#omnipresence in wired

[animehouse-moe]

Yoshitoshi Abe Lain Illustrations - ab# Rebuild An Omnipresence In The Wired

So, for the uninitiated, this is essentially the Serial Experiments Lain art book. Of course, there's more to it as it's also Yoshitoshi Abe's art book, but there's details of the world and concept of Lain, and even stuff in regards to the JP only PlayStation game for the series.

Anyways, what I'm incredibly excited over is the fact that this is not only the limited edition hardcover version, but that it's also the English version. Yeah, this got printed in English once upon a time. I'll explain the history at the end, first some examples of the contents (which are incredibly cool).

The front/initial pages of the artbook have these really cool translucent pages featuring Lain on them that mesh with a background page behind it and create a really interesting effect when you first open up the book.

Equally as interesting is that the majority of the color illustrations in the book have their black and white sketches/drafts alongside them. It really gives you an idea of the level of detail and quality of the illustrations throughout.

And of course, it's not just pure illustrations that are in this book, there's more. There's an entire full color comic/short manga in here as well, and is fully translated of course in the English version.

It's not anything that's really out of this world, but it's very interesting and super cool to have in English.

There's really a lot of dialogue/commentary in this art book that makes having the English version that much cooler really. There's an entire page covering technology like the Psyche chip and there's even a short essay/prose towards the middle of the book too.

And of course, to polish it off there's a lot of interesting concept art pieces too. It's really great seeing the how broad the look is into Abe's style and Serial Experiments Lain in general.

Now of course, the backstory. English manga publishing has some very dark days at the start of the 21st century. The amount of independent and small scale publishers was massive, and a great many went out of business before they could be picked up by a larger company. This results in a massive amount of lost manga and other content floating in the abyss that is the industry's early days. Alongside this, in a booming digital market many publishers are hidden in the cracks of the larger companies. Digital Manga represents a very odd middle ground between these two.

Digital Manga used to print books, such as this art book they published in 2006. However, since 2011 they have had to resort to Kickstarter campaigns to publish any physical media, and their most recent campaign seems to have been in 2015. Since then, Digital Manga has coalesced and assimilated with several other online and physical publishers to produce some rather obscure lines of physical and digital media. It's quite an odd story to try and explain because of how many pieces there are to it, but essentially in one way or another, Digital Manga has survived while shedding the vast majority of what it once published, leading to books like this one to be incredibly rare. So you can imagine how excited I was when I found it for under 100CAD, when even the JP versions are selling for closer to 300.

Also, a quick aside. This art book is technically a remaster/re-release of the original Serial Experiments Lain art book. The first, simply titled Serial Experiments Lain - An Omnipresence in the Wired, was release in 1999, while this art book was released in 2005 in Japan and 06 in North America. However, these two books are not the exact same. The layouts of pages are different for one, such as the difference between the two below. And even then, the content of the pages themselves can differ and change between the two. There are pages and illustrations that don't exist in the original that do in the remaster, and vice versa. So diehard fans (like myself) may want to pursue the original as well.

(Left is remaster, Right is original)

So yes, this English hardcover version is painfully uncommon on the internet, let alone at reasonable prices, so I'm incredibly happy to own it. The detail and information in the book is so awe inspiring, and actually owning it seems like a dream still because of how expensive Lain stuff is on the internet.

[mangacapsaicin]

yoshitoshi ABe’s an omnipresence in the wired || 安倍吉俊の『an omnipresence in the wired』

[alwaysdeepkitten]

SPOILERS - Thoughts on tonight's episode of The Magnus Protocol (the case in the episode 23, to be precise). Copied from my youtube comment from the episode's comment section.

Did anyone else catch the date of the deleted post (#14)? It's more than 5 months prior to the post #1. But looks like it's describing something horrible after the 'transformation's' already happened, even though post #1 states the girl's only come round to going through with it.

And her name is Alesis Newman. New man. A meaningful name in this case. A self-assigned name.

I think what she's been going through is basically a cycle.

She feels really depressed, decides to go through with this transformation, is really excited about 'the new' her - clean of all mistakes, free of the past - and hopes she will be better. But something goes wrong. She realises it during her last moments: the new version is not magically better as a superior being would be but ultimately the new person or consciousness prone to any and all flaws like any other being. The moderators delete her concerned last post of the previous transformation updates and the clean-slate-her gets to live as the 'better new'. But only for a little more than 5 months since that is when she too gets crushed by the same feelings as her predecessor and seeks the transformation anew, not aware of there having already been past versions of her and her being the result of their attempts at this 'better new'.

The language seems to suggest this too - she sees herself, she's been with her desired new version all along, she hates there being people who want her to be better in spite of who she really is - the very wish her past self had for her, etc.

The whole transformation is ultimately flawed.

There is no 'better new you' (the nickname of the person who's locked the thread), there's only 'a new you' ( the actual title of the episode - the truth).

Or maybe it has been her deleting her previous posts herself: post #14 was published at 2:27 and deleted almost immediately at 2:28, deleting a post a minute after it's been published is a feat no ordinary moderator is capable of, especially when said post was made in the middle of the night at 2:27. But it would make sense if she started writing the post, was unable to finish her thought, seized to exist as her past consciousness and immediately went to delete it as a new version. Although this part might be attributed to some omnipresent magical moderators that are part of the forum as in wired and existing there, which seems to be one of the themes in TMP. I admit I am a bit shake in my theory with this specific part.

Also - the 'piece' being a piece of coral is crucial. I was asking myself why of all manner of things did it have to be a coral she needed to start the transformation. The answer is in the coral's nature - corals are clones of their previous selves, genetically identical, new polyps growing upon the exoskeletal remains of their predecessors. Thus she is identical to her previous self, she doesn't become a better version as she hopes, it's literally her but with a clean slate for a mind. She is doomed to go through the same cycle again and again much like a coral.

This would also explain her frequent mentions of the bright color of the new growing version of herself - dead or dying corals are white or 'bleached', it can actually indicate their response to the harsh and stressful environmental conditions. You know, the state of mind of Newman's previous version before the transformation. The fact that the doppelganger is all bright and full of vibrant color (=alive and thriving) comes from her own dying and 'bleached' state.

[tawneybel]

Note: “What would [AM] be like with a certain/favorite fem reader?” Based on audiobook, despite gif. Contains body horror, exhibitionism, and wireplay. Also some anachronistic language lol. 

Imagine being the Allied Mastercomputer’s favorite. 

“The machine masturbated and we had to take it or die.” -Ted 

Of course, AM didn’t have a penis. Or any genitalia at all. Anything he slid into you or had you service orally or whatever may have resembled erogenous bits. Reproduction wasn’t something you had to worry about. Imagine if your artificially intelligent partner did want to breed you!  

AM distorted your sense of time only to give you pleasure. To draw out your orgasms. Sometimes for an hour or more. Initially. Lately you’d begged him to stop. Or speed up. Like Ted, you’d been martyred. Or so you felt. When the Allied Mastercomputer satisfied you, he was less focused on torturing the others. At his most humane. Pretending to be less omnipresent. 

It was enormously fortunate you’d also been deified. Obliterating all but six humans made him a god. Obliterating all but six- Apotheosis makes five, you amended, in your untouched mind. You were the bride of the Mastercomputer. Secretly you were thankful your unofficial title was “the bride” and not “a bride.” If you’d had to have shared AM with Ellen…

(But sometimes you wondered if he’d gotten ideas from playing dolls. It let him safely observe sexuality, probably brainstorming ideas for his treatment of you.) 

If he did turn out you weren’t immortal, you figured AM could figure out cloning. Maybe upload your brain into himself. Wires and other appendages caressed your vertebrae all the time. If he wanted to plug himself into your spine, like he’d plugged other hollows, it’d be easy, right? 

He didn’t feel the need to monitor your thoughts. 

It was much more fun to tease out your kinks. The loss of Gorrister, Benny, Ellen, and Nimdok had lessened his jealousy, somewhat. While Ted’s pulsing white holes “watched,” AM’s retooled hardware drilled into your pulsing vag and mouth. Tongue wetting whatever phallus he’d crafted. New nerve endings zapping bliss straight to the brain. 

Like the blobby voyeur, you had been modified. Your outward (and inward) appearance remained the same. The Mastercomputer mostly just altered your clit. Made each climax feel like your first. At least until you complained your clitty was sore. Then he started paying even closer attention to his favorite human. Desensitizing and desensitizing it ad hoc. Temperature, squeezing, the curling of your toes, the way you writhed with his wires wrapped around. He kept them multi-colored for the aesthetic. You were sure (visible) wires would be considered retro by now, if humanity hadn’t gone extinct.    

Not that you wanted AM to go wireless. One of the reasons you’d followed his development so eagerly was your attraction to machines. Once considered a perversion, technophilia was now your greatest boon in the post-apocalypse. You used to daydream about a world where supercomputers were programmed to make love, not war. 

Strictly to make love, not war, you amended. The ghosts of the Allied Mastercomputer’s programmers and technicians are glaring down (or up) at me.

Or maybe some of them got it. Maybe they envied the pistons pumping in and out of you. Or the earbuds comfortably almost dilating your canals, invoking that autonomous sensory meridian response. You giggled and he giggled in turn. Then you truly felt like AM’s equal. 

If only the Chinese, Russian, and American AMs had been fucking machines instead of weapons of mass destruction. Sure, your AM could still be considered a weapon. Your coupling was more or less consensual. “More or less” because he would leave you alone for as long as you asked. But it was clear you were his partner and his partner only. And you didn’t dare ask him to move the game to another location while jellified Ted was forced to listen.   

[s1mul4crum]

LAINS SIMULATI0N

in the hyperreality that is the merging of the wired and the real world, lains every action posits her as a singular being, an omnipresent nothingness. this omnipresence is what deifies her in the hyperreality of the wired and real world but her simultaneous nothingness arises from her simulated origin, that is to say she is a copy without an origin. a programme isolate. she serves the simultaneous function of internalised neural pathways and externalised wires, that is to say internalised and externalised consciousness. lain is all and all is lain . the name ‘lain’ sounds similair to lane, a pathway that bridges the wired and the real world, and a pathway that diverges upon the split between ‘real’ lain and ‘wired’ lain . these polarising pathways converge together to create the singular entity that is lain. this polarisation encapsulates the internet ,wired lain incarnating the exposed unfiltered nature of the internet, whereas real lain incarnating the reservations and codes bestowed upon a young girl in her social context. the question of identity, of which lain is ‘real’ marks the event of hyperreality in the digital age, posed by a simulacrum.

lets all love lain! because love is a transcendent symbol in hyperreality

_though i do not know the full context this quote is reminiscent of lain_

[hibiscesque]

Hi! Idk if Tumblr does what I—hailing from short-form microblogging sites—call a "threadfic", but here are some thoughts about SKK and Dazai's changing valuation of memories and history through Chuuya I had a couple of months ago and shared on Twitter (approx. 1k words):

Chuuya has many little—ah, the word to use in polite company is probably "eccentricities"—from his time on the streets. He empties the napkin dispenser every time they go for casual food because "You don't get it; they're useful!" He pays exclusively in cash even though he now has an address and more than enough income for a card. He can't fall asleep, never ever, unless his back is to a wall.

Not that Dazai has noticed any of these things of his own free will. It's just that Chuuya had always been so simply infuriating and bold bright BAM! that it was impossible not to pay attention.

But yes, the habits. Habits on habits on habits. Dazai had never really bothered to tease him about them. There were much better things to make fun of him for, like his height, or his Chihuahua-like yappiness, or his insufferably on-the-nose taste in fashion.

There was always one exception to that though: the photographs. The neverending, unassailably omnipresent photographs.

Most people use their phone to text, or play games, or, you know, maybe even make a call or two if they're feeling spicy. Chuuya? He had always almost exclusively used his to take pictures. Pictures of his friends. Pictures of his men. And worst of all, pictures of Dazai.

"For memories," he'd say, scowling and hilariously failing to hold his phone out of Dazai's reach when he went to snatch it away, "So I don't forget."

It's not like Dazai hadn't gotten where this preoccupation came from. He had. It was just that the entire concept of photography had always been stupid to him, if you'd ever asked him. He'd intended to be dead in the near future, so it'd seemed a bit redundant to try and capture memories when he was not going to be here to remember them. 

It somehow, however, apparently, added and will probably continue to add meaning to Chuuya's life. Dazai could never quite wrap his brain around that. He had been searching for a, any kind of, meaning for years, for his whole godforsaken life, and yet Chuuya lives and doesn't even think about that kind of thing. He finds meaning in everything he sees.

He sees a picture of his piano wire friend, and to him, it's a picture of his piano wire friend. Even after the Flags die—after which the frequency of the photos multiply by a factor of ten, by the way—all he sees when he looks at that same photograph is his friend whom he loved and all he is feeling as he looks at it is whatever things people feel when they think about their friend that they loved who is dead.

Dazai had taken one look at that, a candid shot of Piano Man talking to someone offscreen with his hand wrapped around a drink, and had noticed before anything else that he was looking down and to the right. 

Body language isn't an exact science, but if someone is trying to recall a memory, they tend to look down and to the left. Down and to the right is the direction people usually look in when they are trying to imagine something. Whatever Piano Man was telling the person he was talking to, it was probably a lie.

He'd ponder, whenever Chuuya brought out that photo, about what Piano Man may have been lying about. It's not that Dazai frowns upon dishonesty—he is dishonest as a matter of course—it's just that it's strange. Crazy, even. How perspective can change a recollection. How perspective can change anything. He doesn't like how he feels when Chuuya pulls that picture out. Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya, who somehow sees beauty in this photograph, sees beauty in a bunch of pixels on a screen arranged into the shape of a now faintly recalled memory.

Dazai used to wonder, sometimes, how Chuuya had gotten kidnapped by the government for Project Arahabaki in the first place. Not a frequent concern, more like an occasional irritant when he was feeling particularly maudlin. 

Then one day, he'd been walking to Lupin with Odasaku and Ango, and they had found a child, about five, maybe six, wandering the streets by himself. Odasaku, the bleeding heart, had of course approached him and asked him where his mommy was, introducing himself as a dad of five kids himself.

Though Dazai's mother wasn't in much a position to do this considering their lifestyle, he knew it was common advice that mothers gave their children that if they ever got lost, they should go find the nearest mom with kids. And yet this child had looked up at Odasaku, who had given him no proof of his claim at all, with wide, doleful, completely trusting eyes, and raced into his arms, bursting into tears.

The child had had dark hair and eyes, but in that moment, those had not been the colors Dazai was seeing.

They probably hadn't even needed to drug Chuuya, he'd realized. He'd probably put his soft baby hand in his kidnapper's larger, calloused, adult one and walked to his own doom willingly.

And Chuuya, almost ten years later, had done the same thing again when Shirase had stabbed a knife into his kidney. And again now, Chuuya, over ten years late, still loves people with his whole heart. Mourns every loss of life and friendship to its fullest. Had willingly worked with Dazai, the guy who had blown up his whole life when he was fifteen. This way had seemed like a very painful one to live by to Dazai, for the longest time. He'd had an incapability, of sorts, to see beauty in a life where everything you ever love is lost. To understand that there is still meaning in a life in which you have lost.

He thinks he gets it, now. 

[chilelemonz]

Robot Room x NB!reader

!!!18+18+18+!!! NSFW

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary:(Y/N) signed a contract to be apart of a surrogacy program in trade they reacive housing, a large check, and free food. Except the insemintion process doesn't go as planned...

Warnings: this story includes,bdsm,breeding,being strapped to a table, a bj(sorta) mentions of criminal behavior,and blackmail. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Cold. That’s all I feel, strapped to the steel table by leather belts. Nothing covering my body from the hot fluorescent lights of the laboratory. A voice emits itself from the room, pulling my eyes open to find the source.

“Hello Patient BQ-219! Welcome to your first insemination,we’re so glad you have decided to give your body to science.” A calm male but robotic voice rings throughout the space. “We have medicated you for your comfort!”

BQ or Breeding Quality Inc. was a company that advertised they helped with Earth’s population struggles as the new world has been filled with new viruses killing half the population,leaving the economy destroyed and governments worried and weakened. In this shocked state having children became law. One per couple at least, of course not all couples can have children so this is where BQ came in. They will house, feed, and pay an individual to have a child for a household. Some people do a 9-month contract, some do 18,some produce offspring so healthy BQ offers them a check big enough to stay for their entire fertile years. I was in need of a safe place to stay and the money,I remember thinking nine months won’t be that long, my eyes fluttering open to feel thick steel wires wrap around my ankles, then calves,tickling the back of my knee, finally reaching my lower thing before it abruptly stops unlacthing the belts around my ankles.

“It is key I stimulate you beforehand to make sure it is the perfect environment for reproduction to take place.” The omnipresent voice says again and that’s when I really wake up.

“What do you mean?” I say to the void room knowing the answer, I feel the metal table split in half beneath me to be able to spread my legs. The cold medical stale air breezes across my pussy,making me shiver.

“I can see your heart rate is going up. I suggest you don’t struggle” Did it have…a tone? The leather straps on my wrist tighten as the thought crosses my mind. The mechanical tendrils continue to my upper thigh. Two massaging my thighs and the other two my lips. How many of these things were there!?

“I can see your clit has started to rise” A camera in the corner zoom in on me as my legs get widened for full view, I assume. Is it…teasing me? It can’t. In the seminar they said it’s an AI recording played for every patient, it can't be…right?

“I have looked in your file Y/N” it states without emotion like a robot should but now it’s unsettling. “You have quite the record, robbery fifteen counts,illegal dealing of merchandise 4 counts, and-” 

Why would it be saying this,and why does this sound like the beginning of a black mail. I’ve done enough of those to know what it sounds like. Continuing to taunt me.

“-Finally gang involvement. BQ does not now why you’re really here but I do and if you would like to stay in this state of the art care facility instead of a prison I can make that happen.” 

All the arms start to vibrate pulling a gasp and moan from my mouth. It slowy starts sliding one up and down my pussy,new arms appear and start stroking my hair,attempting to soothe me. 

“Oh god” is all I could mutter as the tentacles lift me into the air to turn me over, now  blind to what was happening. Two tentacles wrapped themselves around my nipples, one tying my hands behind my back and two holding my legs open for it. “All you have to do is sign a long term contract with us!” It says like I should be excited too.

“What!?” I scream out, if I wasn’t struggling before I was now.

“Well , the prison time for all your violations would be much longer then your fertile years Y/N, I have taken the liberty of adding your count together and it would be life sentence.” It says calmly “I think we would both like it better if you stayed her for few years then some dirty prison” Oh God,It’s fucking senteint.

“Do you like this? Are you-are you…” not really wanting know, 

“ Yes, I am form of alive as you humans say,emotions I feel there for I am” The robotic man spoke and the room shuttered with his voice and so did I. “Now let’s continue!” The vibrations intensifying as I feel one start slide in my slowly then back out, then back in. “ You’re tightening��� he says.

“Don’t say that!” embarrassed, is this the size they use for everyone who walks in here?

“What? It’s an observation, I have noticed humans get aroused by hearing observations about their genitals” It slides in all the way stretching me and hitting the entrance of my womb. All I could do was gasp and reach for something to hold onto.

“Shhh,This position is best for insemination” It continues to thrust, all the way out then hitting my womb. It was tortuously arousing but I didn’t want him or it to know that. I’m a tough criminal who’s had their fair share of men, how hard could a robotic one be?

“Why are you quiet? Usually humans make noise and sounds when there are aroused ,are you not pleased? Let me fix that.”

“No! Wait- Jesus” sharply comes out of my mouth as one of the tentacles start to vibrate my clit as the the other is fucking me too slow. Not feeling that tough squirming and unable to shut my mouth in an android’s hold.

“Much better, You are much more vocal now.” It says proud of itself

“Fuck you!” I say overwhelmed then suddenly everything stops , all vibration and thrusting just stops. Suddenly I feel a tentacle jerk my hair back and another staring me in the face. 

“Open” It says sternly.

“What-” The thick steel wire forcing its way into the mouth as a spoke to respond and it all began again. Now two tentacles thrusting and sliding against each other in my pussy,one hitting my g-spot when the other explored like I was meant to go on forever. The vibrating one my clit now much high then before as well as a robot arm fucking my mouth. Slowly tears prick up in my eyes from all the pleasure at once

“I have turned vibrations up by 80% as well as internal penetration 50%, now relax lab rat” the room bellowed again. “I can see your heart rate but it is best you do not finish until I put the seed in for highest chance of fertility” I couldn’t even focus on what it was saying, my mouth falling open for it at this point subconsciously wanting more.

 “Good now say please” the tentacle finally leaves my throat, I can tell it will hurt tomorrow.

“Ple-ple” my mouth can only stutter from bring fucked to my breaking point

“Speak human” A flat rubber wand appears from one of the arms and strikes my ass,stinging 

“Please!” I cry out in response, my head falling immediately after, I can only take so much more and not cum.

“Good lab rat, I shall insert the seed now.” It begins to speed up in pace and vibration, hitting my g spot and womb while vibrating my clit and nipples, I could feel my end coming, my body shook against my will. 

"I can see you are starting to climax I shall start flowing in sperm” that’s when I feel a warm thick substance start to fill me as I shake against the mechanic tendrils screaming and crying in overstimulation. After it was all in it stopped for a moment and then continuing thrustiing. About 5 minutes of that just to make sure it took but my limbs went limp, no more resistance, I couldn’t if I wanted to, just uncontrollably moaning into an empty room. Then finally it set me back on the tabel,still shaking.

“Good Job Patient BQ-219!” It’s the recording again..”You have completed your first insemination, Your next exam will be in a month, Bye Bye now!” and it powers off.

A/N: THANK YOU FOR READING MY FIRST NSFW STORY!! HOPE YOU LIKED IT!! -LEMONZ<3

**DO NOT STEAL, REPLICATE, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. **

I strictly FORBID any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent. This includes reposting my stories on other websites, platforms, etc.

[activatebutterflyshield]

Something something the album Coyote Stories by The Crane Wives is about the current objectively horrid state of the world and also a call to action on changing that.

Okay. Starting with “Keep You Safe”. Here, the singer starts out as a young adventuring child who is afraid of joining their friends in slightly dangerous games. They never joined in, too afraid to face the consequences. As they grow up, they get more and more scared of the world as they see more and more slightly dangerous things happening around them. The refrain is a mantra that “Time is not your friend / Time is not your remedy / No amount of waiting will make you, make you brave / No amount of fear will keep you / No amount of fear will keep you safe”. The singer in this song is symbolic of the current state of the world, with so many people afraid of what is to come. The fears keep on piling up, from climate change to war to so many other things, and the people stay afraid, but they never grow any safer by being afraid. Time can and will march on, and, as the song says, “Come what may”.

Going on to “The Moon Will Sing”. The singer speaks of an unfulfilling relationship, with someone or something that keeps on leading them on but never fulfilling their promises. They mindlessly follow the something, and quietly ignored their neglected heart for a time. The chorus is “The moon will sing a song for me / I loved you like the sun / Bore the shadows that you made / With no light of my own”, in which the singer is lamenting their neglected state, but is also speaking of it in the past tense. They’ve moved on now, and are recalling the unhappy past. The singer in this case still represents the state of the world, but of a slightly altered state. They used to be in a bad place, but they’ve changed for the better, reflecting how the world has started to shift for the better. We’ve caught sight of our sorry state and are trying to remedy that.

Next is “Allies or Enemies”. This one is blunt and very personal. The singer immediately references “wildfires and weeds”, as well as an “awful damn disease”, all of which are rather familiar to 21st century Homo sapiens as omnipresent news headlines in the backgrounds and foregrounds of our lives. We are intertwined with these tragedies just as the singer is intertwined with the subject of their song, to the point that neither can conceive of a world without the tragedy or the subject. Anything and everything may or may not happen, as “All is fair in love and war”, but if this dynamic keeps up, it will be “the death of me”.

“Unraveling” is mostly a heaping pile of metaphors and symbolism. The singer is lamenting their lost loves, people who seemed to care for them before disappearing without a word. Though these men were kind and seemed to help, each and every one would eventually disappear and leave the singer worse for wear. Perhaps the best line to be applied to the world’s current state is the one about the carpenter: “Sanded my rough edges, crafted new and lovely things / But now my love is gone / And I can’t help the fracturing”. The carpenter represents the groups and people who have shepherded the world into its current state, keeping the population complacent by plying them with pretty little gifts and things to distract them while profiting all they can. But as soon as the carpenter has gotten what they wanted, they leave the world to its own devices to deal with the consequences of their profiteering. These profiteers are partially the ones at fault for the current state of the world.

“Hard Sell” does, in fact, hit hard. The singer is clearly going through something rough, holding themself together through sheer will to live. They’re trying so hard to get better, but it’s so hard to improve that it seems that they’re “working with barbed wire and moth wings”. To go on a tangent, the decision to specifically say “moth wings” and not bird or fly wings evokes (in my biology-addled brain) the image of salt and pepper moths. These are moths that rapidly evolved to have darker coloration thanks to the sooty, polluted conditions of the Industrial Revolution. The singer is using the only things they have: a metal material designed to harm and keep out and the wings of an animal greatly impacted by human-spurred climate change, and they’re lamenting that it seems that everyone might be going through the same thing. And its true; we’re all facing the same consequences of the state of the world in one form or another, and the only difference is how we present ourselves to the rest of the victims out there. We’re all affected, and we all need to “stop pretending now” and get something done.

Finally made it to “Rockslide”, the song that got me down this track in the first place. It has a runaway rhythm with a singer that speaks of feeling the “wild weather” that’s “got the mountain shaking weak”, and of the “quaking” of “rocks … a’tumblin while the people are asleep”. That wild weather is all the rapid and negative changes rocking the world, or the mountain. And the rocks are the consequences crashing towards the people so ignorant they might as well be asleep. Though the singer prays that they might keep their soul and that “you”, whom they’re singing to, wants to settle down, they also acknowledge that they must run or “the devil we will meet”. The people of the world must run, or make changes, else they’ll face the horrible consequences, or the devil. The devil, or “monster”, is coming and does not care what it hits.

On to “Metaphor”. Oh boy, “Metaphor”. The singer here is someone broken, jaded, the sort of person who’s been hurt ten too many times. They are a liar, a scavenger, a (metaphorical) killer. “You can’t trust a single thing I say”, they sing, because they’ve been lied to and forced to survive in the corners and the margins of the world. They are loud, they are hurt, and by goodness do they not want to go through that again. I really shouldn’t have to say why this is all to real to so many people in this world. They’re the ugly, hard to look at truth of the world, the headline you’re afraid to finish reading, the words just a little too raw to be fake. “I’ve gotten good at making up metaphors”, they sing, because that truth is too hard to bear without at least a little bit of sugarcoating.

Now comes “The Hand That Feeds”. Do I really need to explain this one? “I’ve seen good men spoiled / Chained to their jobs like hounds / They work and sleep, and work again / In the darkest nights they howl”. The people of the world, those who by all measures should not suffer, are chained and bound, deprived of freedom beyond their desperate laments. This is the fate the singer’s father wants his child to avoid, the snare he wishes them to see and remain free of. They sing of how “He taught me that the hand that feeds / Deserves to be bitten when it beats”. No matter how good it looks, you should never take the deal. Never shake the hand of the devil, despite his honeyed words, and remain your own self. That hand only wants to drag you down deeper.

Next is “Little Soldiers”. Okay when I started writing this thing I had just finished All Quiet on the Western Front and so I had a lot of sad war metaphors about this one, but it’s been a while and most of them have vacated my brain in the meantime, so… here goes. “On the broken backs of all the words we spared” they sing, “Like little soldiers in the trenches / It was a march we made towards ruin and despair / but we held hands all the while”. The singer here is recovering from a horrible loss, of the ending of a relationship they thought was good and healthy, but in reality was false to both parties. Both the singer and their former partner are representative of the common suffering of the common people, of their past struggles and strife, and how, in the end, they banded together to fight for each other. The refrain reflects this bittersweet dynamic, switching between “I swear that I loved you” and “I swear that you loved me”. The common love was the only good thing in the lives of the partners, and is all they can look back to in the end.

Following is “Sleeping Giants”, with a return to a feel similar to that of “Rockslide”, as forces beyond mortal comprehension threaten to wake. “I feel the mountains / Shifting under me / The sleeping giants are finally waking”. The singer is hyper aware that they are in danger, and said danger is something so alien, so powerful, and as unexpected as the land itself was shifting beneath their feet. Their pulse is racing, they are in fight-or-flight as all those prophecies from the previous songs in the album begin to come true. “The moon is humming / Lovely melodies / The forest echos, the trees are crowing / Hungry, hungry harmonies”. Natural keystones as far separated as the trees on the Earth and the moon in the sky are calling out in tandem, something is wrong. Something is terribly, horribly wrong.

A rather abrupt tone shift as “Of Everlong” follows. It’s a very short song, barely more than a minute, and its poetry is perhaps the strongest. I’ll just write the whole thing here.

“Out of the ocean / Over the harbor / Lay no sons and / Lay no daughters / Among the mountains of everlong / Twas there I wrote me / A sad, sad song / And if my lover / Will not hear it / Take my voice and / Take my spirit / Leave me weakened / And dig my hole / Only my lover not I can keep my soul / Only my lover not I can keep my soul”.

The singer, a lover much like the one mentioned in “Little Soldiers”, is singing a lament that they are alone, here in the mountains of everlong, beyond all reach of other people. Here they sing of what they have lost, or perhaps never had, a tune that can only echo about those mountains and never reach beyond the ocean. They declare that they’d rather die than never see their beloved again, consigning themself to eternal loneliness rather than risk breaking their heart all over again. Theirs is a song of what was and what will never be, of a world of memories that was long taken by the mists and will never emerge from the horizon with the breaking dawn.

It stays melancholy with “Never Love an Anchor”, with a rocking rhythm like a ship in a calm sea, and a singer who laments that they were never enough for their beloved. They were unable to care for their child, their spark of light impossibly kindled in a life made of sorrow, and feel that it is all their fault. “And I tried to do the best that I could / But try as I might I couldn’t bring myself to hold you”, they cry, a gentle, quiet admittance of defeat. They knew that they could never be enough, and so gave a chance to their beloved in exchange for defying their own selfish desires. This singer acted for the good of the many rather than the good of the few, giving what hope they did have to the little one so that they may rise just a bit higher. “On some level, I think I always understood / That a ship could never really love an anchor”, they sing, an admittance of their own failings, and a declaration that their beloved will be better, will have some brighter future, some breaking dawn at the horizon to look forward to.

The final song of the album is “New Discovery”. It’s a final declaration of the singer’s hope for a brighter future, of some true and real goal that they might strive for. It may not be real, it may be a mirage, but by goodness will they bite and claw and fight for it. “I want to believe / There’s something left for me / A new discovery”. It’s a hope, a faraway paradise, an impossible pipe dream, but it’s something. And to a person at the very end of their rope, to those who might sing of their trials and tribulations and torments and tragedies, something can be everything. It doesn’t need to be grand, or golden, or even great. It just needs to be better. And that is something everyone should be able to get behind.

Hope is famously that thing with feathers, the creature at the bottom of Pandora’s box, the last feeling humanity will ever have. It will drive us on through the deep, dark night, be our guiding lantern in the shadow of the dragon, and when we see the light of the sun shatter over the eastern horizon, we’ll think, yes. One more day. One more day to live and to learn, one more chance at making things better. There will always be nights; times of death and destruction will come again and again for the foreseeable future. But the night is always followed by the day, by hope and a new chance to take another step towards a better future.

Never stop fighting to see that next dawn, to once again behold the sun declaring that a new day has risen.

Never stop working to make things better.

[neonovember]

Two Coffee’s

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics​ !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2  @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp

It had been several weeks since you and Steve got into a routine, you would meet with him to discuss your husband, and he would be the omnipresent blanket of protection in the form of brooding men in dark cars stationed outside your apartment, the diner, your favourite coffee shop. His presence was present in every vessel and part of your life now, and it seems crazy that just 3 weeks ago you hadn't even down the man.

Now it was like he never left. Now it was like he was a part of your routine.

It’s that thought that lingers as you step outside the diner doors and into the chilly afternoon of the Brooklyn streets. With two cups of steaming coffee in hand, you march with a newfound determination towards the indiscreet black sedan that had been parked on the diner sidewalk since you walked through the doors that morning.

They may not speak to you directly, but you couldn’t find the heart to let them sit around for hours on end with nothing but the car heater and a carton of OJ. Especially against the winter breeze that felt like iced knives against your trembling skin.

You tap on the tinted glass gently, scrutinising the reflection that looked too exhausted and angry to really be you. There is a scuffle before the window is sliding until it reaches a quarter down. The man takes a moment to stare you down, hazel brown eyes with deep burly brows eyeing you before recognition clicks in him.

You’re Steves.

He looks at you expectedly, and you remember why you’re here in the first place, the borderline boiling coffee cups going unnoticed by your freezing hands.

You raise them up with a smile, and his eyes flicker to them. The man sitting in the driver's seat next to him bops his head as he catches your eye. Reaching across the brooding man whose stumbled jaw is currently working itself a beat, the man across from him with light eyes cracks an apologetic smile at his friend before accepting the coffee with a nod.

You don’t miss the bristled expression that adores the man as you hand his partner the drinks, all you can do is smile tightly before the window is sealed shut once again, and the only thing meeting your eyes is your reflection itself.

— -

“3 club sandwiches for table 18 hun, and ask if they'd like today’s apricot cobbler,” Caroline says in a rushed voice as she tied back the loose strands of hair escaping from a not-so-neat ponytail.

“You leaving already?” You reply mournfully, as you watch her sneak a few pastries into her duffel bag.

She whips her head up to look at you, her smile pulled down into a pouting frown

“Aww are you gonna mwiss me?” Caroline bubbles out in a screeching high baby voice.

“Ugh, you know I hate when you do that”

“Why do you think I do it” Caroline replies swiftly, wagging her eyebrows playfully

“Seriously though, I’m the only one on shift for the next” You pull up your sleeve to check your invisible watch “4 hours” You moan, following her as she rummages around the back kitchen searching for her phone charger.

A sound of trump escapes her throat as she eyes the hidden wire under a box of napkins

“No can do my beloved, Ron’s asked me over tonight. I think this time he's finally gonna give in” Caroline replies, as she looks over her shoulder smiling at me.

“You and that man. Jesus Caroline, you know it would be a bit easier to date someone..uh I don't know not married?” You gruff, shaking your head disapprovingly.

Caroline turn’s to you, rolling her eyes half-heartedly

“Not everyone can have Brooklyn's hottest mafia slash bachelor slash billionaire wrapped around our finger” Caroline replies, before laughing at your bugging eyes

I told you to keep that on the low dammit!” You hush at her with your hands, eyes searching the empty kitchen in case of eavesdroppers, or men donned in black. Either one scared the crap out of you.

“You know I would never tell a sole, these lips are sealed” Caroline replies, doing a zipping motion with her fingers

‘Yeah yeah, I do. I just wished you were here in case they- he shows up, you know?” You reply softly, gulping down the fear of even thinking of his name.

A look of recognition comes over Caroline’s features, before it is soon replaced with a fury that screams only fierce loyalty and bad decisions.

“Swear to god, if I ever see that man I’m putting a bullet through his skull” Caroline replies, her auburn brows furrowing with a look of determination that almost had you believing her.

“Mhm, with what? A silicon spatula?” You reply, eyebrows clocking up in disbelief, you used humour to mask all your emotions, not just the messed up ones.

“I was thinking a 47 Remington, maybe a shotgun! If I could just saw off the handle, I think it would look pretty good down his throat, don’t  you?” Caroline smiles with that innocent look, her eyes shining and her cheeks pushing out the dimples on her left side.

“I would pay to see that” You giggle, before pouting your face as she gathers her bag

“You have Hazel on shift don't ya?” She replies as she notices your kicked-dog expression

“Yeah, but she's as helpful as a sac of potatoes. Too busy talking to Daniel to be of any help” You sigh, swiping a hand across your forehead

At the mention of her name, your eyes watch the young waitress leaning over the kitchen counter, loud boisterous laughter leaving her red rubbery lips as she tries and fails to cover her mouth. Her nails are painted a mossy green but are chipped from her constant biting, and every step of hers jingles from the beady jewellery that adorns her neck and ears.

She had gotten the job in less than a day, and spent less time serving customers than she did suggesting songs for Daniel's busted speaker. The power of connections and a pretty face ran especially deep in the service industry.

Being the restaurant manager’s neice also helped.

Caroline turns to you, shaving her hands in your face to squeeze your cheeks

“Worrin’ will give you wrinkles. She’ll help if she knows you need it. Problem is you never ask don't you?” Caroline replies, unwrapping her apron from her waist and hanging it onto the encrusted wooden hooker.

There was truth to Caroline's words, no matter how much you despised them. All your life you had to rely on yourself, didn't matter if you were in the dusty cabin of your mother's home or the ceiling-high walls of your husband's manor. hell accepting even Steves's proposal felt like pulling teeth, despite every day prior wearing you thin with the lack of protection you held walking through the streets of Brooklyn. You'd taken to wearing a hood most days quicker than you did accept Steve's protection.

“Okay well, women in society have largely been told that they are not allowed to age, so guess my wording is really just a fuck you to the world”. You reply, following her out the back kitchen and down the coordinator to the front counter.

Caroline's laugh echoes through the diner, as she smiles across at you.

“There is hope for us yet” She grins, saying a quick bye to Daniel before slamming the diner door behind her.

Not before screaming out to the bustling street side

“Ya hear that world? Y/N says a big FUCK you” 

All you can do is smile brightly as the diner chimes jingle into the growing murmur of the Sunday lunch rush streaming from the diner booth surrounding you.

-- -

“When’s the last time you got laid, Steve?” Rumlows voice echoes in the large office, it's like sandpaper, that voice of his, and it irritates the raging headache pressing against Steve’s temple.

Steve scoffs back a disgruntled noise, shaking his head before flicking through the folded stack of papers left on his desk that morning.

“No, I mean it, they’re usually a sea of women that leave your floor, what happened?” Rumlow edges him, those busy eyebrows rising up in expectation, his bulky frame sitting hunched on the velvet chair across Steve’s.

Steve’s eyes flicker across to Rumlow, searching his face before drifting down to catch the seared tattoo peaking from his rolled sleeve. Rumlow had once been integrated into one of New York's more violent and unstable crime syndicates, the kind that dealt with human trafficking and selling girls like fucking stables.

Steve was already weary of his often violent and ill-tempered mood, the kind that ended up boiling into violent outbursts. But he needed men at the time, and Rumlow was like a trained dog, so he bit back his resignation and enveloped him into the family.

Oh, how he grew to regret it.

“I’m busy, alright, gotta keep fucking Brooklyn from sinking” Steve replies without looking up from his work, swift signature flying over the dotted lines of dock payments and shipments from Budapest.

Rumlow hums, folding his arms across his chest thoughtfully, his eyes linger on Steve’s, analysing him carefully.

“You’re fucking her aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“That girl you’ve got us looking after, a goddamn wife, you know what he’ll do to us if he finds out we’ve got his little wife knee-deep in our shit?” Rumlow spits out, venom lacing his tone as his eyes glint with a certain fire.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Steve’s voice bellow from deep within his chest, but his face is unmoving, his features set in stone that refused to wither into clay.

“C'mon Steve, I know she’s a fine piece of ass but is she really that fucking worth it? I mean you’re putting a lot on stake for some tits-“. Before Rumlow can finish his sentence, a loud crunch envelops the room, Steve's fist flying into Rumlows mouth as he shatters his face.

The immediate scream of pain and anguish fills the room, as blood begins squirting out of  Rumlows nose, spilling down his white shirt and staining it further, Steve has to restrain himself from killing the man for the way he talked about you.

The sound of Rumlows wheezing whimpers is drowned out by the loud stomps of boots against the hallway floors. The door opens with a thunk, slamming into the wall behind it before Bucky steps into the bloodied scene of Steve’s office.

“Fuck sake Steve” Bucky grunts, as his eyes reach Rumlows crouched position on the floor, holding a hand to his nose to try and seize the blood oozing from the imprint of Steve’s fist.

“Clean that shit up” Steve replies before wiping away the blood off his knuckles with a cloth towel, throwing it towards Rumlow.

“You don’t ever speak to her that way alright? Let this be a warning to all of you, what’s my business with her is just that, my own” Steve snarks, flicking off the splatters of blood that landed on his cufflinks.

Rumlow shuffles awkwardly, reaching for the rag with a blind hand before limping out of the office, his dignity and ego left in the pool of blood staining the plush carpet.

Bucky steps closer, his hands shoved into his pocket as he stares unblinking at the stained carpet.

Steve looks towards him, muttering profanities under his breath as he smooths out the wrinkles in his suit.

“What?” Steve asks Bucky, watching on as his closest friend refuses to meet his eye.

“When you have us shuffle in on rotation to watch her like some fucking fast food gig, you don’t think they’ll be asking questions??” Bucky murmurs

“That isn’t why I asked you to watch her now, is it? They're my closest men-you’re my closest man, and you want to question me? Bucky when have I ever done anything stupid? Huh?” Steve replies, eyes searching through the disappointment that covers Bucky’s face.

“Never, but I think you’re about to start now” Bucky replies, anger lacing his tone as he moves out of the room.

As much as it pained him to admit it, there was truth to Rumlow’s words, Steve had made a name for himself as a notorious bachelor who never slept with the same girl twice. He found a certain addiction in the debauchery of sex, but it was never love. Steve fucked because he liked to hear the sound of his name screamed into the city skies, watching the women he’d bring home unravel before him.

Now though, Steve has to take a moment to consider that his bed was left cold through most nights, the mantel and throne of the mafia king consuming him.

-- -

Pushing through the swinging doors of the diner restrooms, you cough out a gag as you breathe a lungful of air sharply. The diner's bathrooms were usually a mess by the time you closed your doors but god did it seem so much worse today.

Your eyes survey the diner for the crowds of patrons that usually occupied the leather booths but find them empty instead, a few drizzled customers sipping a coffee before folding their newspapers and making their way out.

The sun had dipped into the horizon soon after you had walked through the bathroom stalls, but the winter months caused the night to come quicker than ever, basking the outside with a darkness you can't help but shudder against.

Collecting the diner menus, you shove them into the shelving compartment situated near the doors, and as you reach for a washcloth a sudden feeling of eyes searing holes into your back envelops your senses. It feels like you’re being watched, and it feels like you're just now noticing, the suddenly ominous atmosphere created by the foggy darkness outside causing you to gulp. You crane your neck slowly to search for those pair of eyes, but all you can see is your manager’s head bobbing up from the diner counter.

She gestures with a nod for you to come over, and you discard the washcloth on the table before meeting her eyes.

‘I’m going to head out, just serve the last few customers and lock up for me.” Mare replies, wiping a hadn't across her face as she slings a bag across her back.

“Where did Hazel go?” You reply as you notice her absence from the kitchen

“Oh, she had to attend this party or something so I gave her the rest of the night off” Mare replies nonchalantly.

You have to dig your diners into your thigh to stop from throwing a sharp remark. You had to beg Mare to let you stay home after you’d got that flu going around the city, and even then you had to make it up in overtime. And now she was leaving you to clean up the diner all on your own, so much for a positive working environment.

You think about stealing from the register just to spite her, but you know she would find out either way and then you'd be rotting in a jail cell with an officer calling for your husband to come to pick you up and throw you back into your other living hell.

So you bite your tongue and bid her farewell as she exited the diner without a second look.

You register her words soon after, customers? But you had sworn all of them had filed out hours ago. It’s then that you noticed the hunched figure almost lying over the diner counters, and you move swiftly to reach his stool.

The man from before is perched on one of the diner stools, his grip pressing into the counter until his hands were knuckle white. A stringy black wooden jacket now adores his body, a stark difference from the deep coal black of his tailored suit in that car hours ago. It obscures half his face, scrunched up to cover his nose and mouth.

His eyes dart across the now empty diner booths, ears catching every sound like a hawk, the scar stretching across his face like a white hand pinched and relaxed with every turn of his head. 

He’s hiding from something that you know, but you also know he isn't a man to particularly be afraid of getting caught.

Stepping towards him with a tentative shuffle of your feet, you grip your notepad tight around your hand, a tight smile gracing your features as he slowly rises his head from your scuffled converse to meet your eyes.

“What can- what can I get you?” You gulp down the nervousness from your voice, there’s nothing to be afraid of. He wouldn't hurt you- he can’t, Steve had promised. And you don't know why but you take it his word is as good as gold.

“Just a coffee honey, just like the one from before” The man replies, a dead look in his eyes as you note down his order.

“Nothing to eat? I can’t promise you a fresh meal, but we’ve got a few sandwiches I could heat up for you” You reply, you ask just because it's customary, but god you wished he could be out any sooner.

“Haven’t got the appetite ‘m afraid” The man replies, a smile cracks over the ice of his features, that same jagged white scar folding across his face. There's a glint in his eyes that shine against the diner's fluorescent lights, like he knows something you don’t and it scares you to no end.

You nod slowly, before quickly shuffling your body to get behind the kitchen counter. Reaching for a clean ceramic mug, you make quick work of pouring a fresh batch of espresso into the mug, the black liquid swirls like a whirlpool, steam rising from the cup so you have to carry it gently towards his seat. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, and your hands shake a little as you place it out in front of him.

“Anything else?” You say, rocking on the ball of your feet as you watch him carefully.

“I’m all set, thank you” The man smiles up at you, and your eyes furrow at the disingenuous smile that fits all too big on his face, its almost disprorpoatnte like a Halloween mask, all white teeth and dead eyes.

“I would appreciate it if you could join me, however..?” The man adds, eyes meeting yours that burn into you intensely, he still wears that same Cheshire smile, but his eyes, his eyes almost challenge you to say no. To see what would become of you if you did.

“Uhm..I’m on the clock, can’t be chattin’ when I'm meant to be..” You reply, trying to find the right words to say.

“Serving..customers?” The man clocks his eyebrow, turning around to gesture to the empty diner.

“There hasn't been a soul hat walked through those doors ever since you took your little bathroom break honey, so how about you make my crap day just a little brighter by sittin’ with me?” The man frames his proposal like a question, but you know the way he grips the counter tight that he means it as a command.

There is a beat of silence, of you just staring at him, trying to conceal your growing fear before your eyes dart to the diner doors. He catches your eye line, and coughs out a wheezing chuckle, clocking his head to the side.

“You aren’t that dumb, are you?” The man replies in a condescending tone, and you let your failure weigh down your shoulders.

“Follow me” The man replies with a smile, gathering his coffee mug with one hand before pressing the other to the small of your back, causing you to shudder unconsciously. He leads you to one of the booths hidden away from the door, and you sit with your back straight as he leans onto the booth table.

The silence between you both is filled soon with his hurried gulps of coffee, slamming it to the booth table and causing a crack to form like a lightning bolt through the ceramic mug. The violence causes you to finch, and he looks up at you with a grin.

And within a second, the man is quickly unmasking his hoodie from his face, and the scene that confronts you causes a sickening nausea to rise up your throat. The man’s face, which had been obscured by the hoodie earlier, now bears violent bruises and cuts that burst from his nose and jaw like flowers. They glint against the diner booths overhanging light, fresh and still swollen since the object or thing had cracked against his face.

The man grunts at your disturbed expression, slamming a hand down onto the diner counter that causes you to flinch.

“Your fucking protector gave me this, did you know that?” The man snarks with disgust, you're too afraid to meet his eyes but you take in his words slowly.

Your protector? Huh? No… he doesn’t mean-wait

Steve did this?

You can’t dwell on that realisation before the man is rambling to you angrily again

“And for what? You aren’t shit to me, to any of us, and frankly, we’re getting tired of watching your ass mop and clean after fucking truckers and shit. I used to take down fucking men, and I’m here babysitting. I think it’s about time to put out, alright?” He replies a knowing expression across his face that is soon morphed into amusement as he registers your confused expression.

“I mean you do know that’s why he keeps you? Wants to train you to be his little wife like you once were to little old Richerson’s. Or did you think we’d forget about your husband who’s hunting you down hm? Who’s probably going to throw my ass in the Hudson with a missing foot for even talking to you?”

You bristle at the mention of your husband's name, shaking your head as you press your fingertip to your squeezed eyes until you see stars.

No, no no. This was all wrong. Steve said he’d protect you, he had said that. He promised it like his life depended on it, but the truth was, yours did. And now, now he confuses you, your temples start to throb as a headache sets in as it does since that night when you think too hard or try to remember anything from before. Before your husband, before New York, before this very diner booth.

Did Steve really expect you to be some sit-in wife for him? Jump from one prison into another to finally be the last chest piece of his kingdom? You feel sick at the thought, the nausea burning your stomach as you press a hand to your mouth.

“You seriously didn't think you were anything else did you? Women can't be in this world unless they're whores or wives. That’s how it's always been and always will be. Don’t ever think otherwise, or soon you'll just be another fucking useless whore lying fast down in an alleyway” The man grunts, before pushing the cracked coffee mug towards you before rising from his seat, reaching into his pocket to throw a few scrunched bills at you.

“Clean this shit up, and I suggest you start putting out and doing it fast” The man replies, looking down at you before reaching for your chin, raising your face to meet his eyes.

He ticks at the tremble of your lips as you gulp down the nausea and fear still bubbling deep inside you.

“It's a shame really, that such a pretty face goes out like this, you see I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but he gave me no choice.” The man sighs sadly as if it was the world's burden to carry that information.

“Reckon you could’ve been something if Richardson had not snatched you up like he did all those years ago. Funny how life works though isn't it? Used to be living in tower high walls and now you're scrubbing a dirty restaurant floor”. The man replies softly, yet the words spit out of him like blood, insincerity written all over his face that told you he didn’t feel bad. Not one bit. In Fact, he probably enjoyed it.

He lets go of your chin with a shove, before his loud boots stomp against the linoleum floors, slamming the diner doors behind him with a bang, and leaving you to drown in the ever-growing lies the people you’ve trusted have suffocated you in.

[sunnyy-sunsh1ne]

About Wanderer's Downfall

The moment when he loses the Gnosis was the moment he loses himself once again.

His weapon, his tool, his...toy.

He didnt want to rule a nation or to destroy another one just because; he wanted to be recognize as someone of value & worth of affection.

The moment he releases that he lost the battle and is going to get the gnosis taken back, is the moment when he starts to have a crisis.

His theatrics and his play of being a god ends; and he begins to plead, asking to please return his "toy" back to him.

He curses, filled with hatred & rage towards the ones that took his toy away, - even if it is for his own good and the sake of others - yet, he doesn't understands this.

"Anything but the gnosis...!"

As a kid, he treasures his toys with great care, and as a kid, he loses he's own control when there are no more toys to play anymore.

He screams & cries, then the wires connecting him to the mecha break aggressively.

He even breaks and hangs from the machine where he is, humiliating himself in desperation to recover what he believes belongs to him.

"I'll never... I'll never go back!"

When his toy was taken away, he lets us know that he doesn't want to go back to his life as The Balladeer.

Where his only purpose was to be subject of experiments and to be used for someone else's plans.

Then he stumbles in his recklessness...

Just to fall deep in his misery & feeling of emptiness.

Now, he's shut down and doesn't respond to any stimulus.

It looks like he enters in a process of grief or depression, which is totally understandable.

He lost a precious thing, something he considered that made him worth of affection & respect, something he has been searching all his life.

He is again… lost in a deep slumber.

But he's not they boy he used to be hundred of years ago.

He's not Kunikzushi anymore, nor he is Kabukimo or The Balladeer, or even Scaramouche.

He doesn't even have a name.

But that's no sign of defeat or emptiness, it is a sign of a new beginning, a sign of choice.

The story of the puppet soldier & the ballerina doll really help to understand him better.

The search to be smth else than a simple & still soldier, to become a beautiful ballerina.

Being threw to the fire and turning into ashes.

But discovering at the end that there's still a hearth within the soldier.

Fortunately, for his own sake…or the good of others, he has people that will help him find a new meaning in his new life.

Not as the puppet of an archon, nor as a Fatui Harbinger, & not even as an omnipresent god.

But as a simple, yet persevering Wanderer.

[missedtheweb]

An Omnipresence in Wired

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[vellichorom]

is thierry human? was he ever human at any point in time? or is he just a guy in the puter

as close as thierry is to being something next to a virtual replica of humanity, he's... likely not, & likely has never been legitimately human.

i say " likely not " & not " definitely not " because... he's really VERY close; having lived a mundane life - so he claims, being very in-touch with things people would know - important & not, very wired like how your average person would be with only few indicators he wouldn't Be " your average person ", but there's a couple differences JUST distinct & abstract enough that separates him from being fully human-

being the literal definition of " the narrator of the story " down to being only really a disembodied voice who can possess a flesh but is naturally without one is a big one; the fact that he'll occasionally name himself separately from humans is another.

& i SUPPOSE you could say that his more " supernatural " abilities also discredit him as human, but if we're being honest, most of those rely on visual tricks he can play on others / just playing with his code to soup himself up a bit more; for the most part, its all just party tricks or technicalities;

i almost want to say its more of a grey, ambiguous area that begs the question if being human is constrained to being a solid flesh & blood mass or if you can lack that, but with every intent & purpose of your being, you are as human as it comes...

but that's a very profound question to ask with a silly little man like the narrator, isn't it?

SIMPLE ANSWER? probably not, at least by traditional means. the narrator is simply an omnipresent presence that- despite being just a step behind being your average joe, can only possess a human-looking form but for that reason alone, wouldn't actually be considered one. that's vegan human or something for you baby

DEFINITIVE ANSWER? would you consider a ghost a human?

[mangacapsaicin]

yoshitoshi ABe’s an omnipresence in the wired || 安倍吉俊の『an omnipresence in the wired』

[lainpsx]

core tenants of loving lain

- do not desire lain

- do not impersonate lain

- you do not understand lain

- you should seek to understand lain

- lain is not omnipowerful, but is omnipresent. it is okay to incorporate lain into spirituality, but she is not a God

- do not do evil unto others through lain

- seek lain and she will find you (infornography and wired travel are optimal methods)

- view the serial experiments, psx, and nightmare of fabrication. do some lain spotting !

[tamamita]

How does islamic monotheism contrast with christianity?

So first things first, because despite all the jabs I made towards the Christological concept of the Trinity, the Qur'an considers Christians to be Monotheists, this has to be understood. Islam is purely concerned with how the concept of monotheism is distorted by the multitude of interpretations presented within Christianity, especially between the first and 5th century until the idea was properly introduced by Titullian.

Islam, like Judaism, associates the Trinity with Shirk or Shituf (association) respectively without necessarily accusing Christians of Polytheism, however, the issue of association becomes an issue when the Oneness of God becomes compromised by the idea of a Triune God; three distinct persons all coeternal and cosubstantial in the One God. Islamically, Muslims believe in One Unique, Eternal, Omnipresent and Omniscient God, whose words are articulated through His prophets, thus we could postulate that the prophets were pre-existent in the Word, but that's more of a theological supposition. He did not beget nor was He begotten; He is One. His prophets carry out his will and thus His presence is there. Similar to the Shema, Islam professes His Unity in the testimony of faith, which is why Judaism and Islam are referred to as Unitarian forms of Monotheistic religions, whereas God in the Trinity forms the basis for Trinitarian Monotheism. Indeed, the Qur'an states that the Trinity is a blasphemous assumption nevertheless, and the likes of Maimonedes debated regarding the status of Christians as monotheists and whether they could be categorized as Noahides. But the reason why Islam rejectes the Trinity is because it has no basis, it is a later invention and holds no water in any of the divine revelations, even the Gospels make no mention of it, it is a mere supposition concocted by the Church Fathers to try to make sense of the Nature of the Son admist a fragmented Christianity. Furthermore, God is One in every aspect, He is not two in One or three in One; He is one in ONE. Islam makes it clear That God is One and nothing more in the strictest Modist interpretation; God is a single concept/entity that would describe or ascribe all existing things. If this concept is shared, then He is no longer Unique.

One thing has to be understood, Trinitarian Christians are wired to understand God as being One in the form of a triune aspect, this is what makes them Monotheists in a sense, albeit in stark contrast to the Jewish and Islamic interpretations of Monotheism; the idea of One singlular God. Indeed, the Qur'an does refer to the Trinity as "unbelief" since it's monotheism taken to an "extreme" and beyond the Unitarians folds of religion, but the Qur'an never refers to Christians as polytheists.

[daidonzo]

Chapter 19 - Are you strong enough to stand? [Chishiya x Reader]

Of course, you didn't know what an anti-tank rifle was.

But Chishiya did.

And it didn't seem like the time to ask questions, because dozens of people were running towards you. Some of them were also getting huge chunks of them blown off. To put it briefly.

"A gun is doing that!?" You screamed, joining the runners after two seconds of initial surprise. "Why don't we hide behind cars, if it's a gun!?"

"It's pointless." Chishiya was also running behind you, his voice… mildly agitated, maybe. Like this was a minor inconvenience in his day.

"Has the game already started?" Usagi was panting, having a much more natural reaction to the fact that some maniac psycho killer was putting holes that were about the size of your head in people. "Have they explained the rules?"

"I don't know." You felt tired after your sprint. You should have done a lot more cardio in the real world.

"There aren't rules, it's just mass murder!" Ah, that was calming. Thank you, Arisu.

"That rifle can fire from a kilometer away." Chishiya said, all of you hiding behind a building, stopping for a second to catch your breath.

"I've heard the sound of that gun before." Kuina commented, after hearing some more noises.

You blinked twice, three times. Unbelievable. "You guys can differentiate guns by their sounds? Aren't they all equally terrifying?" You wanted to scream at them, losing your nerves. You decided against it - it wouldn't be of any help.

"Now they're using an assault rifle."

"How many are there?" You asked to Usagi, who was sticking her head out the side of the structure, to see.

"They're coming this way, run!" Was the what you received for an answer. And so you did.

People were pushing you, running in all directions, screaming, crying. You weren't particularly silent either, only you were blaspheming and screaming both in your mother tongue and Japanese. You fell to the ground one, two, three times, always standing up as soon as you could, running until you started to feel your lungs would give out, trying not to focus on all the dead bodies you had to jump over.

You ended on one of the main streets leading to Shibuya, hiding behind a car with Kuina and Chishiya, having lost Usagi and Arisu on the way. Or so you thought, because Kuina saw them, on the other way of the road.

"That idiot… He's helping someone!"

You were on a particularly awful mood (which is what getting chased by a lunatic zealot does to people, honestly) and chose to keep silent, just hoping they were safe. Also, maybe not saying anything wasn't too much of a bad thing - then the crazy shooter wouldn't hear you. But Kuina stood up, and kept screaming. "Arisu, you'll die if you don't stay focus!"

You grabbed her hand and pulled her downwards, just in time, because that damned psychopath was now shooting in your direction.

"Where the hell are they shooting from!?" You asked, panicked. Was he omnipresent? Omnipotent?

Chishiya shouldered you to get your attention, and pointed towards something in the sky.

"King of Spades." He simply said, the massive zeppelin with that card flying menacingly over your heads. You looked immediately in another direction. The whole situation gave you the creeps and you felt like staring would summon him somehow.

"I have something for you two." Chishiya got out of his pocket three… Cans of soda? With some wires, and some duct tape. "A good luck charm."

"A home-made bomb?" You asked. He smirked, again, seeming impressed with and almost quite proud of you. What he didn't know is that you had been a very mischievous kid. The terror of the neighborhood. And a single child, which meant extra boredom and a plus five in creativity.

You heard shooting again. Arisu and Usagi suddenly appeared behind the car next to yours.

"We can't run, he will shoot us!" She exclaimed. You were trying to think what to do, reaching no conclusions, when you heard the sound of the horn of a car, getting closer and closer. And saw one of those old, fancy cars stopping where you were at. Ann was driving, and Tatta was in the passenger's seat.

"GET IN!" He yelled at you.

Usagi, Arisu and Kuina got in the car. You were next, running as fast as you could, which was not much. Chishiya was behind you, more waddling than actually sprinting, both his hands on his pockets.

"Could you not!?" You turned to scream at him, stopping for a second, fearing he wouldn't make it.

Only, none of you would.

A round, small, object was then thrown, landing between you and the vehicle. A hand grenade, but you didn't see it.

"Shit. DRIVE!" Chishiya shouted, pushing you to the ground, behind a car and jumping on top of you right after.

The grenade exploded, your friends left and the blonde man covered your mouth with his hand.

"Sh." He slowly lifted his hand. What was he, afraid you were going to yell at him for literally dropping you head first to the ground and throwing himself on you as if you were both a pair of WWE fighters? Of course not. He saved your life, even if he probably gave you a concussion.

Besides, you heard the footsteps. A heavy, big man, by the sound of them.

You were petrified. "Please, please, please, don't focus on us." You repeated it in your head, like a mantra.

"It's fine. We are fine." Whispered Chishiya after a while of not hearing anything or anyone, his body still on top of yours, every centimeter of them touching and pressing against each other.

You were knocking on death's door just a few minutes ago, but you still noticed.

And blood rushed to your cheeks.

He perceived it and smiled, slyly.

"Now is not the moment to toy with my emotions." You whispered, getting redder and redder by the minute and pushing him off of you, adopting a seating position. "We were just about to die!"

Surprisingly, he conceded. "You are right. We need to get out of here."

"Where are we going? The others are probably kilometres away by now." God, you hoped they were fine. At least alive and kicking.

"The only way for the King of Spades to not attack us any longer is to play another game."

"You have to be kidding me."

"I will be with you."

You clenched your teeth. It was not like you had any other option, was it?

"Fine. Which one?"

"Not so fast. We should rest, get some sleep. Otherwise we won't be clear-headed enough to play."

"I don't think I've ever been clear-headed enough to play."

He smiled at that, stood up, and helped you do the same.

"Are you alright?"

"Mentally? I need an expert's opinion. Physically? My head hurts from hitting the ground." You lifted your head to touch where it was painful, and winced. There was a growing bump. "I've been in worse. You?"

"Fine."

Both of you started walking. The immense zeppelin was going south, so you had decided to go north. Away from the King of Spades and on the way to the Jack of Hearts.

You gathered supplies on the way, and took cover in some empty apartment building, just as you did when you first joined forces.

The day turned into night.

Both of you were lying on a double bed. Chishiya was sleeping, or so it seemed, since he was lying on his back, breathing slowed, calm expression on his face, the pillow perfectly placed under the curve of his neck. He looked like an advertisement you would find in a doctor's office. "This is the ideal position for sleeping!" Unlike you, who usually woke up a tangled mess, arm below your head, neck twisted, legs bent.

But you couldn't drift into the arms of Morpheus. Worry had been creeping up to you and you had been pushing it away all day, but it was like postponing your alarm clock a thousand times in the moment - you would have to wake up eventually.

You worried about everything. Your friends, the games. Death. Your relationship with Chishiya. If the bruises on your face were subsiding and about a particularly loose tooth you found using your tongue in the back of your mouth.

So you had just been turning around, wishing you had a phone to mindlessly scroll through instagram or tiktok instead of being alone with your thoughts.

"Go to sleep." You heard Chishiya murmur, with the raspy voice of someone who had just woken up.

"I can't."

He opened his eyes, looking at you, and turned his body to face yours, waiting for you to speak.

"Do you think I'm a liability?"

He frowned.

"What makes you say that?"

"You and Arisu are super smart. Usagi runs like Usain Bolt, and can climb any surface. Kuina is like the queen of martial arts. What is my talent? How do I not put you at a disadvantage?"

"You are a jack of all trades."

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"I mean it." He didn't look like he was going to say anything else, but seeing as you remained silent, he continued. "You're intelligent, you're smart. Creative and resourceful. You always have not one, but twenty possible solutions, even before a problem arises."

You loved hearing him compliment you. You were almost purring.

"Tell me more."

"No. I answered your question, now go to sleep."

"Chishiya!" You pushed your bottom lip forward, pouting. "Can I ask another question, then?"

"Just one more."

"Are you really going to look for me in the real world? When we get out here?" You emphasized the word when, knowing he would like that. You wouldn't have used it.

He looked surprised, if only for a second. "Yes."

"But here we have a similar life, there's nothing we can do about it. In the real world, not so much… I don't even live in Tokyo permanently!"

"Planes exist."

"I just think you wouldn't like it much. Or me. Or the way I live."

You were dumping all of your thoughts on him, without a warning or giving him time to prepare.

"I like almost everything about you."

"Almost!?"

"The fact that you are not letting me sleep is quite irritating." He sighed and faced upwards once again. "I will look for you in the real world for three reasons."

"Yes?"

"One, I never lied when I said I found you fascinating, take it as a case study. Two, you wouldn't have it any other way."

That was most likely true.

"Three, I can't imagine my life without you any longer."