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bluerosesburnblue · 4 years ago

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I hope you don't mind this ask, but... Any theories / speculations about the most recent story update for KHUX?

Oh, I don’t mind at all! I’m glad you asked, actually, because I’ve had some thoughts, though not many new theories of my own, unfortunately. That being said, I can definitely go over how some of my old theories and some of the fandom’s hold up and my thoughts on a few of the new theories I’ve seen floating around

One thing that I’m consistently proud of is how my old guesses about Darkness’s true nature just keep ending up almost right barring some slight details. I made the claim back when Re:Mind first came out that Darkness could be a hive mind of entities that plant bits of themselves in others, and then refined that back in July of 2020 by likening it to a parasite that worms its way into people’s hearts and incorporates itself into them to control them. This past update confirmed that the Darkness we’re fighting is one part of the hive mind that wormed its way into Ven to force him to act out, and that by doing so it detached itself from that hive mind and became incorporated into Ven’s being (which Ven can then shape). So I gotta say I’m pretty pleased about that part

All that’s left to be seen from the July post is if Darkness has a connection to Verum Rex/Quadratum, but I doubt that that will be touched on by the KHUx finale. Though I will say that it’s pretty interesting that the Master of Masters tells Darkness about “a world [he] can’t even conceive,” which seems like it could easily be referring to Quadratum, which also means that Darkness knows about it

That’s pretty much all I have to say on the Ventus/Darkness/Vanitas connection, but there’s still more to cover in this update

One thing that I’ve been trying to figure out is who the cloaked figure right at the start of the update is, Luxu or the MoM. Measuring the sizes and my old guess based on the KH3 Secret Reports both say Luxu, but this brings into question “when,” exactly, the True Dandelion scene takes place as it doesn’t have the dark haze around the edges that they give flashbacks, but is clearly the real-world set of pods as they’re not destroyed AND it’s missing the pod that Maleficent already used. The True Dandelion scene has a lot to unpack, but this scene at the start does make me wonder if Luxu and/or the Master have a way in and out of the datascape that doesn’t involve the pods, otherwise the numbers don’t add up

Also related to the post of mine I just linked is the idea that the Black Box is the datascape. I believe that this might still hold true. It’s interesting to note that they show the scene from Back Cover where Luxu is given the box in the first place just prior to the reveal that using the lifeboats to escape starts the process to seal it off and have the real Daybreak Town fall to darkness, and the Master’s “hint” to Luxu involves this very process. Why would Luxu be forbidden to open the box? Quite possibly because it contains the infected datascape meant to seal off the vast majority of the Darkness hive mind. And several Dandelions. It is both the “hope” mentioned in KH3 through those Dandelions, as well as a trap to keep Darkness out of being able to interfere for quite a long time

Now, the questions that I’m sure are on everyone’s minds are “who is the True Dandelion,” and “who are the ones who use the lifeboats?” Let’s start with the True Dandelion, as there’s far less moving pieces involved in that one

I won’t take credit for coming up with any of these options, I’m just going to discuss the logistics of them. So the candidates for the True Dandelion in, what is in my opinion, the least likely option to the most likely option, are:

Kairi: I’ve seen this one floating around and... honestly don’t believe it at all due to the sheer amount of logical contortions that you have to do to make it work. To wit:

Where the hell would she even come from if it was Kairi? As can be clearly seen with Ven, is stated to be true with Subject X, and is implied to be true of Lauriam/Elrena, those who travel to the future using the pods will regenerate their bodies at the age they were when they used the pods. Which would make Kairi at the oldest a four-year-old. Four years prior to KHUx was when Brain was told that he was a Union Leader. So she either would have been just born immediately prior to the war and was just... stolen or something? And we never saw? Or just after the war, where she would probably have to be the child of a Dandelion that got teen pregnant because they’re supposed to be both kids and the only survivors? Or Luxu and Ava’s kid somehow? Like, what? The timeline is just insane with that

If she was born before the war... you would assume that the True Dandelion would be, you know, a Dandelion. Which would mean that Ava handed a Keyblade to and recruited a literal toddler. This would also retcon Aqua being the one to accidentally pass the ability to wield a Keyblade down to Kairi and I refuse to make theories predicated on “the author will retcon this.” You just open up a huge can of worms doing that

The body wrapped in white looked a hell of a lot bigger than a four-year-old to me

I am sick to death of “this character was secretly from the Age of Fairytales~” being employed by the narrative. It’s happened at least three times already (four if you count Luxu). Enough already

Ventus: Ven has some hints, though some notable contradictions to it being him

On the one had, the sheet that the True Dandelion is wrapped in is extremely similar to the one that Xehanort wrapped him in when planning to leave him on Destiny Islands in BBS and there’s a possibility that Xehanort may have found him in that very sheet if he regenerated wearing it

On the other hand: Ventus might not have even been a Dandelion in the first place (he definitely wasn’t a Union Leader, but I don’t know if it was ever said whether he was selected as a regular Dandelion or not), and there’s the timing of the scene that I mentioned above. It’s definitely after Maleficent used her lifeboat but before anyone else used theirs (when you would expect Ven to remain with his friends) and, since the scene doesn’t have the flashback effect, it’s implied to be happening concurrently with everything else, so Ven should still be fighting Darkness in the datascape while it’s happening and eliminating him from being this particular person

Strelitzia: Oh, boy, have we got some nice old hints to Strelitzia, but still a few logical contortions, just like Ven

The white sheet is coming back up again. Namely, the fact that we still have an unexplained scene where Strelitzia appears to Lauriam in a dream wrapped in a white cloak, though it’s of a different style than the one that the True Dandelion is in. That scene also featured flower petals being blown into the wind, much like a dandelion seed (though, notably, the petals that are blown aren’t Dandelion seeds)

The question is, yet again, one of timing. How would Luxu get her body? While she was only introduced in KHUx, her scenes are all flashbacks to before the war, so we know that she was struck down in the real world, not the datascape. We see her body dissolve into light and her heart be released. Now, technically you only need a heart to time travel (actually, a heart is the only thing that can time travel), but Luxu is clearly seen putting a body into the machine. A machine that only allows for time travel because it destroys the body. If he had her heart, he wouldn’t need to use the lifeboat because she’s already in a state to time-travel on her own and this eliminates the possibility of him putting her Nobody into the machine, because without a heart it would just evaporate her body leaving... absolutely no heart to go to the future with

Now, Luxu theoretically could have grabbed her heart. We know that he was hanging around Daybreak Town at the time while observing thanks to his fight with Ava, but Strelitzia is struck down just after the fight with Ava starts so it’s very likely that Luxu was too preoccupied to retrieve her heart before it was gone. Speaking of Luxu’s fight with Ava...

Ava is my current top pick for the True Dandelion candidate due to the sheer number of questions it answers and how few it raises

Ever since KH3 came out, the question of “where the heck is Ava?” has been buzzing around as a major mystery. Her last chronological point of appearance is the same as the other Foretellers: the Keyblade War itself, where she’s shown leading her Union to battle. Notably, she seems resigned to her part in this, and this is the first and only time we see her after her battle with Luxu where he reveals to her the Master’s true plans. Melody of Memory seems to imply that the other Foretellers managed to skip to the future by going to another world, Quadratum (or at least this is the most likely explanation as there’s not enough pods to send all four of the other Foretellers AND the characters that we know end up in the future to their destination). However, Ava isn’t with them and Luxu knows what happened to her

It would be easy to write this off as them trying to drop Ava from the narrative or her not being important, but her chess piece is included in the “Eraqus and Xehanort foreshadow the next saga” chess game on the far right of the board and Nomura confirms that they represent the Master’s six apprentices, i.e. the five Foretellers + Luxu. So, Ava is necessary in the upcoming saga and yet, she didn’t get to the future the same way as any of the Master’s other apprentices leaving her open to get there via a lifeboat

Ava is the very founder of the Dandelions, who all of the others look up to and defer to and was spoken of heavily in the scene just prior to the True Dandelion reveal. That’s grounds for being called the True Dandelion if I’ve ever seen one

Luxu would very easily be able to ensure that Ava would be able to make it to the future. Just like with the Master of Masters, he already has the memories necessary for her to use to regenerate a body, and either her Keyblade or her mask would make for effective mediums that wouldn’t be too difficult for Luxu to take. If he put her in the white cloth, he probably took her mask off already

Ava hasn’t been around for the events of KHUx, so there’s no timeline discrepancies if it’s her

So, now that we have an idea of who the True Dandelion could be, let’s talk about the rest of the lifeboats and how they might fit together. For the purposes of this discussion, let’s assume that the True Dandelion can’t be one of the Union Leaders and that their battle with Darkness is taking place at the same time as Luxu is sending off the True Dandelion. I’ll be referencing an old theory of mine, while making additions now that it’s clear that there’s two sets of lifeboats: the Data Set and the Real Set

Right now, there’s an equal number of Real Pods and Data Pods: 5 each. For the Data Pods, of the seven that we started with, one was used by Maleficent and one was damaged in the battle between Maleficent and Lauriam. As for the Real Pods, one has been used by Maleficent, and one has been used by the True Dandelion. This leaves us with five each.

We can narrow this down further by eliminating people that we know end up in the future. These are:

Ventus

Subject X, who is most likely Skuld based on her description

Lauriam

Elrena* (of note with Elrena is that we actually have no idea where the hell she is at the moment or how she’s going to get into the pods. Furthermore, while every other lifeboat user sans Maleficent has been shown to have amnesia upon waking and Lauriam/Marluxia directly indicates as such applies to him, too, in KH3, Elrena/Larxene’s KH3 scene and character file short story both indicate that she recalls Lauriam and possibly Strelitzia, though she also seems surprised at the idea that she’s part of an ancient Keyblade legacy. I won’t deny that there’s a possibility that she doesn’t use a lifeboat and ends up in the future by other means based on the discrepancies)

So with three confirmed cases, we’re left with one ambiguous case in Elrena and three more possible candidates: Ephemer, Brain, and Player. Four people, and two pods

I want to make it clear that despite what I brought up against Elrena, I do think that she’ll be using one of the lifeboats if only so that KHUx has narrative consistency. They introduced Elrena, they made her part of the investigation on Strelitzia’s whereabouts, so it only makes sense that they need to show us where she ended up for a satisfying conclusion. So let’s slot Elrena in for one of the lifeboats. That leaves one between Player, Ephemer, and Brain

My best guess is that Player won’t be using a lifeboat at all. Not only are they a create-a-character that would be a HUGE pain to try and incorporate into future entries in the series without making a “canon” version and thus ruining their appeal as an avatar, but we haven’t seen or heard mention of them at all in the games set in the present-day. There’s zero indication that they made it, which makes them the most easily eliminated as a lifeboat user

That leaves Ephemer and Brain, and I still believe that Ephemer will be the final lifeboat user, and for the same reasons as stated in the theory I linked at the start of this section. Not only does Brain have the same facial sprite as Eraqus, but he wields the Master’s Defender which will be later passed down to Eraqus and I believe that this eliminates him as a time traveler, despite the fandom’s popular opinion that it confirms it

Because I don’t believe that Brain is Eraqus’s grandfather, but rather his distant ancestor who inherited the No Name and passed down both Keyblades through the ages

So let’s resolve some plot threads taking everything I’ve stated and linked to above into account

My Big Guess for the KHUx Finale

Ventus will use the fact that Darkness is tied to his heart now to give it a physical, but still mostly amorphous form that he, the Union Leaders, and Player can finally take down. Darkness will be sealed inside Ven’s heart, where it will lie dormant until he reaches the future. Eventually, Xehanort will extract it in the form of Vanitas and it will follow Vanitas’s life cycle, ending in him being reabsorbed into Ven at the end of BBS. Darkness, now back in Ven’s heart, will make brief contact with Sora during the events of Re:Mind

Lauriam, upon learning that the world will be sealed with the use of the lifeboats, will attempt to rescue his partner, Elrena. Both will take lifeboats out of the datascape and into the future, whereupon they will be recruited into Organization XIII by Luxu’s current incarnation, Xigbar, likely to keep an eye on them. I believe there might be a squabble among Ephemer, Skuld, Brain, and Player among who will use the final lifeboats (each person nominating others besides themselves), but ultimately they will settle on Ephemer and Skuld

Skuld will wind up amnesiac in the future Radiant Garden and is discovered by Ansem the Wise and his apprentices and dubbed Subject X. She becomes Xehanort’s favorite test subject due to the similarities in their amnesia and possibly some lingering memories that he has that don’t quite belong to him (KHDR Xehanort certainly seems to want to meet his “old friends” very badly)

Ephemer’s heart will wind up in the Keyblade Graveyard as I mentioned in an old theory, unable to manifest a body due to the lack of a medium present. Through this state of being just a heart (and possibly related to those old talks about him being “unchained”), he will be able to enact the Light of the Past moment from KH3, and may very well be revived for future events in the series

This leaves Brain and Player behind in the datascape. However, you may remember one detail that I brought up, but neglected to fully expand on until now. There is a difference between the Data Pods and the Real Pods. While all of the Real Pods have been used up at the time of my proposed sequence of events, the Data Pods have not been. One was never used, only damaged. This leaves open the possibility that it can also be repaired (Also, I’m just gonna say it. Player’s met someone recently who has a magic hammer that can repair anything... might not come back but also totally could). Brain and Player could then repair the final pod and, in a callback to when Player was sent to Game Central Station, have them both agree once again that Player is the more expendable person in the scenario. Brain will take the repaired pod, leaving no way out of the datascape for anyone else, while Player stays behind to be sealed away for the time being (this could also be a callback to the original KHx, where Player also stayed behind to take part in the war instead of fleeing with the Dandelions, as they refused to leave their party behind)

When Brain escapes, however, he will be met with a Daybreak Town with no Real Pods left, as Luxu used one on the True Dandelion. Now that the seven pods have all been used up and the real Daybreak Town is falling to darkness, Luxu will take a corridor out as the Master instructed, but bring the newly appeared Brain along with him (either that or Brain emerges after Daybreak Town falls, either is possible) and bequeaths the No Name onto him. Brain, stranded in the past while all of his friends have been sent to the future, will be Luxu’s new apprentice and rebuild the fallen Daybreak Town as Scala ad Caelum, then pass down both of his Keyblades: Master’s Defender to his biological descendants, and No Name to his apprentices

As for the Master of Masters? I think he’s already taken an eighth lifeboat (you’ll note that there’s space right in the center of the cluster where one more could theoretically fit) and had done so before the start of the original KHx. He’ll be revived at some point in Xehanort’s young adult life to goad him into his insane plans as seen in Re:Mind, then duck into Quadratum to hang out until the next arc in the franchise, as hinted at with his appearance in the KH3 Secret Movie

(He is most definitely not Sora. He’s clearly bound to the same rules of time travel as everyone else which means that Sora couldn’t go back in time to become him as that would be long before the point in time where Sora was born and that breaks KH time travel rules. Not to mention that the Master talks about Quadratum in this update like he’s never seen it before until it came up in the No Name’s range of vision. Sora is literally in Quadratum right now, he’d definitely know what it was already if he was the Master)

And I do believe that should cover everyone’s whereabouts by the end of the game and into the next arc of Kingdom Hearts with minimal plot holes

This is just my best guess, putting together details that I’ve been accumulating for the past year and a half or so into what sounds like a coherent sequence of events that bridge the gap between KHUx and KH3 and beyond. There may be some details I get wrong, obviously. Nomura has been known to be... unpredictable. But I think, based on the evidence we have at hand, that this is the most logical series of events to end the game on and I’m really interested to see how close this gets to the actual finale we see

#anon asks #liz answers #kingdom hearts #khux #i hope that my big guidelines post didn't intimidate you anon #asking me my thoughts on things or if i can do a lore explanation are totally fine!#those guidelines only exist because people were shoving their own theories and opinions AT me without it actually being a discussion #felt like i was being talked over #but something like this is actually encouraged so thank you!#i hope you uh... enjoy because this is a LONG one #about 3500 words and that's not including my old posts that i linked to

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chiseler · 3 years ago

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The Bankruptcy Barrel: A Historical Debate

In recent years I’ve been keeping an unofficial list of once-commonplace iconic images and tropes that seem to have vanished completely from the culture. A man on stilts, for instance, who was usually dressed like Uncle Sam. I can’t remember the last time I saw a man on stilts, or even heard a reference to stilts. Quicksand is another. Time was you couldn’t see a jungle adventure or a wacky comedy that didn’t at some point include a scene in which someone gets stuck in quicksand. For one reason or another, they’re no longer part of our collective consciousness.

Most recently I’ve become a little obsessed with barrel suits (also known as barrel cloaks, barrel shirts, or bankruptcy barrels). You know what I mean—an image of a destitute and naked man, a man who has quite literally and figuratively lost his shirt, who for lack of any other form of clothing has been forced to wear a wooden barrel held up by a pair of attached suspenders. If the subject in question was once very wealthy (i.e. someone who lost everything in the Crash), he might also be seen wearing a top hat. It used to be an inescapable representation of bankruptcy, appearing in countless animated shorts, political cartoons, and comedies.

It seems like such a ridiculous idea if you think about it. There are easier ways to keep oneself covered. A burlap sack, say. A potato sack would be so much easier to craft into a wearable form, and would be more comfortable and practical to boot. With a barrel you need to knock out the bottom, find a way to attach the suspenders, and even after all that’s done it remains impossible to sit down or move very fast while wearing it. There is absolutely nothing practical about a barrel suit. Yet it was the man in the barrel suit who came to immediately signal poverty.

The origins of the image are today a little mirky and the subject of some debate. While most people simply shrug their shoulders as to the origins of the barrel suit, a few intriguing educated guesses have been put forward.

Some trace it back to the 4th century B.C., when Diogenes, founder of the school of Cynical Philosophy, made a virtue of poverty and among his countless other pranks, chose to live in a barrel in the marketplace. It’s a tenuous connection, but perhaps the first historical example of a connection being drawn between poverty, barrels, and cynicism.

Certain European fairy tales from the 16th century include scenes in which, as punishment, drunkards and gamblers are placed naked into barrels and dragged through the streets behind a horse. Some other sources, apparently inspired by the fairy tales, claim the origin of the barrel suits exclusively the domain of unlucky gamblers. Having lost everything in a game of chance and with nothing left to bet, the other gamblers would place the unlucky man in a barrel and roll him into the street as a form of humiliation. The image of the man wearing a barrel eventually came to represent someone who had, again, lost his shirt while gambling. This notion, however, is mostly the result of armchair speculation.

More readily documented is the fact that in the 18th and 19th centuries, public drunkenness in England and Germany was occasionally punished by forcing the inebriate in question to wear a barrel in the town square, a form of degrading spectacle akin to the more sophisticated stocks.

The barrel as humiliating punishment seems to have made the leap across the Atlantic by the mid-19th century, as revealed in Miles O. Sherrill’s account of being a Union soldier held in a North Carolina prison during the Civil War.

“While we were standing in the snow, hearing the abuse of Major Beal, some poor ragged Confederate prisoners were marched by with what was designated as barrel shirts, with the word "thief” written in large letters pasted on the back of each barrel, and a squad of little drummer boys following beating the drums. The mode of wearing the barrel shirts was to take an ordinary flour barrel, cut a hole through the bottom large enough for the head to go through, with arm-holes on the right and left, through which the arms were to be placed. This was put on the poor fellow, resting on his shoulders, his head and arms coming through as indicated above; thus they were made to march around for so many hours and so many days.“

And while the connection remains a little fuzzy, that, perhaps, might lead to the next and final jump. The origins of the barrel suit as a symbol of poverty are today generally traced back to Will B. Johnstone. In the 1920s and ‘30s, along with being a successful song lyricist (best known for “How Dry I Am”) and a writer for the Marx Brothers, Johnstone was also a popular political cartoonist for the New York World-Telegram. Among the regular cast of symbolic characters who appeared in his panel was The Taxpayer (the date of his debut is unknown), a naked man wearing a barrel to illustrate his penniless state. With the Great Depression, it’s not hard to see how The Taxpayer may have come more generally to represent the millions who had lost everything.

But even if that answers the question of where the symbol as we know it first appeared, there is another angle to this whole debate. Several, actually. Some who’ve written on the subject claim the barrels being used as clothing for the poor were almost exclusively pickle barrels, whereas beer and whiskey barrels were used to punish drunks and, as noted above, confederate thieves were made to don flour barrels. And if in fact pickle barrels were reserved for the destitute, it might be read that someone in dire straits has found himself, yes, in a pickle.

Of course there is an easier and less product-specific answer to the question of why barrels were chosen as the adopted mode of dress. Today it’s become cliche to think of the homeless living in cardboard boxes. The reason is simple—cardboard boxes are plentiful and easy to come by. By the same token in the early part of the 20th century everything was shipped in barrels making them just as readily available as cardboard boxes are today. Maybe it only makes sense that something of that size and shape that was at the same time so ubiquitous and cheap might come to be seen as a potential clothing substitute when nothing else was available.

Still, though, why dress the downtrodden in barrels instead of the much more logical and functional burlap sack? From a cartoonist’s perspective, it’s an even simpler answer. Keeping in mind that during the Depression the nation’s poor did not actually dress in barrels save for comedies and cartoons, barrels were easier to draw, they were more immediately recognizable in a cartoon panel than a burlap sack would have been, and most important of all, they were funnier.

by Jim Knipfel

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wickedsrest-rp-archive · 4 years ago

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Supernatural Diseases - Shifters

Note: Please message us if you plan on using these! We just want to coordinate to make sure there’s no doubling up at the same time.

General:

Stuck Shift: For those who can shift at will, a stuck shift is when an individual is stuck between their two forms, which can be very painful and make it hard for the person to function. Generally resolves on its own with time, but there may be some lotions sold on Amity Road that can speed things up.

Balam:

Chronic hairballs, obviously.

Apotheon: The balam suffers from the feeling that they are something divine that was broken into many pieces, and begins to exhibit deific delusions of grandeur and a sense of creeping loss. There isn’t a known cause to this condition, and it can be difficult for a balam to get out of this mindset. However, they can be shaken from it if something forces them to come to grips with their own mortality.

Toxoplasmosis magicii: A magical parasite much like the normal cat parasite, that is completely harmless to the jaguar form and can cause fever, body aches, swollen lymph nodes while a balam is in human form. This results in an increased desire to stay in the jaguar form for longer and longer periods. Can be treated with selkie slime.

Bugbear:

Fear Toxicity: Fear begins to be toxic to the bugbear, usually derived from not feeding enough. Over time, the bugbear will grow gradually sicker as they continue to feed, and eventually they will be completely unable to feed on fear, leading to inevitable starvation. In the short term, this causes their illusion powers to not function properly, and in the long term it is deadly. Fortunately, there’s an easy enough cure -- receiving a nightmare from a mara.

Scare-bies: Caused by small, supernatural mites that burrow under the skin. They’re extremely itchy, and after a time, will even cause patches of hair to fall out in a bugbear’s bear form, giving them a mangey appearance. These mites can impair a bugbear’s ability to cast illusions, making it difficult -- even impossible -- for them to feed properly. Over time this can lead to starvation and even death. Fortunately, scare-bies can be treated by special ointment made from mara blood and grounded up yeth hound tentacles. This smothers the mites until they crawl out of the skin. It’s important that every bit of infected skin is covered by the ointment otherwise the infection will spread once more.

Ursus Mane: More unpleasant and awkward than anything else, Ursus Mane is caused by a virus that affects hair growth. In bear form, afflicted bugbears are completely hairless, leaving their skin vulnerable to the elements and anyone who would do them harm. In human form, these unfortunate bugbears are covered in a thick coat of bear hair, resembling the most extreme cases of hypertrichosis. This can be treated with the use of supernatural steroids that gradually return the hair to its rightful form.

Kitsune:

Elemental Shifting: The kitsune will shift elements uncontrollably and without warning. This is particularly problematic not only to the kitsune but to others. i.e. A river kitsune suddenly with thunder powers would not know how to use their powers. The exact cause of the condition is not known, but it’s likely highly magical, and will typically resolve itself over time -- hopefully before something disastrously wrong happens.

Kitsunebi: Part of the mythological association between kitsune and will-o-wisps may stem from this relatively harmless ailment, wherein a kitsune who uses their powers very liberally may have will-o-wisps gravitate to their location. The wisps do not harm the kitsune, but it makes it hard to move inconspicuously. Refraining from using their magic for an extended period will cause the will-o-wisps to drift away over time.

Inari’s Void: The kitsune’s fox-shaped shadow takes on a “mind of its own” and begins attacking people in range, possibly even leading to peoples’ deaths. On some level, the shadow may be acting out the kitsune’s worst impulses. This seems to be brought on randomly in places with large amounts of spiritual or magical energy, especially if the energy is corrupted in some way. The effects linger even once the kitsune leaves the location, but they will dissipate on their own over time.

Lamia:

Medusa Trichoptilosis: The lamia begins to grow snakes on their head. They don't harm the lamia but could prove a nuisance, such as trying to bite a passerby. This condition may cause some sensory overload to the lamia as they’re now able to see, hear, and smell from multiple locations on their head, which can be disorienting. The snake heads must be painfully chopped off, and after the lamia’s next shed, all will be well.

Dysecdysis/Stuck Shed: If a lamia is not well-fed or exposes themselves to poor environmental conditions, they may have a hard time shedding their skin. This can cause the old skin to painfully adhere to the new one underneath, which looks pretty awful and is very uncomfortable for the lamia. Over time this corrects itself, but sometimes the new skin becomes somewhat damaged in the process.

Clogged Venom Glands: If a lamia doesn’t use their venom for too long, it may harden and clog inside of the gland. This is painful, and causes swelling in the face and neck. While the glands are swollen they can’t use their venom, and they may need some magical assistance to gradually free the glands.

Selkie:

Sensory Inversus: Caused by a parasite, Sensory Inversus makes the senses of the selkie become acute above ground, and dulled underwater. This results in increased light sensitivity, whiskers growing in human form, and overly sensitive hearing in human form. Additionally, this makes it dangerous for the selkie to be in seal form, because those senses are needed underwater. Specific potions made of mermaid fins can treat it.

The Skin Crawls: Selkies start experiencing an intense desire to wear someone else’s skin, usually not another selkie’s. It starts as a subconscious off-hand thought, then slowly grows over time until it's all encompassing. The feeling will go as soon as the selkie puts on someone else’s skin (...After carefully peeling it off their victim who will likely die). The other treatment would be using the skin from a well-formed mermaid.

“Donkeyskin”: Caused by a fungal infection that can get into the pelt if not cared for properly, making it fit weird, and causing the limbs to not all transform properly. This can feel strange in the water, and makes the selkie look a little like a mutant seal monster. While not necessarily painful, it is irritating and a little itchy when interacting with the selkie goo. The infection can be treated by soaking the skin in a bath made from warm water and selkie mucus for 15-24 hours. Should it be left untreated, the damage to the skin will be left irreversible.

Siren:

Witherwings: Sirens must be particularly careful about selecting their prey, otherwise they may face consequences. Many normal humans and other supernatural individuals can be carriers for Witherwings, which has no presenting symptoms in non-siren individuals. However, once a siren has consumed an individual with the virus, they will experience fever, itching, and discover that their feathers will begin to fall out. If not treated soon enough, a siren can permanently lose their feathers. Treatment for Witherwings include topical oils with bits of crushed phoenix feather.

Omnitone: A strange phenomena can occur where sirens lose the ability to control their mesmerizing musical abilities. Instead of being able to actively turn on their powers, sirens will find they are enthralling people with their speaking voice and those under their power are prone to dangerous levels of obsession. Drinking lemon tea mixed with eintykára honey is the common practice of getting rid of this affliction.

Mushmouth: (Teeth horror tw) Particularly messy eaters in the siren community should be aware of Mushmouth, a very annoying but minor disease of the mouth. Similar to cavities, too much accumulated iron will cause siren teeth to begin to rot and even fall out. A diet of only fae (as they don’t have iron blood) can allow them to avoid this condition. Mushmouth is easily avoided by regular flossing, brushing of teeth, and general dental hygiene. Once afflicted, sirens must refrain from eating flesh and rinse nightly with a brine made with mermaid scales.

Werewolf:

WereFleas: While werewolves may not be prone to dog fleas (the jury is out on that one) they do have their own flea species to worry about. If this mutant kind of flea bites a werewolf, an uncontrollable itch occurs. The fleas will live in the fur (or hair) of an individual and reproduce there, worsening the problem. If left untreated, this causes numbness in the areas of the bites. Strangely enough, this can be treated with regular dog/flea removal.

Úlfhéðnar: A rare disease stemming from wolfsbane consumption, the werewolf begins to feel the wolf within overshadowing their humanity, often getting the feeling that their human shape is ‘false’ or some fake skin they are ‘wearing.’ Their senses sharpen beyond the werewolf norm but animalistic behaviors, sometimes violent ones, begin to increasingly creep into their human life, and the onset can be quite rapid. This can go all the way to losing the capacity to understand human language, and walking on all fours. One of the better treatments for this is to proactively re-engage with human life, almost pushing away the wolf side as much as possible. This can be dangerous if the violent behaviors are already an issue, and may result in the werewolf losing touch with their wolf side around the full moon.

Osteolupinus: (Chronic illness tw) Wolves get afflicted with a joint and bone disorder which makes turning more painful than usual, and can result in imperfect transformations -- for example, the skin and musculature changing but not the bones, or vice versa. Not only is this painful, but it can inhibit movement, and can be an issue in either direction of the transformation. Can be treated by eating the bones of a bonedoggle, zombie, or banaspati.

#lore #long post #chronic illness tw

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almosttenaciouscreator · 3 years ago

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When Did Socks Become a Thing?

You may have noticed that women basic socks aren’t what they used to be. Think back: for a long time socks were just something you used to cover your feet. Possibly black, probably ankle-height and definitely an afterthought. Socks are now an important part of your outfit at the least, the making of an outfit at most.

Socks have become an area of diplomacy and woke-signalling – the Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau is perhaps the biggest name to use socks in this way, choosing pointedly themed ones for public occasions. Or a telling insight into a political mind: Boris Johnson was criticised recently for not washing his lucky socks, emblazoned with a ruler of the Neo-Assyrian empire King Ashurbanipal, often enough.

Socks are such a basic item that they're easy to take for granted...and leave on the floor, shove under beds, or lose to the dryer monster. (It happens to the best of us.) But socks actually deserve mad props for keeping our wiggly and sometimes stinky feet dry, warm, and free from blisters, so in honor of National Sock Day, here's a little history of how they became a thing and some guidelines on what kind to wear and when…or not.

Until the 17th century, men basic socks were called stockings, but according to Wikipedia, the modern English word sock (first recorded in 1690, btw), evolved from the Old English socc which evolved from the Latin soccus…"a lightweight shoe worn by ancient Greek and Roman comic actors." Socks are worn on our feet (mostly) and come in various lengths, fabrics, colors, patterns, and styles, depending on their intended purpose, i.e. thick wool socks for skiing, thin wool dress socks for business, and short white socks for running. But the first socks were actually made from leather or matted animal hair – called "piloi" in 8th century BC Greece. A thousand years later in the 2nd century AD, the Romans were the first ones to sew woven fabrics together and make fitted socks ("udones").

The oldest surviving socks are a red-orange pair from between 250 AD and 420 AD that were excavated from Oxyrhynchus on the Nile in Egypt. They were made with the nålebinding technique, which means "knotless netting" and uses a single thread...the precursor to modern-day knitting and crochet. And they have split toes specifically for—gasp!—wearing with sandals. (Which the ancient Romans and Greeks did more or less exclusively, so they get a pass on any fashion judgement.) Speaking of Egypt, socks were so important that alongside all of the gold and jewels, King Tut's tomb supposedly contained several pairs made from linen.

In the Middle Ages, socks were brightly-colored and started becoming more of a fashion statement. As trousers got shorter over the next few centuries, socks got longer…and more expensive. So expensive, in fact, that by the end of the first millennia, socks were actually a status symbol among the nobility, and had also become highly ornamental. #FunFact: a fancy design that's embroidered or woven on each side or the outer side of a sock beginning at the ankle is called a clock. Who knew?

As societies progressed, so did basketball function socks, and they were made from wool, silk, and cotton, depending on a person's economic class (nobles = silk; peasants = wool). Besides being a display of wealth, socks served an important utilitarian purpose since even nobles faced harsh conditions at times. (Indoor heating wasn't a thing until the 20th century, so keeping those piggies warm was essential…frostbite didn't care if someone was wealthy.) Peasants especially were exposed to the elements way more than we are today and needed to protect their feet from the wet and cold. (They also bathed less often, so if you think your teen's basketball socks are stinky, just imagine the funk of a 16th century pair.)

Socks were so critical to life that mending them—called "darning"—was a very important skill. Cold feet led to frostbite which could lead to gangrene which could lead to death, so when a sock had a hole in it, it most definitely got fixed! As early as the 12th century, the heel of a sock was the last part made, which made it easier to replace when it wore out…a very common practice. Sock owners took their maintenance seriously.

The knitting machine's arrival on the scene in 1589 was a game-changer since six pairs of football function socks could be made in the time it took to create one previously, but socks were still hand-knit alongside the machines for another couple hundred years. A tiny percentage are still made that way today. Socks were historically held up with ribbons or ties or by garters since elastic wasn't a thing yet. Until Jedediah Strut's Derby Rib machine in 1758, that is, but it was so expensive that it took almost two more centuries before more socks were held up by elastic than garters. To put it in perspective, in 1899 England, a pair of socks sold for the equivalent of $15 today…a LOT back then.

The next biggest thing to happen to socks was—drumroll please—the 1938 introduction of…nylon. The blended fabric was born, and synthetics changed the sock world, along with the rest of it. With socks now being made from recycled plastics, their evolution has come full circle in the last 80 years. The most common blends today include cotton, wool, and polyester or nylon, but socks are also made with silk, spandex, bamboo, and other fabrics.

Another big moment in the evolution of socks was globalizing production. In 2011, the Datang district of Zhuji in the Zhejiang Province of China was known as "Sock City." Why? Because it was producing 8 billion pairs of socks each year, which was a third of the world's annual total. Finding accurate sales numbers is challenging but suffice to say that BILLIONS of pairs of socks are sold each year for even more billions of dollars, the competition is fierce, and socks are almost as high-tech as electronics in some facets of their engineering.

The Rules of Socks

We've established that socks come in all kinds of fabric configurations and all kinds of styles, some of the common categories being: dress winter floor socks, athletic socks, hiking socks, ski socks, knee socks, tube socks, ankle socks, foot socks, boot socks, novelty socks, booties, slipper socks, tights, and pantyhose. There's no question that with the help of socks, shoes protect your feet from debris, disease, injury, and the elements. But sometimes, it's the outer world that needs to be protected from sweaty or smelly feet. To that end, businesses and venues with dress codes will usually tell you if socks are required (that would be yes 98% of the time). But what about when it's completely up to you? Socially and hygienically, are there times that you should always—or never—wear socks? (That would also be yes.)

Seriously, lost socks are a real and quantifiable phenomenon. But quantum physics theories aside, the average person loses 1,264 socks over his or her lifetime, so where do they GO? One clue is the way that some socks take a detour and mysteriously show up within the next couple of laundry loads. So, they weren't really lost, they were stuck in a fitted sheet, stuck to a sweater, stuck under the upper rim of the washing machine basket, or otherwise occupied for a bit. The socks that are actually lost could be under the bed, they could have fallen out of your gym bag in the locker room or landed in a gutter when you were walking, someone might have thrown a sock away because it had a hole and they didn't know how to darn it, they could be stuck to something neatly folded in a drawer somewhere, or they could actually be IN the washing machine in a hose, filter, or other part, especially if they're small, and ditto with the dryer! (Yes, really...certain models can literally eat your socks.)

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makarov-my-beloved · 3 years ago

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Watch Dogs: Legion x AmRev

@burgoyned Chapter 6 pumped out in an hour lol. Not sure if it's any better but feel free to share your thoughts ^^

Chapter 6: Keep Calm and Resist

André sat in front of his computer browsing through the information from the damaged Spiderbot. As he sat there pondering, Howe and Burgoyne chatted about the easiest road leading to Royal London Hospital. After hearing about increased Albion security in the streets (i.e. more fighter drones patrolling the streets), Bagley suggested a more covert way of reach the destination. “Best case scenario would just take a taxi there so that way you won’t be under the radar,” he said as he closed the map. “I’m up for whatever. You wanna come with me, André?” Howe asked the hacker. André shrugged. “I guess. I’m finding some disrupted data that needs to be cleaned up.” “I can take care of that,” Bagley chimed in. Howe looked at his phone. The time reads 10:15 PM. “If we head there now, there shouldn’t any workers present. Most likely security guards, but they can be taken care of.”

“Ok. We’ll be off. Don’t do anything stupid, Burgoyne,” warned André. The playwriter held his hands up yet said nothing. Both André and Howe left the Safehouse and walked into The Earl’s Fortune where they found the pub mostly empty except for a few patrons sitting at the lounge smoking and chatting. Clinton sat at the bar with Hanger discussing current events. The bartender looked up and smiled. “Y’all out for a night exploration?” “Of course. London looks beautiful at night. We’ll be back shortly.” “Sure thing. And do be careful Albion is everywhere tonight,” Clinton said. André gave his friend a reassuring smile before leaving the pub with Howe. Using his phone, the fighter flagged down a taxi. He climbed into the driver’s seat with the hacker in the passengers. Tossing his bag into the back, Howe began setting up the GPS route to the Royal London Hospital. “This shouldn’t be too long of drive….15 minutes. Sounds reasonable enough,” he said as he shifted into drive. “Methinks that the hospital is going to be heavily secured tonight,” André muttered while watching an Albion guard detain a civilian on the street. Howe looked over and shook his head. Around 10:30 PM, the men pulled up to the Royal London Hospital.

It was to be expected; guards patrolled the entrance of the hospital, including the driveway where ambulances are parked. Making his way towards the front entrance, Howe and André put on their masks and hid behind a brick wall. The hacker pulled out his phone and almost immediately pinged, directing the signal to a nearby ctOS fighter drone. We could use the drone to clear the guards. Hacking the drone, André began piloting it inside the main entrance where Albion guards are stationed and proceeded to take the guards down one by one. Howe watched with curiosity as the hacker pointed the drone towards a guard on the second floor before he prodded his friend. “I see the data machine look!” he hissed. There was a black box located right behind the guard which made the mission more convenient than they both thought. André shot the guard then flew the drone close to the machine. “Alright. Wait…” he stopped. Howe became confused. “What happened?” he asked. “Someone seemed to have cleared the data from the machine. The drone isn’t picking up anything.” “

“Do they know we were coming then?” “Not sure. But no data is coming from that box.” It was then Bagley pinged their earpiece. “It appears that someone has already hacked the data from the file server. I do believe there is backup storage stored somewhere on the other side. See if you can find something.” “Copy that. Alright.” André piloted the drone to the front of the hospital. There are several stories; each floor containing rooms of many patients as well as nurses and doctors working night shifts. Outside, the balcony floors were devoid of any sign of life, except for a few hospital workers. Gently flying the drone away from the windows, André finally located the backup file storage sitting on the fourth-floor balcony. “Second time the charm here we go…” He flew the drone towards the black box only for the phone to be suddenly disconnected.

Frustrated, André attempted to reconnect his phone back towards the drone. He successfully regained control only to see part of it damaged. “Oh God, who could it be now?” he groaned. Tilting the drone to the side, both men saw another fighter drone next to them. “What the...GET OUT OF HERE!!” André snarled and attempted to shoot it. He was unlucky. The other drone dodged the laser and proceeded to shoot the ctOS drone, destroying it. The phone signaled a loss of connection. Bagley pinged again. “It seems that someone has gained access to the backup storage. Looks like all the data are cleared from this location.” “DAMMIT!! Ok, what about St. Thomas could you check on that?” André said, giving Howe an incredulous look. The fighter shook his head. A moment of silence conveyed until Bagley spoke up. “Unfortunately I was unable to locate any data worth recovering from there. And don’t bother attempting Guy Hospital, that one was long cleared.” “Fuck! Ok, well appreciate your help, Bagley.” “Certainly. You should probably get back. Lord Germain has now issued a curfew at midnight.” Both men growled at that name. “We’ll be sure to head back,” André responded, tapping his earpiece. They both got up and walked towards their car only to notice a message clipped to their windshield. Howe took of his Ded Coronation mask, tossed it into the taxi, and started reading the note. André slid next to him. “What does the note say?” “It’s not a note,” Howe whispered. Staring at the paper, André read out loud the message:

Hey DedSec,

~~~~~~~~~C@N’T F1ND WH@T Y0U’R€ L00K!NG F0R? B€TT€R LUCK N€XT T1M€~~~~~~~~(8>

“DeFaLT”

“ ‘DeFaLT’? The Polish black hacker and well-known DJ? HOLY CRAP YES!!” André’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Have you heard any of his songs Billy? He’s got helluva a collection.” His enthusiasm was not shared by his friend, who was staring at the paper with a blank expression. “William? Is everything ok?” the hacker asked, concerned. “Huh? Oh, nothing…it’s just…” Howe stopped. Defalt. Richard loves that man just like André. Even learned to hack like him. Could it be…? The fighter shoved the paper into his jacket before entering the taxi. André got into the passenger seat, head swimming with mixed emotions.

The drive back to the pub was extremely quiet. André wanted to continuously share his enthusiasm about his favorite artist but couldn’t since Howe was not in the mood to converse. They arrived back at The Earl’s Fortune. Few patrons still sat by the fireplace, conversing over the news while Hanger poured drinks to a few customers at the bar. Entering the passcode, Howe and André returned to the Safehouse where Howe tossed his bag onto the desk next to Bagley and walked towards the broken down train converted into a bar. Clinton, who was sitting on the leather couch tuned into his headphones while browsing his laptop, looked up and saw André standing there with a glum look on his face. He took his headphones off, placed his laptop on the couch before getting up to comfort the hacker. “What’s the matter? Got busted by Albion?” “No. It’s something else…” André said quietly. Bagley spoke up. “Every hospital record has been taken by someone. Not sure whom it may be, but it seems that person knows what we’re up to.” “A spy? Well well guess we’ll have to watch our backs,” Clinton said, sighing in disbelief. Howe finally emerged from the train and pulled out the note from his pocket.

“This is what I found on the taxi we drove. Looks like someone was playing ‘DeFaLT’ and got to us before we could.” Clinton took the note and stared at it. “My God it looks as if someone is trying to cosplay as an actual hacker, writing a note like that.” He turned it over to find nothing else. “Probably some kid on the street who thinks it’s funny to play games like this.” Clinton handed back the paper. “In any case, we’ll need to cover our tracks more discretely from now on.” Howe looked back at the paper. “We may have to. Although I do plan on paying a visit to the Royal Navy shipyard tomorrow.” “How so?” Clinton inquired. “I have a hunch….but I could be wrong….that my brother wrote this message. He could be trailing us.” “Richard? That guy hasn’t spoken to you in ages how could he possibly emerge from the shadows like this? It doesn’t make any sense,” André pointed out. Howe sighed. “Look, I’m going to the navy quarters to find out. Y’all wouldn’t mind coming with me?”

“Why certainly. Hmm, where is Burgoyne?” “He’s in the training room trying to ‘jack himself up.’ “ Clinton grunted. Bagley snickered. “As if that’s not the only thing he’s ‘jacking up’ on.” “DAMMIT BAGLEY!!” Clinton yelled as everyone burst out laughing. Exhausted, André slid onto his gamer chair before tossing his black DedSec jacket onto the table. His white shirt displayed the fox logo of DedSec in blue highlights, matching his black cargo pants. Stretching, André leaned back and closed his eyes. Who could be playing Defalt? Hmm...Mission Complete.

#watch dogs legion x amrev

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 4 years ago

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Moriarty 8 - 11 (FINAL) | HypMic 12 - 13 (FINAL) | Taiso Samurai 7 - 9 | Akudama 9 - 12 (FINAL)

Hopefully I’ll be able to get on to all that backlog soon, because...I don’t want it to keep accumulating and Skate-Leading Stars (first winter 2021 anime) already has an advance 1st ep. up...

Moriarty 8

(Moriarty 8 notes deleted accidentally…)

Moriarty 9

If you want a modern equivalent to the Baker Street Irregulars, then I’d suggest you look this way *jabs finger at Odd Jobs Yamada (from HypMic)*.

These CGI background horse and carriages are…kind of distracting…

I’m guessing back in those days, the Irregulars were better than Google at finding info…because Google didn’t exist until the internet did.

Moriarty 10

Just this ep and one more until the end…at least, until spring 2021.

Wow, the use of colour here is really striking!

White lilies mean…purity/chastity…?

I’ve never heard of “bending someone’s ear” until now. It means to talk to someone, especially to ask a favour or to talk at length.

Probatio diabolica: the devil’s proof. I didn’t even know that was a concept until now…(I never once studied law, as you can tell.)

“William” isn’t normally shortened to “Liam”…It’s normally “Will”…also, notice all the footprints on the floor…

Moriarty 11 (FINAL)

Last ep. before spring 2021.

LOL, kabedon.

The fishy thing about Brits is that they’ve named things across the world names from Britain. I know there’s a Doncaster which isn’t anywhere near Britain, for one thing…

Observe the weird finger-like marking made by one of the bloodstains and the scratches on the suitcase. The latter was probably forced open.

Considering the number of signs the killer left, he was clearly in a hurry…

Well, based on that shoeprint we can find the killer if we can find traces of blood on his shoe.

“Duram” (sic).

Ah! If it was raining in Durham, then there would be traces of mud on the killer’s shoes. I remember early on in Detective Conan Shinichi, then newly shrunk, deduced Agasa was running in the rain based on the mud on his pants…this is similar.

Chloral (hydrate…?).

The “washroom” (apparently a Canadian term, the British term is “water closet”) has privacy and a place to get rid of the evidence, to some extent.

What about the rest of Eddie’s clothes?

Considering there are still 5 minutes of the ep. left…there’s going to be some kind of stinger for the next season. I can feel it.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait…Director Holmes??? Y’mean, Mycroft?! That is a good stinger! See you next time.

HypMic 12

“Ever since I was born, there was never a time I’d felt I’d accomplished something.” – Aw, Doppo, sweetpea (<- this blogger calls people “sweetpea” when they’re feeling lots of moe feels for them). Please don’t say that. You’ve accomplished more than enough in your life!

…Oh, almost didn’t notice it until Hifumi hid behind Doppo and the angle changed to confirm the jacket was on the bed, but Hifumi doesn’t have his jacket on.

I think I saw a tweet that said something about a wall being wrecked (specifically “Wall: Ow…”) but I wasn’t sure of the context, so I saved it in my bookmarks…LOL, so that’s what it means?

Samatoki, I know you don’t like Ichiro…but please stop trying to preach what his 2nd character song says in the title…(i.e. Break the Wall, LOL)

Jyuto’s very much a “I’ll leave this problem to the other guy” guy.

When the Funi subs say “dame”, I think Samatoki is just referring to an “onna” (woman). It’s a bit of an odd choice, really…although I can’t go and interrogate whoever was responsible for it. I don’t have the authority or the contacts that will allow me to.

This is not the time for fighting one another!!!

Notably, in the manga, Jakurai was going to chaffeur Hifumi and Doppo to their place, but then he had to go to work and so they rode the train with their prize money. This “run from Special Forces” ending is better, I think, since people got grumpy at Jakurai for having to abandon them with the money.

“…permission to cover a story.” - Permission from…who?

*screams* I was thinking Tom, Rex and Iris worked for a foreign government! They work for Ichijiku – why didn’t I think of that?!

LOL, I couldn’t even tell what Tom was saying until I played it back…it’s English, just…said in a spot where you don’t expect it.

“…that scares me.” – This may be nitpicky of me, but osoreru is actually a derivative of osore (fear), so “it strikes fear in me”…? “It strikes fear in my heart”? What would sound right…?

Go, host mode Hifumi! (...but does that imply host mode Hifumi is the only “version” of Hifumi able to rap? Certainly, he was able to do Wrap and Rap without his jacket, right…?)

You can tell Tom still respects Jakurai after all this time because he (the former) calls him (the latter) “Sensei”. Also, this’ll be interesting, we haven’t seen many mics and speakers beyond the standard bad guy ones (depicted in both the anime and the manga).

My gosh! All I knew of this song was that m-flo, also responsible for Human Lost’s theme song (and notably they’re a hip hop group with techno influences), was responsible for this song. Man, this s*** slaps! It’s great! (Sorry, I’ve just never really had the chance to capitalise on all the info I gathered on EDM DJs when talking in terms of things from Japan…m-flo is basically the only act I know which does that, so I’m really excited…can’t you tell from how verbose I’m getting in this note?)

That’s interesting that Matenrou won and Tom still took the gold chair symbolism to represent him and the Secret Aliens as the victor instead.

Iris’s parts are awesome. M-flo has a female vocalist and so I’d assume Iris takes on Lisa’s (m-flo’s vocalist’s) parts.

…Hmm, Gentaro’s made a reference to the track “Me Against the World”, has he?...Maybe.

I’m not quite sure, but I think Ramuda said “majo” (witch) when he was referring to Beauty and the Beast in the English subs.

…gosh, what is up with that airhorn…? Still, next time is the last time. See you on Christmas…no, Boxing Day.

HypMic 13 (FINAL)

This is the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning…y’know, considering how stuff trended on Twitter, I’d say this anime’s gonna get a 2nd season, but you can’t really say that until it actually happens. I mean, Boueibu is much less popular than HypMic and that got a 2nd season…

This is the 1st episode where I woke up early enough to watch without spoilers and had no obligations to place over it, so…this is exciting, in its own sense, but in a sense, it could also be called “profoundly disappointing” because this experience is only available to me as of the final episode.

One of the tweets I saw a few weeks back came to mind – someone became interested in sakuga houkai (terrible animation, literally “animation collapse”) because of HypMic…I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing…

…Dude, you probably shouldn’t answer a call from someone who just revealed themselves to be a traitor last episode…*sweatdrops*

(Spoiler for rest of franchise) Hmm…Dice’s face is pretty straight. Assuming at this point we knew Dice was Otome’s son, this is a good poker face from him…!

This thing about gangs was mentioned in their profiles (although the words used implies they “went delinquent”), so it actually doesn’t surprise me.

I wonder if this subway exists in the mainline story…?

According to the next ep. preview I saw on Twitter, TDD will reform to take down the Secret Aliens. I’m not sure if that was a guess or whether that’s true, so I’m waiting for the shoe to drop on it.

Samatoki-san, not -sama. Hmm…

There was definitely the word “team” in Dice’s line, so it’s “what the legendary team was made of”.

…oh gosh…they’re still using that airhorn…?

Again with the play on “lonely thunder”. It’s a really fun pun, but one I’d like to see in the rest of the series more.

Notably, Iris’s rap in English missed the word “charisma” where it could have fit (unless I missed reading it the first time).

Note Samatoki does actually use the word “shinsensa” (freshness), so there’s no lie there.

I still love how much they went in on Rex’s theme, even in his raps.

Huh, that’s new. Never seen a tag team like this before.

It seems Tom’s signature is using a lot of English, which makes it easy for us English/Japanese pair translators.

Saburo didn’t actually say “Ichi-nii”, did he…?

…based on the rock intro, this is Rhyme Anima, the OP, or something that sounds similar. What I’d need to confirm this is the “nautilus” line and the “ends corruption” line, which are the OP’s two biggest tells for AMQ.

“rainmaking” – Hmm, another link from Gentaro to Rei. This might be a different part of Rhyme Anima (OP) that wasn’t used as the OP proper.

“this white light invites and heals” (<- paraphrased) – Sounds like Sensei, alright!

…now that (rainbow bit). That’s sakuga!

*a silhouette appears* - Oh nooooooooooooooo! Now they‘ve done it! They’ve included Rei! That’s more than enough spoilers to last a lifetime for y’all anime-onlys!

I wish someone would work on this collaboration between Saburo and Riou…

Hmm…what is the series endgame? Putting in Dice as the new ruler??? I mean, Dice is the worst possible politician ever. He’s far too lax about things.

*Nemu enters* - No! Nemu!

Not only is Iris a “ramen shop owner”, it’s Tom’s favourite food…No wonder ramen has significance to her.

…ooh! A new song! Update: I don’t know what this song’s name is, although it probably will become clear what its name is on the 13th. I’ll keep my eye on Twitter in case the answer is there.

…I knew it was far too early to say if there was an s2 – the DVD’s live events go until September 5th and the 2nd DRB finishes in March. That almost felt like a stinger right there. Oh well, I’m more than happy to call this anime a success, even if I would call it the worst of the arms of the franchise. All HypMic’s anime had to do was deliver fun, before anything else, and it delivered on that front. See you around!

Taiso Samurai 7

Anime burnout means I’m coming back to the anime after the day it finishes.

This dancing scene is kind of like the one at the start of ep. 2 of IWGP, except it has the owl to represent the setting as well as the dance stage.

Leo doesn’t seem to know kanji or katakana, only hiragana.

Even though this part of the anime is set in London, the characters are still speaking Japanese (lel…?).

LOL, Edward Scissorhands much?

LOL, these background gossips are like the Plastics from Mean Girls…haha.

…LOL, that’s not one of those dismounting moves, is it? It’s just kind of…jumping off the bar.

Lookit how Leo’s sticker is 90 deg. sideways from what it should be, haha.

I don’t think it’s true that Olympic gymnasts have never failed. Like other people at the top of their game, they’re probably failed millions of times, but only outside the view of most of the world. Persistence and passion are what’s key to becoming the best at what you are, no matter what field you’re in.

Now Aragaki’s what I call a “determinator” (see TV Tropes on what that is).

Taiso Samurai 8

Notably, the word used for “clothes” is specifically for Western clothing, like dresses.

Well, now we know why Leo can do those stretches…

They’ve clearly sped up the dance here, but…it’s basically the same sort of movements Yuri on Ice used to suck me in. I’m here for it!

Leo seems to be the type who tries to push away his worries by distracting people (including himself) with other things…I see. I didn’t have much of a grasp of his character beforehand.

Britney! F*** you, Britney!

Ah, that must be the (a?) fabled owl of Ikebukuro. I’ve never actually been to Ikebukuro…the closest I got was Akihabara (to memory) and even then, that was for electronics, not anime…so I’ve never seen the owl statue I’ve been talking about close up.

Rei does kind of look like her mother like this.

Ah! Rei and Kitty have a pair look now! “Twinsies”, they call it.

Amakusa’s head is located right next to Leo’s butt, so I end up staring at it…LOL.

The Hoover mission.

“I <3 Ninja”, LOL.

LOL, “Nyapoo!”

*sighs* The problem with being multi-talented is that you’re going to be told to one day put one passion above the others, even if you don’t want that.

LOL, you can be a ninja with this WikiHow article. (I was looking for Kitty’s quote, but found that instead. It seems to be a quote from one of Tomoyo’s movies.) Update: I was right.

There’s a movie in the back where the title is “Black Rainmaker”. (Tomoyo, I presume) Mifune is the 1st person credited.

Considering this is 2003…you won’t be on Mars in 2013, Kitty.

Wow, a tape! That brings me back to 2003, indeed.

Charlie’s Angels…so that’s what the tape was.

LOL, a shoebill.

“blade in your heart” – That would refer to the character for “ninja”, which has a blade over a heart. Y’know Kiss Shot Acerola Heart-Under-Blade (from Monogatari), yeah? Like that.

…you might think emails were out of place in 2003, but a virus from an email caused me to be an avid reader and that virus was unleashed around the late 90s – early 2000s.

LOL, Kitty’s cat belt buckle.

You said it, Rei. You said it.

Taiso Samurai 9

Lausanne, Switzerland.

I noticed one of the boxes at the start of the OP says “Horizontal Bars”, rather than some random name to make the boxes look like they were discarded.

Someone encoded the video funny…

LOL, BB’s getting possessive of his territory.

Fuku-chan the fukurou (owl) in Ikebukuro…LOL.

LOL, randomly there’s a skeleton with a hat in the background of Britney’s clinic.

Notably, one of the wall hangings says “heart” on it – alternatively, “soul”.

Notably, Atlanta was the 1996 Summer Olympics…there is no 1997 Lausanne Olympics, as far as I know.

Akudama 9

I watched the part where it glitches twice and I can’t quite figure out what that circular symbol is…maybe it’s Hacker’s symbol…?

Ah! Only now they properly confirm Swindler used to work in the Seal centre.

“Life that never dies is defective.” – Doctor

Does that mean Doctor is actually older than she looks, due to plastic surgery…?

Marker? What marker?

Apparently that flower is a cherry blossom…according to Detective Conan.

…I know this anime wasn’t made in America (it wouldn’t be “anime” otherwise), but Anime Feminist is going to have a field day with this one…if they haven’t abandoned it already due to their idea of morals.

…now I can even see parallels between HypMic’s authorities and Akudama’s. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Why did this have to happen when I’m chief?” – Sounds like…basically every authority during COVID and BLM, to be honest.

See? Akudama likes the S word. I told you.

I haven’t watched The Shining, but reading the synopsis, you can figure out why Cutthroat is the way he is…sort of.

How does the iconic quote go? “Heeeeeeeeeeeere’s Danny!” (or something…?)

They even copied the iconic eye shot! There you go!

Way to take a guy out (with the door, LOL).

…with all this killing, I can see why Akudama Drive was only in one magazine now. (Then again, HypMic was in basically all of them and that also has a tonne of problems…)

Akudama 10

万死 literally means “10000 deaths”.

Babel.

That police chief is such a mood, LOL.

I can see why people didn’t recognise Swindler, but Courier never changes his look, so…uh…

You can’t become a police chief without a sense of justice, no?

“Since when did you know that I’m not-“ - *facepalms*

Is this what they call an “ass-kickin’ Christmas”? (LOL)

Y’know, Sister, you could just do the whole “wherever you are, I’m also seeing the same sky as you” thing some other anime do.

Notably, there are shide (the paper strips) and a rope over the vault…they really do treat the shinkansen and its immortal children as a single god, huh?

Hmm? They don’t care about Sister anymore? Just Brother? (Somewhere along the way, the priorities must have shifted.)

In the end, the best ship is Brawler and Hoodlum (lel).

Akudama 11

One more ep after this. I’m gonna miss this anime, even if it was crazy over-the-top and I didn’t finish it until after the day it ended.

I think the scariest scene in all of Akudama Drive is the one where the “cleaner” tosses the girl aside.

“This nowhere place!” – Around this time, the bunny and shark’s shirts say “morning”/”afternoon” (shark) and “evening” (bunny).

The blue bird of happiness…literally. That character on the birds is the one for “happy”.

…LOL, that one glitched Courier looks more like Cutthroat.

Hacker’s drone matches Courier’s head angles, LOL.

I guess if you think you’re falling in Kanto, you’re falling in Kanto and if you think you’re floating (like Courier did), you float. I always liked that concept.

War Games. Now the title makes sense!

…but they can be together if they stay here in Kanto as vessels for the citizens? (That sounds mighty antagonistic of me, but…that logic does compute.)

Maybe swindlers play games with the truth…? (What an interesting concept.)

“Just fine.” – I think Hacker needs a “This is fine” meme.

“We can hear your heart talking.” – It means something like “We can hear you spouting your true intentions.”

“…worth every last penny…” – That’s a weird thing to say for someone whose life got changed by 500 yen…Just goes to tell you how American the subbers can be sometimes.

Swindler’s smug face is so good, LOL.

Akudama 12 (FINAL)

This episode isn’t named after a movie. It’s named after the anime itself.

The TV says “Please watch away from the TV”, i.e. stand back from the TV while you watch.

“They came and stole the offerings…” – At this point, bunny’s shirt says “freedom” and shark’s says honpou, meaning “wild, uninhibited, rampant, extravagant”.

…where did Shikoku come from? Is that where Swindler and Sister landed after they tried going to the moon?

Ohh! That Christian imagery! That’s scary!

Is Akudama Drive a tragedy? No, I think…on the contrary, it’s a story of hope.

LOL, “s*** guy”.

I thought the girl had a bomb. Turns out she has a gun, which is…far worse, come to think of it.

Instead of red characters which say things about the situation, now Shark and Bunny have Hacker’s symbol on them.

There’s no way anyone who wasn’t immortal would survive the attack Courier took…

…why is it that falling over represents vulnerability in children in all of these stores where a war has happened and/or there’s a chase? Hmm?

Wow, Sister did everything with heels on…?!

Anyways, that was a fun time. See you next time!

#simulcast commentary #akudama drive #Chesarka watches Akudama Drive #taiso samurai #Gymnastics Samurai #HypMic #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Mic: Division Rap Battle - Rhyme Anima #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #Chesarka watches Yuukoku no Moriarty #Chesarka watches HypMic #Chesarka watches Taiso Samurai

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enviroblog-spring21 · 3 years ago

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Blog XIV: Ditch the Desert, Come to the Ocean State

Benjamin Franklin is famous for saying there are only two things that are certain in life: death and taxes, I would also add water as another thing in life that is certain and without water, life as we know it is impossible.

Here in Rhode Island (the Ocean State) the majority of our identity is based around water, yet even we squander the water resources we are blessed to have.[] Water has increasingly been the subject of national headlines in the past decade.

As Chapter 20 of Living in the Environment points out, we kicked off the 2010s with the BP Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill. Petroleum leaked from the off-shore oil rig for three months and polluted 1,300 miles of coastline, enough to cover Rhode Island’s entire coastline three times.

Chapter 20 also notes that 2014 saw the start of the half-decade long Flint Water Crisis. Michigan’s state government poisoned the city of Flint’s water supply with lead in the name of austerity.[] The water was so corrosive that autoparts manufacturers in the city complained that they could not use the water as it tore through their parts, and people who drank the water suffer life-altering effects from the government’s cruel policies.[]

While Flint, MI held its grip on national headlines for months, if not a year or two, there is one place in particular that has held the nation’s attention since the 2010s and into the current decade: California.

Between 2011 and 2017, Californians endured the most prolonged, severe drought in recent memory, and among the longest and most intense in the state’s history.

Speaking for my fellow urban studies majors at Fordham University, from the endless sprawl and crisscrossing freeways of Los Angeles, to the expansive gentrification and strict housing covenants of San Francisco, California is the embodiment of everything that makes our blood boil. As an urban studies major, I also tend to look at California’s water woes through the lens of urban planning.

The guiding case study for Chapter 13 in Living in the Environment centers around the Colorado River. The system of dams and reservoirs that make up the river’s anthropogenic patrimony provide cities from Los Angeles, California to Boulder, Colorado with electricity, farming irrigation, and drinking water just to name a few.

The ecosystem services the Colorado River provides are already stretched to its limits. The spectacular growth of cities like Los Angeles takes a chainsaw to the natural capital it relies on from the Colorado River.

The mammoth amounts of water consumed by metropolitan populations in desert climates obscures the fact that they are in fact in the desert. Why do we continue to be shocked when there is a drought in the desert?

There is a reason why so few desert cities rise to populations as high as Los Angeles, or grow as fast as Tucson. Deserts are notoriously harsh, its arid climate coupled with scarce sources of water is the reason why many people have died crossing them.

Industrial methods of irrigation, construction of dams and reservoirs, plus the advents of air conditioning and hydroelectricity give Los Angeles the ability to hold over ten million people, and former president Trump the ability to plan his next coup attempt from what was once swampland.

Industrial technology advanced to a point where we can thickly settle environments once too harsh for us. Now, the population of Americans living in desert climates has become too large to sustain the ecosystem services and natural capital that industrialism in part helps deliver to them.

To escape what anthropogenic change has wrought in the form of endless drought, frequent wildfires, unbearable heat, and smog, I am arguing that people currently residing in desert cities should consider moving to the Ocean State.

I know that the entire state of Rhode Island can fit into a lot of desert counties multiple times and that the entire population of the Ocean State is only one-tenth to that of Los Angeles County, believe me, I know.

Rhode Island is so small, however, that if desert climate migrants concentrate in Providence, growth will not only encocmpass the entire state, but also include other states like Massachusetts and Connecticut. As the center for new climate migrants from the southwest, Providence could possibly hold its own against Boston, perhaps even New York.

I can already hear people saying that moving from the desert to the ocean is just swapping one climate crisis for another.

What I would say to that, however, is that although Rhode Island is the Ocean State, most of it is not directly at sea level as, for example, Florida is. A defining characteristic often found just feet away from our shoreline is the state’s steep rolling hills. Providence, in fact, is so steep that for a time we had the cable car system in New England, as trolleys often could not climb College Hill. For the amount of coastline that we have, I do not anticipate that even our settlements that are at sea level will be permanently lost at the mercy of the ocean. Encouraging climate migrants to move to Rhode Island could help fund sustainable coastline resilience initiatives to stave off the sea.

Booming population growth, of course, requires a lot of urban planning. We could forgo the mistakes of last century and create vibrant, affordable, sustainable, and dense communities and revitalize those that are still feeling the pains of deindustrialization.

As for what climate migrants from desert cities get in Rhode Island that they do not get in the desert: plentiful water supplies (no, we don’t just have salt water.) Although we may have to source water from other places, we have plenty of options, unlike most desert settlements that are simply not equipped to sustain such mammoth human populations.

I know that this is a far off and lofty vision, marketing the Ocean State as a climate refuge sounds like an oxymoron. To at least have a vision, is to begin lending a hand to future and current victims of the climate crisis.

Rhode Island is my favorite place on Earth, I want nothing more than for other people to make it home.

Epilogue: Waterfootprint.org is a website where you can calculate your water footprint, i.e. the amount of water you consume in a given year

My water footprint is 645.4 meters cubed, however, the website only calculated this from my country of residence, gender (somehow,) my diet (vegetarian) and the amount of yearly income consumed by myself which I had to estimate. I do not believe that this is accurate, in fact it is likely significantly higher considering that I have a front and backyard with a swimming pool. If my parents and I lived in their childhood neighborhood of Federal Hill it would be significantly lower considering we would not have a yard, garden, or a swimming pool to tend to.

Population density within cities makes them more environmentally friendly. People in dense urban areas often use less water and less inputs of almost everything since dwellings are smaller and proximity to basic necessities is often within walking distance. Cities have to be part of the equation if we are to solve the climate crisis, just because I am closer to "nature" here on Conanicut Island does not mean living here is more environmentally friendly and less wasteful.

WC: 1,067

Question: Is anybody tracking potential migration patterns as water resources become more scarce?

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bard-llama · 4 years ago

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Know Thine Enemy (Iorveth/Roche) Part 2

Summary: Iorveth spends far too much time thinking about Roche's proposition and comes to a decision.

Read on AO3 | Read Part 1 on Tumblr

If you like my writing, consider donating to my ko-fi! I am writing gift fics for all donors.

Notes: Warning that this chapter includes a bit of a dubcon/noncon fantasy for a few paragraphs. It starts near the end of the chapter with "What if...what if Roche hadn’t let him go?" and ends at "Before he could think more about that..."

Elder Speech:

Dh’oine = Elder Speech for Human

Bloede = expletive along the lines of stupid/silly/fucking i.e. Bloede Dh’oine = Fucking Human

Aindeoin = taken from the Scottish Gaelic word for spite, a dh ’aindeoin, according to Google.

When Iorveth awoke from his little bender, his mouth tasted like feet, his head was pounding, and attempting to open his eye just led to sharp spikes of sunlight drilling into it.

Suddenly it was very easy to remember why he usually didn’t drink these days. Aside from his responsibility to his men, of course. But it had been a long time since he’d imbibed regularly and his tolerance reflected that. In other words, it was nonexistent. And he vaguely remembered drinking a lot.

Iorveth groaned piteously, and someone cleared their throat next to him and pressed a waterskin to his mouth. He drank greedily, not even bothering to open his eye. There were two people likely to take care of him, and Imadia would have said something scathing by now. That meant that the gentle hand that stroked over his hair belonged to Ciaran. He wasn’t wearing his bandana, which likely also meant that Ciaran had put him to bed and watched over him.

“Thank you,” he rasped after Ciaran took the waterskin away.

“What happened to set you off?”

“Ah.” Iorveth flushed, remembering exactly what had set him off. Or rather, who. But he couldn’t tell Ciaran that. “I was careless, got caught in a hunter’s trap,” he said instead, shame coloring his words as he thought back on the humiliating encounter.

“Oh.” Ciaran was silent for a long moment and Iorveth squinted his eye open. His friend had his lips pressed tightly together, clearly holding back laughter.

“Ugh,” Iorveth covered his face with his hands. “If you’re going to laugh, you owe me another drink. Maybe it’ll make this headache bearable.”

“You’re in luck,” Ciaran chuckled. “Imadia left you a tonic.” He uncorked something noxious smelling and helped Iorveth struggle upright. Iorveth braced himself – knowing Imadia, the tonic would work miracles, but likely taste like death. She liked to teach him lessons by doing things like that.

He was right. Swallowing the tonic down as quickly as possible did not stop him from wishing he could claw out his tongue. But, after a few minutes had passed, he did have to admit that he felt better. Well enough to venture out of bed, anyway.

“What did I do, anyway?” Iorveth asked, not truly sure he wanted to know. If he’d actually said something incriminating about Roche, Ciaran would have already brought it up.

“You told a lot of stories about what an amazing debater you are,” Ciaran said, threads of laughter still in his voice. “Apparently it was very important that we all know that you once defeated Filavandrel.”

“And I was right,” Iorveth couldn’t help pointing out. Filavandrel may be respected as a leader of elves in Dol Blathanna, but he was equally well known for his eloquence. Defeating him was a point of personal pride.

Not that those sorts of victories mattered anymore. But it was a good memory, one that brought a smile to his face.

“When you’re ready,” Ciaran said, rolling his eyes, “Sylvar had an idea he wants to run by you.”

“Oh?”

Ciaran nodded. “I’ll let him share the details, but I think it has merit, if we plan well. Striking outside of our usual territory will throw off those damn Blue Stripes, too.” He stepped over to the door and opened it for the young elf.

“Sir,” he nodded, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. Iorveth sighed. He should have know Kythaela’s insistence on calling him sir would spread.

“Tell me about your idea.”

Sylvar eagerly stepped forward, unrolling a map over his table. “I think we should hit the supply caravan to Ellander.”

Iorveth cocked his eyebrow. Ellander lay a short distance from the western edge of the Scoia’tael’s forest. The small city was home to a Temeria army base, three taverns, two whorehouses, and the Temple of Melitele, where priestesses tended to the wounded and weary. “Their supplies come overland, from Vizima.” Which was further to the west and would require them to circle around Ellander without the cover of the forest.

“Usually, yes sir. But apparently there was a recent landslide on the road from Vizima, so they’re sending supplies by ship, across the Yaruga. That means they have to come ashore not too far from our borders. We can hit them before they ever realize there’s anything to fear.”

“Hmm,” Iorveth hummed, thinking it over. They did need new supplies badly. And this time, he hoped the army sent their men better tasting rations. “When?”

“Our spies report that the ship should arrive in three days,” Ciaran answered. “That gives us three days to plan this carefully.”

Of course, it also meant three days for someone to leak their plans. Not that Iorveth thought any of his men were traitors, but Roche had his ways of getting information. Even if no one sold them out, they would probably encounter the Blue Stripes.

That was fine. He could plan for the Blue Stripes. He just wished he could plan for Roche outside of anticipating his attacks.

––

Iorveth spent the days leading up to their raid thinking about Roche. More specifically, thinking about how to defeat Roche. Except that naturally turned into thinking about how Roche could have killed him and didn’t, and that led to thinking about the way that Roche had talked about his ears and how his body had gotten...confused. He knew it was confusion because there was no way he could be feeling interest in the dh’oine.

He just – wanted to understand Roche, that was all. It had been a long time since he’d found a worthy debate opponent and Roche showed signs of having a not-disappointing intellect. His body had just confused his interest in knowing Roche for, well, for knowing Roche.

It didn’t help that Roche had propositioned him. He never would have even thought of Roche in that context if the other hadn’t started it. But now that his brain had gone there, he started thinking about it. And thinking about it meant that he desperately, desperately wanted to go on another bender until he could stop thinking.

But he had a responsibility to the Scoia’tael and he would not fail them. Even if it meant being stuck with thoughts of what a dh’oine – what Roche – might be like in bed.

If he accepted. Which of course, he never would. Their prior encounter had clearly been a fluke, a strange event that would never be replicated. The next time the met, Roche would probably pretend the whole thing had never happened.

Except to humiliate Iorveth, if he wanted to. After all, he didn’t know that Iorveth’s body had only been confused. But Roche couldn’t possible actually want him. Roche hunted nonhumans; his proposition had clearly been a mistake.

Which was what Iorveth wanted. Of course it was. There was no part of him that felt a little pleased to be the subject of desire for someone again. Not that he was without company when he craved it, but Aen Seidhe valued beauty and his was ruined.

The most common response he’d heard after he lost his eye was, “what a shame.” Iorveth had been considered quite beautiful once, but elves valued aesthetics, and even if Iorveth’s scar weren’t horrific and grotesque, the asymmetry of it would always be considered unpleasant to the eye.

It wasn’t so bad these days, around the Scoia’tael. They were all warriors, they understood scars. They were shameful necessities of the life they fought for.

Still, there was a reason very few people ever saw Iorveth without his bandana on. Even that couldn’t cover everything, but it hid the worst of it, the parts that made faces contort in disgust before people regained control of themselves. Ciaran and Imadia were the only two he trusted enough to see the true horror he was, and even they hadn’t been able to help reacting. He didn’t blame them – he couldn’t stand to look himself in the mirror either – but it was an important reminder. No one could ever want him, not truly.

But gods, it would be nice to actually be wanted, to be someone considered worthy of wooing or courting. Not that he had time for romance, nor would he ever want it with Roche of all people. But it would be nice.

“Almost time.” Ciaran’s voice startled him and again, Iorveth cursed himself for getting lost in thought.

“Wait for my signal,” he ordered. Ciaran handed him a spyglass and Iorveth did a quick check that his people were where they were supposed to be. Then he turned to small caravan below that was slowly loading supplies from the ship. They would wait until the caravan was fully loaded – all the easier to get away with the highest quantity of supplies – and their attack strategy was two-pronged. First, they had to lure out the Blue Stripes. Roche would likely have supplemented his crew with men from Ellander’s army base, so all of Iorveth’s people were here for this operation. If they failed, it would be a massacre.

But they wouldn’t fail. Because Iorveth knew Roche would be coming, knew Roche would attack them. Which meant he’d just needed to figure out how to outmaneuver one man instead of unpredictable guards.

It would almost be fun, if it weren’t for the stakes.

Iorveth signaled Maeral to take her five man squad to attack the boat, as if the supplies hadn’t already been unloaded. Their job was the most dangerous – bait for the Blue Stripes. It was likely more than one of them wouldn’t return, but he trusted Maeral with this command, trusted her to fight with everything she had to return home. She was one of his youngest commanders, but Iorveth hadn’t managed to win a chess match against her in half a decade. She understood tactics and strategy and she looked at the whole field in a way Iorveth had never been able to.

Maeral attacked, her squad engaging the guards around the makeshift dock. It took only a few long heartbeats of waiting before Roche did the expected – surrounded Maerel’s squad and announced his presence.

Now It was Iorveth’s turn. He had thirty soldiers surrounding the Blue Stripes and each had orders to keep the fighting as contained to the makeshift dock as possible. Then, while everyone was busy, Ciaran would take over the caravan with his squad and deliver it to Aindeoin. It was a good plan, and the butterflies in Iorveth’s stomach felt more like anticipation than nerves.

Nonetheless, he could admit that he was just a little bit worried about how his first meeting with Roche would go. What if the dh’oine brought up their last meeting? Iorveth clenched his fists and took a deep breath, pulling his mind back on task.

Then he gave the signal to attack and he leapt out of the tree, landing on a soldier and riding him to the ground. He jumped towards Roche, who caught his blade at the last minute, falling to one knee from the impact.

Iorveth licked his lips, already feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins in the way his heartbeat was thudding rapidly, the way all of his focus seemed to narrow down to Roche.

“How?” Roche demanded, “how did you know we would be lying in wait!?”

Iorveth smirked. “It’s you. Of course you’d be here.” Roche actually seemed taken aback by that. Iorveth should have used the opening to attack, but he felt like gloating. “Expected me to underestimate you?”

Roche’s mouth slowly twisted into a grin. “I should have known better.” He pushed forward off of his knee, thrusting his sword towards Iorveth’s face.

It was easy enough to bat the blade aside, and now they were truly fighting and Iorveth’s grin was probably just as feral as Roche’s.

“Guess those pointy ears are sharper than I thought,” Roche said and Iorveth almost stumbled on his next step. “And here I thought we’d managed to get intel past you.”

Nearby, Sylvar cut down his opponent and rounded on Roche. “You dare speak to our leader in such vulgar terms!?”

Iorveth could feel his ears growing hot as he flushed. Oh gods, could this get any worse?

Roche’s second in command, Ves, dove to intercept Sylvar while Roche just looked baffled.

“I didn’t even use a good insult,” he frowned, and the weight of his sword against Iorveth’s own shifted. Iorveth was ready to block, but Roche just seemed to be adjusting his grip. Iorveth’s men closed in around them, pushing the Blue Stripes back, away from where Ciaran was already making off with their haul.

Roche didn’t seem to recognize that, though, instead looking at Iorveth through narrowed eyes. “Didn’t know your ears could turn that red,” he said casually, as if such a statement weren’t wildly out of place on a battlefield.

Iorveth made a small noise, eyes wide and something unfamiliar coiling in his gut. Horror and humiliation, certainly, but there was also a part of him that was pleased that Roche apparently intended his proposition, that Roche wanted him.

All the elves in earshot let out near-simultaneous scandalized gasps that almost got them killed and Iorveth could feel his face flushing bright red. This was a disaster that he had not signed up to deal with today.

And even though his men had the advantage, even though they’d pushed the Blue Stripes back, nearly cornered them, Iorveth found himself giving the signal to fall back. He wasn’t running away – it was simply strategic to call for a retreat at this point.

The last thing he heard before he left the battlefield behind was Roche grumbling about pointy ears and confusing strategies.

Despite leaving the battle earlier than planned, they had managed to keep the Blue Stripes distracted for long enough for Ciaran and the caravan to make it into the forest.

Thank the gods for that, because Iorveth never would have forgiven himself otherwise. Though, he wasn’t sure it mattered whether he forgave himself, because he was already contemplating burying himself in the forest somewhere to never be seen again.

“The nerve of that whoreson!” Sylvar ranted far too loudly, exposing Iorveth’s humiliation to even more elves.

Rinn, his favorite little spy, smacked Sylvar over the head and held a finger up to her lips.

“She’s telling you to shut up,” Kythaela pointed out helpfully.

Actually, if Rinn chose to spoke, it would probably be a lot more impolite than that. But Iorveth was the only one she felt comfortable enough to speak around, except for Imadia on rare occasion.

Still, she was right. The last thing he wanted was for word to spread about Roche’s crude words. Iorveth could feel himself blushing just at the thought.

Sylvar grumbled the rest of the way back to Aindeoin, but he didn’t immediately start shouting about Iorveth’s humiliation, so that was something.

“Let’s get a drink,” Kythaela slipped her arm through Sylvar’s and bodily dragged him away. Iorveth smiled at the apologetic look she sent him and followed behind at a more sedate pace.

A short time later, as his Scoia’tael sat around the campfires – built in special stone pits to prevent the trees from catching alight – feasting and drinking, Iorveth found himself strangely unable to adjust to the mood. They had plentiful supplies now and had achieved a victory against the Blue Stripes with minimal losses. He should be as lighthearted and jovial as his brethren who chattered and laughed around him. But he couldn’t stop thinking about earlier’s humiliation, about the way he’d been propositioned in front of his men and the way he’d visibly reacted, bright red for anyone to see.

Instead of drowning himself in drink the way he had a few days before, Iorveth found himself slowly sipping wine as he stood on the outskirts of the feast, leaning against the tree trunk their dining hall was built into. He spotted Rinn sitting on a branch above the feast and smiled to himself. She always did prefer her own company over that of others.

He had been the one to find her, all those years ago. Iorveth had killed a group of dh’oine standing over the bodies of elves and only after the fact had he realized that one of the elves still lived.

Rinn had been completely mute at that point. She was strong willed and bounced back from tragedy fairly quickly, but her speech had not returned for years. And even now, she preferred silence, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was trouble speaking versus not wanting to bother. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it was the latter, but then, he sometimes wished he could avoid speaking.

Rinn noticed him watching and waved at him. Then, even though he was staring right at her, he wasn’t quite sure how she managed to disappear. It was a special talent of hers, to go unnoticed.

Originally, he hadn’t wanted her to join the Scoia’tael. She had been young when he found her, about a decade under the age of majority for an elf, and while Iorveth had trouble understanding how some people could choose not to fight, he did believe that their people deserved to grow up in peace. So he’d sent her to Vergen, the Dwarven city in Upper Aedirn where they sent all refugees who came to the Scoia’tael for help. It wasn’t a paradise, and dwarves and elves had longstanding differences, but it was still a better city than one run by humans.

Rinn had gone to Vergen. He’d sent her multiple times, in fact. But somehow, she kept popping back up in Aindeoin and Iorveth had never been able to figure out how. After the fourth time, he’d decided that if she was determined to be here, he would put those skills to use.

Of course, with her not speaking to anyone – including him, at the time, as she had still been learning hand signs, though she managed to get her will across quite well without using words at all – they’d had to get inventive on how she could communicate the intel that she picked up hanging around where no sensible person would.

He still didn’t know how she’d gotten inside Ellander’s army barracks, and admittedly, he didn’t know what he would do with the detailed sketch of the Blue Stripes’ cots, but hey, intel was intel. And there were times that a picture of the situation was much more useful than a verbal report. Such as when you realized that your enemies weren’t just comrades, but family.

It was in the way Rinn drew them sitting around the campfire together or sleeping in a huddle in the cold, never aware of their silent observer determinedly putting their likeness to paper. The Blue Stripes were so clearly more than just people who fought side by side. They cared about each other.

A realization like that one was valuable. It meant that the team had a weakness that could be exploited. If they cared about each other, then they could be used as leverage against each other.

Only Iorveth had immediately known it wouldn’t work. Because he knew Roche, even if he didn’t know the dh’oine, and Roche was like him. Roche was a man who would do what he had to, even if it destroyed him.

If Iorveth had shared what he’d seen in Rinn’s drawings with Ciaran, his second in command would want them to kidnap one of the commandos, to use them as a hostage.

But Roche would not let himself be controlled like that. If Iorveth tried, Roche would shoot him through his dh’oine comrade if he had to. Because Roche wasn’t a good man, just like Iorveth wasn’t. Both of them would sacrifice everything for their cause. It was just a shame their two causes were opposed.

So Iorveth had filed Rinn’s sketches of the Blue Stripes away without ever sharing what he’d seen. It wasn’t a realization anyone else was likely to make. Aside from Rinn and a few other choice spies, Iorveth’s men only ever saw the Blue Stripes in the midst of battle. And while the Blue Stripes watched each other’s backs, they were professionals.

But Iorveth had spies for a reason. It was his job to learn everything he could about his enemies. It was also his job to use that intel, but the truth was, he was scared of what might happen if he did. He didn’t want his fight with Roche to turn into a fight of whose morals could sink lower.

Iorveth was scared because he knew he would do it. When backed into a corner, there was very little he wouldn’t do for the Scoia’tael, for the cause of a free elven state. He wasn’t sure there was a limit to the depths he would sink to. He already knew that he would sacrifice his people if he had to – that’s what it meant to order his men to play bait – and he had once believed that he would never kill another elf.

Iorveth laughed bitterly to himself. Once upon a time, he’d genuinely thought he’d never resort to violence.

How the mighty have fallen, those he once knew might have said. But he was still alive while they lay dead, their ideals small defense in the face of human hatred, so he rather thought his position spoke for itself.

That was how most recruits came to the Scoia’tael – because someone they knew had finally been beaten beyond what they could take, and they were tired and scared of the dh’oine mobs that came with their pitchforks and swords and left the land running red with blood.

Iorveth glanced around the dining hall, noting the scars and injuries on his comrades, all caused by dh’oine. There wasn’t a Scoia’tael without a scar, wasn’t a one of them who hadn’t been damaged by the dh’oine and their hatred.

Some more so than others. That had been how he’d first heard of Sylvar – the entire camp had been gossiping about how someone actually had worse scars than Iorveth. Not to his face, of course. But near enough that Iorveth had easily heard.

Few elves had even seen how bad his scars truly were, but Iorveth had to admit that they were still right – Sylvar’s were worse. There was scarcely any skin that wasn’t distorted from the burn scars that covered most of his body.

Dh’oine had been responsible, of course. Sylvar and his mother had lived peacefully in Ellander, more or less avoiding trouble with dh’oine. Until the day a mob broke into their house, beat Sylvar half to death, and burned the building to the ground.

Sylvar had been lucky. He’d escaped. Barely.

His mother hadn’t been so fortunate. But then, Iorveth reflected, most of the younger elves had joined the Scoia’tael because they wanted vengeance against the dh’oine who had killed their parents.

Or used them. Taredd’s parents had been better off living under human rule than most. As affluent traders, money opened what doors their race barred. But dh’oine greed was a constant, and eventually, they decided they didn’t want elves to be prosperous. And if they got rid of the elves, well, then there was all that coin, just for the taking.

Iorveth always thought his hatred of humanity couldn’t get any deeper, but every time a new child – because they were children, not yet even a century of life! – joined the Scoia’tael, it burned that much brighter.

He tried to remind himself that there were good dh’oine out there. Supposedly.

The problem was, the only example he could think of was Vernon Roche, and he could hardly be called good when he had so much blood on his hands.

But then, so did Iorveth.

Perhaps that was why he wished he could have a conversation with Roche. They were, in many ways, very similar, and yet so very, very different. Such contrast practically guaranteed an interesting debate.

If it were possible to just – not set aside, because the racism elves faced could never just be set aside, but if they could meet without trying to kill each other. To just talk. Well, probably fight, but verbal fighting, the kind Iorveth used to have mastered, the kind that had once been the only kind of fighting he’d done.

That had been a long time ago now.

He didn’t regret doing what he had to. But he was just so tired. Iorveth wished there were somewhere he could go where he could leave the fighting at the door. Somewhere where he could talk to Roche and receive an answer rather than an attack.

Except Roche hadn’t attacked him that day in the forest. The dh’oine had threatened him, certainly, but even after Iorveth had been released, Roche had made no move towards his sword. Iorveth himself had been the one to attack, even if it had been a pathetic attempt. His embarrassment had been too overwhelming at the time, but now, now he wondered if Roche choosing not to attack was as much of an offer as his crass remarks.

Maybe...maybe it would be worth taking him up on it? Just for a conversation, not for sex. Iorveth had no interest in sex with a dh’oine.

So why had being helpless in Roche’s grasp made him hot and squirmy that day in the forest? Why had his ears flushed so red and why had his cock reacted when Roche had dragged his dagger ever so delicately over his throat?

Iorveth shivered and cleared his throat. He really shouldn’t be thinking about the way his confused body had reacted. Was reacting.

He shifted uncomfortably, dearly grateful that his gambeson and mail hid the exact way his body was reacting. His body was obviously still confused, because there was nothing that he should find appealing about being helpless under Roche’s blade.

Iorveth swallowed and bit his lip. Perhaps he should take this line of thinking somewhere more private, just in case his body continued to get the wrong idea.

Or, part of his mind whispered, he could stay here. There was no need to draw attention to himself by leaving early and that little curl of humiliation in his belly at the idea that someone could find out made him shift and clench around nothing. It was uncomfortably good, the way the shame and lust and general confusion Roche inspired fizzled together in his stomach and made him sensitive.

Iorveth focused on breathing evenly even as every shift of his weight and every squeeze of his thighs sent shivers of pleasure through his body. His hose was soaked with wetness from his cunt and Iorveth bit his lip, feeling his cock twitch at the twinge of pain.

What would sex with a dh’oine like Roche even be like? Iorveth couldn’t see it being gentle, but he liked a little bit of roughness himself. And thinking back on their encounter in the woods when Iorveth had been caught – Roche had been pretty good at taking charge, too. Iorveth hadn’t been aware that he was interested in that, but something about Roche standing over him, holding Iorveth’s own knife to his throat…

Iorveth shuddered, then cleared his throat and looked around wildly to make sure no one noticed.

What if...what if Roche hadn’t let him go? What if the Blue Stripes commander had kept that knife pressed against the hollow of Iorveth’s collarbone? Iorveth licked his lips, imagining what might have happened if Vernon Roche were an entirely different kind of man. The kind of man who would force Iorveth’s mouth open and slide his cock inside.

What would he taste like? Humans were warmer than elves in general, and their cocks looked so strange in comparison. What would it feel like on his tongue? In the back of his throat? Inside him?

Before it could escape his lips, Iorveth swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth just from the thought of being filled with a cock and chased it down with a gulp of wine for good measure.

Roche could have done anything to him with Iorveth tied up and hanging like that, and Iorveth found himself wishing that Roche had, that he’d cupped Iorveth through his hose, maybe ripped it open to slip fingers inside his cunt while Iorveth sucked desperately. The smell of Roche would overwhelm him like that and for the first time, Iorveth wanted that, wanted a dh’oine’s scent to cover him.

Before he could think more about that, Ciaran broke away from a group of young elves and approached him. Iorveth hastily swallowed more wine, trying to pull himself together.

“Iorveth,” Ciaran called, reaching out to clap Iorveth on the shoulder. There was no part of Iorveth that wondered how differently Roche’s hand would feel. “Are you okay? Sylvar mentioned that that bloede dh’oine was crude and vile, as dh’oine so often are.”

Iorveth barely noticed the disgust pulling at Ciaran’s face, instead thinking about exactly how crude and vile Roche had been, talking about his ears in front of his men. Roche had seemed quite fixated on his ears, actually, and he wondered what the dh’oine’s rough hands would feel like against him. What would it feel like to have the dh’oine hot and solid on his tongue while Roche stroked his ears? Gods, Iorveth wouldn’t even need to be touched further; he could come just like that.

He was coming just like that, Iorveth realized with a stifled gasp, biting down hard on his tongue to hold back any noises and focusing all his being on not showing it. As he utterly ruined his hose, Iorveth was forced to lean his weight into the tree behind him lest his trembling legs collapse under him.

It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.

Ciaran frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you. I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay. The dh’oine didn’t try anything, did he?”

It took all of Iorveth’s concentration to form words. “No,” he rasped. More’s the pity.

Gods, his face and ears must be terribly red from the way Ciaran was looking at him and a curl of shame twisted through his pleasure. Instead of detracting from the his enjoyment, it made the sensation more, and Iorveth could feel the way his shoulders loosened, the slight headache that he hadn’t even noticed dissipating.

“Good,” Ciaran said. “And I’m sorry that happened. I hope you know it’s not a reflection on you – we all know dh’oine are horny for anything that moves.”

“Mmm,” Iorveth managed a small reassuring smile and Ciaran seemed to accept it, raising his glass in a quick salute and then heading back into the thick of the festivities.

Iorveth chewed on Ciaran’s comment for a moment, wondering why it bothered him. It was true, dh’oine would fuck literally anything.

But Roche didn’t want anything. He’d propositioned Iorveth. Roche hadn’t commented on anyone else’s ears or dragged a knife slowly down anyone else’s throat or – well, really, Roche hadn’t paid much attention to anyone else at all, had he?

Iorveth bit his lip as something warm swelled in his chest. Maybe...maybe he should accept Roche’s offer.

What was the worst that could happen?

Coda: Iorveth and the Dragon

Here, Rinn signed as she stepped into Iorveth’s office. She dropped a sketch on his desk, but unlike her usual reports, this scene was clearly not from reality. In fact, it appeared to be–

“A dragon?” A smile pulled at Iorveth’s lips. Unlike dh’oine, elves saw dragons as the beautiful creatures they were. There had never been elven dragon hunters.

It’s you, Rinn grinned. See, he’s wearing your bandana!

Indeed, the detailed charcoal dragon did appear to be wearing a bandana. Looking closer, Iorveth could even see the edge of a scar going down the dragon’s snout. The dragon’s wings were spread in a silhouette that reminded Iorveth of his compound bow.

“It’s amazing,” Iorveth whispered, eyes roving across the sketch to take in all the details. “Why a dragon?”

Rinn shrugged. Dragons are cool.

Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

“Thank you,” he smiled widely at her. “I will treasure it.”

Rinn beamed at him before turning and jumping out the window. Considering his office was the highest point in Aindeoin, the way she easily jumped from branch to branch until vanishing from sight was quite impressive.

But not as impressive as Dragon Iorveth. He wondered if he could get it framed.

––

Years later, after Iorveth discovered Saskia’s true form, he showed her the picture Rinn had drawn him. She was impressed by how detailed the dragon was and praised Rinn’s skill.

That had been the moment Iorveth had decided to follow her.

#iorveth/roche #iorveth #vernon roche #the witcher #the witcher 2 #my fics #fic #writing #enemies to lovers #iorveth vernon roche

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skiesdweller · 4 years ago

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It's not about glamour it’s about guts.

1 | Solo | Form my childhood I was attracted to aeroplanes of all kinds, largely due to family. My Grandfather was US Navy Pilot shot down over Vietnam.

My father was an Aviator with USAF and has flown B-52 Stratofortress and presently a successful airlines company CEO and Chairman. Now it was my turn. They say Fighter Pilots are not born, they are built and this is place where they make them Naval Air Station Kingsville

The Advanced flight training starts with a 900 page manual of F/A 18 he first Fighter Jet I will qualify on. Here we have already done our Introductory flight screening (IFS)

and Primary flight training. It also includes Centrifuge tests which simulates the conditions of stress and gravity inside fighter aircraft. The tighter the turn, harder the gravity pushes on him, which in technically called pulling Gs. And fighter jets do it more brutally than any machine on earth At 2G a 200 pound man can easily feel twice his weight. Take it upto 5g and the flight suit feels like 1000 pounds of lead. Once you start pulling Gs its like bench pressing your chest, everything is pulling down and its very hard to breathe. Under G load blood drains from the head and pools in the legs leading to tunnel vision or verse G lock i.e G induced loss of consciousness. Survival depends on mastering the Anti G Straining Manoeuvre, the trick is - tense the leg and stomach muscle so as to prevent the blood from hitting south. And to breathe in short quick burst. Abs tight, but tight and lift yourself from the seat. The G suite that I was introduced too basically had bladders in thigh muscle and abdomen which inflate under G forces at varying pressure to squish your lower extremities to keep the blood in your head. But for centrifuge test, the suit will not inflate, I need to prove that I can sustain high G forces completely on my own. I had to complete a series of tests culminating in 8Gs for 15 long seconds. My turn I witnessed the heavy pressure and pull, it was difficult to breathe but I heard be “aggressive.. be aggressive” clearly and altered my pace likewise. When I finished it I was already a little white but I passed it. Good Stuff, the instructor commented. Two veteran pilots lost the test. One at 8 seconds and the most experience at 14 seconds. So being a pilot is no guarantee you will qualify. So Mike lost by just one second, its harsh but it would be fatal in F/A 18 rushing towards ground at hundreds of miles an hour. It took Mike 3 seconds to recover but that threes seconds is the time a fighter pilot does not have, especially if he supersonic. It could mean entering in enemy territory, getting shot by sam for failure to evade, or crashing. None of which is acceptable. Mike will have another shot at this test. I was in for my next challenge. The Seat from hell. The Fighter pilot’s ticket to survival. In a F/A 18 it is Martin-Baker Mk.14 NACES (Naval Aircrew Ejection Seat ). These seats are fitted in 200 fixed-wing and rotary types with the most recent being the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II programme.

A pilot is snared in belts and buckles, four straps for the leg another six for the torso, pin a pilot to the seat during violent manoeuvres. They also prevent him from being torn apart if he has to eject. The Ejection seat may be a pilot’s lifeline but it will be most violent and terrifying rescue imaginable. Pilot and seat literally explode out of airplane, when they are clear, another charge blows the seat belts and deploys the parachute. It all happens in just two seconds. One of my greatest fears was having to parachute in open waters and its is critical to know exactly what to do in first few seconds after hitting the war. So as test I had get free from the harness after been thrown into Olympic pool before I get to pulled to the pool. Then get out from under the canopy before it pulls me under.

It was easy in the pool but imagine it in freezing Atlantic water. At this point everything I do is making life and death decisions automatic. After learning to survive and passing this phase and before spending time in a real cockpit of F/A 18 I will have to spend hours in simulator. Instructors throwing emergency after emergency, while I struggle to keep up, but eventually these procedures will be seared into my brain. While others went for Lunch one day I made a beeline for an open cockpit. I was going to save sitting in fighter aircraft for my first flight but there was too much to know. At the top of my list were critical emergencies that require a pilot to react instantly, the so called RED PAGES. In a machine as complex as F/A 18, failures are inevitable. Red Pages emergencies are inherently fatal. Things like Engine Fire that will cripple the jet; A fuel leak, Landing gear failure or a cockpit that suddenly fills with smoke, blinding the Pilot. Better to know where the switch is, if a lot has to think before acting in these situations, he will be hole in ground before he remembers the answer because if you are in supersonic fighter the question is not if the trouble will find you but when. In a life of fighter pilot there are no secrets, even if there is, there is always a witness. Every time a fighter aircraft leaves the ground the mission is tapped. The Heads up Display or HUD shows the pilot things like Speed, Altitude and G Forces. Everything a pilot sees is recorded and everything he says. Also my ride I discovered I had a companion, a computer one, and soon discovered that fighter pilots call it bitching Betty. More common are the troubles that a pilot runs into when he pushes the jet too far. The same traits that make fighter jets agile and manoeuvrable also make them extremely twitchy When they are driven to the limit. Once the plane looses control it will not be safe to control it until it reaches certain speed in situation where the plane does not reach that speed, all a pilot can do is take hands off the controls and wait, it’s ultimate faith and belief in a machine. The instructor talking about his experience when he recovered 2000 ft above ground and 3 seconds from oblivion. His HUD was a case study. This is the stuff we live for. Living life on the edge. Anyone can shoot bullets, but only few can call themfselves fighter pilots. The first test was pushing all of us Aviators to the limit. Last minute brushing up of details, sleep deprivation, stress. Unlike other exams in this exam the pass mark is 100%. For instructors demanding perfection is not unreasonable, it’s personal. After having cleared the test and surfing three weeks, it was time for some celebrations No G suites today, instead, I was siting up for our official welcoming party. Being a fighter pilot isn’t a job, It’s Life Walking through Air Worthiness check of F/A 18, every Pilot must know by heart. There are 155 checks before one even climbs into cockpit. When you sign on to fly jets it means a life time of sacrifice. Suiting up for F/A 18, is like gearing up for super bowl, it makes everything else you have flown seem like training wheels. And it was about to happen the first flight in Fighter Aircraft, but first I had to prove I have memorised the external safety checks, all 155 of them. Covering Everything from mechanical to animal. Then there are another 194 cockpit checks. As I climbed up the cockpit ladder, I was feeling a soft breeze behind my neck, a feeling of something important about to happen, a feeling one cannot imagine.After 194 checks, I had to 76 more checks before I even started the engine. And starting the engines involves 45 more, I felt I could get old waiting around for this. An Experienced Fighter pilot can knock off the whole work in under 5 minutes. Student Naval Aviators like me usually take three quarters of an hour. I took 38 minutes on my first and It was situation where I could not afford to make a mistake. My instructor in back seat is watching like a hawk. And Upfront the Heads Up Display (HUD) tape is recording every move I make and everything I say. �� All Set, 222 Taking Off my” first ever Fighter Callsign on a Fighter Aircraft. “Show me your Stuff man” The Air Controller replied to my information.” Pressing the throttle forward, this was the moment I have been waiting all my life. As the afterburners lit the tarmac up. “Nozzles Good , 100 Knots and takeoff”

“Good Job” The instructor sitting behind me said as the wheels left the tarmac. “All’s Up regain 220” Right away I was expected to master the basics. “I will try a roll” And I did.. Yeehaa..I could not control my excitement. “I’m gonna do one more.” My instructor just laughed. Rolls, Climbs, Stall Even though I was getting the most thrilling experience of my life, instructors were looking for discipline and level headed guy which is required in combat and it was just business for us. But at this stage, flying is an easy part, for an inexperienced pilot bringing an F/A 18 back to earth is the most dangerous and difficult part of the flight. For 44 years F/A 18 has proven its ability in combat theatres around the world. And it is dual engine plane, only experienced pilots gets to touch them and qualified ones get to fly them. It is whole lot different than F-16, but in hands a SNA ( Naval Aviator) on windy day it can also be treacherous. On the HUD on the left was the E bracket which tells the pilot, plane’s angle on landing, how high the nose is, E bracket helps insure a smooth landing. I landed a little harder than my instructor would have liked but I got it done without drama, and completed it successfully. After very flight there is a debriefing. This course is marathon and we athletes/ pilots have just begun our race. There are never enough serviceable jets and never enough time. One of the exercise I did was practise engine restart, the drill is straightforward, shutdown one engine, accelerate to 350 knots and relight it, at that speed air is driving the compressor like a windmill, so when the engine is reignited the turbines are moving fast enough to blow the heated air out of exhaust. If You fly too slow in this exercise, the hot air blast will be trapped and engine will overheat. Two cadets made a mistake, Mike was flying too slow so he had to do emergency landing with only one engine. The engine was unhinged and taken to sick bay for inspection, luckily for Mark, it did not suffer any damage. For Tim his missioned was cancelled as he dropped his ball pen into cockpit. That 10 pence plastic could jeopardise the entire flight safety, so the plane was rotunded till the pen was found. That means somebody else does not get to fly, due to Tim’s mistake. So around here we have rule, one pilot’s mistake is everyone’s lesson. Time for Solo flight, for pilots, they count their flying hours, for me this was hour one, minute one for a solo flight. “Alright Nose and Wheel Sten is up. I’m good to go” “Cleared to Take Off” Came the reply. That was what we had all prepared for Solo Sortie “EGT, Fuel Flow Nozzle, oil is good, Going to burner, Here we go Lift off” And I was wheels up in the climb “Gear flags up, 220” “Eat your heart out..this is fucking awesome”..I commented up in air. It was my first solo flight, at 20000 Feet. If anything goes wrong help I long far away.The Mission went smoothly I did all the patterns I had to complete and pulled in a little extra and landed safely. Right before Thunderstorms filled the sky. Flight Tradition Dictates that the a Pilot goes solo, he earns himself a callsign - a nickname that symbolises his identity. Squadron tradition demands a well stocked bar and well used gun barrel from nose of a jet. Getting a call sign is like Christening there it was “Hammer” and I had no say in it, and it was decided by mob rule by Instructors. Only in movies you get cool callusing like “Maverick” and “Iceman” here In this batch I was lucky.

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empressxmachina · 5 years ago

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by Imperial-Radiance (me)

I swear that it’s officially nighttime now – I can’t see the moon, but it’s dark as hell outside – and this guy is still here. I can’t say the same for everyone else, though. The amount of presumably innocent souls that's gone down that shaft is, for lack of a better word, repulsive. The worst part of it is how many are sending themselves down there on their own, just out of fear of the unknown.

How does this guy not know how intimidating he is? Or, does he, and he’s aroused by this? No, I probably shouldn’t say that. He genuinely might not know. No, wait, why am I playing devil’s advocate here?

He’s a monster.

He just amputated someone – a child – like… like… like nothing I’ve seen before. Meanwhile, all these guys are practically unfazed, that is if ‘unfazed’ applies to ‘being a sheep so that you don’t die’. They look fine. Look fine. That’s obviously not the case.

When it comes down to it, each small society on each Lilliputian, Laputan island is one of three sets of people.

One, there’s the group not taking any chances. They’re all stowed away in their homes, shelters, and other places in which they can hide. Am I a part of that? No. I’m accepting his arrival as a reality, no matter how much I don’t want to.

Two, you have those are just going on as normally as they can, doing their best to forget he’s there. How exactly do you ignore a beast that’s anywhere from thirty-six feet to thousands to you? I don’t know. So, I’m not going to try.

But, the last leg of the trifecta consists of those bold enough to address him directly. No, wait, is it bold? Is any of this abnormal? These divides were around for every other scientist that’s ever been in here. I guess it’s just strange to me that they’re still here while he’s still here, especially those helping him do checks and stuff.

From the grandest scheme of things, he’s following the usual scientist routine. Checking the infrastructure of the tiny towns. Collecting the bins of bio-wastes to presumably be tested if not just immediately thrown out. Retrieving small samples of even smaller products people are making or growing for themselves. Yadda, yadda, yadda. He’s getting nothing from me, though.

I’d rather wallow in my own trash than give myself up. Hell, I’m already doing that. But, looking closer, there’s something… off, and I mean more than just his get-up.

This computerized compartment in the floor is one thing – him dropping or flinging all his ‘finds’ and samples in there. Them including people too damn sick or broken to be cared for by any of us, er, these guys, is another. But what’s really grinding me is how he doesn’t seem… very human for a human, and I don’t think I’d be surprised if he was truly a robot.

For one, why the hell is he so stiff? I get petite persons and products or whatever should require precision. But if you’re plucking up people and places like they’re toys and throwing them to be sent who-knows-where, then why bother being precise!? On top of that, all his skin’s covered, and any sort of emotion from him is too difficult to decipher. Who’s to say he’s not just cold from a hidden metal exoskeleton?

His lining the streets (or entire neighborhoods if referring to the tiniest here) with a finger like a sand signature and then grinding whatever sticks to the latex to dust makes me lurch. May all unfortunate spawn thrusted here be left untouched from this hell, whether in this basement somewhere or stuck in a triage or something.

It’s my job—was my job to save lives, bring them in, too, when I could. I couldn’t bear the thought of— No. No. Not doing it.

Anyway, all I can say is that if he’s looking for me, then he’s doing a damn good job in hiding that. So many times, my heart has stopped from him coming over to this table, currently pausing in front of it, gazing around at structures and onlookers around me. My entire vision encapsulated with a sickly aqua sky or sea so wide is surely anxiety-inducing. The shallow breaths thankfully blocked by his mask and the loud ruffles from that almost-as-loud blue only punched the immensity of his girth harder.

If we had locked eyes at any point, then aside from me being found in this broccoli floret of a tree in this flowerbed of a ‘park’, I… I… I don’t know what might’ve become of me. I just know I’m too old for this shit.

Too old. Too tired. Too frustrated. I shouldn’t be here, damn it.

Alas, he’s no longer taking up space in front of my hovel. He’s closed the floor hatch and distanced himself from all of us, not even halfway past the door anymore. Though, I don’t think he’s leaving.

He’s just standing there, posed inquisitively like a statue in an art museum somewhere. Is he pondering his next move on us – on me?

It’s almost been a full minute now, and—No, wait, he’s breaking his stupor now, scanning the room like a panoramic camera.

He’s too far to see his eyes, as if I would’ve been able to see them through the plastic, anyway. He couldn’t have been an arm’s length (for him) away from me earlier, and I couldn’t see them then.

His scan eventually ends with him going solid once again, looking to the ground with his hands on his sides. A minute then passes, and nothing happens. Another, and nothing.

Okay, that robot concept is looking really promising.

What, is he charging? Is he powering his thrusters or something? Why would he just stop and wait? It’s not like I’m going to come out of hiding to see for myself. At this rate, it’d be more likely for a—

“Security: raised to Level Three clearance,” an actual robotic voice sounded from an intercom, echoing from lab wall to lab wall.

Some of the unexpectant flinched in the surprise of the message, and others flinched from its volume. While both were a surprise, sure, I can’t say that I was scared by them—well, not as much as some of these suckers, anyway. I got used to emergency situations in my previous profession, especially how long I was in it, and the motley of beeps, alarms, and panic that complement them. However, those generally occur to the patient, not the operator himself, i.e. me.

Aren’t these walls already blocked mad thick from the outside with bulletproof walls and it practically being a fallout shelter? Why would it – they – we need more security?

“Commencing specialized RFID tracking test,” the announcement continued. “Please stand by for possible trace recognition.”

Recognition? Tracking? Isn’t RFID like a sensor or something? Did we get to using those at the Clinic? I feel like I’ve heard it referenced before somewhere, but I—

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

A series of beeping sounds cuts me off, very similar to an EKG. Blaring eruptions… and they won’t stop. Why won’t it stop? Why is it here!?

It doesn’t echo, but I see a few souls nearby look around for a source and come up confused. So am I. Even one walks under my spot in this tree and gazes up in these branches. Yet, they don’t know I’m here. They eventually walk off, probably thinking they’re crazy. I’m sure they’re not.

I hope I am, though.

The beeps sound like they’re right next to me. Below me. Maybe even in me. Slightly muffled but doubtlessly apparent. But God, damn it; there’s nothing in sight.

I’m doing my best to not fall or move much, but the beeps seem to move with me with every pose I make. I’m practically one hundred percent sure that these signals and I, whatever they’re from, are one and the same now.

Well, whether or not we are, if these puny people are right under my nose and can’t detect me, then there’s no way the much larger one here would, right? All my good logic is telling me to not look at him and check. If I’m lucky, then maybe that dormant giant is still just that, and—

Oh, curse me.

His head is lifted, looking right this way.

Okay, that’s strike one, but that doesn’t mean he sees me or hears them: the sounds, I mean. For all I know, he might not know what these beeps are for. If I hide even deeper, then maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe they’ll go away: the sounds and this beast. A shot in the dark, maybe…. or the shot of my life, but it’s a shot to take, nonetheless.

Going back down shouldn’t be a problem. Keeping a grip on every usable crevice down this trunk here without shaking it should be simple. Heaven knows I’m light as hell. There’s just the overhanging threat of an unreadable behemoth possibly ravaging me because of an audible pseudo heart scan going through me right now somehow or some shit like that. No big deal at all.

Screw that. It’s the biggest of deals.

Note to self: never look toward your threat when you’re trying to pump yourself up to face – or, in my case, not face – it. It never works.

The only thing passing is him, coming back down this way in a power walk. There’s no denying it. He’s coming right for me. I can feel it, and I’m not waiting for him to get here, not while I still have a chance of getting away.

The closer he gets, the more the ground begins to shake under me.

I make my way down to the lean-to I’ve carved into this tree’s trunk, having to crawl over to the floor-bound door leading to my true hideaway. It’s basically a minimalist shed with literally nothing but a door in it now, but it’s enough to do the job: get me to supreme privacy.

It still shocks me how no one’s come across this being here. It shocks me even more how small this den used to be to me, particularly when I first made it and it resembled a phone booth. It’s rather massive now, but there’s no time to concern with this.

I can feel him through the bark.

I get to the door and heave it open, glad to see the dirt-dug tunnel still intact. I don’t know if it was pure genius or stupidity that made me think to make my actual headquarters deep underground – well, as far down as one can possibly go on a hill on a table – past the tendrils that kept this protective plant standing. If it’s rather troublesome for me to get in, then it’ll have to be a little hard for him to find me in it.

Threading the needle, like I’ve never had before, I slip myself down into the void – my void – just as soon as the giant-gait-driven shaking stops. As I descend, I do my best covering my tracks, i.e. narrowing the width of the tunnel as I go with surrounding dirt so that it resembles a pore in the ground. However, I’d be crazy to say I hadn’t felt the increasing heat and a force pulling me slightly upward as I go down. He might not have found me, but he knows I’m close.

Curse this damn ringing.

What exactly is he doing up there? Feeling for me? Literally leveling the field until he comes across me? Surely, it just can’t be a natural gravitational pull from him. He’s big but not that big. It’s almost fantastical.

Hell, it is a fantasy: one I’d love to be released from, thank you.

After what feels like forever with a hunter on my tail, I eventually drop through the malleable metal box I’ve been calling my home. Box. To think that this once held test tubes or some other tools… Now, it’s practically a studio apartment – more like two meshed together if I’m completely honest. For what it’s worth, it’s been a circumstantially perfect spot that I can gladly call my own, unlike most if not all the others here. Though, I think that’s mostly because of the location.

Dwelling under what could be considered a cemetery is generally looked down upon in most social circles. But its existence is one secret that everyone, even the most compliant tinies here, has kept from them.

I hope I don’t ruin that with this cat-and-mouse chase. I hope to not join it, either.

There are dents and punctures in places where they probably shouldn’t be that scrap labels and stickers can only cover so well, but they give the place a sweet, literally rustic charm along with making the camouflage of being one with the ‘ground’ more plausible. It does what it needs to do and then some very well.

Hold my storage of leftover foods and pieces of furnishings from the surrounding enclaves on one wall. Let me rest and compose myself every day by another. Figure out some way of cleansing myself by the third – I haven’t optimized that as much as I should have. Maintain the little sanity I have left by the window on the last.

My window.

It’s just like theirs, but it’s mine and mine alone. I can’t believe I’ve had a growing plant there for this long. Hell, I can’t believe I made a window how I did. Maybe that’s why they’ve been coming after me: they know how I acquired the glass. No, they wouldn’t be that petty. They’d just—

*CRUNCH*

Jesus, what was that?

*BOOM*

No, what was that?

*BANG-BANG-BANG*

What the—!?

What are all these noises? Those upward forces are back again, too, but these noises are coming from all sides, not just above me. Well, not all sides; the window wall is still thankfully clear. I don’t think I’d be able to take seeing a—Wait, how in the world is the ceiling less deformed now?

I’m literally under a forest scattered with pygmy plants and deceased, decomposing diminutives. To get rid of that pressure, one would have to—

Oh, God. He is leveling the ground, one tree at a time.

The dirt’s probably giving way as he plucks each one up like a carrot or something. Loose pebbles or dirt clots are falling back down onto the pseudo-roof. Well, I hope it’s those rather than a body or two. I don’t know.

I can’t hear anyone reacting to this.

Surely, if the departed were being uncovered right now, then there’d be more audible chaos. My window is undetected, not soundproof… and how has nothing fallen in front of it, yet!? I mean, I’m not asking to see a covered cadaver or anything, but not even a single leaf? That’s highly imp—

*CREAK*

Kill me. I had to call it, didn’t I?

A waterfall – mudslide? – of soil and dirt suddenly falls past the glass of the window.

The linear deformation and its resulting dips going down – up? – in the ceiling was enough of a giveaway for the cause. But the enormous shadow of harsh darkness that has formed in front of the window, somehow making the night sky even more abyssal, is pretty much verifying he’s found me.

Unless my beeps aren’t somehow audible through this metal, he’s just found my slum. Hopefully, it doesn’t also become my cof— H-Hey! Hey!

My floor friction suddenly vanishes, and now I’m sliding toward my right wall, right into—Ack! Ugh, right into *cough* the side of my bed. God, damn it.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do? I—I mean, I know what I’ve done, but how is that worse than what they’ve done – what he’s done and doing!? Like *cough* Like, right now, is… is he playing with me? I can’t even stand up straight at this angle, and… and everything’s falling… g-going everywhere, including *cough* r-right on top of me. Ugh, as if *cough* there wasn’t already enough of a mess in this damn place.

I— Ugh, I need to get this stuff off if I’m ever going to… to…

Jesus, when did I… I get so… m-much stuff? It’s… *cough* It’s t-too much. I—*cough* l c-can’t… m-move. I… *cough* …I… *cough* I’m…

*CREAK*

“Specialized RFID tracking test terminated. Security: lowered to Level Two clearance. Sect C technicians report to their stations. T r a c e r e t r i e v e d t o b e t r a n s—”

#g/t #my writing #patients zero #sm #giant male #pandemics amirite?

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shadowsong26fic · 5 years ago

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Coming Attractions!

First Monday of the month, woohoo!

(And also kind of a NaNo roundup post because that was last month, after all…)

NaNo:

Sooooo I didn’t finish, lol. Not that I was…super expecting to, exactly, but I was hopeful! I think I just missed too many days in a row and lost all my momentum.

In terms of my goals, I was hoping to write:

1. 20-25k on Precipice 2. 20-25k on our faces like a mirror 3. 10-20k on Other Projects. 4. 50-70k total

In terms of what I actually accomplished:

1. 9,241 on Precipice (Sooooooo....about half of what I’d hoped, a little less. But I still got a fair amount done/prepped for upcoming chapters, plus a couple chapters actually posted, even while doing other stuff, so...go me!) 2. 9,043 on our faces like a mirror (Again, a bit less than half of what I’d hoped for, but I got enough done for the story/etc. to take a real Shape in my head. ...ish. See the specific OFLAM stuff later on in the post...) 3. 10,601 on Other Projects (Hey, I actually met this goal! ...barely, but still! Mostly thanks to the Nikita/Rebels crossover, lol...) 4. 28,885 total

Original Fiction:

I got a decent chunk of a big backstory piece for Lux done (in the form of a “then” and “now” set of scenes/vignettes for the five Archangels)--that being said, I’m not sure I actually like what I have there, lol. I know more or less what I need to cover, but the details are fiddly. Also not sure whether I should refer to Lux by her current name, for consistency’s sake, or use a different name (either Lightbringer or just Lucifer) since she does technically reshape her name after being released when the main Apocalypse storyline kicks off…also debating whether Lux should be/present as female way back when--angels don’t really do gender the way humans do in this ‘verse, but the closest human term for Lux would be genderfluid, sooooo IDK. Also also, for the ‘Now’ part…ehhh, I’m not sure I should have this be the first thing I post involving Trixie…but I’ll keep poking at it and see what comes out.

(I’d also planned to work on the big Kesshare character study saturation for The Farglass Cycle this month, and maybe go back to my untitled first-contact story, but neither of those happened, lol.)

Precipice:

We’re in the home stretch! Kinda. So to speak. Probably three to four more chapters in Arc Seven, which I’m hoping-fingers-crossed I’ll finish by the end of the calendar year??? (But given how much other stuff I hope to work on (see Other Fanfic Projects for more details…)

At that point--and I know I’ve said this before, and I’ll probably put it in an A/N in the next chapter or so, but following the end of Milestones, I’m planning to break off into a second/sequel fic, working title Protectors. This is at least in part because length (over 200k wtf I was anticipating 50-75k, maybe 100k, for these seven arcs @.@), but also was sort of planned even without the Length issue, due to some thematic/structure shifts following a six-year timeskip. Which, if you do the math, you can probably figure out where that’ll land us and why I might be structuring it this way…

Anyway, I’ve increasingly realized that there’s some stuff I should probably set up that I’ll need for later arcs in Part 2 involving some Rebels characters, more with the Last Batch, plus a Sith Apprentice who needs to turn up and die (although the gap between Infernalis and the next apprentice I actually care about/have a name and some kind of Plot for is only about four years in my mental timeline, so maybe there isn’t an active Apprentice in that period*…hmmmmm…), some background about the Hands, etc. But I feel like it’s all a little too disjointed for an entire additional arc. So, Arc 7.5, tentatively titled Preludes, is also going to be a thing XD I don’t think I’ll have a fixed schedule for that vs. the main storyline--and, honestly, it’ll probably work more like a collection of one-shots taking place during the timeskip than a proper Arc, but a little more Relevant than stuff that goes in Bonus Content, if that makes sense? It’ll probably be posted alongside at least arcs 8 and 9. Which, incidentally, take place more or less back-to-back and cover a fairly short period of time, but there is A Lot of plot/setup that goes into them. Like. If I tried to do it all as one arc, it’d be at least twice as long as any of the other arcs I’ve done, possibly including Arc Four--certainly over twenty chapters, I think--plus there’s a good (and by good I mean Horrible) place where I can split the arcs, so…we’ll see how that goes.

(…still not sure what to do with Maul, lol. He may just be Sir Darth Not-Appearing-In-This-Fic, or he might turn up in arc 10/11/13, which are the sort of vaguest of the next seven arcs which make up Protectors, in terms of how much I have planned out…)

(*On a semi-related note, I’ve been asked about Inquisitors a couple times in comments lately, and…well, I’ll probably mention this when I reply to the commenter in question, but I figured I’d set it out here as well, in case anyone else was wondering the same thing but doesn’t read other peoples’ comments. Like I’m pretty sure I mentioned at the start, when I plotted out** the bulk of this fic, I hadn’t seen Rebels yet. I’ve since decided to integrate a few characters/plot points (Kallus and Zeb will feature prominently in a subplot in arcs 13 and 14, for example), but, as a rule, characters and plot points from Rebels haven’t been taken into account unless I Really Like Them and/or they’re a good way to fill in a plot hole in a later arc, as with Kallus and Zeb. So, for example, when I include Thrawn, I’m writing more towards Legends!Thrawn in terms of personality, though the two have blended a bit in my head and I do reference specific events in Disney!Thrawn’s personal timeline; and b) more relevantly, I hadn’t made any plans to include Inquisitors, and that…hasn’t really changed. So, I might have them in Preludes, but they almost certainly won’t show up on-page/be super-relevant in the main arcs of the fic, sorry :/ )

(**Loooool I say “Plotted Out” like I’m the kind of author with a Master Plan or at least an outline. But I did have a general idea of the Major Plot Points going in, such as when Rex and Ahsoka would turn up, Luke’s storyline with Lavinia, how many Apprentices I would need to make them work, etc., and I’ve had parts of Arcs 8, 9, and 14 written for like at least two years now, so I know more or less where I’m going--though they’ll be edited once I have more of the connective tissue in place, in case I’ve accidentally Jossed myself…or I change my mind, which is becoming A Possibility with a major event set to happen in Arc 14, so…we’ll see.)

Aaaaaanyway. Exciting times ahead, I hope!

Other Fanfic:

This month, I finally posted another AU outline, woohoo! …I mean, it was a super-niche Nikita/Rebels crossover with a handful of OCs thrown in but who’s counting XD (I do actually intend to finish Let’s Go Steal a Crossover and update the Ventress one at some point but…yeah).

I also put out a Kallus one-shot that I think turned out really well. May do more of those at some point, who knows…

I made some significant progress on our faces like a mirror, as mentioned above! But now I’m waffling a little bit over structure. Basically, the fic covers Bo-Katan’s backstory from the time Satine becomes Duchess, through the Civil War, and eventually leads to Bo’s eventual break with her sister to join Death Watch. It comes in two pretty distinct halves--what I call the Fugitive arc in my notes, which covers the Civil War, and the Breakdown arc, which is everything after her return to Sundari.

So, my original plan was--prologue covering at least part of the final Epic Screaming Match that leads to Bo’s departure; jump back to the Fugitive Arc; and then follow through until we catch up to the prologue, with a coda/epilogue with her and Pre Viszla. The problem is, there’s…really not a lot to connect the two halves??

I’ve got a couple options on what to do about this, but I’m not sure which would be best.

Option One: Keep the structure as-is and just let it be episodic.

Option Two: Keep the structure as-is and find some way to connect the two halves (i.e., a recurring antagonist; I do have an idea of who this could be, but the problem is, it takes away a good chunk of the focus from Bo and Satine’s relationship for the Breakdown Arc…which I don’t really want to do.)

Option Three: Remove the framing device and focus on the Breakdown Arc, and include the Fugitive Arc as flashbacks, since the Breakdown Arc can’t really stand on its own. (The main issue I have with this one is that, if I want to actually write out future chunks of Bo’s life later--meaning, her time with Death Watch, and getting her from TCW to Rebels--I won’t have these flashbacks and I don’t want to change the structure too radically for any eventual sequels? Also, I’m not sure how I feel about a flashback structure for this fic in general…)

Option Four: Remove the framing device and focus on the Fugitive Arc, ending the story with Bo’s return to Sundari. (Two issues with this one--I really do want to go into the Breakdown Arc; that’s where my interest in this story started. Also, due to the constraints of setting and so on, Bo interacts with…like…two canon characters over the course of the Fugitive Arc? And while I don’t really have a problem writing a story that’s essentially a Backstory Epic for a tertiary character, populated by about 90% OCs, I’m not sure anyone actually wants to read that, except as the lead-in to the Breakdown Arc??? But maybe I’m overthinking…)

…so, yeah. Any thoughts/opinions on which option would be Best? (I may make a separate post asking the same question later, but figured I’d lay it all out here, too!)

Also, I’m working on a Secret Santa project, and probably not going to use OFLAM for SWBB, which means I need to come up with and write a different plotline of some kind, so back to the drawing board on that one…

Also also, I do genuinely plan to get Distaff off hiatus At Some Point, especially since I’ve gotten some new comments/responses lately…but given how much else I have on my plate, writing-wise, that probably won’t happen until next year, alas.

Anyway, the long and short of it is--lots of writing planned for this month! Now let’s see how much I actually get done XD

What about the rest of you? What’ve y’all been up to/what do you have planned for next month?

#coming attractions #miscellania #shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong writes original fic #shadowsong writes crossovers #shadowsong writes self-indulgent bs #feedback greatly appreciated #our faces like a mirror #precipice verse #nano2019

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sommersrothelmaleh · 5 years ago

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When More Than One Healthcare Provider Is Negligent Pt. 1

The Ontario Court of Appeal outlined what is required to establish medical malpractice in cases involving multiple health care providers whose cumulative errors contributed to a patient’s injuries.

In a two-part blog series, we will unpack this decision. This week, we will explore the facts that led to the patient’s life-altering injuries in an attempt to understand how many small errors performed by multiple individuals can come together to have a significant impact.

Next week, we will explore how the Court of Appeal addressed this situation using the established “but for” test for negligence.

What Happened?

The patient in question suffered an anastomotic leak following a hemicolectomy (an elective bowel surgery which was intended to correct a narrowing of his bowel brought on by chronic Crohn’s disease). The leak resulted in his bowel contents spilling into his abdominal cavity. Bacteria in bowel contents can be a source of infection that, if not properly treated, could evolve into sepsis or septic shock.

The discovery of this leak was delayed, and the patient went into septic shock, eventually falling into a coma and later requiring amputation of both of his legs below the knee, as well as amputation of all his fingertips.

The Chain of Events Leading to Amputation

During the surgery, the patient was operated on by a surgeon who was assisted by a senior resident and a junior resident. The surgery was uneventful, and the patient exhibited no negative symptoms for the first two days following the procedure.

Abdominal Pain Begins

At 7:50 am on May 16, 2008, two days after surgery, the patient complained to a nurse (Nurse 1) about abdominal distention. At 12:50 pm, the patient began to complain of abdominal pain of about a level 8 (on a scale of 1-10, where 10 was the worst pain).

Nurse 1 recorded the pain level and gave the patient pain medication. At 4:30 pm, Nurse 1 informed the senior resident and the junior resident about the patient’s severe pain. Within ten minutes, the junior resident prescribed morphine and ordered an immediate blood count to check for infection. An anastomotic leak was part of the differential diagnosis performed by the residents.

Shift Change

Nurse 1 went off duty at 7:30 pm and informed the nurse who was coming on duty (Nurse 2) about the order for “stat” (i.e. immediate) bloodwork. The junior resident also went off duty, without checking whether the results of the tests she had ordered had come in but did mention the patient’s pain to the senior resident who would be caring or him overnight.

Later that evening, the patient’s wife became concerned and called the surgeon, who came to the hospital around 8:00 pm to examine the patient. While there, the surgeon spoke to the senior resident but did not recall checking the chart, speaking to Nurse 2, or checking the results of the blood test.

Nurse 2 examined the patient after the surgeon met with the patient and noted that he was tachycardic (i.e. had a rapid heart rate) and his blood pressure was lower than the normal range. She did not report this to the surgeon or any other doctor. She administered more morphine.

Delayed Blood Test Results

The results from the bloodwork ordered by the junior resident were entered into the hospital computer 4.5 hours after they were first ordered (in violation of hospital policy under which any stat bloodwork should have been returned within one hour). The results showed an abnormally low white blood cell count and were marked as “Critical”. These findings were not reported by the lab to either the ward or to the ordering physician.

Neither the senior resident nor Nurse 2, who were both on overnight duty, followed up on the results that night.

Pain Spreads

On the morning of May 17, the patient complained of back pain for the first time. Nurse 2 called another junior resident (Junior Resident 2) to assess the patient. Junior Resident 2 thought that the back pain might be attributable to the fact that the patient had been immobile in a hospital bed. He prescribed a muscle relaxant and sedative. Junior Resident 2 did not speak to the senior resident or become aware of the bloodwork results.

Another Shift Change

As the morning of May 17 unfolded, the surgeon returned to the hospital before 9:00 am for his morning rounds. The senior resident went off duty and turned the patient’s care over to the surgeon.

Around this time, both the senior resident and the surgeon learned about the bloodwork results. The surgeon was concerned that the patient had an infection and ordered more “stat” bloodwork, which came back within the hour and confirmed the low white blood cell count.

Instead of concluding that the patient was septic due to an anastomotic leak and ordering an operating room (which, as an expert who testified at trial explained, was the only possible conclusion to draw in the situation), the surgeon ordered a “stat” CT scan to identify the source of the infection. The CT scan was not performed until 3:00 pm due to delays stemming from reduced staff and one CT scanner being non-functional.

At 5:05 pm, the patient was taken to the operating room to have the leak repaired. By that time, he was in septic shock and had gross contamination in the belly. His wife was told that he might not make it through the night.

The patient eventually went into kidney failure and was in a medically induced coma for three months. Some of his tissues became necrotic and he developed compartment syndrome which eventually resulted in the amputations.

The patient’s wife sued four of his treating doctors and three of the nurses arising from the treatment he received over the two days in question.

How Can a Medical Malpractice Lawyer Help?

As seen in the facts outlined above, a situation involving an injury stemming from medical error is rarely straightforward. Instead, it can involve a complicated timeline with many moving parts, a mountain of medical records and other documentation, and a lot of medical professionals that step in and out as the circumstances leading to the injury unfold.

Medical malpractice lawsuits not only have to try to get to the bottom of what exactly happened that led to an injury but they almost always also involve complex questions of medicine and law, including very technical arguments about causation.

In some circumstances, medical errors are covered up, medical records are falsified, or patients seeking answers are not given a straight answer about what happened.

All of this can be overwhelming and extremely stressful for an injured patient and their family.

If you have been injured and you believe it is the result of negligence or error on the part of a doctor, surgeon, nurse, or any other healthcare professional (or believe it was the cumulative result or error or negligence on the part of several medical professionals), contact Sommers Roth & Elmaleh.

Unlike most other personal injury firms, medical malpractice is virtually all we do. While every case is different, we have been successful in cases that other law firms refuse to take or believed will be unsuccessful. Having 40+ years of trial experience, when we are retained by clients we are ready to go with them all the way. We leave no stone unturned in our investigation and resolutely represent our clients in the most difficult circumstances. Our team of exceptional lawyers takes care of families in some of the darkest times of their life, so that families can take care of themselves and begin to move forward.

The post When More Than One Healthcare Provider Is Negligent Pt. 1 appeared first on Sommers Roth & Elmaleh Professional Corporation.

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#personalinjury #medicalmalpractice

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solange-lol · 5 years ago

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not so typical love song - ch. 3/13

Chapter Title: Strawberries & Cigarettes

Words: 1,741

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

read on ao3

—

Over the course of the next few weeks, Nico and Blue exchanged numerous emails. Whether he was at school, at home, or anywhere in between, Nico did his best to reply as soon as possible. It even ended in his phone being confiscated a few times in a couple different classes. Nico couldn’t help it, though; every time a new email popped into his inbox there was an unfamiliar fluttering in his heart and itching in his hands to reply just to hear what Blue had to say.

One morning Nico had forgotten to set his alarm, and in his rush to school had no time to read the most recent email from Blue, much less respond to it. He snuck out of lunch and headed for the library and their computers that afternoon. It was a risky task, considering their computers were right there in the open and anybody, including Blue himself, could walk behind him, but it was a risk Nico was willing to take. The service at their school was beyond shitty; Nico really wasn’t in the mood for waiting half an hour just for the email to load. And something about their most recent conversation had Nico’s heart racing.

He had suggested a John Snow costume for himself before casually asking Blue what he planned on dressing up as. He knew for a fact that the Stoll brothers were once again hosting their famous Halloween party that nearly the entire school showed up to. As long as it wasn’t something stereotypical like a pirate or a ghost, there was a chance Nico might be able to at least scope out who Blue may be. It was no secret that Nico’s curiosity was growing on who was behind all the emails, but Blue was a private person and refused to give out too many details.

Nico logged in quickly to his gmail and opened the unread notification in his inbox.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 28 at 6:07 AM

Subject: Re: Halloween Costumes

I’m sure you would look great in a John Snow costume. Not just anyone can pull off that hair, but something tells me that you can. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a trick or treater.

I’m not dressing up for Halloween though. My mom has this tradition of going to the Halloween open mic night at some bar, which leaves me stuck at home handing out candy. (Don’t worry, I still have pumpkin sweater to wear for the occasion. It’s the ugliest thing you’ll probably ever see.)

For me, Halloween is all about the Oreos with the orange frosting in the middle. I’m not usually one to indulge in a lot of sweets, but chocolate is my downfall. And those Halloween edition Oreos are a personal favorite of mine.

-Blue

While Nico was disappointed to not get any more of a lead on who Blue was, he still felt himself smiling at the Oreo obsession.

He typed out a response as quickly as he could, hoping to still be able to make it back to lunch so he could eat before the period was over.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 28 at 12:37 PM

Subject: Re: Halloween Costumes

It’s unfortunate that you’re not dressing up, I feel like you would be someone to come up with a witty costume but it’s actually GOOD. (i.e. not the ‘holy cow’ costume I did with my friend a few years back with involved cow onesies and angel wings and halos. Never again.) At least you aren't crushing that childhood trick or treater spirit with that pumpkin sweater, which I hope one day I get to see.

And you’re not wrong about the Oreos. I hope whichever party I’m being dragged along to this weekend has them because they are freaking delicious.

-Angel

He attached a gif of cartoon pumpkins floating down onto an Oreo cookie that was already covered in orange frosting. Just as Nico hit send, Mr. Brunner wheeled up to him.

“Hey, Nico!” Mr. Brunner said. “How are you? You’re smiling pretty big, so there must be something good going on!”

“Oh, um,” Nico cleared his throat as he quickly put the computer to sleep. “Nothing crazy. Just checking grades. I got an A on my English paper.” He actually got a B+, but he needed a coverup quick before Mr. Brunner asked any more questions.

Thankfully, it worked. “Oh, great job!” Mr. Brunner said, placing his hand on Nico’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’ve been pretty happy these past few weeks.”

Nico forced a laugh. “Uh, yep. Just having a good month.”

“Good, good.”

There was a few seconds of silence before Nico spoke again. “Anyway, uh, I need to get back to lunch. Have a good day, sir.” He turned quickly, barely catching Mr. Brunner raising an eyebrow at the formal tone. He nearly ran straight into Octavian as he rushed out the library, who just gave him a dirty look, which Nico ignored.

“Where have you been?” Reyna asked once he reaches the courtyard. The weather was nice today, not too cold, unlike the past days that month, so the school allowed students to eat outside if they chose.

Nico dropped down in the seat next to her. “Library. Just checking grades.”

Reyna nodded, clearly not completely believing him. “Here are your burnt tots because you have horrible taste,” she said, thankfully dropping the subject and also said tater tots onto Nico’s tray.

Nico nodded in thanks, before picking the not-quite-ripe banana off his tray. “And here is your green banana because you like disgusting things,” he shot back as he handed it to her. Reyna only hummed in agreement.

Piper looked between the two of them, brow furrowed.. “You guys are weird.”

“You get used to it after a while,” Jason sighed next to them.

They continued to chatter as Will, Cecil, Lou Ellen, and the Stoll brothers slid onto the other two empty benches around their table. Nico ripped open a pack of Oreos that he had brought, which earned him a small lecture from Piper about eating dessert before he had lunch.

“Am I right, Will?” she asked the boy across the table once she’s finished.

Will just shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

As Piper went back to her conversation with Jason and Reyna about halloween costumes, Will nudged his hand. Surprised, Nico looked up at him.

“Oreos,” Will smiled. “I love those. Halloween ones are the best.”

Nico laughed shakily, but it felt like his heart had just leapt to his throat. “Yeah, though good luck trying to get any of mine this time. I don’t give up that easy,” he managed.

“You’re in luck then,” Will said with a grin as he reached into his back pocket “—because I brought my own.” He displayed a package nearly identical to the one Nico was holding, but with orange filling rather than the classic white cream ones in Nico’s hand.

He laughed with Will, but his mind was racing.

Did he just find Blue?

Was is possible that he would find Blue so early on? They had only been talking for about a month, there was no way Blue would drop it easily.

And yet, part of him could hear Will’s voice echoed in some of the emails he’s received. He can imagine Will laughing at his awkward childhood stories, or blushing as he types out one of his own. They’re goofy, fun messages while still being reserved. It would fit for Will.

“Nico? Nico—” Piper waves her hand in his face, zapping him from his trance and tearing his gaze away from Will who, thankfully, was too wrapped up in a conversation with Cecil to notice him staring. “Hello? Anybody home? What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, sorry. Just tired. Uh, what’s going on?” He blinked a few times, focusing back on Piper. Her brow was furrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

“Just planning the Halloween party,” Travis said from across the table, high-fiving his brother. “Our mom’s out of town for the week again, so we’re going full swing. Everybody’s invited!”

Nico just smiled at the enthusiasm. The Halloween party had been tradition since their freshman year, and it was only getting bigger as they got older. Being surrounded by a bunch of drunk kids wasn’t usually Nico’s choice of event, but this was the only party he ever really attended, so he could stand it. Once a year, at least.

“You are going, right?” Will asked. “Because I couldn’t do karaoke alone.” Nico was surprised that Will was asking him. Maybe deep down he knew something too.

“Yeah,” Nico smiled. “Yeah, I’m going.”

---

Nico found himself watching Will in their environmental science class. It’s last period, the only class they had together. Will sat two rows over from him, and further in the back while Will sits up close to the teachers desk.

Blue’s most recent email, which he received shortly at his lunch, plays in his head. But this time, he hears it all in Will’s voice.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 28 at 1:21 PM

Subject: Re: Halloween Costumes

I’m glad to see we are in agreement about the Oreos, that would have been a dealbreaker for me.

On a totally different, non-cookie related note: is it weird that I have no idea what you look like but I can’t stop thinking about kissing you?

-Blue

Nico sucked in a breath, hearing those words over and over again, the test in front of him forgotten. Instead, he watched as Will’s curls bounce when he leaned forward, and Nico could just barely see a glimpse of his pink tongue dart from between his lips for just a second as he concentrated. He watched freckled, tan skin that lead from his neck and under his shirt, down his arms all the way to his palms. They danced like stars as Will scribbled in another answer.

“Nico,” the teacher called, and Nico quickly looked over to him. “Eyes on your own paper.”

He’s about to look away when Will turned around and time seemed to stop for a moment. Will flashed a soft smile and shook his head at him. Nico smiled and rolled his eyes back, but inside, it felt like he might explode.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #heros of olympus #nstls #pjo hoo big bang

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