#classification error

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Classification Error

submitted by: anonymous

Classification Error (11370 words) by harper_m Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Pete Lattimer, Claudia Donovan Additional Tags: Fpreg Summary: Myka had told Helena that no good could come out of hanky-panky in the Warehouse. And look, here she was, pregnant and right.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

It's a beautiful story of Myka finding out she's pregnant shortly after the betrayal, and how she forgives Helena. Deals really nicely with all the range of emotions and lots of conversations and tears (the tears might be mine)

[redbootsindoriath]

Fëanorian Week 2023, Day 1: Maedhros

I’m so late with these I’m not even fashionably late.  But better late than never (cf. Fingolfin, probably, after finally getting to Middle Earth).

To anyone who went “Hmm I wonder if the theme this year is going to be classical sculpture?”, well, congratulations, you’re right, though I don’t know how you would have guessed that.  I was originally going to do something where I based each drawing off the meaning of the name, and since “Maitimo” means “well-shaped one” the first thing that came to mind was a Greek or Renaissance statue.  But after finishing it I decided that it had been a lot of fun and I might as well do the rest the same way.  And it sort of fit into the whole Fëanorian theme since Nerdanel is a sculptor.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Fellas is it actually shapeshifting if you literally crawl into the body of your dead victim

[blkkizzat]

*TURN SOUND ON & UP :)

JJK MEN (GOJO, TOJI, CHOSO, GETO, SUKUNA, NANAMI) X READER

case files: doppelgänger curses have been running rampant and causing chaos around tokyo impersonating everyday civilians including sorcerers. jujutsu society has set up veils and your boyfriend has given you strict orders not to lower them to let anyone in the house but him—but how do you know if it’s really even him?

report notes: I love this game! If you haven't played go play a few rounds @ thatsnot-myneighbor[DOT]io (its free and all online). edit—choso up! nanami next!

kinktober 2023-2024 m.list | original teaser

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝙱𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂:

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟷........... THE STRONGEST

alias: 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘, 𝚜.

visitor log: its midday and your clingy-ass boyfriend—gojo satoru—should be hard at work right getting rid of these doppels not knocking at your door—gotta be a fake... right?!

classifications: bimbo!reader (canonverse of otaku!gojo's bunny!reader), yandere-esque Gojo, nipple play, recorded sex, lots of sex toys, dirty talk, panty theft, extreme overstim + slight omorashi.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟸........... THE SORCERER KILLER

alias: 𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚘, 𝚝.

visitor log: an extra toji fushiguro should be double the trouble and double the fun but neither likes to share, you know for sure which ones your toji—but do you really even care?

classifications: bratty!reader, brat taming, breeding, baby trapping, hair pulling, spit play + creampies, jealousy, grump!toji, daddy kink

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟹........... THE CULT LEADER

alias: 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚘, 𝚜.

visitor log: you shouldn't have even been watching the gate bunny, that's much too hard for you! so when you inevitably fuck up, your cult leader boyfriend—geto suguru—has the perfect punishment planned for you and your pretty pussy wait..in front of his entire congregation tho!?

classifications: dumb bimbo!reader, canonverse of nerd!geto's bunny!reader, cult rhetoric, dark themes, sensory deprivation/amaurophilia, punishment, humiliation, shibari, edging, overstim, exhibitionism, toxic jealousy, possessiveness, yandere Suguru, drugged sex, cnc/free-use reader, mentions of orgies/group sex and a bit of forced breeding.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟺........... THE SORCERER SALARYMAN

alias: 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒, 𝚔.

visitor log: your sweet boyfriend, nanami kento, promised he'd come visit you tonight bunny. awe baby, don't cry, you're sure that's actually him at the door but you'll run through your checklist just to make sure, won't you?

classifications: error 404—case report not found (finalizing)

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟻........... THE BIG BROTHER

alias: 𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚘, 𝚌.

visitor log: crazed with quarantine boredom, you can't help but to tease your naive lil' roommate—choso kamo—but you'll know when to stop before it goes too far—or have you already let the real Choso in?

classifications: mommy kink, affectionate cruelty/cuteness aggression, begging, teasing, virgin!choso, creampies, masturbation, panty theft, mentions of menophilia.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟼.......... THE KING OF CURSES

alias: 𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊, 𝚛.

visitor log: thinking no curse would be stupid enough to enter his palace, when the king of curses comes home to find you fucking his doppel it's not going to end well for either of you—R.I.P. your pussy sis, any last words?

classifications: error 404—case report not found (finalizing)

𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚂 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙳.𝙳.𝙳. 𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙺𝙺𝙸𝚉𝚉𝙰𝚃 — 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚂: 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃 𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽.

xoxo 💋

report notes: yo so this was meant to be about 4k total and instead it turned out to be 4k per story so i'm breaking it up (fully completed 3 and making last minute edits on the others, so staggering them out). Consider this a kinktober all on its own lol (still doing stuff left over from last years though). btw—everyone who asked on my official taglist, kinktober or the teaser will still be tagged on each individual story but you can comment below if you haven't asked to be tagged already.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[ay4hlive]

Klasifikasi Failure

Kegagalan dalam konteks database dapat diklasifikasikan ke dalam beberapa kategori berikut: Kegagalan perangkat keras (Hardware Failure):Ini terjadi ketika ada masalah dengan komponen perangkat keras yang digunakan oleh sistem database, seperti hard disk rusak, kehilangan daya, kerusakan kabel, atau masalah dengan server fisik. Kegagalan perangkat keras dapat menyebabkan crash sistem dan…

[imagine-sisyphus-trigger-happy]

Ohh look, it's Kiki-Bouba again! As indeed all things are.

For those who don't know, the "real" reason most people choose x for kisses (despite whatever rationale they think of ex post facto) is this: "kiss" has a voiceless consonant and a front vowel, whereas "hug" has a voiced consonant and a back vowel; and "x" looks "spiky" while "o" looks round.

It has been extensively documented in numerous papers that people, across all language families and societal structures, when asked to choose between the names "Kiki" and "Bouba" for a spiky and a round "character", will choose the first for the former and the second for the latter.

i want reasoning in the tags or replies!!

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Harlequin!Showtime fankid - Cade!

I may be sick but this was so worth it

So remember when I said on main that I badly wanted to draw a Harlequin AU Showtime fankid? Yeah, this is the lil' bugger.

His original name is Caddi, and Cade is a shorter nickname. He's the first Child Puppet in history, and he's often referred to as a "Miracle Star" for it. He's fierce like his mom, smart like his dad, and twice as mischievous as both his parents will ever be. His classification of a Puppet is a Harlequin.

He pretty much likes to bite everything in range: whether that be fingers, heads, objects, furniture, etc, a trait he definitely got from his mother's side. At a young age he's already showing feats of intelligence, being interested in his father's tinkered machineries (and sometimes even allowed to participate in them), despite not even being able to talk yet.

No one exactly knows how Caddi came to be: One day Pomni simply showed signs of being weakened to the point of being bedridden, constantly fuming and having more tendencies to bite or attack when shocked or approached, as well as having cravings out of nowhere.

Caine was concerned by her situation, and examined Pomni's condition. He then sensed that Pomni's die was housing TWO souls, a smaller, incomplete one that was accidentally eating away at her own to grow stronger. Caine then proceeded to extract the incomplete energy to save her life, and transferred it to a smaller die, to which he informs Pomni about the news. He then gives her the choice whether to let the die complete it's still undergoing process of life, or to obliterate the little, forming soul.

Pomni chose the former.

The Puppetmaster then spent many sun and moons of trial and error to figure out how the little die wanted it's form to turn out, until one day he realized this wasn't his theory of Pomni's soul splitting apart to create a newer being: Somehow, he had a hand in it's creation and he doesn't fully know why, or how it even came to be in the first place.

So taking a brave risk, he came up with a design that combined both him and Pomni's features, into a smaller, compact puppet.

The little soul accepted this new form, twinkling brightly like a star in the sky, and was officially born.

He may be a handful at times, but gosh darn does his parents love him regardless.

[taliabhattwrites]

My critique of cultural anthropology and academic transmisogyny, "The Third Sex", will be published in a few days. Here's the introduction.

This Machine Builds Fascists

Consider a mechanism whose sole function is to classify all inputs it receives as one of two categories: One and Zero. The inputs, it must be said, vary greatly in temperament, expression, embodiment, internality, and so on, but that isn’t as much of a hurdle for the machine as it seems. It has been programmed with a few simple lines of code that enable it to differentiate between Ones and Zeroes within acceptable margins of tolerance. Ones tend to look and behave like this, Zeroes tend to be like that. These truisms are crude, simplistic, and even reductive, true, but they work. As such, the machine chugs on, happily reducing complex inputs to a blunt binary classification, its delivery-day code having been deemed “good enough”.

Of course, there is still the matter of how the machine should behave when its schema fails, when it is presented with inputs that do indeed prove to be too ambiguous to easily classify. For however high the correlation between traits, sometimes a specimen that simply defies easy categorization will confound its decision-making, often enough to pose a problem. Does the code need to be updated? Almost certainly, but legacy code is a stubborn thing, mired in dependencies and versioning faff, deeply resistant to the most perfunctory of edits. Too many now rely on this iteration of the machine, on this particular instantiation of its logic, and it is almost universally agreed that any changes are best handled downstream—at least, among those with the power to change it.

The machine and its users are thus forced to consider: In the case of an “error”, a “mistake”, so to speak, is it better to classify something as a One or a Zero?

Well, that’s an easy enough decision. The Ones, you see, are quite important, are believed to play a rather critical role in the affairs the machine oversees. The Zeroes … sure, they’re certainly important too, in their own way, in the way everything worth categorizing is—but the Ones! It’s really all about the Ones. You can’t quite go around just calling anything a One, you have to be certain.

So the module is attached and business proceeds without interruption. The machine spits out Ones and Zeroes like it’s supposed to, like it always has and supposedly always will, a binary system choosing between two options. Yet, anyone who knows a little too much about its inner workings is perfectly aware that the machine’s neat bifurcation isn’t all that neat. Truthfully, the machine has three outputs: One, Zero (with a degree of confidence), and “NULL”. It’s just that the exceptions are caught and sorted into the Zero-category, because that method of handling the machine’s limitations still keeps things running smoothly. It’s not much of an issue at all, and there’s no real need to examine the machine any further.

No need to pay attention to the way its NULL exceptions keep rising in volume.

No need to examine it for any shortcomings, oversights … or any weaknesses.

[hidden-but]

have you heard about what's going on in Sudan?

would you like to use some of your procrastination/online time to help?

Zooniverse is a crowdsourcing image annotation platform that started as an attempt to classify wildlife in phototraps, and then branched to other similar projects. The idea behind it is simple:

Humans are great at seeing patterns in images. Computers are shit at it. Give a human a picture and ask: is X in the picture? and you'll get either: Yes, here; No, or Maybe. Give the same image to a bunch of humans (ideally hundreds/thousands) and you'll get statistics that is as accurate classification of the image as humanly possible (even though some humans make errors in the process).

This project focuses on classifying satellite images of roads and evaluating if there's a dry riverbed crossing the road which is at risk of flooding, which would prevent aid getting across the flooded road.

They are in the early stages of classification, which means that they need people to look at thousands of images and sort them out to Something's Here and Nothing's Here, so if you have some time and you'd like to help, please go to the project page and check if there's a dried river on some of the pictures.

Let me stress once again, that this project is set up in a way that even if you spend five minutes on it, classify fifteen images and make two mistakes, you're still helping. Especially in these early days, where there's still a lot of pictures with Not The Thing We're Looking For in them.

And you'll learn something about how Sudanese countryside looks like from space, as a bonus.

(i recommend opening this on a large screen, zooniverse pages are not very mobile friendly in general, because you need to be able to see and mark the image, after all)

[mapsontheweb]

Historical distribution of Irish dialects.

by dublin2001

This is a rough guide as to the main historical dialects in Irish. Roughly this corresponds to 3 out of the 4 provinces of Ireland - Ulster, Connacht and Munster. Each of these is split in two, this seems to be the most common thing done in Irish linguistics.

I marked most of Leinster in grey (those parts that didn't speak Ulster or Munster Irish), this doesn't mean that it never spoke Irish, but that it is not usually included in classifications of dialects as Irish became extinct there first.

This map doesn't include more local details such as Ulster influence in parts of County Mayo, or the current Irish speaking areas in County Meath (or indeed "Connemara" or "West Kerry" - those are all historically part of much larger dialect groups). I previously made a pointlessly detailed map of Irish dialects a number of years ago, but I wanted something much simpler and less prone to errors.

This map only deals with the choice of dialect for a given area, and doesn't mean that the area in question spoke only Irish.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The REAL AI automation threat to workers

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Long before the current wave of AI hype, we were being groomed for automation panics with misleading stories. Remember this one? "'Truck driver' is the most common job in America. Self-driving trucks are just around the corner. How can we prevent America's army of truckers from turning into a howling mob when the robots steal their jobs?"

https://futurism.com/millions-of-jobs-are-at-risk-but-their-loss-could-be-for-the-greater-good

It was absolute nonsense. First of all, "truck driver" isn't a particularly common job in America! The BLS lumps together all cargo vehicle drivers under a single classification. The category error here was thinking that every delivery van driver, furniture mover, and courier is behind the wheel of a big rig, cracking wise on a CB radio as they tear up the interstate.

But what about automation threats? It's possible that if we redesigned the interstates to give 16 wheelers their own separated lanes, and then set them to following one another, that they could traverse long distances in that way. Congratulations, you've just invented a shitty, failure-prone train.

"Shitty train AI" does not threaten the job of the vast number of people the BLS classifies as "truck drivers." For one thing, "shitty train AI" isn't going to pilot a UPS van around the streets of a busy city with other road users. Sure, a few robotaxi companies have bamboozled city governments into conscripting the city's residents into an uncontrolled murderbot experiment. These are not going well:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sanfrancisco/news/9-key-leaders-depart-gms-cruise-amid-ongoing-investigation-into-san-francisco-incident/

More than $100b has been set on fire chasing the robotaxi dream, and the result is most charitably described as a technological curiosity, requiring 1.5 high-waged remote technicians to replace each low-waged driver:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

But even if we could perfect this technology, robots still wouldn't replace all those "truckers" who drive delivery vans (to say nothing of moving vans!). The hard part of driving a UPS van isn't just getting it from place to place – it's getting the parcel into the place. The robo-van would still need at least one person to get the parcel from the back of the van and into the reception desk, porch, or other delivery zone. It's not going to fire those parcels at your door with a catapult. It's also not going to deliver them by drones. Drone delivery is another one of those historical curiosities, capable of delivering a very narrow range of parcels, under even narrower circumstances:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#droned

If all UPS delivered was lightweight, non-fragile rectangular parcels ordered by people with large, unobstructed back yards, then sure. Congrats, you've just created the world's least-useful parcel delivery service!

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2022/06/amazon-drone-delivery-service-seeks-faa-approval-to-launch-in-2022/

All that said, the big rig drivers probably don't need to worry about robots stealing their jobs. It's not even clear that "shitty train" is within our technological grasp, but even if it is, there's yet another problem with the AI automation trucker jobpocalypse: "trucker" is already one of the worst jobs in America:

https://www.usatoday.com/pages/interactives/news/rigged-forced-into-debt-worked-past-exhaustion-left-with-nothing/

It's hard to overstate just how fucking terrible it is to be a trucker. Truckers are trapped in abusive debt holes by their employers – who misclassify their workforce as "contractors" in a bid to sidestep labor law. Shriven of any labor rights, truckers are forced into the most ghastly, body-destroying, family-wrcking, financially precarious existence imaginable.

You can drive a truck for years, give almost all of the money you earn back to your employer (who denies that you're their employee) to pay back the usurious loan for your truck. Then, your employer can underschedule for shifts so that you miss a loan payment, and they can repo your truck and keep the six-figure repayment you've already made to them, leaving you destitute.

They can force you to work for hours – days! – without pay while you wait for loading and dispatch. They can make you drive long past the point of safety, then, if (when) you get into a wreck, they can fine you for not taking the mandated rest breaks.

Now, these drivers aren't about to be replaced by AI – but that doesn't mean that AI won't affect their jobs. Commercial drivers are among the most heavily surveilled workers in the country. Amazon's drivers (whom Amazon misclassifies as subcontractors) have their eyeballs monitored by AI;

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

AIs monitor the voices of the (primarily Black, primarily female) workforce at Arise – homeworkers who field customer service calls for blue-chip companies like Carnival Cruises and Disney. They're listening for unruly children or pets in the background, and workers who fail to muffle these dependents lose the contracts they have to pay to train for:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/22/paperback-writer/#toothless

And AI monitors the conduct of workers on temp-work apps. If a worker is dispatched to a struck workplace and refuses to cross the picket-line, the AI boss fires you and blacklists you from future jobs for refusing to robo-scab:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

Writing in The Guardian, Steven Greenhouse describes the AI-enabled workplace, where precarious, often misclassified workers are monitored, judged, and fined by algorithms:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2024/jan/07/artificial-intelligence-surveillance-workers

Whether it's the robot that gets you disciplined for sending an email with the word "union" in it or the robot that takes money out of your paycheck if you take a bathroom break, AI has come for the workplace with a vengeance.

Here's a supreme irony: nearly all of the beneficial applications for AI require that AI be used to help workers, not replace them, which is absolutely not how AI is used in the workplace. An AI that helps radiologists by giving them a second opinion might help them find tumors on x-rays, but that's a tool that reduces the number of scans a radiologist processes in a shift, by making them go back and reconsider the scans they've already processed:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

But AI's sales pitch is not "Buy an AI tool and increase your costs while increasing your accuracy." The pitch for AI is "buy and AI and save money by firing workers." Given how bad AIs are at replacing humans, this is a bad deal all around, both for the worker who loses their job and the customer who gets the substandard product the AI makes.

There is a very limited slice of applications where an AI could make a lot of money for a company that deploys it, without costing that company anything when the AI screws up. For example, AI is a really good tool for fraud! Rather than paying people to churn out millions of variations on a phishing email, you can get an AI to do it. If the AI writes a bad phishing email, it's OK, since nearly all recipients of even good phishing emails delete them. What's more, no one will fine you or publish an op-ed demanding that your board of directors fire you if you buy an incompetent AI to commit fraud. Fraud is a high-value, low-consequence environment for using AI.

Another one of those applications is managing precarious workers who don't have labor rights. If the AI unfairly docks your worker's wages, or forces them to work until they injure themselves or others, or decides that their eyeball movements justify firing them, those workers have no recourse. That's the whole point of pretending that your employees are contractors: so you can violate labor law with impunity!

But that's not the ironic part. The ironic part is that "being a shitty boss" is the one AI application that companies are willing to increase their net spending on. No one buys an eyeball-monitoring AI so they can fire a manager. This is the one place where AI is there to augment, rather than replace, an employee.

This makes AI-based bossware subtly different from other forms of Taylorism, the "scientific management" fad of the early 20th century that saw management consultants choreographing the postures and movements of workers to satisfy the aesthetic fetishes of their employers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

The pseudoscientific cod-ergonomics of the 1900s was demeaning and even dangerous, but it wasn't automated, and if it increased worker output, this was incidental to the real purpose of making workers move like the machine-cogs their bosses reassured themselves they were:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Every AI panic is a way of deflecting attention from the real, grimy, here-and-now ways that AI is destroying our lives by demanding that we entertain nonsensical science fiction claims about large, shiny existential risks that AI might present in the future.

The "X-risk" of the spicy autocomplete chatbot waking up and using its newfound sentience to turn us all into paperclips is nonsense. Adding words to the plausible sentence generator doesn't turn it into a superintelligence for the same reason that selectively breeding faster horses doesn't lead to locomotives:

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

But there is a way that AI could destroy the human race! The carbon footprint and water consumption associated with training and operating large-scale models are significant contributors to the climate emergency, which threatens the habitability of the only planet in the known universe capable of sustaining human life:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/federicoguerrini/2023/04/14/ais-unsustainable-water-use-how-tech-giants-contribute-to-global-water-shortages/

Likewise, AI isn't going to replace you at work. But it's already augmenting your shitty boss's ability to rip you off, torment you, maim you and even kill you in order to eke out a few more basis points for the next shareholder report.

Science fiction is a fun and useful way to tell parables about our current technologies. But it's not a roadmap for the future. The fact that sf writers like me found AIs as useful measures to describe Earth's dominant artificial life form – the limited liability corporation – doesn't mean that superhuman AIs should – or can – be created.

Back the Kickstarter for the DRM-free audiobook of The Bezzle, read by Tumblr's own @wilwheaton!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[builtbybrokenbells]

The seven deadly sins, also known as the capital vices or cardinal sins, is a grouping and classification of vices within Christian teachings.

According to the standard list, they are pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony and sloth, which are contrary to the seven heavenly virtues.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 120k | FINISHED

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (lots), angst, fluff, fwb, loss of a parent, grief, abusive/toxic relationships, jealousy, cheating, unrequited love, smoking, drinking, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

DISCLAIMER: I do not know Greta Van Fleet or any of the members personally. This is all fiction and I will never claim otherwise. I attempt to keep all of my work 100% original, so please do not steal or take credit for my writing. As of right now, I aim to get chapters out on weekends, but it is not guaranteed as I do have a full time job and other responsibilities to attend to. Please be patient and kind to me. Do not mind any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, as I am the sole writer/editor for my blog and do miss things sometimes.

LUST | teaser

GLUTTONY | teaser

GREED | teaser

SLOTH | teaser

PRIDE

ENVY | teaser

WRATH | teaser | teaser 2

JACOB THOMAS KISZKA

CAPITAL VIRTUES

TAGLIST: if you would like to be added to the Capital Vices taglist, please feel free to send me an ask, pm me, or respond on this or one of the above chapters. if i do not respond, it is because the replies on my posts will only allow me to reply with my main account. i promise i will see it, and if i happen to miss you, don’t be scared to ask again!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: I am incredibly grateful for all of the support, likes, reblogs and kind comments I receive from all of you. I would be nothing without your support, and I do take the time to read and appreciate every reply and message, even if I don’t respond. Thank you so much for all you do, and I sincerely hope that you enjoy this story as much as I do 🫶🏻

all things capital vices:

playlist: spotify | apple music

moodboards:

moods, outfits, and other things

[milkywayhou]

YOU'VE GOT EMAIL (König X OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART I

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl.

or

König send wrong email to a wrong person

TWs: A lot curse words (from Snow), both of them being passive-aggressive, slow burn (kinda). I just wrote this for fun

Words Count: 3k (That's a lot for an email lol)

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

02/28/23 at 03:42 pm

Subject: KorTac Tactical Operations File E12345 Classification: Top Secret

Lieutenant,

Apologies for the inappropriate transmission. As head of KorTac Special Forces, securing sensitive documents is of utmost priority. Please confirm deletion of the attached file and we’ll consider the matter closed.

While I understand your confusion receiving such a file unsolicited, KorTac business must remain confidential. I trust a responsible professional such as yourself understands the necessity of discretion in such matters. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if any other issues arise.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

02/28/23 at 07:12 pm

Subject: RE: Creepy email

Excuse me,

I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I know is I got some weird files from “KorTac Tactical” that I definitely did NOT ask for. Do you know how scary it is to get secret military documents out of nowhere? I thought it was one of my friends pranking me at first.

Instead of lecturing me about deleting things, maybe you should be more careful who you send your “top secret” info to. I’m just trying to study neurology over here, not get dragged into some clandestine Special Forces stuff.

Lighten up a little, yeah? It was an honest mistake I’m sure. No harm done.

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

02/28/23 at 08:02 pm

Subject: RE: RE: Creepy email

Ms. Farron,

I can assure you there was no “creepy email” or files sent from this office. As Commander of one of the world’s premier private military factions, securing classified intel is of utmost priority. If some file was erroneously transmitted to your address in error, it did not originate from my users.

While I understand the desire to shrug off mistakenly received sensitive documents, national security does not warrant such lackadaisical treatment. If you have relevant data in your possession, basic courtesy requires replying to the original correspondent – in this case, myself – to ascertain the source of error.

Do let me know if you retrieve any files in question. And in future, a bit more discretion and less indignation may serve you well when inadvertently encountering restricted information networks. Consider this a learning experience.

Regards,

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

02/28/23 at 08:22 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Creepy email

Hi Colonel Tightpants,

Thank you for the condescending lecture. As I’ve said THREE times now, I never got any files from you or KorTac or wherever before. All I know is I woke up to an ominous email saying “Top Secret KorTac files” or something. Pretty annoying/alarming for a simple student!

And excuse me for not dropping everything to thoroughly investigate a mistake that wasn’t even mine. Some of us have actual classes to study for, not play secret agent all day.

If you’re so worried about security breaches, maybe focus on your end instead of harassing innocent people via multiple snobby emails. I’ve got better things to do than argue in circles with Mr. High-and-Mighty.

Please remove me from your contact list going forward. And do try to lighten up a little!

Regards,

Snow

P.S. The file is attached. I called it “Creepy Email From Creepy Colonel” for your convenience. Have fun decrypting your own mystery ;)

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

02/28/23 at 09:42 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Creepy email

Ms. Farron,

I will not be spoken to in such a disrespectful and unprofessional manner. While your frustrations are understandable, maintaining proper decorum and respect for sensitive operational matters is not an optional courtesy – it is imperative.

You’re accusations of “harassment” are as unfounded as they are insulting. Do not mistake my patience and courtesy thus far for weakness. Should any real documents surface from my network in error, I expect their immediate return without petulant games or sass.

As a private military organization operating across the globe, security is no light concern for this command. If unable to grasp even the basic responsibility of confirming received documents' origins for the sake of national safety, perhaps the world of intelligence is beyond your current realm of comprehension.

Consider this your final warning. Any further unsubstantiated claims or uncooperative behavior will be met with the full weight of legal action and your academic institution will be notified accordingly. Is that absolutely clear, Ms. Farron?

Reply confirming so or cease contact immediately. I will not tolerate insubordination, especially from an civilian amateur dabbling where she has no clearance. Maintain discretion as instructed or suffer consequences – the choice is yours.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/01/23 at 09:29 am

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Creepy Email

Colonel High-Horse,

Spare me your thinly veiled threats. If you’re so sure I have hide some Top Secret Files™, by all means come search my dorm room yourself since you clearly don’t believe a word I say. Oh wait, you can’t – because there’s NOTHING.

Maybe take a break from power tripping over email and try listening to the person who’s actually involved for once. Not my fault if your big bad security systems have holes. But I guess acknowledging mistakes isn’t very military, is it?

You wanna see uncooperative and petulant? Keep harassing me and I’ll forward our whole conversation to the national news. Something tells me they’d love to hear how easily “the world’s premier private military” loses confidential files.

So for the last time – I did NOT receive ANY files from you or KorTac aside the one you accidentally send. If you’re incapable of comprehending that, then you’re dumber than you look. Consider THIS your final warning to lay off before I take action, Colonel Tightass.

Snow

Formerly Civilian, Currently Pissed Off

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/01/23 at 08:55 am

Subject: Enough

Ms. Farron,

Your insubordination has crossed several lines. While I sought to resolve this discreetly, you force my hand with threats and insults. Know that I do not respond kindly to such provocation.

If you insist upon escalating this beyond reason, so be it. However, tread carefully – you are ignorant of forces beyond your control. Dare to sully KorTac’s name to fuel your petulance, and all your academic and personal records will undergo… thorough review.

Accidents happen, as you claim. But any damage to our operations will not be taken lightly, no matter your perceived innocence. Heed my words well, girl – you do not wish to become an enemy of this command.

Consider this last attempt at civil discourse. Cease contact and let this die, or suffer consequences you cannot imagine. The choice, as before, remains yours.

I expect no further correspondence. You are now on formal notice – proceed at your own peril.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/01/23 at 11:38 pm

Subject: Go to Hell

You want a fight, you’ll get one you pompous prick. Your “command” and threats mean nothing to me.

If anything happens to my academic career or personal life, the world will know exactly who’s responsible. I don’t care how elite you think you are.

Bring whatever you’ve got – I’m not afraid of some borderline psychotic and his glorified gun club. You want a target? Consider it painted on your back from now on.

Have fun trying to intimidate me, ASSHOLE. You just made the worst enemy of your pathetic life.

Goodbye forever. Don’t bother responding – you’re officially dead to me.

Snow Farron

Future Doctor, Current Pain in Your Ass

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/02/23 at 01:29 am

Subject: So Be It

Foolish girl. You have no concept of the forces you now contend with. Consider carefully the hole you’ve dug, for there will be no mercy if you proceed.

However, my integrity will not permit baseless threats against civilians. If you agree to cease hostilities and let this dissolve quietly, no further action will be taken. Your record and life will remain untouched.

The choice is simple – walk away unscathed, or persist in this idiocy and face consequences beyond imagination. Think carefully on your next move, little one. Tread no further, and this can end.

You have one hour for a sensible reply before measures are taken. Make them count.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/03/23 at 02:04 am

Subject: Bite Me

Yeah, I’m real scared of your “forces” and “consequences beyond imagination.” Give me a break.

You think I’m going to bow down to your threats just because you’re some big shot Colonel? Please. I’ve dealt with way scarier than pompous bully babies like you.

So do your worst, tough guy. Come at me with everything you’ve got. I promise it still won’t be enough to make me back down from a pissant fraud like you.

Your “hour” can go fuck itself. You want to end this? Then stay the hell away from me and leave me alone forever. Otherwise this isn’t over by a long shot.

Tick tock, pal. Your time is running out and so is your chance to slink away with your tail between your legs. Better figure out your next move fast!

Not holding my breath for anything “sensible” though. Later, loser!

Snow “Untouchable” Farron

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/05/23 at 11:09 pm

Subject: wassup bitchhhhh

Hey asshooooole its ur girl Snow again!! Had a few dranks w/ friends to forget ur stupid email but the pain remainsss lolll

Jus wanted to let u kno ur still a total dickhead no matter how drunk I get. Probly shouldn’t be emailing u since last time but fuck it YOLO right???

Anyway ur threats meant nothing I had a blast tonight. Try n stop me next time I feel like partying fuck face!!! No1 messes w snow n gets away with it

Also saw some guy who looked like u at the bar what a coincidink lol. Hope he feels as stupid as u in the morn ;))

Hope ur having a shit night missing out on the fun. Don’t reply I prob wont even remember this! Byeeeeeee loser stay mad <33333

Xoxo drunk snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/06/23 at 01:50 am

Subject: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Well well, what have we here. It seems our intrepid Dr. Farron has landed herself in an inebriated state this night.

Can’t say I blame you for seeking alcohol’s comfort after our little disagreement. Dealing with my “stupid emails” and “threats” must have been terribly traumatic. You have my deepest sympathies, truly.

While unwise to conduct militarized business intoxicated, I’ll admit your drunken ramblings provided some mild amusement. The imagery of you partying it up solely to spite me was rather quaint. Do try to stay safe in your revelries, dear – would hate for some unfortunate accident.

As for your daring insinuation about encountering my likeness at a bar, I can assure you my nights are occupied with matters far more pressing than drinking. But I appreciate the laugh, strange as it came from such a belligerent tongue.

Enjoy your hangover, Snow. And sleep well – who knows what mischief tomorrow may bring.

Regards,

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

P.S. Do refrain from over-indulging too often. Wouldn’t want those fine medical skills to dull prematurely, now would we?

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/06/23 at 05:28 am

Subject: RE: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Yeah yeah, laugh it up. We all do dumb shit when we’re drunk occasionally. At least I have an excuse, unlike you and your constant stick up the ass personality.

That being said, I suppose I owe you an apology for that ridiculous email last night. Not my finest moment, to say the least. But you seem to bring out the worst in me, so.

Consider us even for any “amusement” you got at my expense. I’m suffering enough with this hangover from hell as it is.

Just so we’re clear though – I’m not some damsel for you to patronize or imply threats towards. Keep your smug sarcasm, I don’t need it. We’re done here, got it?

Good. Now fuck off and leave me alone to die in peace, Dickhead von Buzzkill. And next time – lay off the sauce OR lay off me. Your choice, Colonel

Snow “Moderately Sober But Still Pissed” Farron

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/06/23 at 09:33 am

Subject: RE: RE: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Alright Colonel Buzzkill, I’ll admit my constant insults aren’t getting us anywhere. As much as I hate to inflate that already massive ego of yours, maybe there was a tiny little misunderstanding somewhere along the way.

Med school has been kicking my ass lately and I’ve been on edge. Between the mounting student loans, endless assignments, and stressful exams, I’m about one Red Bull away from a full breakdown. Not that you probably care about such peasant problems.

Anyways, my point is – I may have overreacted a bit to this whole email mixup. Even if it WAS totally not my fault *eyes emoji*. Can’t a girl blow off some steam without the world’s most uptight Colonel threatening her into an early grave?

Lay off with the intimidation tactics already. I said I was sorry for getting drunk and belligerent, more or less. What more do you want, my first born child in sacrifice?

Just, try to lighten up a little if we have to keep interacting for god knows what reason. I’m too exhausted to keep fighting a war on 20 different fronts. Truce?

Overworked and Underpaid,

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/06/23 at 09:01 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Oh? So the fledgling doctor deigns to admit a modicum of culpability at last. How gracious of her highness to acknowledge her part in this debacle, no matter how begrudgingly.

Though I’ll not deny deriving a certain satisfaction from seeing you squirm, that was never my aim. As Commander of KorTac, security of sensitive data is no laughing matter – a concept you seemed unwilling or unable to grasp at the time.

However, as one engaged in higher pursuits of intellectual rigor and public service, I can understand the pressures that come with such territory. Medical education is a noble yet arduous path, as I’m sure even your addled mind comprehends on occasion.

Very well, Ms. Farron – consider this matter put to rest. A temporary ceasefire it is, for the sake of future global stability if nothing else. But tread not again where you have been warned, or I shall not be so gracious next transgression.

Do try to mind your health and studies in lieu of drunken revelry. Wouldn’t want to lose such a pugnacious spirit to frivolity or misfortune. Now, do run along – no doubt some looming assignment awaits its dissection.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/07/23 at 02:19 am

Subject: Aw, you DO care!

Aww, is that actually concern I detect underneath all the big important Colonel bluster? I’m touched, really. Who knew you had a soft spot for lowly students like me.

Admit it – you just can’t stand the thought of little ol’ me disappearing in some “frivolous misfortune.” You’d miss having me around to aggravate that permanent stick up your butt!

But don’t worry, it’ll take more than a silly paper or two to take me out of commission. Unlike some people, I actually know how to unwind without threatening international incidents *cough cough*.

All jokes aside though, truce accepted on my end too. Maybe now we can move past wanting to strangle each other every time we’re in the same email chain. Small victories, right?

Anyways, gotta get back to the grind. Thanks for not making me regret extending the olive branch…this time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

Your Favorite Almost-Doctor,

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/07/23 at 08:05 am

Subject: RE: Aw, you DO care!

Cease this incessant jesting at once, fraulein. I neither “care” for you as anything more than a potential security concern, nor possess any jovial qualities to “aggravate.”

A commander's duties require maintaining surveillance of volatile elements wherever they arise. You have thus far proven yourself quite the unpredictable variable, so forgive my reluctance to take eyes fully off the matter.

As for your studies, consider this the only encouragement they shall receive from me. Master your craft with distinction, then mayhaps our paths need not cross again in the future. Though I admit the thought of you disappearing into obscurity does bring its own satisfactions to ponder.

Now then, if you’re quite finished wasting both our time with your misguided attempts at levity, some of us have real work to which attending. Do try and keep yourself from causing further disruptions, medic. You may resume your “grind” in peace.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/07/23 at 12:56 pm

Subject: RE: RE: Aw, you DO care!

Always so grumpy, Colonel Grumpy Pants! Lighten up a little, will ya? Not all of us can be stoic hard asses all the time.

Speaking of asses, mine is practically dragging on the floor from exhaustion. Between classes, labs, studying, and my various part-time jobs, I’m surprised I have any brain cells left at all.

Don’t even get me started on these student loans. At this rate, I’ll be paying them off until I’m 90. Not that you military bigwigs have to worry about pesky things like money, I’m sure. Must be nice.

You know, maybe I should just forget this whole doctor thing and become a sugar baby instead. At least then I could afford to eat once in a while AND maybe some lucky rich person would be willing to pay off my debts. What do you think – interested in an investment opportunity? I promise I come with lots of free sass and jokes at your expense!

Kidding of course…or am I? You’ll never know!

Your favorite broke and tired med student,

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/07/23 at 03:37 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Aw, you DO care!

One of these days that improperly-filtered mouth of yours will find its owner in hot water she can’t jest her way out of, medic. I’d advise reigning in these fanciful sugar baby musings before they land you in a far less pleasant situation.

However, your frustration with the systemic burdens of medical education is…understandable. The modern model leaves much to be desired in terms of sustainability for both student and society. A dysfunction perpetuated by greed and shortsightedness at the highest levels, as with so many ills in this world.

As for offers of “investment,” I’ve no surplus funds to patronize frivolities. Nor the patience to entertain speculative propositions from volatile girls who can’t keep themselves from inviting more trouble than they bargain for. Focus that restless energy on your studies as discussed, and all should proceed smoothly.

Now then, if there are no further inanities requiring response, I’ve a command to oversee. Best of luck with exams and endeavors, Farron. Dismissed.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

I will write the next part later when I have time <3

Also comment love and reblogged are very appreciated! 💖

[heartfullofleeches]

Fell in love with quirky murderbot so here's a quirky murderbot Yan that may or may not just want to kill you (tw: death mentions/idolization)

A bath at six in the morning.

You never had the time or energy for it before...

The water was nice. Not too hot, not too cold; pealing the spell of sleep off you at a temperature ideal for a peaceful rise. Enmeshed with first light of the waking sun, the water captures its amber glow - sunken petals at your feet shaded in the afterglow. It smelled faintly of lavender, and a colleague of lesser offenders you couldn't tell. Citrus?... Vanilla? You can't recall a time when your skin has felt smoother - so you don't bother to ask. You know better than to.

The door opens. You lower your knees as the latching stand of a tray attaches to the arms of the tub. Yogurt peers up at you from its bowl with a blueberry smile and sliced banana eyes. A flower vase, and a pair of headphones are its offering to you. A yellow smiley face sticker is plastered to the glass' side.... It shines your spoon before setting it on the tray.

"Brought you leetle snack to keep you steady til you get out. Studies show everything in it boosts mood and happiness levels in humans. I also brought you some headphones so that my outbursts don't effect you while I'm preparing breakfast."

You blow air into the water as you sink deep. "Mhm...."

Your observer gasps. "By my calculations, you seem more relaxed than usual this morning." Does that mean my services have acceptable this morning?"

Here it comes. "I guess."

"You are... satisfied with my work and efforts?"

"Yes."

"... Gonna smile for me?"

"nah."

A knife clatters to the floor.

"I spent nine hours.... "

You put on the headphones as you ease against the floor of the tub.

"9 FUCKING HOURS GETTING THAT PANSY SCHTICK DOWN PACK. DO U KNOW HOW FUCKIN' HARD THAT IS FOUR ME?!?! I GET ROBOT PTSD EVERYTIME I LOOK AT THOSE MANUALS."

"At least you spoke proper English."

"I ran you a bath and didn't plant one of my eyes in the cabinet this time .... BE HAPPY FOUR ONE SEC AND LET ME KILL YOU ALREADY GOD DAMN IT!"

The world is full of too many unfortunate people. Scornful and bitter; miserable and hopeless. It much be such a pain for those people to exist in place unfit for them - when a solution was right around the corner, but they're too damaged to ever see it. You can't be down, if The moto engraved into the mechanized heart of every bot sent out by the Happy Dayz corporation to this prevalent threat to society. They could be anyone you know.

"DOWN3R 4L3RT!!!!!! THR0UGH M0D3R4T10N 4ND H34VY CONSIDERATION, Y0U [Y/n], H4V3 B33N T4RG3T3D 4S 4 D0WN3R. TH3 0NLY CUR3 1S IMM3DIATE T3RM1N4T10N AS T0 4V01D WIDESPREAD INF3CT10N OF THE DISEASE. IF YOU BELIEVE THIS IS AN ERROR, PLEASE RESPOND TO THIS EMAIL WITHIN 4 HOURS AND TWENTY MINUTES OF RECEIVING. TH4NKS. XOXO]

Downer - level three in their classifications and the "incurables" People who will drag themselves and everyone around them down for a crumb of self gratification. Those who drown in the rain when the sun is a reach away; never to come back to shore. Orders were to execute these individuals on sight - but everyone deserves one last chance to smile. And that's how you met D.Kay

In your utmost defense, it was nearly three when you received the email. Even if you were awake, you probably would've written it off as spam and tossed it away all the same. You didn't think of yourself as a negative person, just one with not alot to be happy for. Within those few hours before dawn came a knock at the door and your worse nightmare unveiled - wearing that damned yellow mask.

"Hiya! Name'z D.Kay! Short for somethin' I kno, but U won't be alive long nuff for me to remember. I should be slammin' ur head through a wall, but it'z ur right as a living human to get one more smile in before u croak and my job to make it happen."

That was five months ago. Five long months. Given, there were some benefits. It was their goal to make your life better after all - before ending it. They helped you get a raise, cleaned up messed they mostly made, and a slew of efforts to bring out that smile. Sure your lips may quirk up or you'll smirk a bit - but that isn't a smile. They've also thrown knives into your walls, taken over your bed and refuse to let you sleep elsewhere, and snores. There's also the whole killing you thing, but that's minor at this point.

"Aw, come on- Dyin' cain't be that bad. I'd do it if I could. U'll feel better once ur in the grave." "Smiling feels so good, u' kno. The best way to use ur muscles. Besides slitting someone's throat." "This is my first mission....I was hoping to see gutz by now."

That was as far as your relationship went until one month ago. They've been acting.. strange. They wish you good morning more days than they ask if you're ready to smile. You often wake up with their arms around you and your clothes laid out. They refuse to let you dress yourself if you're going out. They stare for hours, jumping out windows if needed to get when you notice. You didn't have many friends before, but with them around they were ghosts. If you didn't know any better it was almost like they-

"LET ME KISS YOU - WHY ARE U MAKING THIS SO HARD!"

Nevermind. Wait- "Did you say...."

D.kay's impossibly side eyes shrink, mask bleeding red. "I SAID KILL. K-I-L-L. WHY WOULD I EVER BE DOWN BAD FOR A DOWNER?"

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?"

All at once their tantrum stops. It's the shortest to date. Their head dips back as if pulling the most dramatic of eye rolls. "Protocol.. U know that."

"I read the manual. If a downer refuses your olive branch you have permission to kill them and return immediately."

D.kay doesn't say a word, face still beat red from their slip up. Their hands twitch. Seething, they snatch the spoon from the tray. "Good luck without this. Enjoy your bath."

They slam the door as they leave, sinking again it. Hearing the water remain still, they pull their legs to their chest and kick the wall, hold back enough to prevent another hole. They always come when you're upset - why can't you do anything right? They pull a photo from their pocket. The photo. A picture of someone who looks so much like you it's scary, but they could never be you. They're smiling. It's small - a blip compared to the cheesy grins of everyone surrounding them, but it's still a smile. The best they've ever seen. Something feels wrong whenever they look between you and that person. Maybe they're broken too.

[vizishereig]

Day 2: Tied Up/Starting Over

ill expand on this on a later date, but for now? Im tired and a little sick.

CALIBRATING…

USER NOT RECOGNIZED.

NEW USER?

- YES   - NO

PLEASE INPUT YOUR NAME:

- Leon Kennedy

USER Leon Kennedy HAS BEEN ADDED TO THE DATA BASE.

INSERT SCENARIO

DOWNLOADING SCENARIO

SCENARIO DOWNLOADED.

- OPEN?         - CLOSE POP-UP

SCENARIO OPENED

COMMENCING TEST: 001 |

He gasps, breathing in deeply as he wakes up. It’s cold, freezing. He shifts around, trying to figure out where he is.

Cold chains against his hands, warm light, cold air. Valdelobos.

Leon could almost weep with relief.

It worked.

He tugs on the chain above him, and, sure enough:

“Hey, stop it!”

Luis. Alive and whole.

“Oye, yanqui, got a name?” Luis asks, as he debates what to do next. How far out will ripples happen? Does it matter? Does he care?

Leon shakes his head, deciding to at least get out of the chains. Then he’ll figure out where to go next.

Everything goes the same, but he spends a second too long debating whether or not to try and stick with Luis. The key is thrown away and he’s gone.

Fine, that’s okay. Probably better for later on, when he’d need Luis to open the door to the cabin. He has to think about the now and later, try and predict outcomes correctly. It makes him feel a little stretched thin, but he’ll endure it.

He would, a thousand times over, if it changes Luis’s fate. If he was able to go out into the fresh air he so craved. If he was allowed to walk out of those mines unscathed.

- - -

He gets to the mines, and he watches out for Krauser. It should be easy, simple. He doesn’t let Luis go ahead of him, keeps close.

But Krauser is too fast.

Leon is batted away like a toy, and a knife sinks neatly into Luis’s back.

He fights.

Luis shoots at Krauser.

Leon tries to patch the wound this time. He’s aware it won’t change anything.

Luis dies.

SCENARIO OVER.

PLEASE INSERT CAUSE OF REMOVAL:

- Subject committed suicide via gunshot wound to the temple. Subject used his own gun, an SG-09R The bullet went clean through, allowing for the subject to die quickly and painlessly.

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS:

- DISTORTION CAUSED: MINIMAL

- DAMAGE SUSTAINED TO SUBJECT: LETHAL

- ERRORS OCCURRED: NONE

CONTINUE TEST?

- YES   - NO

COMMENCING TEST: 002 |

He takes Luis with him this time.

Grabs the keys before the other man can, unlocks his own cuffs. Brown eyes dim a little as he looks at him, hands ratting the chain. He’s analyzing the situation, Leon knows. He’s seen that expression before, eyes scrunching at the corner, lips slightly pursed.

It makes him so, so fond.

It’s also why he makes Luis come with him. Maybe, just maybe, him sticking close will keep him alive.

- - -

No, no, no.

They took too long to get to the cabin, this time.

Leon had to rush Ashley into the crawl space (and he was given a surprised look when he uncovered it immediately), try his best to set up the boards on the windows. It's when he's fumbling there that a ganado comes through the window, Luis calling out a warning.

He turns around in time to see the ganado stumble from a bullet, grabbing his knife and slicing it across his throat. Blood gushes from the wound and it falls to the ground.

He looks up to say a thank you to him, eyes widening as a ganado swings down with his weapon.

Luis hits the ground, head colliding with the floor. A sickening crack echoes through Leon's ears.

He sighs, breathes.

Again, then.

SCENARIO OVER.

PLEASE INSERT CAUSE OF REMOVAL:

- Subject died at the hands of an infected human, classification Ganado. Death was quick but painful.

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS:

- DISTORTION CAUSED: MEDIUM

- DAMAGE SUSTAINED: LETHAL

- ERRORS OCCURED: NONE

CONTINUE TEST?

- YES   - NO

COMMENCING TEST: 003 |

SCENARIO OVER.

INSERT CAUSE OF REMOVAL:

- Target lost in a wayward explosion. Subject committed suicide via shotgun.

RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC:

- DISTORTION CAUSED: MINIMAL

- DAMAGE SUSTAINED: LETHAL

- ERRORS OCCURED: NONE

CONTINUE TEST?

(WARNING: TOO MUCH TRAVEL IN SUCH SHORT PERIODS OF TIME MAY CAUSE ADVERSE EFFECTS. IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT THE USER TAKES A BREAK BEFORE MOVING ON.)

- YES - NO

COMMENCING TEST: 004 |

SCENARIO OVER.

INSERT CAUSE OF REMOVAL:

- Target fell to Jack Krauser, death was faster than usual. Unable to save subject as scripted.

RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC:

- DISTORTION CAUSED: MAJOR

- DAMAGE SUSTAINED: LETHAL

- ERRORS OCCURED: NONE

CLEANUP IN PROGRESS.

CONTINUE TEST?

(WARNING: TOO MUCH TRAVEL IN SUCH SHORT PERIODS OF TIME MAY CAUSE ADVERSE EFFECTS. IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT THE USER TAKES A BREAK BEFORE MOVING ON.)

- YES - NO

COMMENCING TEST: 005 |

Again. He can feel exhaustion pulling at him.

Again and again.

This time, he gets it, though.

Luis walks out of that tunnel.

He is smiling, and Leon is watching the air ruffle his hair.

He's so distracted, he doesn't hear the steps behind him.

A knife slides into his back and the world tilts.

Luis is yelling, there's a gruff voice above him-

He can't breathe, the knife must have punctured his lungs-

There's metal on his tongue and no, he can't die, not now-

The world is dimming, he can see Luis being knocked to the floor-

He lets out a sound of protest, but it's garbled-

Dimming, dimming, dimming-

Black.

SCENARIO OVER.

INSERT CAUSE OF REMOVAL:

- Target survived, Subject killed soon after via knife wound to the back. Death was slow and painful, but subject seemed too distracted by the Target to register the pain.

RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC:

- DISTORTION CAUSED: MAJOR

- DAMAGE SUSTAINED: LETHAL

- ERRORS OCCURED: ONE

CLEANUP IN PROGRESS.

CONTINUE TEST?

(WARNING: TOO MUCH TRAVEL IN SUCH SHORT PERIODS OF TIME MAY CAUSE ADVERSE EFFECTS. IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT THE USER TAKES A BREAK BEFORE MOVING ON.)

- YES - NO

COMMENCING TEST: 006 |

SCENARIO OVER.

INSERT CAUSE OF REMOVAL:

- Target survived. Subject died by knife wound inflicted by Jack Krauser.

/add note

PROCTOR NOTES:

- Subject Kennedy has been running this test over and over for weeks. He only stops to take naps and only eats when forced. He's running haggard. I recommend we instate a mandatory break. A week would benefit him and our results.

/add note

ADMIN NOTES:

- Re: Previous Suggestion

As you know, it is against protocol to force subjects out of their tests. Your suggestion has been noted and will be brought up to the subject, but nothing more can be done. We thank you for your concern, but do try and adhere to our rules.

RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC:

- DISTORTION CAUSED: MAJOR

- DAMAGE SUSTAINED: LETHAL

- ERRORS OCCURED: ONE

CLEANUP IN PROGRESS.

CONTINUE TEST?

(WARNING: TOO MUCH TRAVEL IN SUCH SHORT PERIODS OF TIME MAY CAUSE ADVERSE EFFECTS. IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT THE USER TAKES A BREAK BEFORE MOVING ON.)

- YES - NO

COMMENCING TEST: 328 |

This one. This will be the one.

It has to be.

He can't stop.

He's so tired.

But he won't stop.

He doesn't think he ever will.

[r0tting-rat]

DCA PROMPTOBER 2024

I should go to sleep. Not proofread so sorry but I'm so tired so pls don't mind the errors.

Day 24 - Error

Pairing: Glitch!Eclipse &/x GN reader Warning: None Words: 2000+ Summary: You found an interesting game and decided to fix it up a lil. What could go wrong?

-Oh, come on!- Your fingers pressed the buttons insistently, trying to reanimate the arcade machine you were working on without succeeding. -Everything was fine 5 minutes ago, what the fuck is wrong with you?!-

Of course, the machine didn’t give you an appropriate answer, it just zapped you as soon as you tried to put your hand in the open hatch in its back. You winced and waved your hand in the air as an attempt to make the pain fade away while staring down at the arcade game in front of you. You had found, a few days prior, that old—no, ancient—arcade in the back of an abandoned pizza place. It was a weird sight, that blue machine painted with red borders and white clouds, looking so innocent and peaceful between debris and trash. You had decided to take it home and see if you could make it work once more, despite its age, but as soon as you had managed to clean most of the shit off its surface you had realized that you had made a mistake. 

One day, in the middle of the night, the arcade machine had turned on randomly without being plugged in, scaring you shitless. You had placed it in your basement, refusing to keep such a nasty thing in your living room, but you found yourself thinking about it constantly. You couldn’t get the Balloon World out of your mind no matter where you were or what you did, so you decided that you were not only going to fix the game but also win it. 

Finally, after hours of replacing parts and wiping gunk, you managed to turn on the machine successfully. Rejoicing, you jumped up and immediately hit play, excited to see if the game was really worth the work you had put into it, ignoring the oily stains you were leaving on the buttons with your dirty fingers. In white letters over a dark screen, you read “insert coin” followed by the classification of all the different people that had played the game before, so you slipped in one of the many coins you had prepared and started the game. 

The starting screen of the Balloon World arcade machine showed the game’s name in red and yellow letters floating in a bright blue sky. Next to them was a little kid holding three balloons in his hand; one red, one blue, and one yellow. In the background, you saw some kind of circus, depicted with its stereotypical white and red tent and colorful balloons, while in the top right corner, through the mountains, was a smiling sun. It was kinda disturbing, in your opinion; its eyes were white and its smile was way too large, but you ignored it. The main focus of the game was the little boy, right? The one with the propeller hat. You pressed start and began playing, finding “yourself—the propeller hat kid, to be specific— on top of a red platform. As soon as you began playing, you immediately understood the goal of the game: don’t fall, collect the balloons, and evade the obstacles. Easy peasy, you had played much more difficult games, except something about this specific arcade game unnerved you. It was probably the ever so constant presence of the smiling sun—which was much bigger than before—staring at you through the screen like a maniac. Still, you refused to let it faze you and continued playing, successfully gathering 3 balloons and moving on to the second phase of the game. 

The second phase was so much worse than the previous. The sun had left, the sky had darkened and was now littered by stars, and on the top right side of the screen you found a smiling and horrifying moon. Its creepy red eyes were staring at you insistently, like it knew you found it disturbing, and its smile was much worse than the sun’s. The night level had multiple bats coming at you, which you had to dodge, hitting a few in the process, but after a while of cursing you managed to enter the day level once more, followed by a second night level. That game wasn’t that hard, to be honest. You were almost beginning to get bored, until with the corner of your eye you saw something—a glitchy purple texture in one of the tree logs at the bottom of the screen.

-What the fuck…?- you whispered, staring at it, and as soon as you spoke you felt something zapping your finger, -Ow, shit!- 

You release the button, falling with your character right on the glitched log and losing a life, but immediately you regained control of the game and went back up. Too bad, as soon as you did the game glitched, becoming a red, black, and purple mess. The sky was crimson, the stars were orange, and the sun had been replaced by a terrifying version of it: black with yellow rays, eyes, and sharp teeth. Unable to take your eyes off the screen, you stared at the flickering chaos in front of you, confused and scared, until the world map literally ended in front of you and your character remained stuck in the air, completely still, in front of the glitched sun. You released the button and stared into the sun’s eyes, not sure what to do. Did the game just… freeze?

-Oh, come on!- you gave the side of the arcade a light slap, but almost immediately it zapped you back, -What the fuck is going on with you?!-

Honestly, you didn’t want to play anymore, not at all. You were freaking out, so instead of manually turning off the game like you should have, you went to pull out the charging cable from the wall. When you turned back around, the game was still on, and the sun’s face was covering the entire screen. Your balloon boy character had vanished and the rays of the sun were spinning around its head, which meant the game was still working completely fine.

“Ṯ̶́ ̴͑R̴̸͓̃ Y̵̴͇̿̚  A̶̕ ̷̱̃G̵̛ ̶͈͠A̵ ̷̬͋I̴ ̴̢̌N̶̂” was written on the screen in bold purple letters. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, an order. The game was telling you to keep playing. 

-No thank you,- you said, beginning to walk up the stairs of your basement and towards the door, -I’d rather not, you creepy fucking thing!-

You didn’t believe in ghosts, but when your hand closed around the knob of the door which you knew had been open only 2 minutes before and twisted, you began to believe in them just a little. Another twist, but the door didn’t budge. 

-What the fuck…?- you whispered, looking down at the knob. Could a draft have closed it? No, it was a hot summer day and the slightest breath of wind was a luxury you had stopped believing in. The light above your head flickered before suddenly turning off with a click, and no matter how many times you pressed the light switch, it wouldn’t turn on.

-Shit, shit, shit!- Turning back towards your basement, you saw that the colorful screen of the arcade machine was the only source of light in the entire room. The machine hummed and buzzed, inviting, beckoning you closer to its buttons and joystick. The red and black sun had been replaced with the starting menu, which looked completely normal if that terrifying face hadn’t been staring at you in the top right corner, from beyond the mountains and clouds, and if the words “BALLOON WORLD” hadn’t been replaced with purple bold letters. 

“P̵ ̶̔͜L ̵̢̾A̷ ̶̤͘Y ̸̤͘ W ̴̫͆I̶ ̵̛̻T ̸̮̽H̵  ̷̿M ̶̬̇E”

You didn’t want to play, no, fuck, you didn’t want to play at all! What had you done to deserve such a treatment? You just wanted to restore an arcade game to its lost splendor, that thing should have thanked you for doing that! Could it be that you had awakened some kind of electric paranormal presence?

-Can I leave once I play?- you asked, not knowing how to act with a sentient machine. The words on the screen disappeared for a moment before coming back three seconds after. 

“O̷ ̴͇̽F ̶̣̈ ̵̗͂C̶ ̶͚̓O̴ ̴͝U ̵̮̉R̴ ̸̳̏S ̴͕̂E̶  :)”

Hesitantly you walked back to the game, still unsure if you actually wanted to touch it, but you were suddenly pushed—violently too— against it by an invisible force behind you, sending you against the machine. The moment your hands brushed against the glitchy screen the game started without you having to press anything, forcing you to scramble back up into a standing position to avoid making your character fall. You noticed that this round balloon boy didn’t look as happy as he was before; his face was turned to look at you, his blue eyes were full of distress and his smile had turned into a pained grimace. He looked terrified, but you weren’t sure if for you or for himself. 

You were sweating as you began to play, missing many balloons due to your shaking and causing you to hit many obstacles on the path. You lost as soon as the day turned into night for the first time. Sighing, you ducked your head, begging your heart to stop beating this fast, almost like you feared the thing inside the machine could feel your fear and decide to never let you go. 

-S-Shit, sorry, I don’t know what came over me,- you tried to excuse yourself, -Next time I’ll… I’ll pay more attention, now I really need to…-

You were interrupted by the purple words reappearing on the screen.

“T̶ ̷̰̄H̷ ̴̿A̵ ̶̨͌T ̸̰̕'̵ ̶̰͒S ̸̧̛ ̷̲͂F̴ ̴̝̉I̸ ̶̤̕N̷ ̵͔̈́E ̶

̶̾E̸ ̵͓̔V̶ ̶͓̇E̵ ̶̘͠R ̵̞͒Y̸ ̵̈B̵ ̷̨́O̸ ̸̼̓D̶ ̸̗̏Y̸ ̴̬̊ ̶̍M̵̕ ̷̠̆A̸ ̸͕̕K̷ ̴̧̒E ̶̯̈́S ̸̯̏ ̴͌M̴ ̶I̶ ̶̏S̶̒ ̵̘̀T̷̈ ̵͝A ̴̯͛K̷ ̶͈̽E ̵̨̒S̶”

The machine brought you back to the start of the game, to the red platform where the first day begins.

“P ̸̠̅R̷ ̸̱̒A ̷̨̓C̸ ̶̩̑T̴ ̸͔͛I ̸̘̕C̶ ̵̛͙E̵ ̵̪̊ ̵̹͑M ̶̬̓A̵ ̶̡̈́K̵ ̶̫́E ̸̣̔S̵ ̴͉͑ ̵̰̈́P̴ E̷ ̵͚̚R̵ ̸̮̋F̷ ̷̮̈́E ̷̘̎R̵ ̸̛̗C̴ ̶͐͜T̶”

The message was clear. Play again. And again, and again, and again. You didn’t know when you started crying, maybe around the third or fourth death, all you could remember of that night were your fingers locked over the buttons, unable to pull away, stuck over them like they had been grabbed by an unspeakable force. When you died the fifth time, you started to sob uncontrollably. 

-P-Please!- you begged, -Let me go, please, I d-don’t want to play anymore!-

Finally, the game froze, making your heart stop beating as well in fear of what was going to happen to you. 

-Let’s change game, Firefly,- spoke a rumbling voice from behind you just as a pair of long and slender fingers wrapped around your throat and tilted your head backwards. Under the creature’s touch, your skin burned and reddened, creating long-lasting marks on your flesh. -What do you think about a round of Tag?-

Behind you, pressed against your back and towering over your very human frame, was something that you couldn’t describe with words. All you knew, all you could see and think, was that the thing holding you by the neck had the same face as the sun inside of the Balloon World game, except this one was tangible and real. Not a picture on a screen, not a grinning image you could ignore, this one was inching his face closer and closer to you while emitting a low rumbling sound from the depths of his chest. 

-Start running, Firefly, or I’ll catch you before you even leave this basement,- he laughed, and the sound moved something inside of you—a primal feeling of pure and abject terror. The ape inside of you woke up, screaming at you to run for your life, and that’s exactly what you did the moment the “ghost” released his hold on you. You ran, out the basement and then out of your house, finding no locked door to stop you in your tracks. You ran, but despite everything, you could still hear the sun’s rattling laughter echoing in your head. 

“Hop, hop, little bunny! Hop, hop jolly high!”