#desire to blow up my social media presence is growing by the minute again

[kalgalen]

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[automaticneon]

Clouds

Chapter 1: Automatic Love (NSFT)

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: “When desires go unfulfilled, they turn into needs”

Clouds is the most technologically advanced dollhouse in Madripoor. It’s a void for people to escape into, or at least the lucky few that can afford to visit. 

And Zemo is very lucky.

The reader meets a strange new client, a man of mystery and poetic language and when she uncovers a secret most valuable to Helmut Zemo, their relationship goes from professional to something much more profound.

A/N: It’s essentially a Cyberpunk AU, but you don’t need to know a thing about the game! I’ve just borrowed the names of locations and the concept of Clouds. The reader is essentially a high clas s*x worker, if that isn’t your cup of tea, this probably isn’t the fic for you!

If this was high-end, there was no way to tell.

At least that’s what Zemo thinks as his car pulls up outside the mega-building. It’s an unsightly structure but not uncommon for this area of Madripoor, about fifty-storey’s tall and covered in vibrant LED screens.

For a minute he considers instructing his driver to take him back to his apartment in high-town so he can pretend this never happened. He had been averse to this idea already, but a friend from his military days had been convinced he should try coming here. “It’s cutting-edge” is what he had been told, but what exactly cutting-edge meant was a mystery to Zemo.

“Would you like me to wait for you, Sir?” the driver asks, snapping Zemo out of his thoughts.

The baron swipes his hand over his face, taking one last look at the building outside the window before responding.

“No, I’ll call when I’m done.”

He reckons his driver knows what he’s doing here. Mega-building H8 was known for only one thing, its position on the layline between high and low town meant it was frequented by all wealthy inhabitants of Madripoor. Mobsters and politicians alike congregated at this monster of architecture, hopeful of its contents and desperate to go unrecognised.

And now they can add a Baron to that list of unfortunates, Zemo thinks with resignation.

He leaves the car before the embarrassment can fester in his chest.

 The building is worse up close than at a distance.

Climbing the flight of concrete stairs Zemo is transported from the sidewalk and into the belly of the beast. The entrance to the megabuilding is a low-ceilinged sprawl of street-vendors and food stalls. It’s loud and busy, but Zemo has no problem blending into the crowd. He weaves through the stream of people, illuminated by neon signs that grow increasingly vulgar in their images the deeper into the building he moves.

Eventually, towards the back of the building, he finds the metal gates of an industrial-style elevator. He slides the grate open and steps inside to find the space is lit by multiple illuminated advertisement screens rotating through various commercials, each more obscene than the last. For a moment Zemo takes the moral high ground, musing with distaste about the sort of men these adverts are geared towards. He takes the moral high ground until he remembers what he has come here to do. Defeatedly he admits to himself he has no right to feel lofty.

The illuminated keypad flashes at him, and he reaches out to input his destination.

 Floor 12 – CLOUDS

 The elevator is slow as it climbs past the levels of cheap apartments and eventually comes to stop at level 12. As Zemo goes to open the grate again, he wonders if he’ll be greeted by some of that high-class sophistication he was promised.

He is not.

This floor is much like the entrance hall, only this time it’s a balcony that wraps around the interior of the mega-building and faces down into an open-air atrium. Zemo notices that the elevator he steps out of does not go any higher than this level, the floors above must be the luxury apartments and must have their own entrance.  He begins to follow the neon signs again.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this?” A man near him says to his friend. Zemo bristles at the strong American accent, but carefully allows himself to eavesdrop.

“I don’t know, man,” The friend responds “It just feels wrong, you know? Like I’ll be cheating on my girl with one of these dolls”

“But that’s just it! These girls are dolls, man. They’re not real. It’s like sleeping with a blow-up-doll. No difference”

“You know that’s not true; the difference is they’re real. They’re made of flesh.”

“That’s what makes them great though. They’re dolls made of flesh.”

Zemo moves on before he can hear anymore.

He follows the signs until he reaches a wide hallway into the building, and there at the end is the rather simple looking entrance to Clouds dollhouse. The low ceiling of the hallway allows for little decoration, but he supposes a place with such an infamous reputation needs little in terms of advertisement. Soft pink neon signs flash the name of the establishment, and beside the double glass doors a glitchy hologram of a woman dances away. As he approaches, a pre-recorded voice rings out from a speaker at the base of the hologram.

“Looks like you could use a little automatic love.”

He refuses to acknowledge the projection.

Inside clouds is arguably worse than outside. The hallway is lined with tattered posters and it smells of something cheap and artificial. When Zemo enters the small, empty reception the lady behind the desk looks up with a smile.

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

  -

 None of you can hear a thing from the changing room.

“Do you think he’ll fire her?”

“I’m not sure. Depends how angry the client was,”

“Shut up I’m trying to hear,”

The room falls silent as Divine presses her ear to the door.

Moments ago the dressing room had been full of the usual chatter as you and the other dolls prepared for the evening shift. There was nothing to indicate the night would be anything but normal, that was until a few minutes ago when Woodman, the caretaker of dolls, had knocked furiously at the door and demanded that Azure come to his office down the hall for an immediate meeting.

“Is it just Woodman?” you ask. Azure could be abrasive at times, but she was certainly one of you favourite colleagues and you desperately wanted her to avoid being fired by management.

“I think so. I can’t hear anyone else.” Divine says, leaning back from the door.

“She’ll be fine, I’m sure,” one of the other dolls assures the room “She’s been here the longest. If they haven’t fired her yet, I doubt they ever will.”

“True. We can’t let this ruin a good Friday night. Five minutes until we need to be out in the booths, girls” Divine announces, and promptly returns to her table to finish her makeup.

Moments before the timer goes off the dressing room door flies open, and Azure stalks back to her table in silence. She’s not upset, but you can see the frustration hidden behind a poor attempt at offhand indifference. You want to ask if she’s alright, but the aggressive way she’s searching through her desk drawer makes you think it’s better to leave her be. The other girls do the same, cautiously looking over at her but making no attempt at conversation.

When the timer rings out you take one final sip of water and head to the door, grabbing the key-card for booth three as you leave.

 - 

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

The pink light of the glowing reception desk illuminates her face from below. That, combined with her uncomfortably bright smile makes the receptionist look like some sort of robot from a sci-fi film. Zemo lets out an amused huff at the very ambitious welcome promise.

“With all due respect, how could you know exactly what it is I want.”

“Clouds always knows. Your deepest desire – we find it. You’ll have your needs fulfilled – and maybe much more. ‘Less’ is not a word we use around here.” The receptionist replies.

“And how is that supposed to work then,” Zemo questions with a tilt of his head.

“Our algorithm searches your social media. With your permission it will create a personal profile based on any information if can gather, including personal preferences for you partners appearance. The algorithm will then select a doll for you, and create an experience based off that information.,” She slides a form across the desk “of course we ensure this is entirely confidential, this form confirms our promise.”

“I’ll admit I’m impressed. However I do not have a social media presence I’m afraid.” Zemo responds.

He couldn’t lie, the process seemed interesting. It was obviously a successfully programmed algorithm if the establishment had such a strong reputation. He found himself for the first time tonight not entirely doubting his choice to come here. He was interested to see what they would do for his situation.

“In that case I’ll have to ask you a few general questions to select a doll for you. If you are unsatisfied with their performance, you’ll be entitled to a refund at the end of the session.”

The receptionist begins to read a series of questions from her computer screen, gender preferences, what sort of experience he’s looking for. She concludes with organising payment, and the price is eyewatering even with the slight discount she applies since they cannot use the algorithm. When all is paid and signed for, the receptionist asks for a safe word. Admittedly it throws Zemo for a minute.

“It’s company policy” she says.

“Pontiac” he says bluntly, after a moment of thought.

“Fantastic.” The receptionist enters his response to the computer “Welcome to clouds. Serenity will be waiting for you in booth three.”

Zemo passes through another set of double doors and finds himself in a labyrinth of pink lights. The walls are lined with black, opaque glass and every so often a blue neon number protrudes from the wall indicates the booth behind it.

It doesn’t take long for him to find booth three, but he pauses before pressing the button to open the door. He takes a breath, collects his thoughts and lets his head and shoulders drop. He doesn’t want to look at his reflection in the tinted glass. Five years ago the thought of coming to a place like this would never have touched his mind, even in his questionable youth he had always been opposed these places. The risk that they were run unethically was far too great for his conscience. But he was not the man he was five years ago. Since Sokovia he wondered if he had a conscience at all anymore.

He presses the button, and the glass panel slides open.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the room. It’s dimly lit, faint blue and purple lights shine against the walls that are lined with the same dark, opaque glass as outside. There’s a chic, white sofa against the left wall, and against the right is a simple bed.

Sat atop it, kneeling with her thighs spread and covered by a short black night dress is the prettiest girl he’s seen in years.

 - 

He’s handsome, is the first thing you think when the glass door slides open.

It’s rare that you ever receive a client you’re inclined to call attractive, even the most conventionally attractive men that come here bring with them such a foul soul that it taints their appearance. Not this man, though.

He’s smartly dressed in dark trousers and a well-fitting grey jumper. His hair is styled nicely, it’s either brown or very dark blond (you can’t tell in the coloured lighting). He carries himself well, but after a year of working here you’ve grown accustomed to seeing through the façade’s of your clients. He’s apprehensive. Unsure if he belongs here. Hesitant.

“You must be Helmut. It’s nice to meet you,”

You try to make your voice sound soft and gentle, cocking your head to one side to beckon him in. You get the sense he wants something authentic, or at least that’s what his profile had said when it was sent through from reception moments ago. No porn-star moans or obscene pick-up lines tonight.

He collects himself, and the harsh line his lips have been pressed into relaxes as he enters the room. The glass panel slides shut, trapping the two of you in the bubble of the booth. It’s tranquil. You think he must need that.

“And you must be ‘Serenity’” He responds, crossing the room to sit on the sofa. His eyes don’t leave you as your ‘name’ rolls of his tongue with amusement. You can hear the next question in your head before he even opens his mouth again.

“So what’s your real name?”

They always ask you that. They ask every doll that. The clients are desperate to form a connection with you. To brag to their friends that they have a special relationship with a doll at clouds. You’ve never told anyone your real name before, it’s against company policy. Clouds attracts the rich of Madripoor, and rich in Madripoor usually means dangerous. It’s for your own protection more than anything else, you really don’t need work following you home.

You picked a name the day you were hired and that’s the name every client has known you by. This man will be no different. You begin your usual response:

“A name is a name, Helmut. A title. An advertisement of who you are. I want my name to tell you exactly who I am, so that you can know everything about me. I want to bring you peace.”

He adjusts his hips and rests his arms across the back of the sofa. He regards you quietly, and you’re positive he can tell that your response was a deflection. His eyes squint slightly, and a flash of humour appears in his dark pupils.

“Well I hardly think that’s fair. You get to call me by my name, but I don’t get to know yours?” He lets out a huff of laughter “Actually, I don’t think I’ll let you use my name. We should be equals, should we not?”

You admit you’re enjoying this. The smooth accent and playful tone of his voice keeps you interested. You swing your feet around so that you’re sat facing him on the bed, reclining back on your palms to match his casual stance.

“What should I call you then?”

“You said a name is just a title. So then my title can become my name. You can call be Baron, Serenity” He says your name like it’s some sort of inside joke, taunting you to give up and tell him who you really are. You won’t be so easily swayed.

“So what’s a Baron doing in Madripoor then?” You say with genuine curiosity. If it weren’t for the NDA’s you’re forced to sign you would be buzzing to tell the other girls who you’re spending the night with. You can’t imagine that aristocracy visits this place frequently. “And do you drink?”

“I do, thank you” he says, and you hop down from the bed and walk to the low table in front of the sofa that carries a few glasses and a bottle of expensive-looking alcohol. You know he’s looking at the satin hem of the night dress as it tickles to top of your thighs, and when you bend down to pour him a glass, you make sure he gets a tasteful peak at your cleavage.

“I’m here to work, actually.”

Did aristocrats work? You thought they were just for show.

“I’m… translating some documents. It’s taking me a very long time,” He continues, watching intently as you finish preparing his drink.

“A Baron and a translator? Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate” You loop around the table, perching beside him on the sofa and handing him his drink.

“It’s more of a personal project I suppose, but a very important one” he says, accepting the drink with his free hand. The one that rests behind you on the back of the sofa comes up to rest between your shoulder blades. It’s a very gentle touch, just the tips of his fingers making contact with yours skin and moving in a tiny little circle. He’s testing the waters with you, seeing how receptive you are. It’s almost gentlemanly.

“It must mean a great deal to you. We could talk about it, if you like? We can talk about anything you want to,” You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying how he melts into the action.

“Anything but your name?” He shoots you teasing look from the corner of his eye, and you give a little strand of his hair a small playful tug in response.

“Anything but that, Baron”

“Tell me something else about you. Like why you came to Madripoor, I can tell you weren’t born here.”

Jesus you can’t tell if this man is a pest or just being polite. It’s unusual for him to be asking these questions of you, most men would usually have you on your knees by now. You hum and give him one last stroke down the back of his neck, before climbing off the sofa and walking back towards the bed.

“Very perceptive. I’m not from Madripoor, no,” you crawl onto the bed, taking your time so that the baron can take a good look at where the night dress rides up over the curve of your ass “but we’ve only just met, and only my friends get to know my life story.”

You settle yourself comfortably at the top of the bed, lying down and propped up on your elbows so you can maintain the measured look he’s giving you.

“Perhaps I should come over there and get to know you better” he says calmly, with the barest hint of a suggestive undertone.

Thank god he’s dropped the topic of your true identity. You can handle sex; you don’t need an interrogation tonight. Slipping into character you drop your voice to a low whisper and cock your eyebrow.

“Perhaps you should”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile as he accepts your little challenge. In one fluid motion he downs the rest of his drink, places the empty glass back on the table, and rises to walk towards the bed. No, he stalks towards the bed with a natural swagger that admittedly makes your chest squeeze tight.

Within a second he’s onto you, slotting himself between your parted thighs and pressing his lips to yours. Your baron kisses well, is the only thing you’re capable of thinking as he uses his body to push you down into the cushions. One of his hands slides up your body, skimming across your neck before coming to rest below your jaw. He doesn’t squeeze, just gently holds you in place so that he can kiss you how he pleases.

After a moment he tilts your head up slightly, pausing the kiss so he can look down at you. You reckon you look a picture of arousal, pupils blown and cheeks flushes as you catch your breath. Your baron seems to agree; he’s looking at you like the cat that caught the canary, and you shiver when his grip gets just a fraction tighter on your jaw.

“So pretty,” he praises quietly as he dips down to skim his lips over your pulse.

The tender pressure makes you whine and arch up beneath him and he acknowledges you with a hum and a hand on your breast. As he continues his assault on your neck, the free hand on your chest squeezes the flesh softly, finding your nipple beneath the silky fabric and circling it with his thumb.

When it pebbles to his satisfaction he pulls away and you keen at the loss of contact. He tuts, pulling down the straps of your nightgown and peeling it down below your chest, shuffling down slightly so that his face is level with your now exposed torso.

He breathes out against your nipple before latching onto it, with one hand he squeezes your neglected breast and the other slides from its place on your jaw to the base of your neck. Again he doesn’t squeeze, just exerts a level of control that lets you know where he wants you. If you wanted to you could break free, but why would you want that? The way his thumb begins to circle your pulse point has you practically melting into the bed, the thought of telling him to stop can barely manifest in your mind.

You reach down to dig your fingers into the baron’s back, instead only making contact with his expensive-feeling jumper. You huff in disappointment and pull him from where he’s entertaining himself with your tits, meeting his hazy eyes that are riddled with confusion.

“I thought we were trying to get familiar with one another?” you ask, and his eyebrows pinch in confusion “How are we supposed to do that when you’ve got so much between us?”

The baron’s face melts in amusement, and he reluctantly pulls himself away from you to pull the jumper off and start undressing fully. You take a moment to catch your breath, watching him peel away his clothes to reveal his impressive body. He’s slender but impeccably well-toned, his torso is covered by a light dusting of hair that leads your eyes down to the impressive bulge in his underwear.

Tonight should be very entertaining.

Your sit up, reaching out to run your hand down his chest but before you can begin to pull at the waistband of his underwear, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

“I don’t know where you think you were going, but I was quite enjoying myself” he says roguishly. He gathers both of your wrists into one hand and pins you pack against the bed, with both hands restrained you have no choice but to let him bury hid face into your neck again.

This time he uses his free hand to skim along the inside of your thigh, getting high enough that you think he’ll reach the apex between your legs but instead he trails his fingers back down towards your knee again.

You whine in frustration as he continues his cycle of teasing up and down your leg, he ignores you until you tug against his grip on your wrists. He makes a low noise and quickly tightens his hold on you. The sudden movement sends a chill down your spine, and for the first time in a long while, you feel genuinely inclined to beg a man.

“Please-” you breathe out shakily “I want-”

Your voice cuts off suddenly as his hand moves boldly to cup your pussy. You can hear how embarrassingly wet you are as his fingers move through your folds, and he hums happily when he finds your clit with his thumb. Slowly he circles it, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you wriggling in his grip.

“This? Is this what you want?” he asks, and his voice has dropped at least another octave.

You shake your head furiously. Right now this is just not enough, you can feel his dick rubbing against your leg and you’re beyond desperate to have him fuck you open with it.

“No?” he says with feigned innocence “What is it that you want then?”

“More” is all you can get out “I want you in me. I’m wet enough, see?”

Your baron seems unconvinced. He circles a finger around your entrance before pushing in, rocking it gently inside you as he tries to decide if he thinks you’re really ready. He continues for a moment more before adding a second finger, now with two fingers stuffed in you and his thumb still working on your clit you’re almost ready to cum. It’s making you desperate, and it doesn’t help at all when he buries his face in your tits again.

Finally he lets your wrists go and immediately your hands grab at whatever part of him they can, eventually you settle with gripping his shoulder and hair as you try desperately to urge him to fuck you. He gets you right to the edge, literal moments away from finishing on his fingers when he pulls them away from you with an obscenely wet noise.

You let out a frustrated, desperate whine as he separates from you. He looks down at you with satisfaction as he takes in your flustered state.

“Stay still, you’ll get what you want” he says, and he reaches for his pants to retrieve a condom. It takes him a minute to pull himself free of his underwear and put the condom on. In your desperate state it feels like an eternity.

He positions himself between your legs, lifting the hem of the nightdress so he can get a good view of your pussy whilst he lines himself up. He pauses before he presses forward, looking up at you for any last-minute hesitation.

You nod your consent instantly, not trusting yourself to get any words out.

When he pushes in you think you might cum from that alone. He’s a perfect size, long enough that you feel as though you could feel him in your belly. When he finally bottoms out you can’t help but squeeze him tight, and he slumps over you, his face tucked into the side of your neck and swears in a language you don’t recognise. He nudges his hips forward as if to get deeper than he already is. The both of you gasp out at the sensation and he repeats it a few times, just the tiniest movements of his hips that causes him to rub against something deep inside you.

He pushes himself up on his forearms so that he can get a good look at you. In turn, you get to see the state of him as well – his eyes are impossibly dark and glazed over with something wildly lustful, his once pristine hair hangs dishevelled over his reddened forehead. Your baron’s lip curls wickedly as he sets a punishing pace, pushing you deeper into the sheets. It feels like he’s trying to fuck you through the bed.

His previous teasing had done a real number on you, and within minutes you’re moments away from cumming. You don’t think you could get much out of your mouth other than pathetic little whimpers right now, instead you reach up and pull the baron down for a deep kiss, one that he melts into fully.

When you do cum it’s fucking incredible. You��d never use a word that strong to describe a client before, but your baron brings with him many firsts for you. You cry out into his mouth as he picks up the pace to ride you through your high, your fingers dig into his shoulder so tightly you wonder if you’ve drawn blood. If you have, he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything it spurs him on as he fucks you to the point of oversensitivity.

He finishes just as you think you can’t handle anymore. His hips stutter momentarily, and tremors run down his spine in waves. The entire time he’s rambling in a foreign tongue against your skin until his pants of exhaustion overtake his ability to speak.

Your baron collapses on top of you but you hardly have the brainpower to care that he’s crushing you. Instead you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, listening to him as he catches his breath against your chest.

You yourself are struggling to even out your breathing, it feels as though you’ve run a marathon and the man on top of you seems thoroughly amused by that.

“Come now,” he says as he smooths a hand up your side “I wasn’t that good.”

You can hardly help the genuine laugh that escapes you.

“Humility doesn’t look good on you baron.”

The man in question huffs out a laugh before peeling himself away from your sweat-slicked body.

“I suppose I should make myself scarce. I imagine you have other, much more interesting clients to see tonight” he says, moving to sit on the side of the bed.

“You can stay and talk if you want, it’s entirely up to you. You paid for this, after all.” You say, secretly hoping he’ll stay for just a minute longer. You don’t intend to entertain anyone else tonight, but part of you is quite intrigued by your newest client.

“Well in that case I have one final question I’d like to ask” he says as he slowly begins to dress himself again.

“Ask away.”

Once his trousers are securely over his hips he pauses to look at you. There’s a soft expression on his face, as if he already knows he’s not going to get the answer he wants.

“What’s your real name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s asked again. Truthfully, it’s not the question itself that’s thrown you, it’s how tempted you are to answer it. His voice is so compelling at the moment that your name nearly springs from your tongue without you noticing.

“Oh baron,” you say quietly “you know I can’t tell you that.”

His lips press together in acceptance, and for a second his eyes leave yours. As he begins to get ready again, he gives his response.

“It was worth a shot.”

[iwillhaveamoonbase]

Replay ch. 4

Callum gulped as he sent the text to Rayla.  She was fully in her rights to reject a drawing session in the woods.  Not only that, but he was asking her to bring her own clothes because he didn’t know her exact measurements.  Was he asking too much?  He read the text again.  ‘If it’s not too much trouble, I was really imagining drawing you among the trees, like a faerie or an elf.  If you have any flowy clothes that you are alright with getting dirty, please wear those. I’ll send you the location if you’re comfortable.  If not, we can do the beach or my backyard.  I just can’t imagine drawing you in a confined space like my studio. I don’t think it would fit your spirit.’

Callum internally screamed. Did he really send that?  She was going to rescind her acceptance of his request to draw her, wasn’t she?  ‘Her spirit’? He had met her once!  What was wrong with him?  It was true, though.  That was something about her that, despite the suit and the situation that they met in, made him feel like she would be more at home running barefoot through the forest or relaxing by the sea.

Either way, now all he had to do was wait for her to reply back.  If she rejected the offer, well, he didn’t want to think about that, because that meant he probably was never going to see her again.  Meeting her once was enough to make her haunt his every thought for the past three days.  While he and his friends had finally ironed out how they were going to go full-time with YouTube, she had been right in the back of his mind.  

He had looked up her name and ran across a few things.  She really was the daughter of two bodyguards of the British royal family and her adoptive fathers ran a famous Celtic jewelry shop in Aberdeen, the designs being a mix of traditional shapes and styles and new materials.  She did dance for years as a way to channel her energy. There was even a video online of her at sixteen doing a ballet routine to a Kylie Minogue and Madonna compilation. She had inserted traditional Irish step dance in a way Callum never would have thought worked but it did. Maybe that was because of the sheer joy on her face as she moved.  That made her departure from dance all the stranger and it’s also where information about her basically stopped.  The most recent thing he found was that she worked for Patel and Associates Anti-Fraud Law Office.  

A lawyer…his faerie was a lawyer.  It certainly explained the suit but it was almost absurd.  Here he was imagining her running through the trees and she was surrounded by paperwork in her daily life.  Did she enjoy it?  Did she like spicy food?  What was her type?

Callum hit his head against his desk.  He needed to stop letting his mind drift to her and whether or not she could ever be interested in him.  There was no way someone like him was her type.  She couldn’t hide just how toned her long legs her in her suit.  She probably worked out often while he was a lazy twig that indulged in sleeping in too much.  Also, she was a lawyer.  A lawyer falling for a YouTuber/artist?  Yeah, right.

A stray chip hit his forehead.  Callum looked up to glare at Soren.  “What?”

“You thinking about that hot girl at the cheese shop again?”

“What?  No!”  Callum could feel the blush creepy up on his cheeks and all the way to his ears.

“It’s fine if you were. She was smoking hot.  I never thought I would find white hair hot, but DAMN.”

Claudia hummed in acknowledgement.  “I’m calling it now; she’s Bi or Pan.”

“What makes you say that?” Soren mumbled around a bunch of chips.

Claudia winked.  “Gaydar.”

“Wishful thinking?”

“Maybe some of that, too,” Claudia shrugged.  

“She’s got two dads,” Callum mumbled.

Soren, Claudia, and Ezran all turned to him.  “Does she now?” Claudia asked.

“Yeah.  She told me at the shop.  It was the painting of Aunt Amaya and Aunt Janai that made her accept my offer.  She was raised by her parents’ friends, hence, two dads.  They run Gael Jewelers in Aberdeen.”  

Claudia immediately pulled out her phone, probably to look them up.  Shortly after, she whistled.  “Wow. She comes from a really good-looking family.  Her mom is a totally MILF.”

Soren rolled his eyes. “Claudia, you can’t just-” Claudia shoved the picture in his face. “MILF alert.”

“Mm-hmm.”  Claudia scrolled through.  “Ethari and Runaan and are also incredibly attractive.  Damn.  What is in the water in Scotland?”

Callum rolled his eyes. “Guys.  Let’s focus.  Do we need a production manager?”

Claudia shrugged.  “My vote is you’re in charge of creative for group projects, we run our own channels, and we hire an editing assistant.”

“We also need a social media manager.  Ez can’t do it all on his own while he’s in school.”

Ezran nodded.  “It’s nice that you guys do your own channel stuff, but, sometimes, it would be nice to have some help.”

“Do we need a strong social media presence?  We have YouTube and Twitter.  Isn’t that enough?”

Ezran scratched the back of his neck.  “Maybe? Claudia’s got a large following on Tumblr ever since she came out during one of her make-up tutorials.  Her super casual ‘my ex-girlfriend taught me how to do this and this is the first time I’ve done this eyeliner look since we broke-up’ just made her blow-up and our channel gained thousands of followers over-night.”

Callum nodded.  “We gained a lot of followers after I did that art tutorial with Janai, too.  A lot of people just went gaga over her and I see a lot of requests for her to come back on the channel.”

“Which is where a social media manager could come in handy.  Maybe they could track requests so we don’t have to?”

Soren sighed, taking another handful of his chips.  “We also need someone to help us with events.  Getting us into them, working booths…being famous is hard work.”

“We aren’t famous, Soren.”

“Beg to differ.  I get stopped all the time.”  Soren flexed his arm.  “And it’s not just because of these guns.”  The other three in the room rolled their eyes.  

“Himbo,” Claudia coughed, no-so-subtly.  

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! Stop using words I don’t know!”

“Stop being a himbo.”

“CLAUDS!”  

Ezran and Callum shared a look, snorting at their childhood friends’ teasing.  Soren and Claudia couldn’t go five minutes without teasing each other or making a serious situation humorous.  “Can’t take them anywhere,” Callum whispered.

Ezran nodded.  “Bait is better behaved.”

Callum eyed the frog in the glass bowl Ezran took with him wherever he could.  “He’s glaring at me again.”

“Because you won’t stop thinking about that girl.”

“It’s not my fault she won’t leave my head.  You saw her, Ez.”

“Yeah, she’s beautiful, but she’s not running through my head like she is your’s.  Are you even ready for another relationship?  After Melissa-”

“Melissa was a nightmare. She constantly asked to be introduced in our videos.  I didn’t know at the time, but you were right, she approached me because she wanted to piggyback off our growing fame.”  Callum ran a hand through his hair.  “I was an idiot.”

Ezran put a hand on his shoulder.  “I wasn’t going to say that.  I was going to say that Melissa really hurt you and I want you to be careful.  You didn’t even like her that much, if I remember correctly.”

“She was nice, pretty, liked some of the same things I did.  But she didn’t really inspire me to be better or push my art.  She only encouraged the YouTube thing, not what I actually like.”

“She is why we got almost fifty thousand subscribers in one week, though.  That story broke and you had to give that little video and it really stuck with people.”

Callum remembered that video.  As a way to quiet down any questions, he had made a short video detailing how they had met (in a coffee shop), why they had never gone public (he had wanted to keep his private life and his YouTube life separate), that she had met his family but they kept it hush-hush (impossible not to meet Ezran after knowing Callum for a week), and that the break-up had not been mutual.  Callum had broken-up with her because he had felt that it wasn’t working because they wanted different things.  Melissa pushed the YouTube thing, and there was nothing wrong with that, but, if Callum was going to be known for social media and videos, he wanted to be proud of what he put out into the universe.  He loved his art more, and, if he could, that would be all he did.  Melissa had wanted to do sponsorships and Callum hadn’t.  They just had different values and desires and no one else was owed this knowledge, but Callum had been forced to do damage control because people would not stop asking.  “Yeah. I was really surprised that that happened.”

“People value honesty. I think it comes across in our videos and your art tutorials that you are not in this for the fame.  We’ve done meet and greets and you are just awkward as anything.  Melissa showed her true colors on her own with posts afterwards.”  Callum didn’t even want to think about how Melissa had tried to monetize their break-up.  It had been bizarre to see her sponsored by a make-up wipe company to tell her side of the story, which basically confirmed everything in Callum’s video, but with the caveat that she had wanted him to reach new heights and that YouTube and not his ‘lame art’, as she had put it, was the way to do that.  Their fans had not taken kindly to that and Melissa had lost thousands of followers she had gained overnight in even less time.

“Social media is weird, Ez. No matter what, we have got to stay away from the drama.  We do not want to be involved in any of that.”

“Yep.  That’s why I think a social media manager could help.  A good one.”

“I’m all for it if that’s what keeps our noses clean.”  Callum straightened when his phone alerted him to a text.  

He opened it to see it was from Rayla ‘The woods?  OK.  I’m still bringing my friend.  When’s good for you?  It would have to be on a weekend for me because of work.  Sorry about that.’

“Holy shit,” Callum whispered.

“What?” Ezran looked over his shoulder to read the text.  “That text sounds weird.  Callum-”

“I know, Ez, but she didn’t say ‘no’.  She didn’t reject me.”  Ezran raised a brow.  “You know what I mean.”

“You’ve got it bad.”

“I just need to draw her to get her out of my system.”

“Either that or she is your muse.  Poor Aunt Janai.  She was having so much fun being your muse.  So was Khessa.”  Callum chuckled.  Khessa, Janai’s older sister, did enjoy modeling for Callum.  His exhibit on women of color had been a smash hit in part because of her always accepting when he asked.  She had once modeled with a crown while sitting on a throne and that particular piece now hung in her house in her living room, showed off to everyone who came over.  Callum smiled as he remembered that exhibit.  His crowing achievement, to this day, was the portrait of his mother, eyes softened, and an easy, loving smile on her lips.  People thought of her as this rough former military general and tactician who once taught at military academies.  They didn’t know that she had a sweet tooth or that her relationship with Callum’s father had led her to leaving the military because she saw that the push for peace was more important.  

She was now known for her discussions on US-South Korean and US-Thai relations because both her parents were immigrants and her own history in South Korea.  Sarai and Amaya had both spent half their childhoods in South Korea in Korean schools, helping Sarai learn how the rest of the world saw the States. She and Amaya and joined the military because it helped pay for university, but both found they were really good at it. So good at it, they extended their contracts before finally leaving to focus on family and peaceful negotiations. Callum was proud of his mother’s work and was proud of the picture showing the softer side of her so many people didn’t see.  

He shook his head and sent a quick text to Rayla that next Saturday worked for him if it worked for her.  This Saturday was in a few days and, if things went how Ezran wanted, they were probably going to be doing interviews all weekend for a social media manager.  “Let’s get a social media manager, Ez.”

“YES!”

------------------------------------------

Rayla smiled at the text. The woods was a bit of a strange option, but she was excited.  She hadn’t had a chance to go running through the trees barefoot in years.  She was going to have to ask Corvus if he was willing to head out early so she could do so.  She mentally thought of her wardrobe and realized she didn’t have anything flowing that she was willing to get dirty.  She was going to have to go thrift store shopping.  

Was she really going to go buy a dress so a random artist that she had met one time could draw her surrounded by trees?  Yeah, she was and she was going to look so good she was going to haunt his mind like he haunted her’s.  His voice followed her and she had watched all of his videos in three days.  She barely slept because she wanted to hear him more or see him smile or laugh.  She felt like one of those stalkers who was convinced a famous person was in love with them, but she had met him in real life.  He had approached her, he had asked to draw her.  Either way, she wanted him to be tongue-tied when he saw her and, hopefully, she was going to quell some of the fire that refused to leave her belly since they had shaken hands.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Sundance 2019: The Empathy of Virtual Reality

There's the age-old adage that one cannot understand the experience of another unless you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. But it's not often that we are willing or able to physically remove ourselves from personal comforts to truly empathize with others. At the New Frontier Exhibits at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival, there was considerable enthusiasm for technologies that allow people to replicate engagement with the physical world. As Chris Milk puts it in his TED talk, virtual reality (VR) is “the ultimate empathy machine.”

Experiences are what delineate us as humans, so it comes as no surprise that a powerful VR experience can be more effective than simply visualizing something. Sundance’s New Frontier allows interactive storytellers to present new narrative forms using technology. In engaging with these dynamic projects, I wanted to explore whether it was possible for thoughtful, evocative, and surprising VR to truly impact and encourage empathy among us all. 

At the New Frontier, attendees were treated to a multi-room, trance-like experience that functioned as a chose-your-own-adventure type feel. Spanning two locations, the larger New Frontier Central held most of the exhibition, while a smaller space nearby in the basement of The Ray theater featured a 40-set VR cinema and the remaining projects. It was clear from the structural design of the exhibition that Sundance was very intentional in creating a social intersection element that allowed different types of people from all over to talk about the various works in the same room. 

The dominating installations at New Frontier Central showcased the use of projections, artificial intelligence, pseudo-holograms, and augmented reality as it alternated between projects such as "Esperpento," "Dirtscraper," and "The Dial." Customized works showcased the leaps that mixed-reality experiences have made and the ways that these technologies aim to use the principle of synesthesia to mix up human senses creating a borderline trippy experience. Adding to the mind-blowing experiences was the trend of putting physical bodes inside the frame of their experiences. No longer is VR simply removing you from the real world. "Runnin’" [pictured at top], a cosmic hip-hop dance party with artist Reggie Watts at The Ray, was one of the most thrilling, mind-bending experiences I have ever had. 

"Gloomy Eyes"

The Colin Farrell-narrated “Gloomy Eyes,” is a beautifully, transportive experience that truly connected with the New Frontier goal of storytelling. The first episode, which premiered at The Ray, tells the story of transcendent love between a human girl and a zombie boy in a world where zombies are considered fugitives. The ways this story is able to simultaneously capture the hope of young love with the darkest side of humanity invokes a true sense of magic.

While each of the aforementioned experiences were well worth the hype, my goal was to uncover immersive projects that pushed the boundaries of our understanding of the human experience. It was with pleasure that I was able to experience the easy-to-use 3D volumetric capture experience "REACH."  Dubbed the “godmother of VR” by Engadget, Nonny de la Peña is once again at the forefront of the VR world, in trying to make this technology more accessible. 

“Most people are calling it a VR photo booth, but that’s not exactly what it is,” de la Peña explained. “It’s actually a creation platform. It’s like iMovie for volumetric VR—super simple. And then you get to publish on like YouTube. It’s volumetric YouTube and volumetric iMovie put together. And so, what we’re doing is trying to make it super simple for folks to participate in the creation process.” 

"Reach"

Representing a new advancement in VR technology, "REACH" allows anyone to be captured and dropped into any 3D environment of their choice, giving way for attendees to step inside of the story. The added dimensions to these immersive experiences, de la Peña believes, makes VR an increasingly important medium for telling stories. 

“The reason I got started in VR was I wanted to put people on scene in stories that were otherwise kind of invisible, people whose stories were invisible,” she said. “We feel like by putting you on scene we’re able to make some of these stories become better quality, more significant.”

Because VR content can produce such powerfully emotional experiences there is a growing belief among creators in the community, including de la Peña, that with the elimination of distribution barriers (as with "REACH") anyone will be able to harness the power of VR to not simply consume stories but to create and experience them. In 2018, there was a $12.1 billion global AR/VR revenue, a 38.4% increase. de la Peña believes that this growth signals the desire from consumers to engage the interactivity of VR experiences, much like with gaming. 

Still, she was clear that not everyone believes in the power of VR experiences to shape and reshape the human condition. While some believe it is simply a fad whose uniqueness will wear with time, others believe the path to a more empathic society is already within reach in our current reality. Paul Bloom of The Atlantic argues that the best “empathy machines” are books and that language gives us a sort of reproduction of what another consciousness is like, most notably in comparison to those whose experiences and beliefs are radically different from our own. But what happens when that language is extinct or when there are too few accessible texts exploring the ways that history is repeating itself? 

"Last Whispers: An Immersive Oratorio"

In "Last Whispers: An Immersive Oratorio" (a project also involving Nonny de la Peña), the cross-media artist Lena Herzog isn’t creating a new reality but instead is hoping to revive those that have been lost. "Whispers" explores languages that are endangered or extinct underscoring the ways in which we are losing our linguistic diversity and ultimately the way we understand ourselves. 

“Every two weeks a language dies,” a passionate Herzog exclaimed. “The reason they are falling silent is because young generations do not speak it. The reason they are falling silent is because of genocides, climate change and people getting uprooted and having to put roots in other cultures and switch to other languages when they have to join other communities. The reason they are falling silent is because of colonization. I mean why would the Americas speak Spanish? There is a very clear answer to that—it’s because of this conquest by the Spaniards. Why is that we’re speaking English here? So, the Roman Empire alone, some speculate but it’s really hard to tell because it was a while ago and there wasn’t really research, was probably responsible for some thousand languages—the Roman Empire alone, of erasing them. Why is that languages have fallen silent? Because of globalization—cultural globalization.” 

"Last Whispers" is an incredible universe that encapsulates all of these endangered and extinct languages as they swirl around you. It’s an octa-phonic design created in such a way that the frequencies hit your ears with a physical presence. This technology is incredible in that it makes the listener feel as if the languages being spoken throughout the oratorio are sharing your physical space. In this way as the sounds of the voices begin to fade, you feel that presence leave you, you feel that extinction happening. This magnificent aural experience was an intentional creation by Herzog.  

“A very profound philosophical dilemma that I understood about that was that it had to do with the very nature of extinction,” she said. “The very nature of extinction is silence and we understand something when we articulate it and how we articulate it. So, it’s the very crux of the problem. So then came a really interesting challenge—how do you articulate an extinction, the form of which is silence? A very sort of direct obvious answer is to sound what has gone silent. But how do you do that? How do you really make it present? So, I started to research about how do we perceive something as present neurologically and that’s when I knew I had to have a sound team that would create an 8.1 for public presentation or a binaural for personal experience in the headphone mixes because our brain perceives that sound as present and alive.” 

The visuals of "Last Whispers" are just as captivating. Herzog had originally done the visuals in her original 46-minute, 2D piece but felt it necessary to allow viewers to be inside the world that she had created. Viewers become enclosed in a sphere that encircles you as the approximate place of origin for each language is geolocated on the globe. The context provided with the visuals adds to the haunting reverberations of invocation of languages lost and incantation of those that are endangered or extinct underscoring the ways in which we are losing our linguistic diversity and ultimately the way we understand ourselves.

"Traveling while Black"

In what proved to be one of the most popular VR experiences at the New Frontier, Academy Award-winner Roger Ross Williams and Ayesha Nadarajah co-directed a 20-minute, 360-degree virtual reality recreation of the restaurant, Ben’s Chili Bowl in "Traveling While Black." Paying homage to Ben and Virginia Ali’s restaurant, "Traveling While Black" immerses viewers in intimate conversation in one of the most popular safe places for African American travelers in the survival guide known as The Green Book.  

The experience opens with an electrifying Reverend Sandra Butler-Truesdale sitting at the counter of Ben’s Chili Bowl. She narrates how growing up in segregated Washington she was not allowed to try on clothing in departments store for fear that she wasn’t clean and would make an item contaminated for white patrons.

“I think Sandra is a dynamic, amazing character,” Williams said in conversation with the New York Times' Brent Staples. “So, as a documentarian as soon as I met her, I thought that she has to be sort of our narrator through the piece.” 

In various moments throughout the piece, viewers are forced to reckon with the solitude of night and an almost empty restaurant. There are times where there is an orange haze and commotion outside the doors from unrest while the walls are covered in projects of the brutality that can be associated with traveling as a Black person in America. The restricted nature of the experience is unnerving, and Williams’ didn’t hesitate to enthrall viewers in the sadistic reality of state sanctioned violence. There are moments that are hard to watch as they are fraught with emotional turmoil, but that is the crux of this experience. 

While some of the most exciting VR experiences still require users to be tethered to a powerful computer, creative teams are working to create accessibility whether it’s through partnerships with schools and museums or giving direct access to the user as with de la Peña’s "REACH" platform. Currently, who we feel empathy for is strongly influenced by irrelevant factors such as race, attraction, and similarity, and our empathy often takes us in the wrong direction. The experiences on hand at the New Frontier at Sundance was an impressive slate of technology, art, and psychology blended together to help address the difficulties we have understanding one another. At worst. VR experiences are changing the way we experience entertainment. At best, VR simulations offer the experience of becoming—a virtual embodiment of ourselves and others, exploring the mechanisms, possibilities and implications of such experiences. As VR technology continues to grow in both popularity and content, the line between the user and the story dissolves, leading us toward a more compassionate society. 

from All Content http://bit.ly/2UFjjiT