genetic code that the ancients tampered with?

But most notably-

Cheesing your way past the guardians using flashbangs and throwboosts is an intended feature of the game, and you can go down and into the sea and ascend with no issue. If karma truly mattered for ascension, then why can we ascend without the approval of the guardians?

Slugcats are descendants of purposed organisms, they have this "karma" meter wired into their bodies.

So anyway karma isn't real and the ancients forced a mass suicide of their own kind as Im sure whoever benefitted from exploiting their own citizens had been long gone, leaving behind nations of people desperate to leave the world behind as they have been convinced its the only thing to save them from the horrors of living.

[frostfire-17]

What is cuneiform?

@ipsomaniac asked if I could explain the cuneiform system, and so I am going to give it a shot. Here goes! (Update: it got long! But there's pictures!)

Part I: What does it look like? How do we work with it?

This is the cuneiform script:

This is a first-millennium BC text of Sargon II, in Akkadian (specifically Neo-Assyrian). My user icon is a much older Sumerian text. In a second we'll see some Hittite. Just like the Latin script is used for English, French, Turkish, and many other languages today, the cuneiform script was used for lots of languages in the ancient world. It changed a bit over three thousand years of constant use, but it remains pretty recognizable because of the wedges. "Cuneiform" is just Latin for "wedge-shaped," because scholars love giving things banal names and then translating them into Latin or Greek so no one can tell.

This is a Hittite tablet:

This particular tablet is part of the royal funerary ritual (which has many many MANY tablets, many of which are way more broken than this one, and/or missing entirely). It's been pieced together from lots of fragments, all excavated separately. (You can see their excavation numbers written on the fragments, e.g. 39/c.) It's written on clay, like most of their texts were. This is a pretty good amount of preservation for a tablet this size - many are more fragmentary. I wish the picture were better, but tablets are not catalogued by how good the pictures are and it would have taken a million years to find a really hi-res one suitable for our purposes.

You can see that each symbol is made up of a bunch of wedges. These were pressed into the clay with a stylus while it was still wet. If you look closely, you can also spot spaces between words (more obvious at the end of a paragraph).

Here's a little slice of our tablet:

And here's a drawing of that same little slice. This is how scholars usually interact with texts on a day-to-day basis, because taking readable photos of tablets is difficult and going to see the tablets is more difficult. Drawings are made by experts in the presence of the tablets and published so that everyone can look at them.

Here the scholar who did this drawing (published in Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi vol. 39, text no. 4) was working with only some of the fragments, and so has written in the transliteration of the left half, which they weren't copying. So you can see how each cuneiform sign corresponds to a written syllable, sometimes in lowercase, sometimes in all caps, and sometimes in superscript.

What does all this mean? How does it work? Okay. Cuneiform is a really difficult and frustrating writing system to read, for a few reasons. 1) It grew organically from a time before writing existed, so people were just kind of slowly figuring out how to use pictures to represent words; 2) it lasted for thousands of years, so there were all sorts of innovations tacked on without necessarily jettisoning any of the old stuff; and 3) it was borrowed through quite a few languages, almost none of which were related to one another, so it had to twist around and adapt to totally different sounds and word structures. So it's weird! And hard to learn, especially for us, because we are not native speakers of any of the languages that used it, and also we're not a single person existing in a snapshot of time, where cuneiform had a specific form and iteration - we're looking at its whole span of three thousand years.

THAT SAID. I can explain some stuff about it and how it worked! Here goes!

Part 2: How does it work as a writing system?

We start with a picture. Let's use a star. Like this: 𒀭

Or this:

(this is a student text copying the star sign over and over - ignore the leftmost column. I got it from this excellent thread here)

This is the cuneiform sign for the sky, or for a god. In Sumerian, the language that first used cuneiform, the word for "sky" is AN. The word for "god" is DINGIR. So this sign could be pronounced either AN, and mean sky, or DINGIR, and mean god. This sort of usage is called "logographic" - a sign equals a word. It started as just a picture of a star, and came to mean a couple of things associated with the stars.

Eventually, there reaches a point where it doesn't just only mean the word "sky," it also means the syllable "an." That is, you could use it to represent a part of a word, or a grammatical element, that was pronounced "an." (E.g., ma-ah-ha-an: mahhan, which is a Hittite word that means "when," and which is written with four signs, including our an.) This is called the rebus principle: like a rebus puzzle, a picture of an eye can also mean "I" because they sound the same. This usage supplements the logograms rather than replacing them: you could still use "an" to mean "sky." You know which usage is in play based on context. (Or at this stage, maybe you don't. Sumerian is real hard and we don't understand it perfectly.)

You can also use signs a third way, which is designed to make reading easier: as what's called a "determinative." A determinative tells you what type of thing a word is. So if you use the star symbol as a determinative, it comes before a word and indicates that upcoming is a god's name. It's not pronounced when it's used like that. Other determinatives include: male and female markers, plural markers, markers to indicate what something is made of, what kind of animal it is, etc.

So any sign you see could potentially be a word (logogram), a sound (syllable), or a soundless classifier (determinative). In practice, only some signs take on all three of these functions.

When we transcribe signs now, we write them in Latin script based on which function they're serving. That's why, in the above Hittite texts, some of the signs were written in all-caps (for logograms), some of them in lowercase (for syllables), and some of them in superscript (for determinatives).

So then Akkadian borrows the system. They like to spell words out a lot more than the Sumerians do, so more and more signs are used primarily for their syllables, rather than their meaning. The signs also take on more syllabic meanings, because Akkadian has different words behind the logograms, and also has different sounds than Sumerian. A lot of signs end up doing double, triple or even-more-ple duty (e.g. the sign for "ag" can also be read "ak" or "aq" in an Akkadian text). Once again, you know how to read a sign from context, and in Akkadian you usually actually do know, because Akkadian is a Semitic language rather than an isolate like Sumerian, so we understand it way, way better.

Akkadian keeps using the symbols as logograms, though, too. Sometimes they'll spell out a word, but sometimes they'll just use the logographic symbol for it - like how sometimes we write out "two," and sometimes just write "2". Sometimes there are full Sumerian words or combinations of words that have become logograms: that is, they're not loanwords. They're not pronounced in Sumerian. They're written as a symbol (like 2), and the Akkadian word would be pronounced underneath (like "two.") The Akkadians also keep using determinatives.

At this point, most signs at least have a logographic value and a few syllabic values. Also (to make it extra difficult) plenty of syllables have a couple of different signs that could be used to represent them. In total there's a bit over a thousand cuneiform signs, incidentally, but usually only a few hundred were in use at any given time and place.

Then Hittite borrows it! They actually overall reduce the number of signs used, and the number of signs doing double duty, so it's generally simpler to read. Hittite's sound system is totally different from Akkadian's, though - which is totally different from Sumerian's - so they do some weird stuff with which signs represent which sounds. (The result of this is that our understanding of Hittite phonetics is somewhat imperfect.) They do use a ton of logograms whenever they're talking about physical objects, especially ritual offerings. Ritual texts are A PAIN IN THE ASS to read because they're full up with obscure logograms, and so you pore over a signlist trying to work out what the bonkers twelve-wedge sign you've never seen before is, and then when you finally find it you're like, "oh ANOTHER kind of bread. cool cool."

Part 3: Let's Read Hittite! (This is probably excessive.)

So finally, let's read some together! This is two lines from the Ten-Year Annals of Mursili II, an account of the first ten years of that king's reign. It's mostly conquering, but this bit is calmer.

(ANNOYINGLY, Tumblr will not do superscript, or I cannot make it anyway, so I will put determinatives in parentheses.)

nam-ma (URU)Ha-at-tu-ši ú-wa-nu-un nu (URU)Ha-at-tu-ši

gi-im-ma-an-da-ri-nu-un nu-za EZEN4.HI.A ŠA MU.6.KAM i-ya-nu-un

That's the text rendered sign-by-sign. Everything that is separated by a dash, a period, a space, or a parenthesis is a separate sign. Words are separated with spaces. Here's a more normalized rendition of the words (still with the logograms, though).

namma (URU)Hattusi uwanun nu (URU)Hattusi gimmandarinun nu=za EZEN4.HI.A ŠA MU.6.KAM iyanun

"Then I went to Hattusa, and I spent the winter in Hattusa and performed the festivals of the sixth year."

The ú in uwanun in the first line is written with an accent because there are several signs that can mean "u" and this is the second one. Similar for EZEN4: there's more than one sign for EZEN, and this is the fourth. Scholars always write logograms and determinatives in Sumerian, because that's where the meanings were fixed. URU, used before Hattusa, is both the determinative for "city" and the Sumerian word meaning the same. ŠA in the last line is italicized and capitalized because it's a logogram that comes from Akkadian: "ša" means "of" in Akkadian, and the Hittites used Akkadian words as logograms just like the Akkadians used Sumerian words.

Anyway, that's how cuneiform works! If you made it this far you're a hero! <3